Late Show

This is chapter 51 of The Inheritance, a serial fiction novel on FITK

Friday Evening, November 20, 2020, Seattle

Mareka and Jo were in the bedroom of Jo’s apartment. They were going through some of Jo’s childhood effects.

“Oh! Look at the time, our movie is going to be on in five minutes,” said Jo, “I’ll put some popcorn on. Will you put that stuff back in the box for me?”

“Okie-doke,” said Mareka. Jo went into the kitchen and Mareka lifted the box from the floor to the the couch where they had been looking at Jo’s albums, “This is heavier than it looks,” thought Mareka. She looked inside and saw, under a stack of large envelopes, the glint of a gun barrel.

---

The panel van smelled of tobacco and sweat.

John Stroud was in the back, sitting on some tarps with one of his Russian contacts. The other Russian was driving, it seemed to John that they were taking a circuitous route, perhaps it was to avoid traffic cams. Finally it came to a halt in a residential area. It was dark, evidently the street light was out.

“Come up here, Stroud,” said the driver, “You see the house with the yard light?”

Stroud grunted, “Yeah.”

“Good. There is a driveway in front of it, with a long hedge. The hedge will keep you hidden. Go left along the hedge until there is a gap with a path. The woman you want is in the small house at the end of the path. She lives alone, but there are neighbors nearby, so be as quiet as you can, and work as quickly as you can. Once again, when you are finished text us and we will pick you up here. Do you understand?“

“I’m good with it,” said Stroud, “Let me savor this one a little while.”

“Okay, but If you aren’t back here in fifteen minutes you’re on your own.”

---

A drug task force team was monitoring the tracer that had been placed in the Russian ‘goon squad’ van. The Seattle Police had been tracking John Stroud in relation to the recent overdose deaths that had plagued the city’s homeless population. They had been tipped off that he had been seen in the company of two ‘foreigners’—a couple of bad eggs that had been associated with a Russian “safe house” that had been supplying and sheltering agent provocateurs in the riots of the previous summer. They wanted to deport them to prevent any Russian influence in the drug scene in Seattle and had been trailing the van all night. When the goons dropped Stroud off at the ballroom they parked a short distance away and then picked him up a short while later. The police didn’t know if the ballroom building was were Stroud was scoring or if it was where he was dealing. That location would be dealt with later, but tonight they were more interested in seeing where Stroud and the Russians would lead them. When the goon’s van stopped in a residential area, far from Stroud’s usual haunts, they took action. Two of the undercover cops got out of the tracking car and set off on foot, following Stroud in the dark.

---

“Mareka, the popcorn is ready,” called Jo.

“I’ll be right there,” said Mareka.

A cacophony of caws suddenly erupted from the nesting crows outside the apartment.

“What on earth is riling them up?” said Jo, opening the front door and looking out.

“Inside, bitch,” hissed John Stroud as rushed in and pushed her back, “And keep your mouth shut or I’ll shut it for you.”

“Get out of h-,” said Jo as she received a punch to the face that sent her reeling.

“You never would listen, would you?” said Stroud, “Well you’re going to listen now.”

Jo was down on her hands and knees when Stroud kicked her in the side.

“Get out,” said Mareka, who had just entered the room, holding a stuffed toy bear.

“Oh ho! So you have a little nigger baby do you?” said Stroud, “Hey little girl, you‘re just in time to see me kick the shit out of your momma.”

“I said GET OUT.“

“Aren't you afraid? Cuz you better be,” said Stroud, taking out his syringe case and bending over Jo’s prone figure, ”When I’m through with your momma here, I’ll make you wish you’d never been born.“

”I’m not afraid of you,” said the girl.

“Mareka, run out the back,” said Jo, gasping, ”He’ll kill us both.”

“GET OUT!” Mareka said, dropping the bear, revealing the handgun that she had found in Jo’s effects.

“You little shit!” said Stroud.

He got up and lunged at the child, crossing the room to get where Mareka was standing.

He received two bullets in his torso and one in the head for his trouble.

“I’m not afraid of you,” said Mareka as she watched him fall to the floor.

The crow chorus outside increased again as two policemen came rushing in the front door, guns drawn.

“POLICE!” they shouted, “What’s going on here?

“He was going to kill us,” said Mareka, putting down her gun and pointing to Stroud on the floor, “I wouldn’t let him.”

“Shots fired. Suspect is down and incapacitated,” said one of the policemen into his radio.

The other one examined Stroud at gunpoint. Stroud was sucking air through two holes in his chest and then coughed up a large mass of blood. He was still holding the syringe when he shuddered and then went still.

“Are you hurt, ma’am? Do you know this man?” said the officer who was talking on the radio.

“He’s my ex. He was going to kill us. I’m banged up, but he’s beaten me worse than that before.”

“Subject has gunshot wounds to his body and head and appears to have expired. Recommend apprehension of accomplices before EMT services arrive. Situation here is under control. There is also one woman down, may need medical assistance and one child apparently unharmed.”

“Roger, we're closing in on the van now.”

The officer who had been examining Stroud turned to Mareka.

“I’m officer Nelson, I’m here to help you. What’s your name, are you OK, is this your mother?”

The crows outside increased their clamoring.

“I’m her mother,” said Mary, who had just walked in with Sean, “We heard shots.”

“We live in the main house, Jo is a family friend and Mareka’s governess,” said Sean.

“Is there anybody else here?” asked the officer who was with Mareka.

“This is all of us, Jo lives here,” said Mary, “Mareka lives with Sean and me in the main house.”

“We’ve been tracking Mr. Stroud here as well as his accomplices, there is active police activity in the area. I’m going to ask you to stay put until the all clear.”

Just then the radio crackled: “Suspects apprehended without incident. EMTs are on the way.”

“Okay. Since this is a crime scene, I’m going to ask that you all leave, are you able to walk, Ms?”

"Nothing broken,” Said Jo.

“We’ll be in the kitchen, in the main house,“ said Mary, “Through the patio doors, where the lights are on. You’ll want statements?”

“That’s correct.”



Next Chapter: Wrap Up

Mary’s Dream

This is Chapter 12 of The Matriarchy, a serial fiction novel on FITK

Mary woke with a start. Sean was sleeping deeply beside her; his slow, rhythmic breathing was the only sound. Even the ribbon of highway that snaked past the motor lodge was quiet. Their room was on the second floor overlooking the scrubby plains that stretched out beyond the outskirts of Billings, Montana. Earlier, when they unloaded the car, Mary had seen a small playground with a couple of weathered benches behind the building. Sean was sleeping but Mary woke with a start. Something in the night air had aroused her. She pulled a hooded sweatshirt on over her PJ’s and went outside, walking past the parked cars to the little play area.

The sky was clear and, as Mary sat, her eyes became more adjusted to the dark. In a few minutes, she was able to discern the Milky Way, its broad arc imperceptibly wheeling above her. Her reverie was interrupted by a slight scrabbling—the sound of claws on stone—followed by silence. Looking out over the black landscape she saw a pair of glowing eyes, then another pair appeared, and then several more pairs fanning out in the brush.

“Coyotes… ” she thought, “… sitting out here is probably not the smartest thing.”

But she stayed. Sitting, watching, somehow feeling that this was a moment of import. Then the eyes began to blink, off and on, and Mary intuitively sensed the pattern. In the belly pocket of her hoodie, she kept a small flashlight. Mary took it out and answered the signals. The blinking stopped.

---

“You were up in the night?” said Sean. He and Mary were sharing a forgettable ‘continental’ breakfast in the lounge, “Nausea?”

“It’s up and down. I’m going to have to ask you to drive again. My biorhythms are all screwed up, and this breakfast won’t help them any. Can we stop and get some fruit on the way out of town?”

“No prob, do you want to keep off the interstates again today?”

“As much as you can, Sean. That highway to Rapid City—212 I think—looks like a nice drive.”

“Here’s hoping we don’t meet any more of your ‘friends’ on the road again.”

“You never can tell…” Mary paused for a moment and then said: “You might think this is silly, but when I was up last night I went out back, behind the motel. I could sense that there were some animals in the brush, coyotes, I think. They were trying to communicate with me.”

“I won’t call it silly, but something in you is definitely changing, something other than hormones?”

“Maybe, I don’t know, I’ve never been pregnant before. I’ve been pretty rational all my life; it might be time to let my feral side be in charge.”

The drive to Rapid City took the rest of the morning. By the time Sean and Mary reached the town it was well past noon.

“For the first time in days, I’m really hungry,” Mary said, scrolling through her iPhone for restaurants, “I could eat a buffalo. I’ll find us a decent place.”

The restaurant they chose was emptying out after the noon lunch crowd, but the server assured them the kitchen was still open. It was decorated in a western motif, with taxidermy and antique weapons mounted on the walls.

“You’re in luck, they’re serving bison,” Sean said after he had glanced at the menu. Looking over his shoulder at a fierce bobcat frozen in mid-leap he added, “Do you get the feeling of being watched?”

