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Adelaide Literary Magazine is an independent international monthly publication, based in New York and Lisbon. Founded by Stevan V. Nikolic and Adelaide Franco Nikolic in 2015, the magazine’s aim is to publish quality poetry, fiction, nonfiction, artwork, and photography, as well as interviews, articles, and book reviews, written in English and Portuguese. We seek to publish outstanding literary fiction, nonfiction, and poetry, and to promote the writers we publish, helping both new, emerging, and established authors reach a wider literary audience.

A Revista Literária Adelaide é uma publicação mensal internacional e independente, localizada em Nova Iorque e Lisboa. Fundada por Stevan V. Nikolic e Adelaide Franco Nikolic em 2015, o objectivo da revista é publicar poesia, ficção, não-ficção, arte e fotografia de qualidade assim como entrevistas, artigos e críticas literárias, escritas em inglês e português. Pretendemos publicar ficção, não-ficção e poesia excepcionais assim como promover os escritores que publicamos, ajudando os autores novos e emergentes a atingir uma audiência literária mais vasta. (http://adelaidemagazine.org)

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Published by ADELAIDE BOOKS, 2020-04-18 18:52:34

Adelaide Literary Magazine No. 34, March 2020

Adelaide Literary Magazine is an independent international monthly publication, based in New York and Lisbon. Founded by Stevan V. Nikolic and Adelaide Franco Nikolic in 2015, the magazine’s aim is to publish quality poetry, fiction, nonfiction, artwork, and photography, as well as interviews, articles, and book reviews, written in English and Portuguese. We seek to publish outstanding literary fiction, nonfiction, and poetry, and to promote the writers we publish, helping both new, emerging, and established authors reach a wider literary audience.

A Revista Literária Adelaide é uma publicação mensal internacional e independente, localizada em Nova Iorque e Lisboa. Fundada por Stevan V. Nikolic e Adelaide Franco Nikolic em 2015, o objectivo da revista é publicar poesia, ficção, não-ficção, arte e fotografia de qualidade assim como entrevistas, artigos e críticas literárias, escritas em inglês e português. Pretendemos publicar ficção, não-ficção e poesia excepcionais assim como promover os escritores que publicamos, ajudando os autores novos e emergentes a atingir uma audiência literária mais vasta. (http://adelaidemagazine.org)

Keywords: fiction,nonfiction,poetry

Revista Literária Adelaide

“Alegrías, which literally means happi- “They were a gift from that other
ness, is what you are going to perform in teacher, Pepa, years ago. If you notice, she
the show at the end of the course.” wears the same ones.”

The women gasped. “Show? Oh no!” Peggy felt that familiar ache of nostalgia
for someone else’s past, and a needling
“Oh, yes! Now, lindas, let me show you envy for the deep friendship she imagined
the redoble step.” Pepa shared with Rafa.

*** “Yo … yo querer conocer, no … saber…”
Laura began. Bethany rolled her eyes at Peggy.
“I have a hard time remembering what
comes after the paseo. Those turns.” “Just say it in English!” Marta commanded.

“That was hard for me too, Eiko, but I “¿Que significar guapa?
think I’ve got it. Let me show you.” Ursula
and Eiko pushed their chairs back and, step- “Guapa?” bellowed Rosa, puffing on her
ping behind them, began practicing. ducados, the strong black tobacco cigarettes
which had likely been the cause of making
“Oh, those.” Bethany joined in. “I need her voice so gruff and her skin so leathery.
some help with them too.” “Pues, the same as bonita, hermosa. They
mean pretty, good-looking.”
It was Thursday evening, the end of the
first week of classes. The women had been Laura’s jaw dropped, “What? He calls us
going out for tapas every evening. Rosa good-looking!” Peggy and Bethany smiled
had even succeeded in convincing Rafa and at the girl breaking her own language rule.
Jachi, the guitarist, to join them, but they
left after only one drink. “I mean …. Quiero decir, el nos dice …
That’s … es machismo!”
“Rafa has to get up really early.” she ex-
plained to the others after he left. “He dances “No, Laura. It’s very andaluz to call
in an important company and they practice people those things. It’s … how do you call
for six hours every morning.” She nodded as it? … an endearment. I call him guapo too.”
the other women sucked in their breaths.
“Among other things!” Ursula smirked at
She leaned forward and lowered her the others.
voice. “He’s a bit depressed now. He was
supposed to go on tour with a famous can- ***
taor but it fell through. That’s why he is here
teaching us beginners.” “Now let’s review the first part of the dance
we learned last week.” Rafa began the fol-
Rosa dropped bits of information about lowing Monday.
Rafa all week.
“I get so muddled.” moaned Agnes.
“You know those bracelets he wears?” Marta and Rosa joined in her laments.

