The Writings of Mary Lewys

“No one you’ve heard of.” She flipped the plastic lid off her coffee and blew the steam from the black brew. She smiled with a deep inhale.

“Try me.” He looked at the cup before tightening his grip on his bag. The corners of a laptop poked against the canvas material.

With her lips pursed, Nerissa flipped out her identification wallet to flash the laminated I.D. card and badge. “S.I.C.N.”

“Sicken?”

She laughed. “Supernatural Investigations, Criminal Negotiations.”

“There is no such thing.” Nathanial stated it without malice or mockery. It was a matter fact in the same way he sipped at his cup and set it back down.
“Oh, really?” She tilted her head and raised her eyebrows. “How’s your dad?”

“You mean my step-dad.” He sounded full of derision. He frowned as he looked at the ground. “He’s another in a long line of losers my mom thinks she needs to live with.”
“I’m not talking about him. How’s your dad?”

He wilted like a delicate flower under a heat lamp. His frown deepened with the curving of his spine. He let slip his bag from his lap but hung onto the strap to keep it from hitting the floor. Nathaniel eased it down until he could release the band. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I think you do.” Nerissa sipped her coffee with a smile. She smacked her lips. “May I meet him?”

“Do we have to do this here?” Both glanced around the posh coffee house filled with brown pillows, browner stuffed chairs and highly varnished brown wood. Being the only patrons, the barista wandered between the curtains that separated the counter from the kitchen. Nerissa rested her chin on the heel of her hand and drummed her fingers against her cheek.

Nathanial rolled his eyes. He extended his lower lip to puff his bangs out of his eyes. “Dad? Dad, come on.”

The air heated by twenty degrees. Nathanial glowed faint red for a moment before a meticulous outline of an eight foot demon appeared around him. With eyes wide open, Nerissa leaned back. She could still see the boy, but the demon swallowed him whole with its presence.

“Dad, this lady wants to meet you.”

You called me for this? Its voice was verbose. Vibrations rippled her coffee. Nerissa looked up and down at the unhallowed figure before she sipped her coffee.

“Look, it wasn’t my idea.”

How many times have I told you –

“Shut up, Dad. This wasn’t my idea.”

Do not tell me to shut up, young man. I am your father.

“Or what? What, Dad? You’re going to do what? Nothing. That’s what you’re going to do. Nothing.”

Just because you are my son and we’re bound by blood and bone does not mean I cannot punish you.

“Oh, yeah? When have you ever done that – oh, right. Only every day of my life!”

You are lucky I am stuck in Hell. That is all I am saying.

“You don’t frighten me.”

Nerissa buried her laugher in a large gulp of coffee. When she couldn’t stop laughing, she took another drink. She coughed and straightened up. “My name is Nerissa Compton. I work for a secret government agency that handles unnatural crimes. I hope to recruit you for my team. I am prepared to make a very handsome offer for your services.”

If asked, Ms. Dawson would have said the air heated in the small office while she and Nathanial waited. Once the principal’s door opened, she tugged at her collar and sighed once the door closed. The nearest absentee note worked as a fan.

“Nathanial, I wanted to see you today – ”

“Whatever you say,” he said with a voice that cracked at the highest pitch. “I didn’t do it.”

“No, Nathanial,” Principal Hall folded her knotty, age-spotted hands on her desk. She looked every bit the stereo-typical, tight-assed head administrator in full tweed and hair bun. She squinted at him from behind her horn-rimmed glasses with a death stare. “I – whatever you did – listen, Miss Compton is here to see you.”

Without moving his head, Nathaniel slid his eyes to the woman sitting against the dull, white walls of the principal’s office. She sat in a hippy-style chair beneath the plaques and framed diplomas. He didn’t smile at her wild hair or dark make-up, but he did nod. She flashed him a very small smile.

“Nathaniel, would you like to get something to drink?” She reached for her over-sized, black leather purse on the floor as she stood.

“I’m seventeen.”

“Ms. Compton, I cannot allow you take a student off school grounds.”

“It’s coffee.” With a flick of her wrist, Nerissa held up the government ID and badge that she produced from her black leather coat pocket to Principal Hall. Her eyes stayed on the young man. “You game?”

“Sure.” Nathaniel pulled his messenger bag strap over his head as he walked out the door. Nerissa followed while the principal sputtered nonsensical protests. From her seat, Ms. Dawson stopped typing to watch them go before leaning over to see the look on the principal’s face.

Nerissa found herself captured in the café by the rain. Her hair was perfect in that jutting, bed-head, wild woman way that she liked. It complimented her dark eye make-up and heavy eye-liner. Her dark, red lips drew on the white cigarette as she watched the people with umbrellas, hats, and newspapers over their heads pass by. Her chin rested on her fist as her elbow rested on the small, round table.

Also on the checkered, table-clothed table rested a stack of brown file folders, each an inch thick. The brown was once dark but had faded a shade or two lighter from age and use. Next to the stack, an old, dull brass ashtray overflowed with burnt and stubbed-out cigarette butts: a sign of a long captivity. But the expression on Nerissa’s face reflected nothing of her self-imposed captivity for the sake of good hair. She stared with empty eyes and a guarded face at the passersby.

She stubbed out her cigarette as the ember glowed as close as it dared to the filter. She pushed the porcupine mass of filter butts about to find a place to extinguish the cinder. Her large, blue eyes glanced at the choreographed “No Smoking” sign hung in a wooden frame above the thirty year old, hard plastic cash register station. By sheer luck, the owner was in her debt. Nerissa could have her way in his small coffee house café so long as she didn’t upset the other customers. Since she was the only person in the shop, she pulled another cigarette from the dwindling pack. She tapped it on the table twice while sweeping the room for a sign of her waitress. By the time she sucked her first blessed lung-full of smoke, the small, college-aged girl appeared.

Her long, braided hair with pretty red ribbons offset the 50s style glasses that hung from the tip of her broad nose. The waitress wasn’t pretty by any stretch of the imagination, but Nerissa didn’t look at her long enough to notice. She was the contrast opposite: neat fitting sweater, expensive dress slacks hemmed for her short height, boots with the right amount of heal to give a nice lift to her ass but she was still able to run despite the heal. Her clothes were all black to match her hair. Nerissa would be beautiful if she didn’t dress and style her hair as if she were executive Goth. “Another coffee.”

The waitress with the white, button-down shirt and short, pleated skirt spun on her terribly, practical shoes. She marched through the soft, white curtains that cut the back of the café off from the main floor. Nerissa lifted an eyebrow as she could see the pot of the sacred java on the counter behind the cashier station. She shrugged and reached for the top folder file.
The brass, hanging bell on the front door rang as the door swung in. The static sound of rain filled the front area of the café as he stepped in. He shook off his brown overcoat to spill the water on the rubber-bottomed matt. His shoes scuffed off the grit of the streets as he rubbed one then the other on the matt. He rubbed his dark, brown hair until it spiked on end.