Mary studied the creature. “That kitty has a glassy stare. In some weird way, it resonates with me,” She made a small, throaty growl as she mimicked the wildcat’s ferocious grimace, “I’m getting the bison steak.” Sean was surprised at her ferocity. After they had ordered, Mary took out her cell and said: “Should I check in with legal, or should we continue our journey in blissful ignorance?”

“Let no discouraging words be allowed to disturb our repast. We can deal with that when we get to Sioux Falls,” Sean said, relieved that Mary seemed to have returned to her normal mein, “That part of the drive will be aggravating enough; I’m afraid that we’ll have to take the freeway.”

---

Roger Ramsen was finishing composing yet another anonymous comment on a conspiracy forum. He had spent several days disparaging Mary Robinson on numerous sites, suggesting that she was, among the milder epithets: a feminist witch, a hacker and a thief, a prostitute, and even the devil’s love child. On the sleazier sites, he posted the image of her naked on the balcony. When he finished his latest diatribe he hit ‘enter.’ He leaned back in his chair and rang his contact in Seattle.

“Ramsen here, what do you have for me?”

"Nothing, these birds have flown. No one has seen them around town, their apartment has been dark for days. There's definitely been a definite internet buzz on the woman, wow, she must have made her share of enemies—or are all those comments yours? The sites with the picture are getting a lot of hits, but not for the reasons you think. The comments are along the lines of 'You go girl' and 'She can compile my code any day!' She's a Farrah Fawcett for modern teen-aged nerds."

“OK, I get it. Maybe the picture wasn’t the best idea, everything is Photo-shopped these days anyway. Keep trying to find her and Sean, let me know if you find out where they are.”

---

The only place with a vacancy in Sioux Falls was a ‘Family Style’ motel, built in the form of an enormous hunting lodge. A pool and hot tubs occupied the center court. Sean and Mary’s room overlooked the pool where numerous children were boisterously playing; their yelling and laughing punctuated by the occasional shriek. A group of parents sat in lounge chairs along the pool: talking, reading, but keeping an eye on the kids all the while. While Sean was speaking to his aunt Tina on the phone, Mary opened the curtains and looked out on the activity below.

“In a few years this will be us, with our kid, won’t it?” asked Mary, after Sean had hung up, “Did you ever do this with your mother when you were growing up?”

“No, we didn’t do road trips, other than visiting Tina, and those were always done in a single very long day, leaving early in the morning and arriving late at night. I think my mother had a thing about motels.”

“What did your Aunt Tina say on the phone?” asked Mary.

“I got the impression it’s a pretty big deal for her. She’s expecting us for supper. She’s a pretty good cook from what I remember. Meat and potatoes and farm fresh vegetables, but she always made the food taste special somehow. I hope she’s still up to it. I don’t think we'll starve.”

“And I hope I’m over my nausea,” Mary said, “I felt pretty good all day today. I’d hate to throw up the first meal she served us.”

“We’d have to tell her about the baby then, wouldn’t we?”

“We’ll tell her anyway, Sean, she’s family.”

The children in the pool had all gone back to their rooms by the time Sean shut the drapes.

“I’m going to bed, I’d like to get an early start tomorrow so that we can reach Tina’s before supper. If we start out by eight we can avoid the freeway,” said Sean. “Are you coming?”

“In a bit. I’m going to sit here a little while… I’m still unwinding. Join you soon.”

As Mary sat in the dark, sipping her tea, she pondered the events of the last couple of days. Her pregnancy wasn’t really a surprise, the only thing she wondered about was why it had taken so long. She had gone off her birth control pills six months earlier, perhaps her body needed the release from the stress of selling her business before she could conceive. Mary came to the realization that ever since she began living with Sean she had been subconsciously heading for this result: motherhood and, in her choice of Sean, a father who would be there—both in body and spirit. A family of her own, a real family. She closed her eyes, mulling these things over. She was quickly asleep.

---

House. Abandoned, perhaps for many years. Walk closer, look through the broken windows. Walk around to the back. Door, hanging loosely, broken hinges. Inside. Kitchen, empty. Dim outline of grease stains where the stove sat. Wear patterns on the linoleum where the table was. Thousands of meals. Stairs lead down to the cellar; dark, dark, don’t go there. Walk through house. Living room. Family celebrations, birthdays, anniversaries: Christmas. House full of noise and laughter. Bathroom, broken tile, dirty tub missing toilet. All the soap and piss and shit and blood and tears of decades. Go up then, up the stairs, walk into empty bedrooms, sensing the lost passion of couples grappling with their shared loneliness through acts of quiet desperate passion. Then the hard times, bankruptcy, death. A house becomes derelict.

Return to the hall. A sound. Pause. Wait. Listen. Something. Someone coming up the stairway. A blurry form coming into view. Try to scream. Screams can’t come. A hand. Touching… touching… me.

---

“Mary? I heard you moaning in your sleep,” It was Sean, standing next to her chair.

“Oh, I’m… it was just a dream… just a bad dream, I was alone and afraid,” Mary said.

“Come to bed,” said Sean, “You don’t have to sleep alone anymore.”



Fiction

Rebirth

This is chapter 64 of The Matriarchy, a serial fiction novel on FITK



Mary entered the inner room. The air within was similar to that of a greenhouse, warm and humid, almost suffocating. The room was illuminated by a feeble orange glow emanating from an overhead light fixture. A shrouded figure occupied a large table in the center of the room. Mary shut the door behind her. She removed the shroud and saw the motionless body of a naked woman lying on the ancient table—Emily.

“Emily, I have come to awaken you,” said Mary, who then climbed up upon the table and straddled the body lying upon the bier.  Mary began to recite a chant she had found in Emily’s book of spells:

Ahmen lonah, ethen gonar, rehan delah.

Mary embraced Emily’s inert body.

Ahmen lonah, ethen gonar, rehan delah.

As she continued, Mary’s embraces became more passionate.

Ahmen lonah, ethen gonar, rehan delah.

Mary began moving her body rhythmically over Emily’s.

Ahmen lonah, ethen gonar, rehan delah.

Fully aroused, Mary’s body became flush with perspiration.

Ahmen lonah, ethen gonar, rehan delah.

As she began to come, Mary kissed Emily on the lips, wetly and deeply. Emily’s body began to shake with small tremors, then larger ones, growing to match Mary’s convulsions. Emily took a deep breath and opened her eyes.

---

Outside, the storm had begun to rage in earnest, with nearly constant lightning and sheets of rain. Sean picked up Mary’s clothes and backpack and set them inside the Chamber House’s outer gate.

---

At the Regelind manor, The Brotherhood was preparing for its full moon visitation to The Chamber House. John, who had been the group’s leader, was sitting at the far side of the circular table, across from the new leader. The discussion concerned the recent events in Seattle. The new leader’s policy of assassination had mixed results. Two potential problems, Sally O'Donnell and Tara, the fortune teller/agent had been eliminated by a covert operative. That operative had then gone back to Tara’s house to ensure that Tara’s apartment was free of any evidence that might have linked her to the brotherhood. When he had inadvertently entered the duplex apartment below Tara’s he had been killed.  Regelind knew that even if he hadn’t gone to the FBI, things were deteriorating so quickly the FBI would soon uncover The Brotherhood’s plot anyway. All that he could do now was wait; the preparations he had made over the last few days were complete. It would all be over soon. The meeting adjourned, and the members went to the house’s rear foyer put on rain gear for the walk to The Chamber House. The CCTV monitor positioned next to the back door, which showed the inside of the chamber room, was blank.

“Probably knocked out by the rain,” said John Regelind, when one of the members asked about the missing CCTV feed.

---

Mary rose up from her position on Emily and cradled Emily’s face in her hands.

“Welcome back,” Mary said, “How do you feel?”

“Groggy. Help me up,” rasped Emily.

Mary got off the table and put an arm around Emily’s shoulder, lifting her to a seated position.

“I’ve got some clothes for you outside. I’ll be right back.”

A gust of cool air swept in when Mary opened the door. She saw Sean standing in the entry, looking out, with her clothes and her backpack lying on the floor behind him.

“Any sign of anyone yet?” said Mary.

“No, it's raining pretty hard. Is she…” Sean said.

“We’ll be out in a minute,” Mary said, picking up her things.

Back in the inner room, Emily had managed to get up from the table and was standing by herself. Mary helped her get dressed and then put her own clothes on.

“Can you walk?” Mary asked, and when Emily nodded, Mary said, “I have someone for you to meet.”

As the women walked out of the room Sean turned around.

“Grandmother… ” he said and tenderly embraced her.

A flurry of yips came from the direction of Regelind’s house.

“Company’s coming,” said Mary, “We’d better head out. I’ll re-lock only a couple of the inner door locks. That will keep them from entering the inner room for a while. By the time they figure it out, we’ll be long gone.”

