LAW Day #8- The Sam Prism

Samantha Moore

Age: 28

Height: 5’7”

Weight: 125 lbs

12/24/84

Had a pass to NORAD for saving the President’s life

Seattle EPA worker

Dirty blonde

Doesn’t fear death, only pain

Craves morphine after doing self surgery

Quote: “There’s a storm coming.”

FBI Notes

-Marker identified. Subject can predict weather with a 98% accuracy rate. Has been used twice. Should be kept close enough to be useful to command. No termination orders are expected unless an antigovernment attitude develops.

Strengths

-Will do whatever she has to, no matter how ugly it gets.

-Incredibly strong.

Weaknesses

-Too forgiving. She often overlooks flaws most people wouldn’t.

-Had so little contact with the outside world that she always feels like an outcast.

So what’s the deal with the Sam prism? Will Jeremy (left) win her heart through his patient kindness? Or will Neil (right) finally realize he loves her?

Only an open declaration of love will get Sam to become Neil’s mate, but her own past would endanger his place and Adrian’s dream if the camp found out. So Adrian will try his damnedest to make sure they don’t and still give Samantha the happiness she needs to make her stronger. Because Adrian knows that deep inside, she really wants to be as free as Angela now is. This is a clip of the two women talking about it – Sam finally admitting what she wants.

“He’s very protective.” Sam commented when two more rookies joined the guards below.

Angela kept her voice low. “Good reason to be.” Needing the woman to know she understood, Angela let a bit of her own worries out. “They’re coming soon. We have to help him.”

“I want to, but other than… some forewarnings, I can’t do what you’re doing.”

Angela raised a brow. “Why not? You and I both know there’s more to your…skills, than have been used.”

Sam flushed, but didn’t deny it. “If they find out…” Her whisper was laced with bitterness and longing in equal amounts. “I want it, too, but they’ll burn us. These sheep will panic and we’ll be caught in the stampede.”

“So you worry about getting hurt again?” Angela asked softly, sure she had been through the same hells, and worse.

“No.” Samantha’s voice was broken. “I worry I’ll get these people hurt.”

Angela shrugged. “That’s a worthy argument, but don’t forget to weigh in how much difference we can make when he has all of this in place.”

“I have. And I’m watching, seeing where I can help.”

“Me too. The Eagles are another way to do that, you know.”

Sam snorted, drawing attention again, and her voice lowered. “Me? Just can’t see that happening.”

“But you’ve thought about it or you’d be hiding in a tree somewhere else. Like the rest of us, you’re drawn to it.”

“Yes. I want what you’re building, what he’s about to offer to all the women here.”

“Good. Watch what I have to go through and get ready for it. Jeremy and Neil will help you.”

“And Adrian? Won’t he want to handpick the females who do this?”

“We pick ourselves, Sam. If you want it, grab it. Let him know you’re ready for the chance and he’ll see to it personally.”

Jeremy

Level Five Eagle(4/5/2013), XO of his Team

Not very much is known about Jeremy. By readers, camp members, or the Eagles. Even I only have a vague, shadowy picture. He worked in an office, he had extra money laying around, and he knows how to manipulate things like Adrian. I suspect there’s a lot more to him. (I honestly thought Billy, the pony-tailed blond Eagle on Kyle’s team-would play this role. I also assumed it was all a setup to get Neil and Sam together. As soon as I started writing it, I found out how quickly he fell for her. Maybe he was on the rebound from the death of a mate who looked like Sam. I think that’s very likely.)

Neil

Third in Command of Safe Haven(unofficial)

Level Five Eagle, Leader of his Team

His bio can be found here. However, when that bio came out, Sam hadn’t stormed tracked his life yet. Neil expected to be lightly playing with Becky for the next 6 months. After that, if he went through with it, he thought he’d be enjoying the change of age at night and strutting like a rooster during the day. He had no idea the tidal wave was coming.