He dropped his damp stack of file folders onto the table next to Nerissa’s. As he slipped out of his coat, he pulled out the chair opposite her. He slipped his silk-lined coat over the back of the chair before sitting.

“Nerissa.”

“Geoffrey.” Nerissa made no attempt to hide her fake smile except to take a long drag from her cigarette. “It’s good to see you.”

“Likewise.” He watched as the waitress set the cup and saucer of coffee on the table. When the waitress looked at him, he pointed to the cup and held up one finger. She nodded before disappearing into the back room again.

“So,” she shook four packets of sugar before tearing the small, white envelops and pouring the grains of sweet into the black liquid. The spoon clanked as it bounced off the sides of the cup. Nerissa blew on the steaming java before sipping. “What did you need, Geoffrey?”

“Thirteen hours of surgery. Six weeks in recovery. Three months of rehab and two weeks vacation.” He slouched into a supervisory position. His eyes met hers until she turned away. Her thin fingers covered the spider web scar that covered the right side of her neck. The wound was still pink at some of the white, thick parts as a sign of healing. She could feel it start from behind her ear, spread half way around her neck and stopped at her collar bone.

Nerissa swallowed. “So?”

“It’s time to go back to work.” He pushed his file folders until his topped hers. After the waitress approached, he took the cup of Joe from her hands with a brief smile.

“Is it?” Her fingers left her scar and combed through her hair. She watched the faceless, blobs of people pass by the window. She didn’t smile. She didn’t frown. She didn’t look at Geoffrey.

“The problem hasn’t gone away. In fact, from what we are able to monitor, activity is growing.” He sipped his coffee. “I brought you some candidates. You need to put the team back together.”

She flipped open to the top file folder. Her eyes scanned the page as she tapped the ash from her cigarette. After another long inhale, she exhaled the smoke in Geoffrey’s face. “Is this the best you have?”

“Former MI-5 isn’t good enough since when?”

“Since they killed Tom and my team.” She pushed the files back to him. Her chin rested on the heel of her hand as she stared at him with the same look of boredom she had since he walked in the door. “I have started finding the new team.”

Her hand rested on the top of her pile of folders. Her deep red fingernail polish matched her lips. She did not move her hand when Geoffrey reached for the top file. He peeled back the corner, but couldn’t read much. Nerissa smiled.

“I am guessing I won’t know who until it’s too late?” Geoffrey sighed before taking another sip.

“No, you won’t. It’s my team now. We’re doing things my way.”

“So long as you continue to pass your psych evaluation.” As he stood, he lifted his coat from the back of the chair. He slipped it on while staring. He scowled as if he couldn’t read Nerissa’s blank face. He shrugged his shoulders until the wet coat settled. “Keep your appointments.”

“Will do, chief.” Her eyes never left his, even as she took another drag from her cigarette. It was long and deep so she could exhale straight into Geoffrey’s face. He coughed and waved it away. He closed his eyes against the white whirls and turned to leave the café.

Nerissa smiled wider until she looked down at the table at his full cup of coffee. “Fucker stiffed me.”

He stopped thinking of the creature as “the creature” when he realized she had breasts during the body search. Though Zee and Marmaduke said nothing from the shadows of the warehouse, Matt figured the fairy leader had grown into a twisted version of the woman from which she exploded. He shoved her into the back of the patrol car and slammed the door. Her spittle covered the window as her ranting voice grew muffled.

As he folded and slammed her over the booking desk, Matt wondered about the evidence he would have to manufacture. It would have to be good to stick in court, especially since the paperwork on this creature didn’t exist. However, she started her rambling again. A full, demented confession blasted from her mouth, “She was my form, not hers! It was mine to take! It was mine!”

Full confession in front of other officers sealed his case shut. Matt never showed his inner sigh, but he did nod back at the cheers for an excellent arrest. But it was Zee dashing in at the last minute, with a gold fish in a glass of water that stole the show. She told everyone to relax, the fish was okay.

“So, that’s how the case ends?” Zee raised her margarita glass. Her purple umbrella clashed with the crushed ice green dish. Her platform, black boots knocked together as she dangled them off the edge of the building. Matt sat next to her on the roof of her apartment building with his own iced drink. He bumped his glass against hers with a smile. He wore a clean suit.

“Pretty much. Full confession like that may not put her away in prison, but a psychiatric ward will do.” He sucked at the bent straw under his own umbrella. He closed one eye and twisted his head. “Ow.”

Zee laughed and pointed. “Brain freeze!”

Over the rooftops of the other brownstones, the sun sank to leave the sky a shade of purple only found in orchids and crayon boxes. Below their feet, streetlights popped on one by one as their sensors discovered enough darkness. A taxi rumbled down her street and round the corner. Matt took another drink before he set the plastic glass down on the cement ledge next to him.

“If I haven’t said it, thanks, Zee.”

“You’re welcome Matt.” As she sipped at her own drink, Zee wiggled closer. Her shoulder touched his and her head fell against his shoulder. “Wait until you get my bill.”

“Yeah. Just because I look like a dinosaur doesn’t mean I have a peanut brain,” Marmaduke cupped his brow and looked to the sky. The sun was sinking. The sky changed from bright azure to a medium blue with the promise of a royal blue in a few hours. The old, spiral towers with gothic crosses cast shadows across the green grass and elder trees of the garden. He watched a few birds overhead before glancing at the human. “No matter what Zee’s told you.”

Matt smiled a cock-eyed grin. He rubbed the back of his neck before running his fingers through his hair. “Good. How do we go about it then?”

“Well, the wizard – ”

“Monk. He said he was a monk a hundred times.” With a roll of his eyes, Matt shoved both hands in his pants pockets. His walked turned into a shuffle after a glance back over his shoulder. “I don’t know how you kept from snapping his neck every time he corrected you.”

“I’ve known Jimmy for years now.” He waved Matt off with a large, lumbering hand. Though his face was flatter than the average human’s, Marmaduke grinned with full tusks in view. He shook his head with a laugh.

“Jimmy the wizard.”

“I know.”

With a snort, Matt kicked at a large, dark stone in the path. It skipped across the other rocks as a flat stone would a smooth lake surface before rolling to a stop in the grass. “Jimmy the monk, the former wizard.”

“Don’t try to figure him out.” Marmaduke tossed the velvet, brown bag tied with a dramatic gold rope up into the air. He caught it with his other hand. “Your life-span isn’t long enough.”

Matt couldn’t help but notice the ripple of strong muscle through the troll’s arm. The creature wore a black, leather vest and tan sweat pants. His black hoodie jacket was tied around his waist. Either loose coins or keys jingled in his pockets, but Matt couldn’t decide which a troll would have. “Thanks.”

With a tilt of his head, Marmaduke eyed the human at his side as they passed through the open, wooden gates. The stone path ended and the pavement of the parking lot began. Two older cars with great gas mileage sat near the single parking lot lamppost. Marmaduke stopped staring. “Can I say something?”

“Sure.”

“You’re a cop, right?” He tossed the full bag up into the air and caught it with the opposite hand.

“Yes.”

“First time talking with a troll and dealing with fairies?”