---

The members of The Brotherhood walked single-file up the path to The Chamber House. As they approached the structure, the rain began to let up. When they reached the building the leader of the group motioned for Regelind to open the outer gate. Regelind, with shaking hands, opened the padlock and stepped back. The leader entered and reached for the switch to turn on the lights in the outer passage. The five sticks of dynamite, which had been embedded in eight hundred pounds of anhydrous ammonia, were connected to blasting caps that were wired to the light switch. In an instant, The Brotherhood ceased to exist.

---

Mary and Sean and Emily were already past the fence and several hundred yards down the creek bed when they heard the explosion and felt the shock wave. When debris began raining down a few seconds later they sought shelter under the overhanging branches of a large tree.

When it had stopped, Sean asked the women: “Was that your doing?”

“No,” said Emily.

“Not me,” Mary said.

“I think that’s the end of The Brotherhood,” said Sean, “Here’s to The Matriarchy, may we live to see the new era.”

“And here’s to my new family,” said Emily.

“We’ll head out as soon as we can to Iowa; you’ve got a daughter who’s been waiting to see you for a long time.” said Sean.

“And then we’ll go back to Seattle,” said Mary, “There’s a great grand-daughter on the way.”

“Yes, that will be nice,” said Emily, “If I can last that long.”





Fiction

Triage

This is chapter 18 of Window Weather, a serial fiction novel on FITK

a party… flashing lights can’t remember where i am… alone… looking down into a deep hole… i know if i get too close i’ll be pulled in by some perverse/reverse will power… something important is happening… i can sense it, but what… where did everyone go… and now i am a child again… throwing stones i hit a boy on the forehead… the blood flows right out and i feel sick so i run away and then my mother tells me not to do it… i have to go to the apartment house and tell the boy’s mother i’m sorry even though he started it… then there is the wail of a siren i think it is the police coming for me...

Sean woke up, alone in his apartment in Reykjavík, the television was on.

   Something is happening.

   What is going on?

Empty wine bottles on the table.

   Billy.

The room started to come into focus.  He became aware that he was sick, really sick. He hadn’t felt like this since that night in the dorm in college—when Billy thought it would be amusing to drug his wine.

“That asshole did it again!” Sean thought, as he staggered to the bathroom and stuck his toothbrush down his throat—a trick he learned in the dorm. After a few minutes of purging, Sean was awake but fuzzy-headed. He went back into the living room. It looked as if it had been hit by a tornado.

Billy had gone through all of Sean’s things: the laptop was gone, as was his jacket, wallet, passport, phone and his shoes.  

“The dirtbag had even stolen my shoes!” thought Sean, “To keep me from following him.”

Billy had emptied out Sean’s suitcase, dumping out his underwear, socks, and papers, leaving nothing of obvious value. But in that pile was Sean’s most valuable possession: the note that Mrs. Robinson had given him in Seattle, a way out of this mess.

Outside the window, reflections of flashing blue and red lights were bouncing off the buildings, coming in the direction of the harbor.

“The siren in my dream! Something is happening.”

Billy’s jacket was lying on the bed. As Sean was picking it up he felt something hard in its lining. Looking through the pockets, he found, through a hole in one of them, a single key, embossed  with the number 11. In lieu of shoes, Sean put on all the of socks that Billy hadn’t taken. He went out and walked down the street, passing the now-dark Russian Embassy and headed to where the lights were brightest.

When he got to the road that serviced the harbor he saw several emergency vehicles. Medical and police personnel had cordoned off an area around a man who was lying in the roadway. Next to the man was a smashed laptop computer.

The computer was Sean’s—he could see the ADR inventory sticker on its bottom. The man was wearing Sean’s jacket. He was obviously dead. Sean knew that it was Billy.

The police were talking to a taxi driver, it was Ole—Sean’s taxi driver. The front end of his cab was damaged. A small crowd had gathered on the sidewalk across the street from where Sean stood. Standing in it were the two goons that Sean had seen the night before at the nightclub. When one of them looked up and made eye contact, Sean turned and walked quickly away without looking back. After he was around the corner he started to run. Away from the horrible scene, away from Billy, away from the goons. Sean kept running. Going through the square by Hotel Borg, running past the pond, and then, with his lungs on fire, Sean ran up the hill behind the big corrugated metal church. The US Embassy was on the next block.

As Sean turned the corner at the top of the hill, it began to rain. He made his way down the street, his clothes were completely soaked by the time he pressed the Embassy’s doorbell. He waited. After a minute, he pressed it again. A groggy voice emerged from the intercom.

“How may we be of assistance?” The voice coming from the speaker spoke in a flat, almost weary tone. It had the inflection someone who had dealt with the major and minor traumas of tourists on a regular basis.

“Gluggaveður. Gluggaveður,” Sean hoped that he wasn’t mangling the pronunciation of the strange word.

“Please wait.”

Sean waited. The narrow overhang above the door did little to stop the downpour. He had been wet when he arrived at the Embassy, but now he was now positively soggy. Sean began to shiver. After a few minutes, a smaller door next to the main entrance opened, and a uniformed guard motioned him inside.

“Proceed down the hall,” said the guard, “At the end of the hall, turn to the right. There is a room with a shower and towels and a bathrobe. Change out of your wet things. Wait there.”

Sean walked down the passageway and when he got to the end he turned and entered a large bathroom fitted with toilets, sinks, lockers and a shower. As the door closed behind him he heard the click of its lock. He tried the door but it wouldn’t open again. On one wall of the room were high windows. They were barred. Sean got the impression that this room was also used as a holding cell. He stripped and entered the shower. Even the warm water couldn’t stop his shaking. He dried off and put the bathrobe on. Gradually, he began to calm down. He was still a little foggy from the wine and whatever it was that Billy had put into it. He was starting to develop a massive headache. Sean tried to make sense of the events of the last two days: Who were those goons? Russians?  Icelandic boyfriends of Silu and Þora? Were they chasing Billy, was that the reason he ran in front of the taxi?

“Tell me what’s going on, Sean.”

It was Sally O’Donnell, who had entered the room with the guard.

“You’re with the embassy?”

“Let’s just say that it was no accident that I was on that flight, nor was it a coincidence that I rescued you yesterday. Think of me as your guardian angel, Sean. I know why you’re here; I know about Billy. Where is he?”

“I think Billy is dead. He was hit by a taxi down by the harbor. I think he may have been running from some thugs, those same guys who were after me last night. They saw me at the accident scene. I didn’t want to end up like Billy. I think that Billy may have been running from them. I came here from there.”

Sally’s look changed. It was the first time Sean had seen her frown.

“You’re sure it was Billy?” she said, “You’re sure he’s dead?”

“He’s dead. It was gruesome. He had taken my ID—my wallet, passport, laptop, everything.”

“Did anyone else see you, anyone besides the thugs?”

“I don’t think so.”

Sean began to tell Sally of the day’s events: his meeting with Billy at Perlan, their walk to the graveyard, drinking in the apartment. Sean didn’t mention Billy’s belief that he and Sean were brothers. He also didn’t bring up Billy’s daughter, nor did he mention Billy’s theory about the deaths of their mothers. Sean now had no doubts that Sally was on the Senator’s payroll.

“He left a key in his jacket pocket,” said Sean, as the guard began to gather up the wet clothes.

“You’ll have to stay here for a while, I’ve got to make some calls. We’ll get those clothes dried for you. Hang on to that key, you might have need of it. Is there anything we can get you in the meantime?”

“Could I get internet access?”

“No.”

“A cup of coffee would be nice.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” said Sally.

“How about an aspirin?”

Sally smiled.

“Sure, Sean, you can have two.”



Next Chapter: Black Coffee and Aspirin

School Days

This is chapter 37 of The Inheritance, a serial fiction novel on FITK



Thursday Evening, September 3, 2020, Seattle

First day of school.

There were three other children that were Mareka’s age in the neighborhood. After several Zoom meetings with their parents and Seattle school officials, Sean and Mary and Jo decided to host a home-schooling variation where the children could meet every morning and deal with their at-home on-line and in-person lessons. The afternoons would be different for each child, depending on their other interests and possible in-school activities. Jo volunteered as primary host, with Sean as a reserve. Mary thought that in the interest of shielding the children from untoward interests it would be better if her history of witchcraft was not mentioned. Sean remodeled the garage into a classroom of sorts with workstations and a ventilation system that minimized the usual cloud of respiratory particles. They had also gotten a forehead thermometer for daily checks.

“There’s only so much we can do beforehand,” said Jo, in the final zoom meeting with the parents and their children and their teacher the day before, “But I’m looking forward to the first day of classes.”

“Let’s do this thing,” said Sean, “See you tomorrow.”

Sean closed the Zoom meeting and sat looking at the blank desktop for a minute.

“Everything all right?” asked Mary, “You look a little stunned.”

“Everything’s fine… Just different,” said Sean, “How about you, Mareka, are you looking forward to school?”

“I’m all set, Pops,” said the child, “The kids are cool.”