They nodded. They had all noticed and “Shall we help them, queridas?” Rafa
they had all wondered. The wristbands were asked Laura and Eiko, failing to notice Laura
present in all his photos in the academy, the wince at the endearment. “Vamos!” and
small black beads glinting back at them. the three of them began.

Why had Rafa chosen them? Peggy
wondered. She and Bethany had been

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

practicing all weekend! Shame flooded her. Bethany pulled Peggy away. “Hoy no.
Despite her jealousy, she had to admit that Maridos, you know. They claim they never
Laura and Eiko had a lithe, youthful grace. see us anymore!” Then she whispered
It reminded her of kindergarten when she to Peggy, “I don’t think I can handle Rosa
yearned for the approval of her teacher, today. And the others are getting on my
Miss Tyson. How she had envied Tommy’s nerves too. Look, there’s Agnes and Ursula.
red curls because Miss Tyson loved to tousle Looks like they are trying to escape too. Hey
them, and longed for dimples like Tina’s be- guys!”
cause the teacher admired them.
They went to a terraza on calle Argu-
She vowed to work harder. Wouldn’t it mosa, a popular street near the school lined
be glorious if Rafa singled her out next time with tapas bars. César and Lucas called it
and smiled at her the way he had at them? la calle cutre-guay (Seedy-cool Street). La-
vapies had recently been named the coolest
“Venga guapas, uno, dos, tres, y …!” neighborhood in the world by Time Out
Magazine for its international population
Rafa clapped the beat, tik tik tak tik tik and hippy-hipster culture.
tak, while his students circled the room in
three beat twirls for two measures. They landed the last table, right next to
a flower-painted caravan which sheltered
“Remember, twist your wrist! Bailaoras them and cut off their view from the other
can create lovely effects that way. Now la sidewalk.
llamada, the signal to the cantaor. Golpe,
pico, tacón!”, and the women, facing each After ordering, Bethany sighed, “Isn’t it
other in the circle, began their zapateado, a nice not to have ducado smoke in your face?”
combination of stomp, toe and heel.
“Oh God, did you hear what she said to
“Ahora para el otro lado!” and they cir- Rafa today?” Ursula added.
cled back in the opposite direction.
“She always calls him guapetón and
“Oh no!” Agnes crashed into Eiko coming bombón.” Peggy couldn’t help but add.
up behind her. “I’m so sorry, I turned the “And if she knows so much, why isn’t she in
wrong way.” a higher level?”

“No pasa nada,” Rafa reassured her, “I don’t know how much she knows
“Repetimos!” about flamenco, but she sure seems to
know a lot about Rafa!” Agnes said, re-
*** vealing a less diplomatic side of herself.

“Te voy a comer la cara!” Peggy and Beth- Ursula was getting warmed up, “Yes,
any heard Rosa call to Rafa as they left the and I don’t think Rafa appreciates that too
dance studio the following day. much,” her voice turned dreamy now, “but
he’s too sweet to complain.”
Bethany, suppressing giggles, nudged
Peggy. “Did she just say what I think she The others cooed agreement as their
said? Not that I wouldn’t like to eat his face thoughts settled on the dancer.
myself but I wouldn’t announce it in class!”
she winked at Peggy’s horrified expression. “And that Laura … why doesn’t she speak
to you three in English? It would be the
“Coming for cañitas?” called Rosa, ac-
companied by Laura, Eiko and Marta.

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Revista Literária Adelaide

normal thing to do. Even Rafa tries English His back to them, Rafa turned to his left,
sometimes.” facing one group of four, and stamped out
a short zapateado.
More dreamy cooing sounds.
“Now you repeat. It is a dialogue. I chal-
Peggy thought they were going too far. lenge you and you answer.”
“Well, she is here to learn Spanish. She just
wants to make the most of her time.” The women followed suit, each group
avoiding eye contact with the other.
Ursula and Bethany frowned at her.
“Good. Now, I spin around to the left, and
“But … I know what you mean.” she took you copy. Muy bien! Again! Tak, tak, tak, tak,
another sip of wine for assistance. “And she spin to your left. Other group, tak, tak, tak,
learns so fast! She is so much younger than us.” tak, spin to your right. Repeat for four mea-
sures. Today we will practice the footwork
“Not so much younger!” Bethany looked and tomorrow the braceo, the arms.”
disappointed as she reached for her glass
and found it empty. ***