Matt nodded with his bottom lip sticking out. “As far as I know. However, as I run through old cases in my head – ”

With a swift pat on the back that sent Matt stumbling forward, Marmaduke reached for his shoulder to help keep him upright. He pretended to dust off some lint from the grotesque Hawaiian shirt in order to cover up his helping. “You are handling this amazingly well.”

“Really?” Matt coughed. He blinked to make sure his eyes were still in his head. His hand rand down his chest to remove some of that invisible lint. “That’s because the screaming is on the inside.”

“Most humans can’t handle it – especially doctors, firefighters, and cops. It’s like they can’t handle the monsters outside of what they’ve been trained to see – the usual monsters: child molesters, pyromaniacs, serial killers.” He didn’t glance back. Marmaduke left the monastery’s small parking lot for the winding, tree-lined drive to the main road. The sound of end-of-day, rush-hour traffic filtered through the long bows of the pine trees.

“I didn’t have much of a choice.” With his hands back in his pants pockets, Matt double-timed his steps to keep up. He spotted passing headlights as he walked up the drive. He spotted one, a white taxi cab, passing and wondered if the troll would fit in the car.

“Zee tends to do that.”

With a large, grey-skinned hand, Marmaduke gripped Matt’s arm and lifted it from his side. He looked at the watch. As he released his arm, he looked down the street from the end of the drive. “Yes, yes, she does.”

Matt stood at the edge of the road, only a few steps from the white line where commuters raced home for dinner. He watched with wonder as not a single car swerved. Each vehicle stayed its course despite the fact that he was standing next to a troll. A large, elephant-skinned, large-tusked creature stood in a Village People vest and held a bag of magic powder and no one noticed. If they noticed, the drivers and passengers didn’t care.

With a laugh that he buried in his hand, Matt rubbed his face. Two day’s worth of growth covered his jaw and cheeks. He looked like hell and he knew it, but he couldn’t do anything about it no – just like he couldn’t do anything about the ridiculous clothing Zee picked out for him from her ex-boyfriend’s stash. He laughed and rubbed his face, believing that Zee was the only person who could cause this type of situation in his life.

“With this, we can kill most of the fairy tribe set up underground.” Marmaduke tossed the brown bag into the air and caught it. A shiny, new pick-up truck slowed in its approach. “However, if one is as large as you say, well, it will be a little messy.”

He stepped back. Matt watched the truck roll to a stop before him. The driver side window rolled down. Zee’s grinning face was reveled from behind the shaded glass. Matt chuckled. “So long as we can arrest it with enough evidence for a conviction for one of the murders – ”

“Evidence shouldn’t be a problem.” Marmaduke clamped a hand down on Matt’s shoulder to help steady his climb into the truck’s bed. The axles groaned from the weight. Matt did as well. Once in, he filled the bed and leaned his back against the cab as he sat. He tucked the bag between his legs and offered a hand to Matt. “Turning it in will.”

At the bottom of the stairs, after another glance about, Matt placed his hand on Zee’s shoulder. She spun with her patent leather purse flapping in her fists. He stared while the knot in his brow deepened. He pursed his lips. “What just happened?”

“Well,” Zee rolled her eyes up to the station’s platform, “we took the Z train across town to my stop and – ”

“No, back there in the tunnels.” He placed his other hand on her shoulder. The weight of his arms was carefully balanced, but he lowered his chin to catch her eyes. “What was that place and who was that - what was that thing?”

“Oh! Well, that was Charlie’s - it’s a fun place if you know where to find it. Great jazz band on Saturday night. The pixies don’t even play instruments. You should hear them – ”

“Zee!”

“I don’t mean The Pixies, as in the band.” With a toothy smile, Zee mimicked Matt by placing her hands on his shoulders. Her purse hit him under his arm. “I mean wee little pixies that are so cute you just want to take one home, but don’t. Just don’t. Really.”

The lines on his face grew deeper as Matt frowned. “What did we just do?”

“We hired a troll.” While she tried to frown, she could manage a suppressed grin only. She dropped her hands and slipped out from under his hands. With a quick skip, she bounded off the sidewalk to cross the street.

Matt did not follow. “We did what?”

“We - well, I hired a troll to take care of the fairy problem.” Zee spun in a circle, stopping long enough to grin at him. She walked with a brisk step to the sidewalk down the street. Overhead, the street lamp glowed on to encircle her in light. The two-story brownstones lined both sides of the road. Unlike other sections of town, the windows here didn’t sport flower boxes or pretty curtains. Front stoops were empty and surrounded by rusted, dented garbage bins.

A brown, dented taxi cab rumbled by before rounding the corner at the end of the street. The smell of exhaust and burnt oil snapped Matt back to his senses. He jogged to catch back up.

“What? Why? Who?”

Zee laughed as she wrapped her arm around his. One long leg with a knee-length, platform boot crossed over the other as she leaned against him. “Look, he’s going to be well equipped to take care of this. It’s standard subcontracting, Matt. Like you do with me. When you run across something hinky, you call me and I do my whole lay-hands-on thing and give you the intel. Then, I give you an invoice and I pay my rent and buy groceries. You should know how this works.”

“That’s not what I mean.” He glanced back over his shoulder: still nothing. His eyes moved along the windows for any watchers. “What am I going to tell the Lieutenant?”

“Um, I don’t know.” She shrugged. “That it’s been taken care of?”

“By a troll?” Once at her stoop, Matt stopped. He rested one foot on the first step, but he left his weight on his other foot as if he had no intention of moving further. “Why, yes, I want a psych evaluation, sir. Zee, you can’t be serious. What am I going to tell these girls’ family?”

“How about nothing?”

“And then it goes into a cold case file where they live with the knowledge that whoever killed their loved one is running free.”

She clicked her purse open. Her long fingers pushed items about until she pulled out a ring with a key and small, plastic skeleton on it. “But they’re not.”

“But they won’t know that.” Matt rested a hand on his knee as he leaned over. He looked up at Zee with the most worried expression Zee has ever seen. Matt hinted at pleading with his voice. “I have to have a body, clues and a case to close.”

“So, what do we do?” Zee dropped her key back into her purse and clicked it shut.

“We’re going back.” He lifted his hand to take hers. Behind him, a police van zoomed by with sirens wailing. The noise bounced off the old stones of the buildings before fading. Matt kept his eyes on Zee. “We’ve got to find that troll and work this out.”

A large figure sat down at their table. By large, Matt sized the figure out at least twice his size. He couldn’t see the figure’s face because of the hoodie pulled down as low as it could go. The jacket was zipped up tight under the figure’s square chin. As Matt scooted his chair closer to Zee, he noticed skin like a rhinoceros covered the hand that was spread out over the table.

“You called?” The figure’s voice was deep as a subway train rumble. If the figure breathed, Matt couldn’t detect it. He went to pull at the tie that wasn’t there. Instead, Matt sighed and ran his hand down the loud, Hawaiian-printed shirt Zee had lent.