‘The Kids’ were Benny, Sara and Jack, all born within a few months of Mareka. Their parents had meet Sean and Mary through a neighborhood group, first virtually, then in real life with masks and distancing. It had been a month since Jo had her Covid-19 scare, and she had gone for an antibodies test. It came back positive, indicating that she had gotten over the disease. That fact was, in Jo’s mind, disturbing. Was Mareka’s intervention the cure? She didn’t know what to believe. Mary and Sean had been tested for the virus at the same time, with negative results. Mareka and all the other kids and their parents had received Covid tests which were also negative. It was an imperfect answer to the situation, but one they all agreed on, with careful monitoring and further re-checks.

“Here’s to our great new adventure!” said Mary, hoisting her can of fizz water.

“Cheers!” said Sean and Jo.

“Bu-u-u-rp!” eructated Mareka, as she held her can aloft.

---

Against her better judgement, Barbara Merrit had decided to call Marcel DuPage and ask for his help. She had spent several weeks researching the Khorosho Tavern after finding the traces of its address on her notepad. Property and licensing records were inconclusive; the deed and the commercial permits were held by anonymous holding companies. After what had happened to her a month ago, she was wary of returning to the place alone. With the flamboyant Marcel leading the way while she wore a wig, glasses and a nondescript outfit, Barbara thought that he would be the center of attention and she could observe things without being noticed.

It was twilight when the couple walked up to the tavern. There were no lights on inside and a handwritten sign on the door said: Closed due to Covid-19.

“Well, that sucks,” said Barbara, “Let’s go around to the back, maybe there is someone there who can answer a few questions.”

“Do you really think that wise?” said Marcel, “I mean if these guys knocked you out once, there’s no telling what they might do if we showed up sneaking around.”

“Just a look-see,” she said as they turned the corner, “If we get caught just act dumb.”

“Easy for some, not for all. I’m hardly dressed for a night of slumming.”

In the back of the building there were two unmarked doors. Barbara tried one and it was locked. The other one, however, opened to a stairway that led up to the second floor. there was a feeble light at the top that showed a hallway beyond.

“Apartments!” hissed Barbara, “Com’on, but do it quietly,” whispered Barbara.

“Not in my job description,” hissed Marcel, but he went up anyway.

At the top of the stairs was a hallway that went the length of the building. There were four doors, two on each side, with the expected numbers: 1, 2, 3, 4. There were no signs of occupancy—it was quiet and no light came from under the doors. Barbara tried the first door—it was locked—and going down the hall the result was the same.

“This is creeping me out,“ whispered Marcel, “Let’s get out of here.”

“O.K., so it wasn’t my best idea,“ said Barbara, “Lead the way.”

When they got to the bottom of the stair well there was a door that they had walked past in their eagerness to explore the apartments.

“I’ll bet this leads to the tavern,” said Barbara as she tried the knob. It stuck for a moment but when she twisted again it opened, revealing a hallway. The stale odor of food and alcohol was in the air. Marcel and Barbara turned on their phone lights and a grimy passageway was revealed. They could see the darken restaurant at the far end. An alcove on one side caught her attention and they went in. “I’ve been here before,” she said, looking at the table, “I can feel it.”

She sat down in one of the chairs.

“Here. This is the spot. Marcel, sit on the other side of the table.”

Marcel sat down. There was a cheap LED tealight on the table next to a drink menu. He flipped the switch on the bottom of the light and a feeble glow emerged.

“It’s coming back to me now,” said Barbara, “Turn off your phone light.”

With their lights extinguished, sitting in the light cast by the feeble ‘candle’, Barbara’s memory opened up.

“I remember talking to a man with a mask. I remember a waitress—Nadia was her name—she came in with drinks, and drank, then I began to feel so strange.  The man said he had been watching Sean, and I began to feel dizzy, and the man said ‘Sergey’ and then I was lifted up and then… then there was nothing.”

“I don’t want to be the damp blanket here,” said Marcel, “But we must get out of here, NOW! There are really bad vibes in this place.”

Barbara nodded and they went back to the hall and out the door.

---

On a monitor in apartment #4 above the Khorosho Tavern, Sergey Limonov watched the couple leave the alley and go around the building. He switched to the camera on the front of the tavern and saw them get into Barbara’s car and drive off. He assembled a timeline of the footage of the couple from the time they arrived until their departure.

“Некоторые дураки никогда не узнают” he said to himself as he hit “Save.”




Next Chapter: Truth and Consequences

Special Effects

This is chapter 25 of The Matriarchy, a serial fiction novel on FITK



After Sean returned from the grocery he spent time going through his mother’s things.

All of her personal effects had been shipped to Tina en masse after her death. He put his mother’s clothes into boxes for the thrift store. Mary and Tina had both looked at them. They were now fourteen years out of date and, even if they had fit, neither woman wanted to wear business clothes from the nineties. His mother’s computer was a relic now. It did boot up, however, and Sean was able to transfer her files to a portable hard drive with an adapter he had brought with him from Seattle. He would deal with her hardware when he disposed of his own college computer. He also put aside a box of his mother’s papers. Mary was napping; she had been asleep when left to get groceries and was sleeping again when he got back. Just as he finished loading the car with his mother’s clothes, Mary came out of the house carrying her laptop.

“Drop me off at the Magpie, will you? I’ve got to get in touch with the law office,” she said, “I think I’ve finally recovered from last night. It’s hard to sleep when you have someone’s grandmother hanging out in your brain.”

“Tina told me that you had had another ‘visit’ from Emily,” said Sean. “Are you going to be able to deal with that?”

“It’s a little unnerving at first, to have someone else living in your head. But she’s on my side. I’ll be fine.”

They drove into town. Sean dropped Mary off at the coffee shop, then went on to the thrift store with his mother’s clothes. He took a stroll around the store; it was a habit from his college days when he would rebuild his wardrobe every few months. Those trips he made in college weren’t about needing clothes, they were about building new identities.  Although his current tastes in clothing ran toward Generic Pacific Northwest Outdoor, he hadn’t dropped the scrounging habit completely. His luck had run out in Seattle; most of the quality menswear he found there was usually worn out.  Decorah might be different, he thought, as he fingered a wool Pendleton shirt. It was his size, but when he tried it on he found that it was cut strangely—looking at the label he saw that it had been made in Mexico.  “Someone else couldn’t wear it either,” thought Sean.

Back in the coffee shop, Mary had connected with her lawyers. Everything was quiet in Seattle, with no further developments in the sale of ADR. The legal team had kept a monitor on activity concerning her naked balcony picture and found that new postings of it had suddenly ceased; it was also disappearing from forums where it had been previously displayed. Her lawyers thought it might have something to do with the fallout from a recent celebrity phone hacking case; no site operator wanted to undergo that kind of criminal investigation.

“Any news from Seattle?” Sean said, sitting down with a cup of coffee and a scone.

“Good news, that is to say, no news,” said Mary, “How was the thrift store?”

“Well, they did take my mother’s clothes. They didn’t have anything that I needed. Can I use your laptop to check my mail?”

“That’s the ultimate test of a relationship, isn’t it?” said Mary,  “We might as well get married now—it’s like using the same toilet. Here, I’m finished for now. I’m going to go outside and check out the town. Be back in a half hour or so.”

“I’ll put the lid down when I'm done,” said Sean.

As Mary left the shop she noticed a storefront across the street. It was apparently an antique store of some kind. There was no proper sign but its windows were filled with miscellany: obsolete machines, broken toys, rusty tools and retro appliances. There were also small paper notes taped on the windows. Hand lettered, they contained rants which concerned religion, politics, and general world unrest. She went up to the door and found it to be unlocked. Opening it timidly, Mary walked inside. The shop’s interior was full of things arrayed as if they had been in a gentle explosion: an explosion strong enough to place them chaotically around the room, but gentle enough that nothing was damaged. Mary started to get a sensation of cold descending around her shoulders again, although this time she remained in control of her emotions.

“Hello? Is anybody here?” Mary said.

She heard a rustling sound coming from the back of the shop, followed by a high, reedy voice: “I’m here, just making a little tea.” An elderly man emerged from the rubble. He was tall, with piercing blue eyes, thin white hair, and pale, almost translucent skin.

“Edwin Duddle is my name, Miss, how may I help you?”

“I… Is this an antique store or is it a museum?” Mary said as she felt Emily’s presence  getting stronger, “I was curious, I hope I’m not intruding. There are so many interesting things here.”

“Well it isn’t exactly a store, but it certainly isn’t a museum. But as they say, everything has its price, doesn’t it?” said the man, “You aren’t from around here, are you? Are you a student at the seminary?”

Mary felt a tightening in her throat. She had lost control of her vocal apparatus and, to her surprise, found herself speaking in Emily’s voice.

“Edwin Duddle, this is Emily speaking. This woman you see before you is Mary, she is going to marry my grandson, Sean.”

“Emily? Is that you, speaking through another?” said Edwin, recognizing the voice. He took this manifestation calmly, almost as if it were something which had happened to him every day. “I’ve been waiting for your return.”