Ursula waved to the waitress. They “Come on, chicas!” Ursula turned to Peggy
got more critical as the empty glasses in- and Bethany, “Let’s go to my place. We can
creased; how badly coordinated Marta was, watch flamenco videos and quiz each other
and what a snob; how cutesy and demure on the different palos!”
Eiko was. Bethany imitated her dewy eyes
when she looked at Rafa. “Sorry, we can’t.” Bethany spoke for
both of them, “Our hombres are waiting for
Ursula stood up to parody in her idea us.” She murmured to Peggy, “I can’t handle
of a Cádiz accent “Rafa, te voy a comer la Ursula’s‘classes’ right now.”
cara!”
“Oh, okay. Look, there’s Agnes. We can
Just then Peggy, Bethany and Agnes go to Argumosa with her.”
heard a gruff voice from the terraza across
the street call out in an exaggerated German “Agnes? Don’t you think she´s a bit boring?”
accent “Laura del Sol, de las peliculas de
Carlos Saura!” Half an hour later Peggy and Bethany were
practicing their steps while the men were pre-
They had not noticed the hippy caravan paring paella. Lucas’s cell phone rang.
drive away.
“Si, mamá! It’s their third week. They talk
Both satirists unwittingly waited for re- about redobles, escobillas, braceo, paseos
actions while their respective audiences, and yo que sé. They always go for tapas with
trying to hush them, looked sheepishly at their classmates. Strangely, tonight they are
their plates. with us. Wait, Bethany wants to say hi.”

*** “So, why didn’t you bring your class-
mates along?” César asked Peggy.
“Let’s start the second part of the dance,
vale?” Rafa announced the next day. “Why?” Bethany winked at Lucas as she
switched off the phone. “You really liked
“Here, you will form two groups. Rosa, Eiko, didn’t you?”
Eiko, Laura and Marta, to my left. Ursula,
Peggy, Bethany and Agnes to my right.”

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

“What? Accusing us when all you two a tremor run through her. He had never
can talk about is Rafa this and Rafa that!” called any of them bonita. She tried to copy
him. “No, no. Así.” He clutched her wrist and
“It’s true, you know.” César looked turned it, letting go immediately, but a de-
at Peggy, “I know Rafa is a great guy, and licious tingle lingered on. She felt the heat
dancer and teacher, and guapo, but … estoy radiate from his body. He smelled of soap.
hasta los cojones!”
“Rafa!” Bethany whined, “Is my braceo
Peggy felt terrible. Had they really been okay?”
raving so much?
“Voy!” Rafa leapt away, leaving Peggy
Lucas snorted, “Y un hombre depilado, cold and furious.
¡vamos! An andaluz with no body hair!”
At the end of class Bethany ran after her.
“Well,” Bethany reached into Lucas’s “Hey, wait! Beer?”
open shirt, and twisted some shockingly long
chest hairs around her fingers, “You could do “Not today.”
with a little depilanding yourself, cariño.”
***
***
The next day they learned the last sequenc-
“This next part of the dance will be in pairs.” es. “In this part, Tita, our cantaora, sings, so
Rafa explained the next evening, after the no loud footwork. I would like you to show
warmup and revision. your individuality, your creative selves. You
have two measures to do whatever you
Over the next few days, they learned and like, and then you all form a line for the fi-
repeated new steps, some zapateado, a lot nal escobilla.”
of braceo, turning, arching, and complicated
cross-overs. Peggy and Bethany, along with They dedicated the next twenty minutes
the others, practiced long after the end of to all the possible ways each one could ex-
class, each pair achieving a unique, insular press herself through movement. Laura
communication. and Rosa took large strides to the tempo,
swooshing dramatically around the room,
The dance flowed through them, tug- the younger girl creating lovely swirls with
ging and twisting, yearning and yielding, her arms. Ursula, the technical one, made
gathering and scattering, from trickle to carefully counted turns. Eiko chose tiny, del-
torment. And it was lovely. icate steps, her head snapping left and right
like a mechanical doll. Marta swished her
*** skirt to and fro. Agnes swayed and clapped.
Bethany tried a sensual marquaje, with undu-
By the fourth and last week the students lating hips and shoulders. Peggy attempted
were no longer socializing after class. Lau- a technique Rafa had shown them, moving
ra went off with friends her own age from her arms inward and down, retreating, beck-
Spanish class, Eiko had met a man, Marta oning. They all appreciated this alone time.
made excuses about her husband, and Rosa
told them her aging mother was ill. Peggy saw Rafa watching from the corner
of the room. What did he think of them? A
“Mira bonita,” Rafa said softly to Peggy, bunch of silly women wasting his time when
correcting her braceo. “Like this.” Peggy felt