“Hey, Marmaduke.” With her black and white, fingerless gloves, Zee patted the figure’s hand. She rested her chin on her laced fingers and batted her thick, black eyeliner eyes. “Thank you for taking my call.”

“I was heading home. You’re lucky you caught me.” Marmaduke rubbed his nose.

“Lucky for us then.” Zee smiled. “We need your help.”

“We?”

“Matt here is my,” she turned to look at Matt for a moment, as if the right word would be written on his forehead. Zee smiled wider at the site of him out of his element: the shirt, the khaki pants, and the running shoes. His hair was as snappy as ever. She picked at her nails to keep from running her fingers through his thick, brown hair and messing it up. “Associate. He – ”

“Fairies are infesting the sewers and undergrounds. We need a large amount of iron – ”

“Is he serious?” With a shift of his shoulders, Marmaduke turned to Zee. “Fairies?”

“Unfortunately, yeah.”

Matt’s mouth hung open. Zee reached over and closed it.

“It’ll cost you.” Marmaduke pushed away from the table. His chair scraped against the cement to shoot up sparks. He stood with a heavy hand on the chair’s back.

“The usual?”

With a small nod, Marmaduke walked off into the darkness without looking back. Zee watched him go and gave a brief wave after he disappeared.

Matt grabbed her arm. “Do I want to know what the usual is?”

From down the narrow hallway, a door clicked opened. Zee walked stark naked from one room to the other across the hall. She was pale and lithe. Her head was dropped as she pulled black elastic ties from her hair. The defused lighting blurred the details of her body. Matt squinted until the bathroom door closed.

“I’ll shower first.”

He waited, even after the light glimmered from under the painted bathroom door and the sound of running water wandered down the hall. He stood still. His eyes shifted, but he remained glued two steps away from the front door. “Despite everything that has happened tonight, this is by far the weirdest.”

Zee’s apartment had dark blue walls. Plastic stars mapped out the constellations on the high ceiling. From where Matt stood, he could only see one window in the far wall. If three unique blue curtains didn’t cover it, he would be able to see the street below. She owned a ratty, old couch that faced a small television on a black, painted stand. A 50s style oval pattern rug of blues and grays covered most of the floor. Any free space was filled with book shelves containing various plastic toys, old books, left-over chemistry kit parts, half-burned candles, and random stacks of paper that Matt didn’t want to know about or touch. He ignored the spines on all the tomes as he took another step in.

On the bare patch above the couch, an old print was thumb-tacked to the wall. It looked to be an ancient painting of the arch-angel Raphael. Creases ran through the angel’s dark wings, face, and just below its exposed knee. Matt folded his arms over his bruised chest as he wondered about the long quill in the angel’s hand and the half-serpent, half-man chained beneath the angel’s foot. In comparison to all the plastic gizmos and doodads filling up Zee’s place, the print seemed out of place.

He heard the water turn off. Returning to his place near the front door, he folded his arms tighter over his chest. He rocked on his feet and wiggled his toes against the grit that had wormed its way through his socks. His arms dropped as the dark purple, bathroom door clicked open. Zee stood in the doorway with her hair wrapped in a white towel on the top of her head and a matching, terrycloth bathrobe. The smell of lavender and lilac filled the air as Matt stiffened.

“Ever been to my place before?” Zee leaned against the doorframe. She stuffed her scrubbed-pink hands into the robe pockets. She had a gleam of tease in her eye.

“No.” Matt barked. He winced at the loudness of his voice in such a tiny place. “No, first time.”

“You want to shower?”

“Do you have any clothes I can borrow?”

Her shoulder pushed her towards her bedroom. “Yeah. Plenty of exes left one thing or another.”

“Allow me to rephrase that: do you have any clothes I would wear that I can borrow?”

“Light bulbs.” In the small storage room, Zee pulled down the boxes and tore at the tape. She opened one and tossed it away. She pulled down another box. Her black hair blended in to the ill-lit room. She puffed air like she did after her morning run on the treadmill.

“Really? Light bulbs?” After another swing, Matt paused long enough to see what Zee did.

“What?” She threw another small box filled with smaller boxes of bolts aside.

“Light bulbs – you know,” he swung with another grunt. The pipe knocked the fluttering light straight into the wall. It stuck before sliding slowly down to the floor. It flickered on and off as it went down. “Light bulbs are the fairies weakness?”

“What? No!” Her big, black boot buried itself into a box. Zee grunted as she struggled to pull it out. “Lead. We need lead and lots of it.”

“We’re not going to find it in here.” He grabbed her hand. She reached to touch his black eye, but stopped herself. Matt tugged on her hand as he swerved around the boxes to the other, old door. “We need to get out of here.”

Zee leaned forward as she sat in an old, school desk chair. Her deep, cherry lips reached for the plastic straw. The handcuffs encircling her wrists reminded her of how far she could go. Luckily, she could reach and sip the water in the store-purchased bottle.

“Thank you.” She wiggled her bottom to sit back. The metal of her metal restraints rattled against the metal of the back of the chair. “So, where were we?”

“Why, we went underground instead of under knoll.” It sat across the table. When the light from the dangling, single bulb caught its face, shadows ran into the deep crevasses. It looked human with two eyes, two ears, a nose, and a mouth, but the eyes were large and milky. The nose overshadowed its face, shaped like a summer squash. Square, odd-angled teeth jutted out between thin, chapped lips. Dark hair framed the gruesome face.

“Right.” Zee looked up at the lights dancing over head. Bruised purple, sickly green, and baby-shit brown lights wobbled back and forth. One landed on a rusty, slimy piece of pipe. As it fed, sucking up the filth and decay, the light grew larger. If Zee squinted, she could see a wee human form at the center of the light. As muck and gunk disappeared, the fairies grew in size and shape.

“The green is soft. The green makes us gentle and kind.” It rested its glittered arms on the table. Its skin was as gray as long dead flesh. “We came to the city to grow strong. We are strong.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Matt grunted as a large ball of light struck his bare stomach. His arms pulled on the chains wrapped around his crossed arms and tied to the pipes on the ceiling. He coughed a few times. Light glistened off his sweaty skin. “You’re not so tough.”

“Quiet, human!” It pointed a finger at Matt. Another ball of light struck at his back above the kidneys. He gritted his teeth against crying out.

“You know, I’m not going to argue with you.” Zee sucked on her straw. She smiled when she finished with her drink. “But I have to ask a question. Why so many? You live like forever. Why do you need so many?”

“We are strong. We make a home. We call it ours.”

“Ah. And you’re unwilling to share?”

We are strong.” It beat a fist onto the table.

“That’s all I wanted to know.” Zee slammed her fist down on the table as well. The handcuffs fell to the floor behind her chair.

“If a train comes by.” She glanced behind but only darkness followed. Her eyes were wide. “Doesn’t it seem weird that a train hasn’t come by?”

“Now that you mention it.” Matt stepped in a way to keep the noise of his shoes against the gravel down to a murmur. “An awful lot of people at that last station waiting for a train.”

“Is it making you nervous?”