Edwin, will you give Mary the book I left with you?” said Emily/Mary.

“I will do that thing for you, Emily, I will get it.” Edwin hurried to the rear of the store, back into the office from where he had emerged. By the time he returned with the book, Mary had full control of her faculties again. Emily was not present. “Here it is, Emily… ”

“Emily’s gone,” said Mary, “Mr. Duddle? Did you know Emily Carroll?”

“Oh yes, Miss… Mary. I knew her, it was 1946, just after the war. I was just a kid in high school, in the same class as her daughter Tina. That was when she came back from New York and had her second child, Marilyn. I knew Emily, I spent quite a bit of time at the Carroll place. She taught me drawing. She told me many strange things. And now she’s back, in you. It’s her way. Tina knows about these things too… I see that your instruction has begun.”

“It has,” Mary said, and as she spoke she could see Edwin’s head ringed by a faint circle of light—his halo. Mary knew that it wasn’t a physical manifestation, but it was somehow projected onto him from her understanding; she felt it was a sign that she could trust this man.  She looked down at the book’s binding which had some of the same characters that were in the ledger which Tina had given her. Edwin reached out and gently touched Mary’s fingers as he gave her the book. She put it in her purse and said:

“Edwin Duddle, I accept this as a gift from Emily, through you.”


“I’ve been waiting for you, waiting ever so long,” he said.





Fiction

Seventy Year Itch

This is chapter 43 of The Matriarchy, a serial fiction novel on FITK



In the morning, Mary was up, dressed, and out of the house before Sean awoke. She went to the spot in the meadow where she had seen the apparition of Emily. After reading the Book of Power, she could sense the center of the ‘spot’ quite easily; all of her experiences had begun to merge into a coherent whole. They didn’t make ‘sense’ in the strict sense of the word, but Mary felt much more comfortable in exploring the aspects of her new-found powers. She stepped into the locus and immediately felt the same coldness which had previously happened when she had been inhabited by Emily. This time, however, Emily was ‘talking’ to Mary, not through her.

"Welcome to the Matriarchy," thought Emily, “I see that you have unlocked the secrets of the Book of Power. You have proven to be most receptive. I am able to communicate with you, but only for a limited time.”

“I am grateful for your assistance,” thought Mary, “There is so much to know.”

“And time is short. Listen now, I will tell you how the situation we now find ourselves in has come to pass,” thought Emily, who then began to relate the story:

“When I was a child, I learned the Secrets of the Matriarchy from my grandmother. Seeing that I was receptive she instructed me, in secret, in all the powers as well as giving me the rings. She was the victim of a witch-hunt by the local minister, and was taken away to an asylum. I never saw her again. I kept these things to myself, and when I came of age I went to New York City, a place where my grandmother said I would find like-minded people and be able to live without the threat of persecution from the provincials in Iowa. I landed in Greenwich Village, and fell in with a group of struggling artists who would soon become successful. Although my artistic talents were great, I soon learned that cultivating the interests of rich men in power was far more lucrative. The Regelind tobacco dynasty had grown enormously in the twenties, and I became the mistress of its founder, John Regelind, Sr., and was ultimately impregnated by him. A scandal would be bad for his marriage and reputation so, by mutual consent, I returned to Decorah and gave birth to Tina. After a suitable time, I left her with Henry and Alice, who were childless, and returned to New York City and took up with John again, right where we had left off.

After the 1929 crash, Regelind Tobacco was only slightly affected; people wouldn’t give up their smokes. It was one of the few industries that actually grew during the depression. When World War II broke out, John Regelind was consumed with government work, but by then I had became consumed with his son, John Junior, who was in the military, stationed in Virginia; we could discreetly continue our affair. Again I became pregnant and again I returned to Iowa, where I gave birth to Sean’s mother, Marylin. While I was there, I tutored Edwin Duddle. When Tina found out about our intimacy, I went back to New York. John Sr. had died of a heart attack, and John Jr. was now the head of the company. Our relationship was strained. He said he wanted to make up with me and brought me to his home in Virginia. On this pretext, he lured me into a strange round building in a remote area of the estate. When I was inside, several men grabbed me. I used the power of suspended animation—you’ve read about it in the book—and I was immobilized. I have been trapped in this state since then; never aging, but immune from all harm. The group of men call themselves ‘The Brotherhood’ and through the years have used their power and influence to oppress the masses and destroy any manifestation of The Matriarchy.

Although my physical being is in a state of suspended animation, it is possible for me to communicate with ‘sensitives.’ Your awareness of the Matriarchy was triggered when you became pregnant. There are other ‘sensitives’ throughout the world. Their time is coming soon, and you will be their prophet. Sean’s children will be leaders of the new generation who will release the world from the dark grip of The Brotherhood.

“How will I know what paths I should take?” thought Mary.

“Make the ‘sensitives’ aware of their powers,” thought Emily, “Protect Sean and his children from harm. Find me and release me from bondage, for that will begin the destruction of The Brotherhood.”

“Sean and I will have more children?” thought Mary.

“You and Sean will have a daughter. Sean’s son has already been born, in the tribe of Auður the deep.”

Mary began to feel the coldness lift from her shoulders; she knew her time with Emily was coming to an end.

“When will I speak with you again?” thought Mary.

“At the time of my deliverance,” thought Emily, “When we share a naked kiss.”

---

When Sean woke up, sunlight was streaming into the bedroom. He walked over to the window and, looking out, saw Mary standing in the meadow with her head bowed. He watched her until she raised her head and began walking back to the farmhouse. By the time Sean was dressed he heard the kitchen screen door slam. Going down the stairs and into the kitchen, Mary and Tina were preparing breakfast.

“You were with Emily?” said Tina.

“She was here,” Mary said, “We had a conversation. She told me about what happened in New York: about her life, about The Matriarchy and The Brotherhood, and about Sean’s children.”

“Children, as in the plural?” asked Sean.

“The boy in Iceland is yours, Sean. And he’s part of this as well,” said Mary.

“Oh dear,” said Tina.

“Emily told me that her body is in a state of suspended animation. She is imprisoned in a ‘round building’ on the Regelind estate in Virginia,” said Mary.

“Regelind, of the tobacco dynasty?” asked Sean.

“Yes. The Brotherhood is affiliated with it,” said Mary, “She told me who your father is, Tina, and who Marilyn’s father was.”

“Do I want to know?” Tina nervously asked, “This is all tied together, isn’t it?”

“John Sr. was your father, Tina. He was the one who wrote those love letters,” said Mary, “But John Jr. was your mother’s father, Sean. No wonder they didn’t want it to become known—you are both heirs to the Regelind fortune.”

“And, for that reason, my mother was killed. I suspect that she had found out and was threatening to expose the Regelinds. Is there a John the third?” said Sean.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he is the current leader of The Brotherhood,” said Mary, ”All the secrets are going to be revealed. Emily has been waiting seventy years to tell them.”

---

After breakfast, Mary and Sean went into town to check in with developments in Seattle. Then Sean took Mary to visit the final power center. It was in a churchyard, not far from Tina’s place on a windswept hill. Adjoining it was a small cemetery dotted with gravestones. Most were new, but there were also a sprinkling of older ones as well. Mary found the ‘spot’ with little trouble. It was behind one of the larger monuments. She sat down in its shadow. Sean wandered among the rows, at a distance, keeping an eye on Mary.

Mary began her trance.

---

Molly Berenson, in Seattle, hesitated a moment before phoning. She felt as if she was signing her own death warrant. She did press the ‘call’ button, however, and when Sally O’Donnell answered, she simply said:

“Coffee today?”

“Same place, same time?” answered Sally.

“Yes. See you then,” said Molly. She hung up. And then she threw up.




Fiction 

Nightlife

This is chapter 10 of Window Weather, a serial fiction novel on FITK



As Sean walked down to the old harbor he was trying to figure out his next move. The city was obviously too small to have two Billy Clarksons. He would have to change his appearance enough so he could go unnoticed, but still be able to impersonate him if needed. Wearing glasses and hiding his hair under a hat was the best solution Sean could come up with for the short term. He thought he might be able to find a costume shop in the morning.

The buzz from Sean’s phone broke his reverie. It was a text from Seattle where his ADR crew was monitoring activity from Billy’s laptop. They hadn’t able to read the data but could tell that the device was being used in a wifi hot spot in or around The Hotel Holt. According to Sean’s GPS it was just a few blocks away. He made his way past the pond and then up the hill to the Hotel. After he looked around at an intersection at the top, he was able to see the hotel looming under the night sky. Its architectural style was definitely of the ‘Depressed Scandinavian’ school. Sean weighed his options. Should he wait on the street in the hope of intercepting Billy as he left, or should he just barge in and make a scene? If Billy was also wearing his Icelandic sweater, people would think they were twins. Sean checked his phone: Billy was still nearby. Sean went in.