52

Revista Literária Adelaide

he should be doing something important “Well, we will be very busy here in the
like dancing and choreographing with and school.” Conchi chuckled, then turned to
for professionals? Whatever he thought, his Rafa, “Have you told them your big news?”
face did not betray it. “Muy bien!” he called,
and offered suggestions and tweaks to help “No, Conchi. Por favor. Not now.” Rafa,
make each performance unique. not in his usual tracksuit, looked stunning
in dark trousers, suit jacket, shirt and pol-
“Okay, lindas. This is the last part. Watch ka-dotted scarf.
carefully. We only have a short time to review
it, but the actual steps are repeats of what “Big news? ¡Venga Rafa! ¡Dinos!” Rosa
you did earlier. Remember the zapateado coaxed.
you danced, facing each other in pairs? We
repeat that here at the end in the escobilla. “Yes, yes. Tell us!” Ursula joined in.
Very strong and energetic to make a dramatic
finish. We have to leave them impressed!” Peggy was frantic. Maybe he had won
a prize. He was so modest he would never
Rafa lined them up in a row, “Vamos boast about such a thing. Maybe he had
Jachi, la escobilla final, uno, do, tre, y!” joined a famous dance company, with Sara
Baras or Joaquín Cortés. Or maybe he was
All eight of them followed his lead, tik, going to dance in a movie!
tik, tak, tik, tik, tak, until the last deafening
stamp resounded and they stood erect, “Our Rafa is getting married!” Conchi
right arms curved above their heads. announced.

*** All the women gasped. None of them
said anything, but Conchi continued, “And
The last Thursday of July was the date of you all know the person he is marrying!”
the anticipated and dreaded final show. she winked at him.
The academy buzzed with nervous energy.
Mothers and teachers fussed with young This time no one gasped, no one
dancers’ ruffles, and older students put the breathed, and it took a few seconds for
last touches on their make-up. even Rosa to react, “Anda, Rafa. A married
man. !Enhorabuena!
The ladies greeted each other with quick
nods. Peggy was frozen. She had known
nothing of his personal life other than the
La Tita, Jachi and Conchi were seated on bits of information Rosa had gleaned from
chairs against the wall. Conchi stood up. him and Conchi and proudly presented to
her classmates. As far as Peggy knew he
“Excited ladies? Nervous? You will do could have been married all along and been
really well. Rafa has told me what great the father of seven children!
students you are. Now, first the younger
groups will perform. In the meantime, you “Congratulations.” Several of the others
can rehearse. Well, it’s the last day before murmured.
holidays! Any plans?”
Today they were grateful for Rosa’s au-
For most of them, it was back to work dacity, “Okay, Rafa. Tell us who it is.”
in their own countries. This had been their
holidays. Rafa, usually so easy-going, frowned at
the laughing, teasing Conchi, set his jaw