“Yes.” With a twist of his wrist, Matt lit a small walkway on the far side of the subway cavern. The dull metal handrail tried to glitter in a light it rarely saw. “Want to try again?”

Zee sighed. Her hand rested on his shoulder as she stumbled. “Not really.”

“Please?”

“Matt.”

“Pretty please with sugar on top?” He rolled his eyes. Zee clapped her hands together as quietly as she could before stomping her way across the tracks to the short steps up to the archway. Set deep into the arch, a green, utility door reflected the light from Matt’s flashlight.

She peeled off the fishnet glove that matched her fishnet armbands. With one deep breath, she reached out and touched the rail. Matt held his breath. He stepped closer the longer Zee stood.

“And?”

She blinked.

“Zee?”

“I think we found our door, Matt.”

“It makes sense.” Matt stopped and listened. The factory floor was silent as the grave. Street lights from outside gave enough light through the windows high on the factory walls for Zee to make out the forgotten toys on the conveyor belts, boxes, and floor. She grabbed onto the bottom hem of Matt’s suit coat.

Matt glanced back at her before walking towards a dark, gray door against the back, cinderblock wall. “It was centrally located to all the murders. It would be a good gathering point for newborns.”

“Younglings.”

“Whatever.”

Zee tugged on his coat. “But fairies gather in knolls, under fallen trees, grassy areas.”

“Not if you’re building an army.” Matt wrapped his hand around the rusting door handle. He glanced back. He searched behind him as if he was certain someone or something was following. He squinted his eyes and sharpened his ears.

With a brief glance back, Zee stepped into Matt’s line of vision. She nodded. He pulled the door handle. The metal on metal sound of a large, door grinding against its doorframe filled the air. Zee swallowed as Matt took a deep breath.

The stairs on the other side of the door led down. “What army?”

A clerk with a red poof of dry, frizzled hair approached. She wore a clashing orange sweater that could have been off one of the racks. Her small, brown eyes stared at the black eyeliner, black eye shadow and deep, red lipstick with a certainty that Satan would soon appear. “Can I help you?”

“Oh, no, thank you.” Zee smiled. She held back the laughter from the thought of what she must look like against the setting. “I’m just looking.”

Since she said it, she started doing it. With two strides, her black fingernail polished fingers pushed the soft, tightly woven sweaters along the circular, chrome frame of the floor stand. The clerk didn’t move but watched her – not with the look that Zee sometimes received: the look as if she was no better than a common criminal, perhaps worse. Out of the corner of her eye, Zee saw that the clerk held no contempt or judgement on her face.

When Zee moved on to the next rack, the clerk mimicked her movements. The red-head rested her elbow on the center isle rack and continued to stare. Zee bit her lip and glanced at her once to offer a brief flash of smile. By the third rack, Zee stopped smiling. She stopped pushing hangers and stared back.

“Waiting for your boyfriend?”

“What makes you say that?” Zee turned to pick up a neatly folded, white silk shirt from a white boxed shelf.

“You don’t look like you usually shop here.”

Zee smiled with teeth over her shoulder. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

In her mind’s eye, she could see Matt in his conference room with the guys. All around was evidence collected from the crimes: a map of the city with pin points for body locations, pictures of the women hanging on a cork board by brightly colored push pins, and hand written ideas and notes on a whiteboard. She knew he was pouring over all the information with a new set of eyes. What she hoped for was something that could point them in the right direction.

“Oh.” As if she had all the information she needed, the clerk returned to her post behind the back counter register. She fiddled with the loose hangers in a bin under the counter top.

Zee put the shirt she had no intentions of buying back on the shelf. She walked along the wall and looked at all the pretty clothes other girls wore. The corner of her mouth lifted at the memory of picking out clothes like this when she was so much younger and with her mother. She sighed and shook her head.

From within her square, shiny granny purse, her cell phone rang – not like a bell ring, but it played the Violent Femmes’ song, “Blister in the Sun.” She clicked the two metal balls to open her purse and pulled out the slim, black phone. Its digital display read “Matt.”

“Hey.” Her head tilted to pin the phone to her shoulder. She slipped the handles of her purse over her arm so she could pick up a pair of black pants. “No, I’m done at the coffee bar. I’m shopping. What did you find out?”

The clerk stood behind the counter and watched the pair of pants in Zee’s hands. When Zee placed the pants back on the shelf, she stepped to the return rack and started sorting through the clothes on plastic hangers.

“I’m on my way.” Her finger pressed the button. She dropped the phone into her purse. She clicked it closed and walked out the front door.

“Yeah.”

“Seriously.”

“Used to be.”

Matt walked with a long gate. His practical, soft-soled shoes stepped in light and shadow along the walkway leading out of the monetary. Zee half-skipped to keep up with him. She clapped her patent leather purse with both hands. It bounced from one fishnet stockinged thigh to the other. Her black ponytails bobbed.

“Zee, you’re asking a lot of me.” Matt set to double-checking his person: his gun was tucked under his left arm. His wallet with his identification and badge rested in his front, suit coat pocket. His St. Michael medal was attached to his keys in his pants’ pocket. “Fairies. Wizards. What’s next, the Easter Bunny?”

“Funny.” With a small giggle, she hooked her arm through his and bumped his shoulder. “Everyone knows there’s no Easter Bunny.”

“So, who’s Bendith?”

“Not who. Bendith Y Mamu. Sir Gaerfyrddin found them in the 13th Century in Carmarthenshire, one of the thirteen historic counties of Wales. Bendith Y Mamu means ‘Mother’s Blessing’ which is very funny.” She rounded the corner with him as Matt marched towards the front gates.

“How is that funny?”

“Well, according to most books, these fairies were known for stealing babies and toddlers to raise as their own.”

The mid-morning sun beamed on Matt’s scowl. Zee tilted her head as she watched what she knew where his wheels churning away. His lips grew thinner and thinner.

“What do they want? Babies?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why breed in the women then?”

“I don’t know.”

“What are they doing in my city?”

“Don’t know.”

Matt grabbed the black iron bar attached to the large, wooden door. His knuckles turned white as he yanked. “Zee, what good are you?”

“It seems to me, Mister Detective, this is where you come in.” She patted his cheek before walking out the door.

“Zee, how many times do I have to tell you? I’m a monk, not a priest.” His light blue eyes brought Matt up short as he approached the old, well-polished reading table. The high, stone walls of the monastery library acted like an echo chamber. Luckily, the high, wooden book shelves filled with ancient tomes muffled what little noises the monks manufactured.

“You know I’m just funning you, Marv.” She patted his white, boney hand across the table while wearing her fishnet, black gloves. The monk clutched the corner of a thick book. The characters on the page didn”t look Earthen. Zee grinned her cute little grin. “This is my friend Matt.”

“Ah, the guardian.”

“Something like that.”

Matt nodded at Marv once. He noted the new growth of stubble on the monk’s chin and the mussed black hair underneath the hood. If he had to bet, Matt would have said that Marv the Monk was an ex-junkie on the road to redemption, but he waited for more information before making a decision. Matt pulled out a hard, oaken chair opposite the monk. He waited for Zee to sit before taking a seat in the chair next to her.