The lobby was infinitely more inviting: tasteful decor, large paintings, and leather chairs. Except for a clerk at the counter, it was empty. A quick scan of the restaurant and the lounge revealed a few more people, but not Billy. Sean couldn’t search all the rooms, obviously, Billy might not even be in the hotel. Was he nearby, outside perhaps? Sean went out to the street and walked around to the hotel’s service entrance. He looked at the properties near the hotel but saw no one. He was just about to check the lobby again when a buzz from his phone signaled an incoming text from ADR in Seattle: Billy had just terminated his access.

Sean headed back to his apartment via a different route. He walked over the bridge which bisected the pond, then went past a row of houses facing the pond before he jogged over to the street where his apartment was situated. Sean needed more information than his phone could deliver. When he turned to go into his apartment, Sean noticed that the Russian Embassy across the street was dark, as if they weren’t expecting company. He entered his apartment and opened his laptop. After logging in he, opened the ADR file on Billy. There was a bunch of new stuff—they were building a database of Billy’s movements. They had overlaid the Wi-Fi connection points Billy had used onto a map of the city. There were even thumbnails of the photos they found of Billy but they hadn’t yet linked. Sean saw that they were tracking him as well: his trip to Karamba had already been noted. He went through a door that opened on the apartment’s small balcony. From the balcony he had a clear view of the Russian Embassy. A solitary figure, most likely a man, walked past the Embassy before retracing his steps. Looking around for a second, the man vaulted over the wrought-iron fence surrounding the compound.  He then disappeared into the darkness in the shrubbery that circled the Embassy building.

The shadowy figure looked a lot like Billy.

Running out of his apartment, Sean dashed across the street to where he had seen the man enter the Embassy grounds.

“Billy... Billy... It’s me… Sean...”, Sean said as loudly as he dared.

No response. The wind had begun to pick up. Sean, shivering, realized that he had left his jacket behind.

“Billy... Billy… I know you’re there. Come out and talk. You know that I’m here for you? Just like it used to be in school—I’m there when you need me.”

Sean thought about jumping the fence but he knew that getting caught in Russian territory would not only jeopardize his mission, it might even cause an international incident.

“Billy, listen to me. I want to talk to you,” said Sean, “Whatever is going on, I don’t care. If you aren’t ready to talk now, email me—use my old address, it’s still good.”

No response came from the shrubbery. As the wind began to really howl, a light came on in a window in the embassy. Reluctantly, Sean turned and went back to his apartment.

Back inside, he turned off all the lights and looked out across the street at the Embassy. After a few minutes the light in the Embassy window was switched off; after a few minutes more, Sean saw the man, who he thought might be Billy, jump back over the fence and take off running, going past the Embassy and then around the corner. Sean grabbed his jacket and left the apartment.

When Sean reached the corner, he crouched down and slowly peered around a fence. He could see Billy, or whoever it was, walking a block ahead of him. The figure reached a spot where street led to a square. Sean let the man get just out of his sight and then began to run in his direction. Breathless, Sean arrived at the spot where the street opened up to the big square on his left. A somber government building was on his right. Just ahead stood a church, strangely glowing under the night sky. There was no sign of the man. Looking back to his left, Sean saw a group of people huddled around a doorway on the far side of the square. Perhaps his quarry had taken refuge there?

When Sean got closer to the queue he could see that it was the entrance to some kind of music venue. Throbbing music emerged from its open door. A doorman stared hard at Sean as he approached—perhaps he thought he was seeing double? Sean thought that the best chance to meet Billy was to pay the cover and go in.



Next Chapter: Beats

With This Ring…

This is chapter 32 of The Matriarchy, a serial fiction novel on FITK



“I’ll be with you in a minute,” shouted Edwin from his office after Mary, Sean, and Tina had entered his curio shop. A few minutes later he walked out, “My, Mary, you look stunning in that dress! Hello, Tina, you are looking fine today as well.”

“Hello, Edwin,” said Tina, curtly, “Come along now, it’s almost ten.  And what have you there, in your hand?”

“I was wondering if you have need of some wedding rings,” Edwin said, opening a small box. “Emily gave them to me for safekeeping before she left.”

The rings were unadorned; one was larger than the other. Mary looked closely at the smaller one and tried it on.

“It fits, and it goes perfectly with Emily’s grandmother’s ring,” Mary said, holding her hand up. “Sean, how does the other one fit?”

“It’s a little loose, but should be fine. I hadn’t thought of getting a band. What can I give you for these?”

“You can give me what I paid for them—nothing. I’m thinking that Emily would want you two to have them.” said Edwin.

The courthouse was a short walk from Edwin’s shop. Once inside, they found the Judge’s office. His secretary greeted them.

“You can go in now,” she said, motioning toward the door of the Judge’s chambers. “He’s expecting you.”

The judge was older than Mary had expected and possessed a gravitas suitable to the occasion. Mary could tell by his smile that he knew both Tina and Edwin, as well as their histories. He shook hands with everybody. After exchanging pleasantries and giving the couple copies of their vows, he positioned the group and began:

“Welcome to family and friends. We are here to participate in a wedding. By this act, we unite Sean Carroll and Mary Robinson as husband and wife. What we do today is done in conformity with the laws of the state of Iowa, and in the tradition of all places and times. Sean and Mary, you stand before me having requested that I marry you to each other. Do you both do this of your own free will, with no pressure upon you from other persons?”

 Mary, looking at Sean, thought about how they had come to be together—almost effortlessly—as natural as any relationship could be. Sean, looking at Mary, was struck with an awareness of the totality her being; his love for her was almost overwhelming.

“We do.”

“Do any of the witnesses know of any reason why we may not legally continue with this wedding?”

Tina glanced quickly at Edwin and, seeing him looking at her, quickly looked away.

“Edwin is a decent enough man, even though he has gotten a bit dotty, no worse than the rest of us, I suppose," she thought.

Edwin had been looking at Tina since they entered the chambers. He thought: "Tina still looks pretty good for her age, better than most of them. Of course, most of them are dead."

“We do not,” said Tina and Edwin, reading from their script.

“Then let us continue. Sean, if it is your desire to become the husband of Mary, then repeat after me: I, Sean, take you, Mary, to be my wife. In this moment, I promise before these witnesses to love you and care for you all of our days. I accept you with your faults and your strengths, even as I offer myself with my faults and strengths. I promise to support you when you need support and to turn to you when I need support. I choose you as the one with whom I will spend my life.”

As Sean recited his vows, he thought that whoever wrote them had a good idea of makes a relationship work. Mary had already supported and cared for him far beyond what he could have imagined when he first met her.

“I, Mary, take you, Sean, to be my husband. In this moment, I promise before these witnesses to love you and care for you all of our days. I accept you with your faults and your strengths, even as I offer myself with my faults and strengths. I promise to support you when you need support and to turn to you when I need support. I choose you as the one with whom I will spend my life.”

As Mary read the vows she thought of Sean's selflessness in his support of her, in her business, and now in this dual adventure: Her pregnancy and Emily’s appearances. “Is Emily going to become a pregnancy complication?” she thought.

“Sean and Mary, you have shared promises in our presence. Do you have a token or symbol which you wish to exchange?”

“We do.”

“Sean, give your token to Mary and repeat these words:”

"I, Sean Allen Carroll, give you, Mary Wilma Robinson, this ring as a constant reminder of the promises we exchanged today. As you receive it, receive my promise of faithfulness to you.”

Sean placed the ring on Mary's finger. It might have been the light, but he thought he could see a faint aura around the band as it settled into place.

“Mary, give your token to Sean and repeat these words:”

"I, Mary Wilma Robinson, give you, Sean Allen Carroll, this ring as a constant reminder of the promises we exchanged today. As you receive this ring, receive my promise of faithfulness to you.”

Mary could sense Sean's overall aura brighten as she placed the ring on his finger. She definitely saw an aura form around his wedding band, “These are no ordinary rings,” she thought.

“Sean and Mary, you have exchanged your promises and given and received tokens in my presence. By these acts, you have become husband and wife. According to the laws of the state of Iowa, I hereby pronounce you are husband and wife. You may seal your promise with a kiss.”

As Sean and Mary embraced, Edwin gently clasped Tina’s hand.

Tina did not pull it away.