So what’s with his obsession for young girls? He doesn’t really have one. Todd fear being out of control at all. His mom’s violent history made him sure he has to keep himself in line at all times, always follow the rules. With a young girl, he’ll always have that.

Its only since losing his father in the War and then finding Adrian’s light, that he’s begun to unwind. He fell into the chain of command and secured his place with complete loyalty, but his fear of losing control may endanger it. If he takes Becky as his mate, his own team may vote him out of lead. To keep that from happening, they’ve been watching for signs that he’s drawn to anyone else.

Enter Samantha.

What was it about her that has straight-laced Todd O’Neil bucking his own plans? If not for Angela’s dream, he may have missed her. It could be that she’s special and worthy to be his mate, but I doubt it. I just think they’re supposed to be together. That doesn’t mean fate might not have other plans...

“That hasn’t been revealed yet.”

Next week: Little Becky

"This is Safe Haven Refugee Camp. Can anyone hear me?

Hello? Is anyone out there?"

The Survivors

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Justice (Story Sunday)

Dedicated to all the animals suffering from mankind's indifference.

 "How much?"

"Almost 60,000 barrels a day."
"Worst in history."
"Won't matter. It's what insurance is for."
"It's what we're for."

 The voices carried easily in gusting shore winds and those listening unseen, felt the hate grow deeper in their hearts.

 
"We report it's not that bad, that it's breaking up, people start to relax. Stocks go back up."
"And then its business as usual, right?"
"Yep. Ain't nothing money won't buy."

Their snickers and indifference marked them as the enemy, even if the yellow vests and clipboards had not, and the investigators moved toward the narrow sea cave like foreign invaders surveying their loot.

"How much you think the insurance will cover?"

"Most. It's cheaper to pay premiums than to develop the technology to handle spills. British Petroleum is paid up for the next decade."
"Wish they'd pay those coastal fishermen so the reports would stop winding people back up."
"Me too."

The oil inspectors reached the cave as the next swell rushed in and their boots were covered in a thick layer of rainbow sludge.

"It's still coming in."

"It will for a long time. Remember to wipe those off before you head back."
"You too."
"Yeah. Don't want any proof it's gotten this far yet."

The men moved into the dim, sludge lined cave with uneasy glances and the sound of the water rushing in grew louder, hungry. They began to measure and collect samples and neither of them noticed the shadows getting closer as they talked.

"Guess the new cap’s holding."
"Pictures look good. You think they're real?"
"I doubt it. The government only shows people what it wants them to see. Once we say it's staying out there, the news will grow bored with it and find another story."
"Hard to hide all those bodies, though."
"It's just fish. The birds'll clean it up."
"But won't it be another big story?"
"No. In case you haven't noticed, there's no one on these beaches now. Tourism here is gone for a long time."
"Still, the residents have taken pictures and the camera crews fly over all the time."
"Won't matter. Money shuts people up. Just have to find the right price."
"Can't argue with that."

Between tides, the rising water levels in the narrow cave were unusual but the inspectors were trained in oil, not the ocean and the tugging, rainbow sludge was up to their knees before either of them noticed.

"Water's up. Let's hurry."
"Wonder if that has anything to do with the methane. Put it in the report."

Well paid, the two men stayed to finish their observations and collections and the water continued to slowly rise, rolling in but not going back out.

"Did you feel that?"

"What?"
"I’m not sure. Sort of like a vibration under my feet."
"Probably just the water. It's still coming up."
"Maybe but I'd swear..there it was again!"
"I didn't feel anything."
"Something moved by my foot!"
"Stop it."
"Really, I... what was that?"

Both men turned to see a shape under the hip high water, one that caused their mouths to dry and their hearts to thump. A shark fin.

"Back off, nice and easy."
"Don't move!"
"Look out!'
"Behind you!"
"Ahhh!"

The oil covered shark tossed his head viciously, reveling in the gush of fresh food, and then he was being pulled back by the stingray.