“What can I do for you, Zee?”

“Fairies.”

Marv glanced at Matt. He rubbed his chin while leaning back. His chair creaked. “And?”

“We have had a rash of murders.” Matt rested his forearms on the table. The white cuffs of his clean shirt were the perfect length beyond the cuff of his fresh, dark suit. “Women of all races, ages, backgrounds, tax brackets, have been found torn to pieces. We haven’t been able to connect the cases or find a pattern with the killer other than leaving the remains unidentifiable.”

“And you suspect fairies.” Marv folded his hands over his flat belly. His bottom lip stuck out as his closed his eyes.

“We saw close to forty last night,” Zee pulled the book over without taking her eyes off the monk. “That’s really a lot.”

“It is.” Marv rubbed his thumbs together.

“Could the things we saw last night – ”

“The younglings, you know, small, light – ”

Marv sighed. “I know, Zee. I know.”

“Could they be responsible for these murders?” Matt tilted his head as he stared at Marv. He waited and watched, almost ignoring Zee to his right. She flipped the pages of the book without spinning it around. Marv sat, rubbed his thumbs, and pooched his bottom lip over and over.

The trio sat in silence until the last monk left the library. The thick door closed with the softest of wood-against-wood sound. Marv lifted his head. “Yes. When certain fairies enter this world, they require a human host to transcend. But to have so many – fairies are ageless and timeless, walking worlds humans cannot. Our blood assists in their births while it ties them, but they can do things greater than we ever can.”

With a sudden jerk, Marv closed the book before he lifted it up. He cradled it in his arms as he rose from his chair. If he noticed Zee’s fast frown, he gave no indication. “So, to make so many, it would be almost wasteful.”

Matt opened his mouth but Zee’s fingers touched his lips. She shook her head and returned to the dutiful student pose. Matt pursed his lips as he watched Marv the Monk slip the book back into its home on the bookshelf behind him. He turned with a gasp. His light blue eyes turned white. “Bendith. Bendith is here.”

“Bendith?”

“Who is that?” Matt scowled. “And for that matter, who are you?”

With a quirk of his head, Marv blinked as he froze. Zee touched her partner’s hand. “Marv used to be a wizard.”

“Coffee?” Her voice was as pert and chipper as the previous morning when he’d picked her up. Matt lifted his head to focus on the white, take-out cup with a white plastic lid. He took the cup and drank deep of the straight, black coffee.

Zee plopped onto the bench. Her knees knocked as she sipped at her café mocha. She hummed as the delicious mixture of steamed half percent milk and chocolate warmed her belly. “So, do you want to go over it again?”

“What makes you say that?”

“Most people do. Even people who seek out psychics to help with their cases.” She took another sip before cupping her drink in her lap with both hands.

“There are fairies.”

“Yep.”

Matt pushed with his legs until he sat up. He bent to rest his forearms against his knees. He took another long drink. “There are fairies.”

“Matt.” With a soft sigh, she touched the shoulder of his wrinkled suit coat. “You know I can read things by touching them. I’ve helped you before. Is it such a leap to believe in fairies?”

His hand sunk into the armpit under his coat. Metal sliding against rough leather turned her head as he dropped his gun into her lap. She lifted her coffee and pressed her thighs together.

“That’s my life, Zee. That’s what I do. That’s what I am.” He pointed at the gun. His cheek muscles ripped with tension. “Explain to me how fairies fit into that.”

She used her index finger and thumb to pick up his gun by the handle. It hung in the air for a moment before he put it away where it belonged. After another drink, she rubbed his back. “Think of them like a virus.”

“A virus?”

“That’s what fairies do to, well, make more fairies. They infect a host and when it’s time, a fairy emerges and kills the host.”

Matt tilted his head and twisted his neck. “You mean like Alien?”

“The movie or actual aliens?”

“The movie.”

“Oh.” Zee sipped her drink. “Yeah, something like that.”

“Fairies have been killing the women I’ve been investigating as victims of a serial killer.” Matt shook his head. “You know, vampires would’ve been more believable.”

“Vampires are like transfusions.” Zee shifted until she was scrunched against him. “They drain you and if they want to keep you, they give you their blood.”

He didn’t move. His eyes started where her thighs pressed against his and stopped at her shoulders. Matt lifted his chin to stare into her eyes.

“What? I don’t like vampires.”

“You dress like a vampire.”

“It’s so obvious you’ve never met a vampire.”

“Now, don’t look at the lights.” Zee explained with both hands. Her black and white stripped arm bands added the much needed accent to her instructions.

Matt stared. His eyes had dark circles. His hair was a mess. His suit was rumpled from a long day’s run. He stared at her like the last of his patience had just run out.

“I’m serious. Don’t look at the lights. Look over there.” She pointed to a shadow of a leafless tree near the center of the grassy square. Her hand darted away from the corner of her eye. “Look over there but look with – you know, your side vision thingy.”

Matt stared harder. “Peripheral vision?”

“Yeah, that thing.” She squatted lower to wrap her arms around her knees. Her eyes bore into the bark of the tree.

Matt opened his mouth to say something but waited with his jaw hanging open. He studied her for a long, quiet moment before closing his mouth and staring at the tree.

Out of the corner of his eye, Matt saw a shadow and a light move up to the old fashioned streetlight. He didn’t move when it moved away.

“Did you see that?” Zee clutched his hand.

“What was that?”

“Wait for it.”

A few minutes later, three shadowed lights fluttered into the soft glow of the streetlamp before continuing into the dark of the night.

“Zee?”

She turned to face him. “Fairies.”

“Running out?” Zee spit bits of pastry as she dodged a refuse bin. The hem of her pleated skirt brushed the green plastic lid.

“Running out for the girl.” He pulled on her hand until they both stopped. His chest heaved as he stared hard. “You know, the one who’s gone missing? If we don’t find her in seventy-two hours – ”

“It’s not what you think.”

“Not what I think?” He shoved his hands into his pockets before he did anything else. He bent his waist to lean over to match her eye level. “Would you like me to escort you down to my office to see crime scene photos?”

“No.”

“He tears them apart. No one has ever seen this much blood at a crime scene.” Matt’s voice echoed off the walls like steel hitting brick. In the far off distance, a dog barked. The thumping of bass called from the end of the alley. With another large bite, Zee stuffed her cheeks until her face billowed.

“No, he doesn’t. They’re not dead. Well, okay, they’re no longer human, but they’re not dead.”

“You’re all right.” Matt grabbed her shoulders and held her away. He scanned her thin frame for any signs of damage. His chest heaved from the flights of stairs and parking lot ran.

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

He shook his head. He stepped back. “I – he – he said that he had you.”

“Who did?” She ran her hand along one of the pieces of pine wood that made up the set. Without a second glance, she looked up at the fly system overhead.

Matt realized that he was in the downtown Shakespeare Theater. He stood back stage lit by a single, bar bulb on a tall, metal stand. Bare of another living soul, the silence and strangeness of seeing the set from behind left Matt with his mouth hanging open. “That man. In the top hat.”