53

Adelaide Literary Magazine

and rolled up his jacket sleeves, “After re- furling her brow. Could it be her? She al-
hearsal. We have work to do. There are only ways knew so much about him. Maybe now
a few minutes left. Venga, everyone in your she was just playing a game.
places. Jachi, vamos, al toque. Tita, ready?”
“Olé las guapas!” Rafa called.
Jachi started with the falsetta, and the
dancers raised their right arms and twisted Then, swing around and up she came
their wrists. Peggy’s eyes leapt to the poster against Marta, a far-off, defeated look
of Rafa with Pepa. They were looking pas- clouding her features. Or her?
sionately at each other and sporting their
matching bracelets. Whenever they were Twirl left, toward Agnes, fine tears glis-
together, they laughed and joked. It was tening on her cheek. Or her?
obviously her.
Step forward, one, two, three and …
There was a swish as the ladies turned there was Eiko, forlorn surprise making her
to the left in time with the guitar and Ti- eyes wider and dewier than ever. Or her?
ta’s palmas, sweeping their feet along in an
arc along the floor, and Peggy found herself Swirl the skirt, step right, swirl the skirt,
facing the photo with Rafa and La Glori. step left, then look up and she came face
Or her? Of course. They had danced in the to face with Bethany’s cold expression.
same company, Rosa had told them, and Could it be her, and she had kept it a secret
gone on tours together. all along? Of course! Marriage was just a
hobby for her!
“Tiri traum traum traum …” Tita’s voice an-
nounced the opening of the alegria. Or her? “Más alegre, chicas! This is a happy
There was such a connection between them dance. Alegría not agonía!” Rafa clapped,
whenever she wailed her sorrowful soleás. “Eiko, vamo, Rosa, guapa! Todas … La esco-
billa! Redoble, golpe tacón … Uno, do, tre y
The ladies arched around and Peggy saw … Jachi acabamo!”
Conchi whispering to the secretary, Loli, who
had just walked in. Ah, yes! The secretary! So At the last stamp of their feet all eight
pretty, kind and efficient. Or Conchi herself? women looked up in perfect formation.
Was that why she winked at him so much?
Peggy could tell Rafa was pleased but
Rafa clapped loudly as Conchi left the tense.
room, “Vamo! Uno, do, tre.” and they all
leapt into position for the llamada. Marta broke the screeching silence,
“Venga Rafita, tell us, who is it?”
Stamp, two, three, stamp, two, three,
sweep! And Peggy arched to the right to Rafa looked uncomfortable. Peggy felt
see the tense look on Ursula’s face. Could for him. Goading people into surrendering
it be her? personal information was very un-Spanish.
He looked directly at her as if he could read
Cuatro, cinco !golpe!, and she turned left her thoughts. She wanted to run to him,
to see Laura’s stricken look. Could it be her? protect him.

Redoble, redoble, redoble, step forward, Jachi cleared his throat, pushed his chair
one two three, arms up, turn, and Peggy back, stood up, and leaned his guitar against
came face to face with Rosa, suspicion the wall, then strode slowly to the front of
the room beside Rafa.

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Revista Literária Adelaide

Rosa squealed, “!Lo sabía!” “Let’s all celebrate together after!” Ur-
sula shouted.
Peggy’s eyes widened. She knew? What
did she know? “Si!” they all chanted, their earlier ca-
maraderie returning. Even Rafa was alegre
Rosa ran up and hugged the two men. now as the women regaled him with the
The women’s faces betrayed first confu- embraces they had been saving all month.
sion, then disbelief, dismay and finally relief.
Then they all broke out laughing, and began Then it was their turn to dance. This time
hugging both the men and each other. with alegría in their alegría.

About the Author

Anita Haas: I am a differently-abled Canadian writer and
teacher based in Madrid, Spain. I have published books on
film, two novelettes, a short story anthology, and articles,
poems and fiction in both English and Spanish. I spend
my free time enjoying tapas and flamenco with my writer
husband and two cats.

55

CHRISTMAS TREE
HEIST

by Angela Smith

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing on It was going to be a long night. I set-
the other end of my cellphone. Someone tled my tired brain into that notion. The-
had been cutting down the Colorado blue Mapelton’s tree business sustained them
spruce trees, Fraser fir trees, and even for the whole year. They were a delightful
a couple of Balsam fir at the Mapleton’s old couple. Who could steal that many
Christmas tree farm. The trees on that Christmas trees? Why? So many unan-
farm had been around my whole life, and swered questions. I would sit all night at
my grandfather’s too. I remembered going that farm waiting on the culprits if I hadto.
there as a boy. Pine and spruce scents nev-
er left your nose. Trees were living, breath- ***
ing, beings to me. I roamed the trails of
saplings until they turned into a forest of Christmas was in a few days and my gor-
magnificence to behold. There were light geous, pregnant wife was at home waiting
green needles, dark green needles, and at home for me. She was round as Santa, we
some with a hint of blue. were to have a New Year baby. The smells of
fresh sausages rolled, cut up, and baked in
“Beautiful as they are, they have a prickly fresh puff pastry rolls; is what I came crash-
side; so be careful.” Grandfather always told ing into. Marie was putting sprinkles of white
me. Growing up in Colorado was very spe- sesame seeds and mint on the pastry’s she
cial too me. The mountains and trees were was about to put in the oven. There was a
sacred. bowl of egg next to her that she had used to
make the wash, that made the rolls melt in
“I know, Sheriff, but that’s what old man your mouth. Her long light brown hair was
Mapleton told me.” Jane said. I could feel put up in a messy bun. She had her red and
the emotion in my deputy’s voice, she was black checkered Christmas apron with a po-
as upset as Iwas. “I promise you I will find lar bear in a green bow tie next to a Christ-
who is behind this.” Rayreplied. mas tree on. I brushed my mouth over her
velvety lips and tasted the butter she had
“Thank you, Sheriff.” put on her gourmet pig and a blanket.