"Stop. There must be proof." Denied a much needed meal, the angry shark snapped at the ray and then whined in pain as the manta stung him brutally.

"Enough!' They both looked to the old, jellyfish floating in the oil stained water.

"Man is our enemy, not each other. Drag them out and the crabs will bring them to the shore so they can be found beside the black poison they unleashed." The huge Jelly was obeyed without argument and the water in the cave slowly lowered, allowing them to wash out with the wave.

"What comes next?" The Manta Ray asked the Jelly and neon lights of concentration flashed under the waves as the centuries old keeper of the water struggled to form thoughts through the rage.

"Call the whales, the orcas. Any that are left will come. We have to gather an army and drive man out of the oceans. After that, we’ll talk to those on land, make a deal if we can. Surely the air breathers are dying as fast as us."

"Can we fight so many?" The Jelly flashed uneasily.

"I don't know. Until now, our world has been unreachable but every day brings them closer to our homes, our families. If we don't fight back now, we may not be able to later and I would have justice!”

Double Standard-LV Cautions- (Story Sunday)

"Thud thud thud!”

I shoved the bloody knife under the couch cushion before wiping my red hands down the left

side of my jeans, then went to answer the door, sure it was the police. My neighbors were more than nosey and the fight had been loud.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the hall mirror as I neared the door and took a quick look to

see what impression I would give. Bare feet, shirt half unbuttoned, hair mussed, framing red
eyes. Except for the thick smear of blood on my shirt and jeans, I looked a little drunk. Perfect.

"Thud thud thud!”

“Open up, this is the Cleves police department." 

 I looked back at the expensively decorated living room. Nothing. As long as they didn't get near the couch, they wouldn't see the body.

"Can I halp you?" I burst into drunken giggles as I said it, opening the door to reveal two very

serious looking cops, dressed in full gear.  "I mean, help you."

I giggled a bit more, leaning against the door as if for support and watched them exchange a quick glance. Their sharp eyes went over me, judging me just the way I had myself. Until they saw the blood. Then the alarm was blaring, the questions forming, and I knew I'd have to be careful as the older man slid a hand to the unstrapped butt of his gun.

"Are you okay, Miss?"

"Is that blood?"

I looked down like I hadn't known it was there, hand swiping at it.

"Someone had an accident." Their frowns became scowls at that.

"Who?"

 "Do they need an ambulance?"

I shook my head, thinking it was much too late for that.

"Me." I let out another cackle, holding out my left hand, and was pleased to see them both back up from my dripping wound. Their expressions relaxed, as much as police ever do anyway, and I shrugged, let myself lean on the door a bit more.

"Maybe I need stitches?"

"What happened?"

One officer questioned, while the other moved into the hall to call for medical assistance, and I tried to smile at the shrewd eyed cop but my stomach twisted at that moment, turning it into a perfect grimace. Easy. Careful.

"I wanted a sandwich." He didn't believe that's all it was and I knew right then that some of the truth would have to be told.

"He wanted a sandwich an I wanted to read. We argued." I held my hand out a bit further. "Felt bad after he left. Was gonna make it and call him." I shook my head. "Guess I should waited to sober up." The cop rolled his eyes at me then and I knew I was in the clear. With a few sentences, I’d told him there was no threat here and I swallowed my grin.

The big officer helped me, the paramedics on their way, and I closed the door to the murder scene with calm hands. My husband hadn't thought I would be home tonight but I'd known he would. And I'd known he would not be alone.

I pretended to stumble as we stepped from the curb, the officer catching me with another of those eye rolls and then we were in the ambulance and the two cops were standing by their car, watching. We pulled out a few minutes later, I did indeed need stitches, and while I hoped the cops would not hang around long enough to hear it was a defensive wound, I wasn't worried about it.  After they stitched me up, I would head out one of the many exits and be gone. I grinned and the paramedic asked me if I was all right.