“Oh. Leslie didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“He was helping me.” She pushed aside the purple satin curtain that hung in one of the archways that led to the stage. Zee passed through with her eyes focused a thousand miles away. “He’s playing Don Pedro in the up-coming production.”

“Well, he’s downtown in lock-up.” His hands found their way into his pants pockets. His suit coat rumpled. He followed behind her. “He won’t be doing anything for a while.”

“Really?” Zee pushed on his shoulder as the curtains closed behind him. “What did he do?”

“He said that the girl was dead and that he had you.”

She stopped. Her boots thumped like a drum on the stage as she spun and ran into his arms. Matt stumbled back but managed to catch her and stay up right. He smiled when she squeezed him tight.

“I’m so sorry. He was helping me. He was being, you know, him, and helping me reenact. Oh, Matt, I’m so sorry. I should’ve told you and him.” She babbled as she bounced and rocked him like some over-enthusiastic mother. “I found out that he’s an actor, or at least he thinks he is. He’s been here, Matt. I know he’s been here.”

“Good Evening, Mister Smith.” He touched the brim of his top hat as he bowed his head. In the light of the abandoned warehouse, his black tank top and black faded black jeans stood out against the faded and stained white drywall. He didn’t sweat despite their run. His eyes were too close together, but his smile was perfect. “And how may I help you this evening?”

“Where is she?” Matt took one step closer, one step into the light to show how serious he was. His pressed, dark suit coat was unbuttoned and his red, silk tie dangled free. He wasn’t close enough for the .45 semi-automatic handgun from both his hands. It was trained on the stranger’s heart.

“Who?”

“You know who.”

“Your little friend? The little bit of trouble?” He cleared his throat and took a few steps out of the light and away from the wall. A wall of paned windows was only a quick run away. His black sneakers crunched on the gritted cement floor.

Matt took a step. Like a chess board, he moved one square to keep the Black King from making an escape. “Yes. Where is she?”

“That’s the game, isn’t it? You both wanted to save the girl. Well, you’re too late for her.”

“You son of a bitch.” Through gritted teeth, Matt raised the gun. His finger tightened on the trigger. Sweat beaded on his brow.

“But that’s not the game now, Mr. Smith. Or is it Detective Smith? Special Agent Smith? The game now is finding your friend in time.”

“What does that – ”

“It’s the first thing he thinks of before – you know.”

Matt slouched in the simple, wooden chair of the Japanese eatery. He reached for the tall glass of beer. The condensation was gone from the outside, but he sipped from the amber ale anyway. “Right. So, is he the spider or is the victim the spider?”

“I think he is because the web is elaborate. It’s amazingly huge, but I can’t see what it hangs from. Green tea,” she told the waitress to send her on the way. “And I think that’s what he does. He watches them and gets to know the people around them and then they’re trapped in his web.”

“You think or you know?” He folded his arms again over his chest. His tie had been loosened right around the last shot of sake. His cheeks and nose had a cheery glow, but his eyes remained sharp and trained on Zee.

“Okay, all I see is the spider.”

“That’s it?”

“No, but that’s where the vision starts.” It was one of Zee’s smiles that made the creases in Matt’s face deepen.

“Believe it or not, he left it in a parking lot.” Matt sat with his legs apart and his arms folded. He did not smile. His brow creased over his dark, brown eyes.

“Which parking lot?” She pushed the items on the table around into a certain order. The chopsticks folded in her white, cloth napkin were placed above the bamboo mat. Her napkin shifted from right to left. The small, shallow dish for soy sauce was lifted and placed above the corner of her place mat and her napkin.

“I can’t tell you that.” He watched her push things around with a subdued curiosity.

“Yes, you can.”

“Fine. From the latest abduction.” His lips thinned about as thin as she had ever seen. Zee stopped straightening her dinner setting and reached over to pat his forearm.

“It’s a break, Matt. It’s a real break.”

He frowned hard enough for the corners of his mouth to reach his square jaw. “Yeah, provided he follows his standard routine. We have seventy-two hours. But whatever you tell me can’t be used in court. Hell, if the guys even knew - ”

“May I take your order?” The waitress was pert wrapped in her silken, pink kimono. Her make-up was western as was her hairstyle, pinned up with matching barrettes. She held her pad and pencil at chest level with a company approved smile.

“Yeah, may I have the edomae chirashizushi special, please?” Zee smiled to show teeth at the waitress. Her pronunciation of the Japanese words were perfect. A few scribbles on the pad later, the waitress turned her eyes to the gentleman.

“Nothing for me.” Matt lifted a hand to accent the fact that he would not be having anything to eat.

“Are you sure? California roll?”

He stared at her until she went away. Zee bit her upper lip and didn’t laugh.

“So,” Matt rested his elbows on the table without unfolding his arms. He stared hard at his guest. “What did you read, Zee?”

“Yeah, but you don’t have any choice, do you?” Zee allowed herself to be dragged. Her big, black, eight-eyelet boots stomped along the floor. Her black dyed hair glistened under the lights. Her smile was red lipstick smugness. “You need me.”

He half-heartedly flung her in the direction of the object under the big light. An old, dusty, not to mention dingy, VW bug rusted in the police’s evidence lock-up. She stumbled to a stop with her knees locked together. Her gray eyes grew wide. “Oh my God! Is this…?”

“It could be. I can’t say.” He folded his arms over his chest to stretch his suit tight. “You tell me.”

With one deep breath, she walked towards the car. Her fingers with black painted fingernails trembled. She touched the car. “Ooo. Aaah. Wow. I mean, all kinds of Wow.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means exactly what you think it means.” Zee turned to stare at Matt. She looked scared. “This is the car. This is his car.”

The dry grass crunched on her thick heeled boots. She was careful not to walk on anyone’s grave as she wove her way amongst the old, family headstones. She touched the large Celtic cross of the O’Brien’s. She smiled enough to show her white teeth beneath her ruby red lips. Tears welled in the bottom of her eyes, held in place by thick lashes and black eyeliner.

“I got’em, baby.” She leaned over to put the flowers against the smallest marker. It was an arching stone with only a name: Amelia. She ran her fingers over the carved letters.

Her hand dug into her leather coat pocket to pull out an old six-shooter. She tossed it onto the grave without pause. Her tears spilled down her face and dragged the eyeliner with it. “I got’em all. I got’em good.”

Thunder rolled through the valley. She inhaled to smell the rain on the wind. The first drops hit her forehead. Her arms spread wide as she closed her eyes. The rain came down.

It took her time to work out her travel. She searched online and reviewed as many pictures as she could. She practiced by making sure the coffee was always fresh in her office (TICK, at Starbucks picking up a large carrier and TOCK, filling the coffee maker’s glass pot). But before long, she was TICK in the car with the man who slid on the ice and careened over the overpass barrier and TOCK on the sidewalk of the overpass. Together, the man and she watched his car smash into the pavement below.