Fiction

Desperately Seeking Sharon, Part 4

Visions of Sharon

How long I was out? An hour? A day? Time had lost all meaning. Guido said I was mumbling incoherently but my rantings occasionally would make some sense. As he paddled us out of that steaming swamp, he cleverly turned on my voice-actuated recorder and clipped it to my collar. Most of what I muttered was garbage, but here is a transcript of some of my more cogent utterances:

Ain’t it just like Sharon to play tricks when you're tryin’ to be so quiet?
Batty sits here stranded, though he’s doing his best to deny it
And he draws a sheet full of Sharon’s, it’s so tempting to try it
Google and Flickr on the laptop, the screen’s a little soft
In his computer the hard drive just coughs
The internet connection’s acting rough
But there’s nothing, really nothing to turn off
Just Batty and his muse, so entwined
And these visions of Sharon that conquer his mind

In the empty net where the gamers blindman’s bluff role play
And the all-night surfers watch auctions on eBay
He can hear the lonely click of his mouse, and strains
Asking himself if it's him or them that’s really insane
Batty, he’s all right, he’s just a bit weird
He’s delicate and draws like Vermeer
But that just makes it all too concise and too clear
That Sharon’s not here
The ghost of electricity howls in the bones of her face
Where these visions of Sharon have now taken their place

Now, little Batty lost, he does his work so frivolously
He denies his misery, he likes to live vicariously
And when bringing her name up
He speaks of a long-ago post to see
He's sure got a lot of gall to be so useless and all
Muttering small talk at the screen, he starts to stall
How can he explain?
Oh, it's so hard to get on
And these visions of Sharon, they kept him up past the dawn

Inside the web, an emoticon goes up with a smile
Voices echo this is what salivation must be like after a while
But Sharon must of done the highway race
You can tell by her comely grimace
See the primitive wallpaper frieze
With its stick-figured women, all eating cheese
Hear the one with the mustache say,
"Jeeze, I can’t find Sharon's knees"
Oh, the beret and ribbons hang from the head of the girl
And these visions of Sharon, they make everything whirl

The Professor now speaks to the Weaver who’s pretending to care about it
Saying, "Name me someone that’s not an artist and I’ll buy him a crayon forthwith"
But like Batty always says to himself,
“Ya can’t draw that well yourself can ya man?”
As the Weaver‘s unamused smile is wan
And Sharon, she still has not showed
We see these empty links now corrode
Where her cape with an “S” once had flowed
Batty now steps into the road
He says, “Everything's been redrawn which was once old”
On the back of the flash animation that loads
While his MacBook explodes
That gnarled finger fondles the delete key and then refrains
And these visions of Sharon are now all that remain

“Too much time spent listening to Blonde on Blonde in your stoner days, eh, boss?”

Good old greazy Guido, always looking out for me.

“No, she's a brunette, and thank God we're finished with this hellish river!”

“Aren't you forgetting something, Batty?”

Guido's perpetual sneer had turned upward, changing into a most disturbing leer.

“I can’t think of anything, what is it?”

“It's time for your tick check.”

Just then my cell phone buzzed, on the screen a cryptic text message:

Batty, R U Psychic? -SS

And it was then when I knew where I had to go to find Sharon.


Part 4 of 7

In the Belly of the Beast

This is chapter 26 of Window Weather, a serial fiction novel on FITK



Sally was right.

The reception was full of young women who were interested in Billy. Twenty-somethings were well represented—many of them casting surreptitious glances Sean’s way. The thirty-somethings simply stared. “Clothes make the man?” thought Sean. Herbert, who had been assigned to ‘Billy’ as his valet, had certainly known what he was doing. Billy’s closets contained quite a collection of high-end men’s clothes and Herbert really knew how to coordinate them, although Sean didn’t care for the shoes Herbert picked; Sean had to convince him to ditch the wingtips. Sean idly wondered if Billy’s appearance, in the minds of the single women in attendance, inspired thoughts of a White House wedding. He was starting to think the same way that Billy would have.

A large group was waiting for the Senator in the foyer and adjoining rooms of a sizeable mansion in suburban Richmond. His plane was late; he was flying in from a rally in Miami. Sean’s appetite still had not returned, so he drank champagne, as discreetly as possible. The staff saw to it that his glass was never empty. Nora and Sally kept their eyes on ‘Billy.’ They were making sure that Sean looked as if he was enjoying himself. He was seated on a sofa by the fireplace, with a stupid ‘PR grin’ plastered on his face. Sean stood up to greet one of the thirty-somethings who had come over and had asked to sit beside him. She was slim, in a black cocktail dress and flats. The woman placed her expensive-looking clutch purse between them. The diamond studded earrings that she wore must have been at least three carats each; her style could be summed up in a word: expensive.

“You’re looking sharp, Billy, your maturity suits you. Did you pick out those clothes?”

“I’m afraid not, it is my man Herbert who has the fashion eye.”

“Herbie’s still around? He’s the only person who has ever had any class in that house,” said the woman, “So, tell me, where have you been hiding since you dumped me, without so much as a phone call, seven years ago?”

“So sorry about that. Mea Culpa,” Sean said. He didn’t have the faintest idea who the woman was, but, using Billy’s M.O., Sean tried to mollify her. The champagne was starting to have an effect on him and he was becoming quite relaxed. “I’ve been abroad. You might say that I’m still trying to find my place in the world."

“Abroad? Your place in the world?” said the woman, “Hahaha. Billy, always the kidder. Your place in the world is on a broad. Tell me this, international man of mystery, what is my name?”

“What?”

“You heard me, what is my name? Say it. Tell me my name... ” There was a pause as the woman waited for an answer. “You can’t even remember my Goddamn name, can you?”

“No, I’m sorry, I can’t,” Sean knew this wasn’t the place to start a fight with one of Billy's old girlfriends, “Please forgive me, I’m not the man I once was.”

“As if that were true. I’ve seen you looking around. Who will get ‘the Billy treatment’ tonight?”

“Look, I didn’t come here to make a scene, or to pick up a woman. I’m just doing what I can to help my father. Please, let it go. If you will excuse me.”

Sean stood up to leave the woman but when he turned around to leave the room kept on turning without him. He was a lot drunker than he had thought. At that same moment, a commotion erupted outside the mansion: the limo with the senator was arriving. The whirling of the room around Sean’s head began moving down to his gut. Sean asked one of the serving staff where the bathroom was. Everyone in the house was rushing the other way in order to greet the Senator.

Sean made it to a bathroom where he managed to have the wherewithal to hang up Billy’s jacket before he ‘assumed the position’ in front of the toilet. Between purges, Sean could hear the applause growing from the crowd that was now outside the house. Then a great roar went up and, at the exact same moment, everything went dark and Sean felt an excruciating pain in his belly. He was still retching and his abdominal pains increased with each new spasm. He could feel a warm wetness seeping through his shirt and when he reached to touch it he felt the handle of a knife. He heard a muffled voice speak:

“Bastard.”

And then he passed out.

---

To: MollyBee23@SeattleBestMail.net
From: M.Robinson@ADRinc.com
Re: Sean

Molly, I received something this pm which confirms your doubts. Meet me at the aluminum tree in the sculpture garden 5ish? And bring the clearest photo you have of Sean's face. 

Mary




To: M.Robinson@ADRinc.com
From: MollyBee23@SeattleBestMail.net

Re: Re: Sean 

I'll be there, 5 it is.

Molly

---

On the plaza of the sculpture garden, Mrs. Robinson found Molly looking at an image of Sean on her iPad.

“Molly! You’ve got a good picture of Sean? Great. Let’s go inside. I have something to show you.”

The women went into the pavilion and got coffee before they sat down. Mary Robinson opened a folder containing papers and photographs.

“Molly, zoom in and look at the right eye of Sean in your photo and give me an approximate position of the brown flecks in his iris—as if they were numbers on a clock face.”

“I see a small one at two o’clock, a larger one at seven, and another small one between nine and ten.”

“Now, look at this enlarged section of the photo I received in an image file today. The right eye.”

“They are they same.”

“Now, look at the other eye.”

“The same pattern is on each eye in both photographs.”

“Now look at this—the full image—and tell me what you see.”

“It’s Sean, sitting in a cafe, in the daytime, holding a foreign newspaper up to his face.”

“It’s Icelandic. Now, look at the date on the paper.”

“It says ‘Five Maí.’”

“That’s the morning after Sean was supposedly killed,“ said Mary, “You were right, he is alive.”

“Where did you get this?” asked Molly.

“It was in a memory card that was hidden in a greeting card—mailed from Reykjavík on the fifth. Look for yourself,” Mary said, handing Molly the card. Mary read the inscription.

Not dead yet. It’s in the card. Your eyes only. Wait for instructions.

“What does it mean, Mrs. Robinson? Why hasn’t Sean called or sent an email?”

“I’m not certain why, but we now know for sure that the body in the morgue isn’t Sean’s. How did you know that it wasn’t, Molly?”

“There is a tiny scar on Sean’s chest, just above his heart… From where I bit him.”

“That might be too much information, but I’ll make an exception in this case. I’ve got too much information as well, more information that was also on the memory card. It may explain who is behind this situation, but I am not yet at liberty to talk about it. We need to go back to the morgue and make them do a dental record check. I’ll tell them that the company’s life insurance policy requires it. That may buy us enough time to find out what has happened to Sean.”

As she spoke, Mary Robinson’s phone began to buzz. She read the text message that had been sent from the office:

Breaking news Billy C stabbed TV is all over it pls advise

“Molly, we may find out sooner than I thought. Can you pull up a news feed on your pad?”