56

Revista Literária Adelaide

“Yum,” I said around and landed an uppercut to his jaw.
Duke had the second perp by his shirt, near
“Back atcha,” Marie said. his jugular.

“I got to go on a stake out tonight, at Slamming his body on the ground with a
the Mapleton farm.” “Why on earth?” ex- crash; cuffs slapped around his wrists with a
claimed Marie. satisfying click. The perp Duke had a hold of
was shaking like a leaf, he slowly offered his
“Someone’s been stealing the trees,” I said. wrists. I gladly snapped the cuffs shut. Ad-
justing my eyes, I noticed these men were
“Well, just be careful and take the dog,” strangers.
Marie demanded. “I will. Love you,” I said.
“You men won’t be stealing from our
“I love you too, here’s a dinner to go, and town any time soon.” I threatened.
some hot cider for the cold.”
Duke growled deep in his throat, as if
I hugged my beautiful angel, and kissed to demonstrate my point. Duke pursued so
her belly, softly whispering sweet nothings close to each man, he barely missed ones
only my daughter could hear. As I left the leg with his snarling teeth. Hauling these
porch door slammed shut with a creaking men into the station, brought cheers from
groan. I wrestled Duke my brown hunting all the deputies. Old man Mapleton came
dog into my old trusted truck, and off we and shook my hand ferociously.
went.
“Thanks so much, Ray!” he exclaimed.
Duke and I sat for hours in the barn “Anytime,” I said.
keeping each other warm with warm food
and snuggly bodies. I had a good perch from Christmas day cinnamon and spices
the loft. Old man Mapleton had brought filled my nose. My lovely wife was tossing
hand stitched quilts and a space heater for pans around and mixing up a storm. A plate
us. This farm was magical at night with dew overfilled with french toast was waiting for
drops dancing on the trees. It played with me, along with crunchy bacon. I layered my
my nose and captivated it with the aroma plate with french toast, butter, and maple
from the forest. The barn smelled of hay syrup. The food melted into my mouth.
and pine boards. The boards were new and
kept me awake with their odor. I had to stay “Oh!” Marie cried out.
diligent. I told Duke stories as we sat; he lis-
tened. “What’s wrong, Babe?!” I asked.

And then it happened, lights bouncing “I don’t think this baby is waiting for New
in the distance. Duke sat up alert, his hair Year’s!” Marie exclaimed. “I will get the hos-
standing straight up. This was the moment pital bag!” I yelled; running to grab it.
we had been waiting for. I creeped around,
urging my canine companion to keep low ***
and quiet. Duke moved like a beacon,
obeying my every command. That day on Jesus’s birthday, the most pre-
cious angel was born. My Charlotte Ann
Pride swelled in my chest. barely made a peep when she came into
this world. Marie glistened with sweat and
I ran up as fast as I could grabbed the exertion. I had never been more proud of
perp by the back of the collar, swung him

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Adelaide Literary Magazine
her. Mother and daughter cuddled up to-
gether on the hospital bed fast asleep. My
phone was blazing from overuse. I made
sure a nurse kept an eye on my precious
pair; while I slipped out to the house. I
grabbed the tree, presents, and swooped
up some tasty morsels. That Christmas in
the hospital was so special, I was bursting
with joy. The tree bandits had been caught;
and a little baby had stolen my heart.

About the Author
Angela Smith: I am currently enrolled in Creative Writing
for Movies, at Full Sail University; obtaining my bachelors
degree. I am a Veteran of the United States Army. Reading
and writing are my passion.

58

SILVIES VALLEY
RANCH

by Michael Amato

“Morning, Sheriff,” Cole says. barn and into one of the grazing grounds. Five
young bulls lay dead in a circular pattern in a
“What’s going on here, Cole,” the Sheriff dried-up patch of grass deep in the middle of
says. the field field.