"Fine as frog fur." I replied, slurring. And I was. My husband now, that was a different story and before dawn, his secretary would not be either. Cheating was a killing offense where I came from.

I appeared to be passed out for most of the ambulance ride, thinking I would have to slip out before any blood test results came back or they would want to know why I was covered in someone else's blood.

The cops left me at the hospital, not filing any charges, and I breathed a sigh of relief as their twinkling taillights faded into the night. Country cops were often dumb but those two had been on the fence about me, I was sure of it and I made a mental note to keep off the main roads when I slipped out.

The time in the emergency room passed so slow, I really did fall asleep for while and when they stitched me up, surprised at my refusal of drugs, I was left alone with no guard. The doctor who sank the needle into my forearm seven times didn't talk much but his one comment made me glad I wasn't hooked up to any machines.

"This looks defensive." His dark eyes studied my paling face, instantly drawing the wrong conclusion, and when he began to tell me of places that would help an abused woman, I hid a smile and told him I would think about it. He gave me a card as he left, along with a searching look I tried not to squirm under, and then I was free to go. To Miami Avenue.

It was only half a mile from here and I thanked the nurses politely as I went out the glass doors. I didn't have a weapon but I carried my hatred deep and I headed through the backwoods to her one floor ranch home.

Marguerite lived by herself, a failed actress trying the 9 to 5 scene, and I lurked in the tall bushes beneath her window, waiting. Her lights were on, television blaring out the news of yet another wave of oil washing onto oceanfront property and then I could feel the night around me still. The darkness slid further over her home, the news changing to the late show, and when her lights finally went off, I eased from my hiding place. After tonight, she would have no need of a married man or anything else.

I had already chosen my point of entry, the doggy door I was slim enough to squeeze through, and I was careful to touch nothing I couldn't wipe off afterwards. My husband’s body wouldn't be found but sweet little Marguerite would appear to be the victim of a home invasion.

The house smelled of sex and candy, the cheep, plastic tasting kind, and I grimaced at the odor as I passed through her tiny kitchen and headed up the hall stairs. I had staked her place out for a week before I made my move, making sure I knew where she'd be, and I took the stairs with a quiet caution any ninja would have admired.

Her bedroom door stood open, a reading lamp on, and I moved toward the light with hate in my heart. None of those other tramps had meant anything to my wandering husband but this tart had wormed her way into his heart with her desperate actress routine and a quick call to the lawyer had confirmed my suspicions. Her name had replaced mine on the will, the inheritance. The entire empire we'd built together, would go to her. My smile in the darkness was sharp. Maybe to her relatives or a local charity. She wouldn't be around to spend a dime.

I dropped to the ground as I neared the door, she wouldn't be able to see me if I stayed low, and I waited on the threshold, listening to her deal herself one last pleasure before drifting off to slumber. My heart tightened as she murmured a man's name in the darkness and I slid into her bedroom without making a sound.

I crawled around the edge of her bed, heart thumping and when she let out a soft snore, I almost screamed. I clamped the sound inside my throat, swallowing it, and then I was lunging upward, my hands flying toward her neck.

An hour later, I was back in my own luxury high rise, struggling to get my husband's lean body into the garbage chute. I had already aimed the bottom gutter toward the furnace and the fact that it was kept fired continuously made my heart beat calmly. The body would be burned along with all the other trash and all I had to do was clean up the mess.

I heaved hard, arms screaming with the effort and his corpse slowly started sliding down towards the inferno.

He made a lot of noise on the way and I winced at each bang and thump but my ears told me it wasn't any worse than the bags of bottles we usually dumped at night, just a bit heavier sounding. After I hit the fire button, a smell drifted up, one that made me gag and I quickly opened my air vent, turning on the fan. I had not counted on the smell and my stomach rolled as I cleaned the bloody couch. The floor, I had covered with a tarp before the fight started and I sent this to the furnace as well as my own clothes, not bothering with a shower yet. I still had a lot to do.