Next Chapter: Mr. Lucky

Mondays in Iceland - #48

Saturday I found myself in the company of a posse of exploratory Germans, heading northwest to Snæfellsnes on a day trip. We started in the dark, braved the swirling snows north of Borgarnes, and were out on Snæfellsnes by the time it was bright enough to see the ghost of the mountain spine down the center. The moon hung overhead, still fat and nearly full, and the air had that fresh Icelandic country flavor I adore so much.

By the time we reached Arnarstapi at the south of the tip, the sun was properly up, creating window-glow and turning the clouds above the mountains pink. There´s a tiny harbor there, among improbable turrets of moss-topped basalt. On that quiet Saturday morning, the only other activity was a trio of fishermen at work on their little boat. The faint sounds of the radio announcer drifted out from the open car door on the dock, and there were muffled clunks and engine noises coming from inside the ship. Down there at the edge of the country the rocks contort themselves into fantastic curves, cliffs, and parapets, the castle walls that protect Iceland. It's a place I want to visit more, wander on those little paths that disappear over the undulations of the landscape. It's always been just a day trip though, and the plans of the day snatch me away before I'm able to go around that next corner.

We stopped for lunch at the turf-roofed kaffistofa there, where the low wood-framed room inside was cozy and the coffee was plentiful. The lone attendant there, a woman d'un certain age, was resolutely non-English speaking in spite of the foreign crowd, but pressed the coffee refills on us, and brought us our fish-flavored french fries quickly. By the time we departed, the weather was looking a bit lower but we continued on to the famous rock formations at the end. These frozen lava-splashes look like sentinels keeping watch at the end of the peninsula, and are accompanied by a wide beach composed entirely of black lava pebbles that have been tumbled and smoothed by the busy sea there. It's the perfect place to find a pocket-rock, a smooth hand-held memory of other places that you find when you tuck your hand into your winter coat pocket. I selected a promising one and tucked it into my mitten, where it grew warm as the seawater dried off.

There's an old shed near the beach there that's gradually being consumed by the landscape that surrounds it. The windows and doors are missing, the bolts holding it together are rusting brilliantly, and detritus from fishermen clutter the more solid corners. It's the kind of place that's crowded with ghosts of other times, and I always wonder if those who constructed it enjoyed the astounding location, or was it just a nuisance to be there in that relentless wind, with waves the height of two men roaring against the coastline? I see these places after arriving comfortably in a car, full of hot coffee and sandwiches, knowing that I don't rely on this tormented sea beyond for my very life.

By then the light was beginning to look murky and we'd planned to get a bit closer to Snæfellsjökull before going, so we all got back in the cars and headed for the road that goes into the mountains. After assessing the experience and the vehicles, we decided to change the plan, and instead hiked the kilometer up to Sönghellir, the singing cave. It had started to snow in earnest by then, so we followed the tire tracks up into almost complete whiteness, the snowflakes plastering our backs and the wind swirling around our heads.

The cave is a very tiny entrance that opens into a dry ante-chamber, and beyond that I don't really know, since nobody had planned to come here, and we were flashlightless. I managed a few dazzling looks at the tiny area we were in by taking flash pictures, which illuminated the walls briefly, but brilliantly enough that I could make out the scrawled initials from the centuries of visitors in the past. Must come back with better light!

When we came out, the snow had blown away, displaying the view below, a wide arc of seacoast and mountains, so monochromatically perfect and cloud-swathed that they looked painted. How can I ever doubt that this is the place I should live when the views are like this? Still, the darkness was closing in, as was another snow squall, so we traipsed back down the hill and made our way into the gloom back to Borgarnes.

In Borgarnes, the flames from the elf-fire were swirling brightly on the opposite side of the causeway, and the tail-lights there indicated something exciting was going to happen, so we pulled in just in time to witness a dazzling fireworks display and the last burning of sparklers and little rockets. We stayed by the warmth of the fire for a few minutes, watching as the last sparklers were lit and the final New Year greetings were exchanged. By the time we also departed, only one vigilant fire-watcher remained.

The trip back was dominated by the distant city-glow of Reykjavik behind the mountains, and by the time we rounded the edge of Esja, we could see the fireworks blooming over the spread-out stretch of city like tropical flowers, their jagged explosions a testament to the wind coming off the sea. Somehow, returning to the city here is always one of the most surreal parts of journeys here. Is this really my home, and what is this apparently huge city doing here so close to empty mountain passes?

Originally posted by ECS, January 7, 2007, used by permission.

Re-posted by

Returned to Sender

This is Chapter 15 of The Inheritance, a serial fiction novel on FITK



Early Morning, Thursday, July 16, 2020, Seattle

“Help me… help me…“

Sean awoke to the sounds of Mary, his wife, murmuring in her sleep. He gently patted her bottom and she settled down and resumed regular breathing. Sean had thought her sleeping patterns had been noticeably erratic since they returned from Iowa and the stress of the riot hadn’t helped any. He got up, put on his robe, and went out to the hall, walking down to the door of Mareka’s room. Sean could hear light snores emanating from his daughter so he continued down the hall and then to the kitchen for a drink of water. The window over the sink looked out over the back yard. The guest house was also visible, at the rear of the lot.

“Jo must be up,” Sean thought. He could see a moving shadow on the shade in her bedroom window. “I’ll give her a text and see if she’s OK.” Stepping outside, Sean noticed that the night air was, if not exactly warm, ‘warmish’ for Seattle. He sat down on one of the patio chairs, took the phone out of his robe’s pocket and messaged Jo.

Saw your lite is everything ok 

Yeah just restless first night new place Y U up

Mary was restless n woke me im ok

Ok nite

Nite

 

Sean put the phone in his pocket and sat quietly, listening to the sounds of the neighborhood. He could hear an occasional vehicle would go by on nearby Roosevelt Way as well as fainter traffic noises from Northgate Way, a few blocks further distant. As he became more attuned to his environment, he began to hear the creek in the west and the sounds of the raccoons scurrying along its dark banks. He could smell the neighbor’s laurel hedge on the south side of the lot and the flinty aroma exuded by the giant rock on the north side. Above him the sky was beginning to lighten. Jo’s bedroom light switched off. Sean got up and went back inside. He felt at home.

---

Thursday morning, July 16, 2020

Barbara Merrit looked at the image files shot by her brother seven years ago. There were several that had shown, unmistakably, Sean Carroll with Jo Sanford, the couple who Barbara had also captured on her phone, both at the riot and in the Motif hotel lobby.  Evidently, this relationship had been going on a long time. Barbara still didn’t know what it meant, but she knew who to call to get things rolling. She prepared an email to Andrew Stevenson, the television pastor (whose preaching against Mary help instigate the riot) with a brief summation of what she knew and a longer spiel of what she suspected. She attached the image files and hit SEND.

---

“Good morning, recovered from your nightmare yet?” said Sean to Mary as she walked into the kitchen. Sean was drinking coffee and looking at his phone.

“That was a dilly, the Russians were in it, wearing masks,” she replied, “Thanks for rescuing me. Where’s Mareka?”

“She’s already outside on ‘her rock.’ I think she’s going really enjoy having a yard of her own.”

“Have you seen Jo?”

“No. I think she might have had a bad night too,” said Sean, “I got up after your dream and saw that her light was on. I texted her to see if she was alright and she said she was OK… that was about 4 a.m.”

“She always seems happy, but I know that some of this stuff we are going through bothers her,” said Mary, “And this is just as big a change for her as it is for us. What’s on your calendar for today?”

“I've already heard from the shipping company, they’ll be here soon with Emily’s canvases.”

“That’s the last of the exhibitions, right?” said Mary, “Are you going to keep the canvases here?”

“Yes, at least for now,“ he said, “I’ll put up some racks and install a climate control system.”

“You aren’t worried about them being stolen?”

“They’d be hard to fence—they’re all pictured in the catalog raisonné. The market for modernist fine art is down now, it might be years before they are worth any real money. Our security system is good, and the storeroom in the basement is sturdy enough. We can put a couple of the canvases in the living room—it will be nice to have Emily with us again.” Sean took another sip of his coffee. “I think I hear the truck now.”

Sean went out to the front of the house and greeted the movers. Emily’s canvases were in two large wooden crates that had been painted green. After examining the seals, Sean had the men put the crates into the garage where he could deal with them later.

“Hey Pops! What’s in the boxes?” said Mareka, who had just walked into the garage.

“Your great-grandmother’s paintings,” said Sean, “We can look at them tomorrow when I unpack them. They have been moving around the country, in museums, since you were little. You can help us pick out some nice ones to put on the walls.”

---

In the kitchen, Jo had just walked in from the patio.

“Sean told me that you were up late last night,” said Mary, “Is everything OK?”

“I talked with my mom last night, she tested positive for the Covid-19 virus,” said Jo, “She’s really sick.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know… ” said Jo, “I want to go to her. She’s still at home but I don’t know if I will be able to see her.”

“You’d go back to Spokane, with your ex still there?”

“I don’t know… That's another thing… ”

“Yeah… that’s definitely a thing.”



Next Chapter: Lake City Way