And every time she moved, every time she saved a life or stopped crime, she had one thought. Every time she moved, she thought, “If I only had this power when my baby died.”

As she crossed over the junction that led to the nuclear power plant and federal prison, she smiled at the miles to go sign. It wasn’t far now. She rubbed her tummy pooch. “Not long now, baby.”

She turned the radio on as she drove the rental car over the first causeway. The bridge spanned the first of two rivers that surrounded the barrier islands. It rose high in the air, giving a wide view of the lush island dotted with expensive housing. She cranked the beach music louder as she drove over the second causeway.

At the first street, she turned off the highway. Driving down a quiet lane lined with 1950 TV sitcom houses, she stopped at the intersection. She looked left and right. Without a car in sight, she steered her car towards public parking. Hers was the only car in the lot.

She pressed the button on her keyring to lock the doors of the car. She climbed the wood stairs to the walkway that crossed over the State protected dunes. At the first step of sand, she kicked off her shoes and buried her toes in the beach. She inhaled deep and smiled.

“You know, I don’t think we need your father.” She patted her belly as she watched the sunrise. “And he won’t find us here. Don’t worry, little one. We’re safe.”

Between steps, she would look up at the high shelves. To someone so small, the shelves looked like giant metal trees that housed books rather than leaves, birds and bugs. When she slowed to reach out her hand to try to touch a tome on her level, her mother would pull her along. She would focus on her feet again and forget the books. She marched along until her mother reached the check-in desk.

All she could see was cheap, wood paneling. The blue, industrial carpeting had been swept clean before opening, so nothing interesting to put in her mouth there. Her mother pulled her fingers away to lift her purse to the counter top she could see. She raised her arms for a moment and fused to be picked up. When her mother didn’t respond immediately, she wrapped an arm around her mother’s polyester pant leg.

She looked back at the book shelves, bigger than trees. Bigger than the special tree Daddy lets her climb in the back yard. She stuck her thumb in her mouth to suck. Her fingers rubbed the material of her mother’s pants. The words over her head were nothing more than garbled gibber-gabber. Unable to resist the pull any longer, she released her mother’s leg, removed the thumb from her mouth (two arms meant better balance) and wobbled her way back towards the books.

Only my ears hear the sound. Munching – small teeth gnawing against some nut. As I become perfectly still, sinking a bit deeper in the snow, I inhale slow so I don’t draw attention of myself. I smell it. Yes, only a few paces away.

I scrunch down low. My feet pad fast and silent over the surface of the snow until I see it. Just over the curve of the hill, I spot the little, brown fuzzy thing small enough to be a suitable meal. He holds a small nut. Its paws clutch it tight as it trying to break the hard shell.

I stop. I watch. The little, brown fuzzy thing works on that nut over with its teeth until I sure he’s going to pitch it away in frustration. When the small black eyes blink, I move. I pounce.

“Mr. Mufasta!” The elderly woman claps her hand against on the wooden deck attached to the back of her house. Still in her bathrobe and slippers, she zips her down, wooden coat up with her knotted and gnarled hand. “Mr. Mufasta! Here, kitty, kitty, kitty!”

I answer her call, not because she’s calling. I’m full and want to curl up on that big soft sleeping place of hers for a long, long nap. I leap up on to the wood rail and pick my way through the branches to her. She scratches my head, which I love and cannot resist, and petted my back.

“There you are. Where have you been, bad kitty? You know you shouldn’t leave the house.” She picks me up in her arms. I twist so I can see over her shoulder. “You know you can’t handle yourself outside. You could get hurt or worse. Come on. I have a nice bowl of milk with your name on it.”

He took another puff. The sins of the Earth will follow you into heaven, he thought. He had no intention of going back, so he took another long drag. The tobacco and paper burned down to the filter. He pushed the past cigarettes out of the way so he could stubbed the current one out. No, he wouldn’t be going back anytime soon.

Through the café doors walked a middle-aged man in a very fine, grey suit. It matched his grey hair and contrasted his blue eyes. He was surrounded by young men in dark suits and very dark glasses, but that didn’t matter. No, all that mattered was the envelope being delivered to the local police precinct. It outlined the middle-aged man in a very fine suit’s violations of earthly laws – the ones that coincided with his duties. It carried evidence to be used in court as well. Also, it had instructions on which hospital to find the middle-aged man in a very fine suit. It was sealed with an angel’s kiss.

He stood. From his shoulder holsters, he pulled two shiny semi-automatic pistols. The woman with her new boyfriend at the table next to his gasped but not loud enough to alert anyone. He straightened his arms and inhaled deep. He held the unnecessary breath as he squeezed the triggers. No, he wouldn’t be going back anytime soon.

“Yup.” He rocked back on his heels. His sneakers were worn to keep him from falling back. He smiled and rubbed her back. Her arms were folded over her chest. She shivered.

The sky was gray with thick ,light clouds. It caused the green grass to appear darker than it was. The limestone rock that peeked up in patches looked black without the sun. In a dell amongst this vast isle, a cylinder of stone rose to hold a shiny, blue sphere. It made no noise. It didn’t have a sign.

“No, really. This is it?” She sounded a little more annoyed as she took a step closer. The heels on her dress shoes caused her ankles to wobble. She managed to keep from toppling with a shift of her ample hips.

He nodded and stuffed his hand back in his pocket. “It’s the quantum modulator for this planet. It’s perfectly aligned with the magnetic fields and lunar cycles. It’s quite amazing.”

“So, what would happen if I did this – ” She reached out with one finger for the shiny, blue ball.

“NO!”

The planet the humans called Earth, and the rest of the Universe referred to as Sol 345, flipped its axis and spun out of orbit. Skipping by Venus, its atmosphere burned off within a matter of minutes. Its seas boiled away to leave a little water to freeze under the layers of soil. It started its new life in its new orbit.

Now, its moon is a whole different story.

With a finger on the touchpad button of her laptop, she clicked the "Randomizer" link on the stock photograph website. She sat on her worn couch, arms scratched down to the foam, in her woven pajama bottoms and overly large tee shirt. Her hair matted to her head with a day’s worth of natural grease. She rubbed her nose and sniffed. She clicked her built-in mouse again.

Picture after picture popped up after the website reloaded in her browser window. She sighed at the third or fourth picture. She frowned after twelve. Click. Click. Click.

The small, black cat walked behind her on the back of the couch. He paused to glance over her shoulder to look at the screen. But with a blink of his large, yellow eyes, the cat continued along his way to the opposite arm. She ignored his claws sinking deep and pulling up foam.

She pushed the dirty plate, half full bowel of cereal, and an empty glass out of the way to place her laptop on the coffee table. Behind the screen, a tall stack of books and magazines threatened to topple and take the computer out. She pushed her knitting, a thin scarf from a cheap spool of yarn, to the side of the books. The woven basket of potpourri couldn’t compete with the dried, stuck-on food on the dishes.

She clicked on her mouse once more. She sat up once the picture appeared. She tilted her head to the right as if voices could be heard from places other than her television. With another mouse click, she opened her word processor and began to type.