I bleached the stains from the white sofa and it left a very noticeable mark but after a light coat of finger paint, it blended right in and I turned my attention to the odor. My neighbors would complain about it, remember it. Unless it was not coming from my apartment, I realized.

The penthouse was empty right now, the upper floors under construction, and I moved toward the stairs at a calm pace, trying not to imagine how many people might be watching me pass. The stairwell was dim, as was the hallway, carpenters tools littering the various benches, and I chose the apartment furthest from my own. On my way, luck shined on me and I scooped up the dead rat with hands that did not flinch.

I turned the chute toward the furnace and placed the huge sewer rat on the floor nearby, hoping anyone investigating the odor would think its mate had fallen into the furnace, producing the stench. I moved back to my apartment, running the checklist through my head. Body? Check. Weapon? Check. It was currently burning along with the other evidence. Witnesses? None. It was perfect. I had committed two murders and would never face justice for it. I was avenged and free.

"Then how come you're in here, on the Row?" I shook myself from the flashback as more questions followed.

"Yeah. How'd you get caught?" I leaned across the wooden table, aware that my last hour of freedom, of breathing, was quickly drawing to a close but I did not regret my actions or my last wish to spend an hour talking to the other inmates.

"The Dic turned me in."

"Time's up, Collins." The guards tone was cruel. "The Padre's waitin for ya." I stood carefully, my ankle and wrist chains rattling, and I flashed a sickly smile at the listening women, some of whom would be making the walk too before long.

"My husband had hired a PI to follow me around right about the time I started staking out his whore. He thought I might be cheating."

Soul Mates (Story Sunday)

We'd gotten away clean.

My death grip on the steering wheel eased but I didn't slow, instead, switching to an empty lane so I could go faster on the dark highway. I'd expected the police to be chasing us by now and my heart gradually returned to normal. We'd gotten away!

My eyes went to his face in the passenger seat and I grinned, unable to believe it was finally happening. We could be together now! I took another exit at top speed and forced myself to slow and blend into the light traffic as we crossed the state line. It wouldn't do to draw attention right now.

I patted my lover's hand comfortingly, able to smell his aftershave and the leather of his coat. He'd played hard to get for a long time, saying he wanted me but it wasn't right, telling me he loved me, touching me, bringing me pleasure I hadn't known existed, and then backing away, saying he couldn't leave his wife. My grin widened. It didn't matter now. She was gone and we could be together!

I drove smoothly despite my excitement and I couldn't wait to be alone with him. The things I had planned! I took another look at his face. He was incredible to me, even in profile. I'd been in love with him for years and the affair had slowly consumed me until my job and family had faded from view, and then, The Plan. How could we be together had been the question but I'd answered it. Now, we were.

The two lane dirt road was full of deep ruts and I was careful not to let the wagon bounce too much. Always working The Plan, that was me. The farmhouse was dark and would be cold but it was out of the way and I had my lover to keep me warm. I parked by the back door and patted his big hand again.

"Wait here for me."

I chuckled as I dug the white tarp out of the back, leaving the blow gun responsible for my success, and I covered the wagon completely. With a few dozen shovels of snow on top, it looked like the vehicle hadn't been moved since before the last winter storm, and I turned my attention to the tire tracks.

I went all the way to the bottom of the driveway, ignoring the cold and the screaming of my arms and back. There'd be time to rest later. Right now, I had to stay on Plan. I worked with careful eyes as I went back to the wagon, making sure it didn't look like anyone had been here for a long time. It didn't and the nearest neighbor was an Irish Dog Kennel. They'd never hear the screams.

I pulled the cellar door up with a grunt and lowered the plank I'd had to cut twice to make a perfect fit for rolling and sliding things down the steep stairs. No way he was going to be able to walk it. 

I rolled back the tarp on the passenger door and when I opened it, I smiled comfortingly into his dazed green eyes.

"Don't worry. We'll be safe here." 

