Sunday Story Trilogy-#2- Easter Surprises-Violence caution

For the holiday, many people do romance or family bonding type stories. I thought I’d swing far right of that and give you something horrible and poetically wrong, yet perfectly right.

Warning: There is violence in this story. There is also a child in this story. You do the math.

 

Easter Surprises

"Slap!"

The girl's tears were silent as she cowered on the carpet of the living room, wincing at every word shouted inches from her terrified face.

"I'm up now! Get your damned basket!"

The 7 year old scrambled back, avoiding the sweeping hand but not the foot and it caught her in the hip, bringing a dull flare of pain.

"Worthless kid!"

Out in the cool air, the girl lingered outside by the meager Easter Basket, candy untouched, tears dried to her red cheeks. She could still hear her mother's loud voice inside, complaining about being woken up early, and the neighbor's were staring openly through their trailer window, but Madeline knew better than to think they might help her. Other kids in the park had the same life and while everyone whispered, no one helped. They had no one to stand for them.

"You do now."

The little girl looked around with startled eyes, only to find a snow bound trailer park.

"Maddie."

Right by her feet now, she looked down to see a large rabbit. Longer than her foot, taller than the old tom her mom threw rocks at, the bunny was big and dark gray, with large black eyes.

"Hello."

The child blinked. Its mouth had moved!

"You talk!"

The rabbit nodded, pointed a paw under the skirt-less mobile home.

"Come with me. I can help you and your friends."

The animal hopped casually out of her sight. "Come on, Maddie. Let's play a game called teach the grownups to be nicer."

Torn, the little girl went slowly and when the neighbors saw her disappear behind the concrete supports under the trailer, they closed their curtains, thinking she was smart to give her mom time to cool off. The untouched basket of Easter candy didn't raise any alarm.

It did with her mom hours later, but not the worry kind that makes you think something bad may have happened, but the annoyed kind that said someone wasn't where they were supposed to be. When she began screaming the girl’s name, the neighbors thought of telling her where the child was but didn't. It sounded like she hadn't cooled off very much.

"Madeline!"

The little girl didn't answer and her red face was tight with concentration.

"Just blow and think. That's it."

The rabbit handed her a small pouch and the girl quickly grabbed a fist of the gold and black powder.

"Madeline! So help me girl!"

The Mother was close and the rabbit laid a comforting paw on her foot when she trembled.

"Do this Maddie, and she'll never hurt you again. I promise."

The girl nodded, eyes clenched shut and when she blew the dust into the cold air, it sparked, flashing into a ball of brilliant flames that covered the child from head to foot. A second later, the grinning rabbit was gone and the girl was being roughly yanked from an under the trailer.

"Damn kid! Didn’t you hear me yelling?"

The woman shook the girl wildly but her motions slowed as she got a look at her daughter’s face.

The child smiled, pretty blue eyes turning red, teeth growing, becoming hungry fangs.

"I hear you now, Momma!" 

The child's attack was merciless, her long claws ripping into warm flesh and as the body fell, the neighbor's curtains swung shut and the girl headed casually toward her best friend’s home.

Mandy's dad liked to hug her and touch her a lot. It was time he learned to keep his hands to himself. Then, she'd show Mandy the dust and they would go to Jacob. When there were enough of them, they would take care of the other evil-doers, the ones who watched but didn't help. Their turn was coming.

This Doesn’t HappenIn The Movies

by Renee Pawlish

(Renee has been a guest on C9 Virtual Tours)

“I want you to find my dead husband.”

“Excuse me?”

That was my first reaction.

“I want you to find my husband. He’s dead, and I need to know where he is.” She spoke in a voice one sexy note below middle C.

“Uh-huh.” That was my second reaction. Really slick.

Moments before, when I saw her standing in the outer room, waiting to come into my office, I had the feeling she’d be trouble. And now, with that intro, I knew it.

“He’s dead, and I need you to find him.”

If she wasn’t tired of the repetition, I was, but I couldn’t seem to get my mouth working. She sat in the cushy black leather chair on the other side of my desk, exhaling money with every sultry breath. She had beautiful blond hair with just a hint of darker color at the roots, blue eyes like a cold mountain lake, and a smile that would slay Adonis. I’d like to say that a beautiful woman couldn’t influence me by her beauty alone. I’d like to say it, but I can’t.

This Doesn’t Happen in the Movies

 

Mementoes of Mai by Helmy kusuma
Non-Fiction

(Helmy has also been a guest of C9 VT)

A mundane office life is suddenly changed into something entirely different in a flick of a hand. Helmy's visit to Viet Nam made him face the beauties he long forgot, and now he must make up his mind to pursue the love of his life...

Would he be able to reconcile his past and his present to step into the unknown territory of the probable future? Could he bridge the space between himself and his love?

Follow Helmy as he recounts the defining and beautiful moment in his life, through the river and the cove of Viet Nam, across the sea to Bali, and Jakarta.

Fictitiously, of course.

Mementoes of Mai

You guys have a safe Sunday.

Next Week: Invasion

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

Hello? Is anyone out there?"

The Survivors

*Free on all retailers

Author’s Website    Diesel   iTunes   Kindle   Kobo   Nook   Smashwords   Sony

Character Profile: Kyle Genovesi (DF Tuesday)

Kyle Reece Genovesi     

 

Age: 35

Eyes: Blue

Height: 5'11"

Weight: 185 lb.

Birthday: 10/6/77

Hair: Short Black Curls

Race: Italian American

Career before the War: - A Captain the Mob. 

After the War: Level 6 in Adrian's Army.

Quote: "Whatever you need, I'll see to it."

Strengths:
- He was raised and trained to anticipate, prepare, and handle problems.

- Loves America, almost as much as Adrian.

Weaknesses:

- He has a fear of failure that often makes him fall short of others around him.

- He secretly likes his women young. Very young.

FBI Notes:

-There is no record on Kyle Genovesi.

Backstory

Kyle was raised in a family where he was expected to kill upon an order. It's never set well and kept him from rising above a captain. He has always longed for more and his restlessness has made him very perceptive to the vibrations around him.

Considered the black sheep, Kyle can be ruthlessly cold and calculating. He may not like delivering senseless death, but has never refused or failed an order.

Never married and without children, he expected to die alone and young until the war came and freed him. Sent him to Adrian's side.

Kyle dreamed that he and his family were destroyed by an attack, and was so afraid that he warned his family and took a trip to CA. He was the only surviving family member.

Check out this book.

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."