He mumbled, drooling, and I changed direction, heading for the back and the blowgun. He couldn't come out of it yet. I still had to get him below, get him chained, and recover the cellar door with snow. The Plan wouldn't work if he escaped before learning to love me. 

I moved toward him while loading the dart. Things would be just perfect once he understood we were Soul Mates.

Mother Sarah (Story Sunday)

Sarah was a puritan healer who worshipped the Goddess Isis and yet, shunned the heathen rituals of her friends and neighbors. Barren since birth from illness, she wore no garlic strands or crosses and feared not to walk in the night, even after the attacks started. She believed she was under the protection of the goddess and could often be seen strolling the main paths, as if to prove her outrageous claim.

And so it was she found him on the side of the dirt road, a bloody pile of charred robes and skeletal hands, and instantly recognized him for the creature he was. Vampyre.

Instead of trying to finish him off, as her fellow townsmen would have no doubt done, she stepped to him lightly and began examining his wounds. Weak, dying maybe, he still tried to grab her, glimmering eyes attempting to seduce but Sara was a sturdy girl of even sturdier determination and she simply shoved a potion down his throat and waited.

When he slept, she painstakingly took him home, to the area she’d prepared, unable to believe her good luck. On her first try, she had gotten what she wanted and it had only taken three lives. She’d expected that number to be much higher.

The emaciated Vampyre came awake all at once and Sarah could feel his sunken black eyes suddenly watching as she took rats from one wire cage and placed them in another. She chose only the plumpest specimens and the last, she kept a hold of, turning to look at her captive.

"Blood for blood."

The weak creature hissed his rage, his denial of her offer, and she shrugged, puritan brown eyes shrewd.

"You will give me what I want or you will never leave here."

He really struggled then, twisting and shouting gibberish threats and curses. His thin body tensed against the chains, testing them but he found no weakness, nor would he. These restraints had been forged with just this purpose in mind.

Sarah moved closer, gentle fingers calming the nervous rodent in her grip.

"Blood for blood!" With a vicious jerk, she snapped the rats neck and kept twisting, pulling hard, and its head came off with a wet, sickening crunch, sending scarlet drops of lifeblood splattering across the Vampyre’s pale face. It gushed against the bars of his cage, close enough to drip, to allow for only a taste and the rest poured onto the dirt floor of his underground cell.

"Nooo!" The Vampyre slammed himself against the chains, head straining to get his forked tongue on the splatters, and Sarah laughed at his obvious desperation.

"I will come back in a few days to ask again." Seconds later, she was climbing the wooden ladder, pulling it up behind her.

His furious struggles ceased to exist as soon as she lowered the earthen plug and the young widow moved toward the well to wash, humming happily. John would be very pleased with how far she had gotten with the research. He had never been able to capture a live specimen to experiment on, had died trying, but Sarah had done it simply by following the notes in his journal.

"Vampyres are solitary and will often attack any of their kind who threaten to expose them."

Sarah had understood this would apply to even rumors and it had been her tools that plunged into those girl's necks, not a Vampyre’s fangs, her own mouth that had removed the coppery blood and dumped it far from the attack. After two deaths, the village people had started hunting and more than one night walker had been staked, burned, and decapitated. Not to mention the innocent villager that had been mistaken for a creature of the night.

The townspeople had been near panic then and all she had to do was watch and wait for whatever black sheep the rest of the Vampyres believed to be guilty. With John's sleep potions in her apron, she had prowled the woods and met with success. Her specimen was weak, likely why the others had thought him guilty in the first place, and she had no doubt he would relent under her torture without the month's long battle of wills that she had prepared for.

Sarah smiled, a hard, glinting grin of triumph. With the Vampyres willing donations, she would have the blessing of Isis and the transformation would heal her barren womb and create a new species of monster. She would be their maker, their Mother.

Her hand rubbed at her empty belly, eyes glittering with insanity. It was the one thing John had not been able to give her. Children of her own.