“We received a disturbing call earlier The Sheriff gags as he stares at the car-
today from Silvies Valley Ranch,” Cole says. cass. The bulls look emaciated. It reeks of
death and decay. The morning sun heats the
“That’s like the fifth or sixth time this corpse as some of the skin starts to melt off
month,” the Sheriff says. “God, some of these the body of the animals.
cracked out farmer types are something else.”
“What in the hell?” the Sheriff says
The police cruiser arrives at the farm, shocked.
Cole and the Sheriff got out of the car and
make their way up along the dusty road on “I don’t know what happened to them,
a hill. There’s a large white sign with green Sheriff,” the farmer says. “I came out here
lettering at the base of the hill. With Silvies about ten minutes ago to check on them,
Valley Ranch on the sign. and I found them like this.”

The dew from the grassy pastures “Cole, get back to the cruiser and call for
around the farm shimmers in the early backup,” the Sheriff says.
morning light as they continue up the road.
Fog forms as they kick up dust before finally “I’m on it, Sheriff,” Cole says, rushing
making it to the farmer’s house. back out through the field back to the barn.

A man is waiting for them outside pacing The Sheriff pulls out a pair of sterile
back and forth. gloves from one of the compartments on
his belt and pulled them over his hands.
“Sheriff, thank god. Follow me hurry,”
the farmer says, motioning them to follow. “Is their drinking water clean?” the
Sheriff asks. “It could be something in the
Both officers make their way to the farmer. water that killed them.”
In a panic, the man rushes them through the

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“That couldn’t be possible,” the farmer barn. The creature pulls out a blade, using
says. “They drank from the same place yes- it’s speed it leaps on the farmer. The crea-
terday and they were fine.” ture starts repeatedly stabbing the man in
the back with a chiseled blade. The crea-
“Are you using pesticides that could ture screeches in victory over the corpse
harm them?” the Sheriff asks. sprinting after the Sheriff.

“Of course not, Sheriff,” the farmer re- The Sheriff makes it inside the barn out
plies. of breath and slams the two wooden double
doors with all his might and trying to find
“We’re going to help you find out who or something heavy to block the door. Cole
what did this,” the Sheriff says. “We’ll see makes it back in time to see the Sheriff with
what we can do for compensation.” his back to the double doors trying to keep
the creature out.
He continues examining the carcasses.
“Sheriff, what the hell happened!?” Cole
“There’s symbols here,” the Sheriff says. says. “Where’s the farmer?”
“Circles with lines cutting through the middle,
squares with triangles in the corners.” “We need to leave now!” the Sheriff yells
back at him. “Come over here and help me!”
“Wait, Sheriff, you hear that?” the farmer
says. “What going on!?” Cole says.

The Sheriff stops and tries to listen but He puts his back to the doors alongside
nothing made a sound. A translucent out- the Sheriff.
line of some kind of creature starts silently
moving in the tall grass moving closer to “What in God’s name is behind that
the two men. The creature starts making door, Sheriff!”
clicking sounds. The clicking turns to hissing.
Then a seven foot tall muscular humanoid “A creature of some kind,” the Sheriff re-
creature emerges uncloaking from it’s cam- plies. “Alien”
ouflage revealing itself.
“Alien?!” Cole replies.
“Sheriff, behind you!” the farmer yells.
“Damnit, Cole! find something to block
The large creature is armored in sharp this fuckin’ door and lets get the hell out of
angled scraps from neck to toe. here!” the Sheriff says.

“Oh my god,” the Sheriff turns to meet Cole surveys the barn, he manages to
the gaze of this creature find a massive two by four a hammer and
long nails just a few feet away on cutting
The creatures screeches with the four board inside the barn.
mandibles extending revealing rows of
teeth. The piercing yellow slits the creature “Over there, two by!” Cole says
had for eyes locks onto the Sheriff.
“I got it, go!” the Sheriff replies back.
“Run!” the Sheriff yells.
Cole rushes to grab the items and wedges
Both men book it through the tall grass the massive plank in between the handles.
away from the creature trying to get back He slams the long nails into the wood. It
to the double doors leading back into the splinters as the creature pushes on the door
and Cole nailing the wood down.

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“Hurry up, Cole, I can’t hold it back any- The Sheriff leans off the door. The door
more!” the Sheriff says. holds and the creature continues to slam on
the wooden doors. The two men high tail it
He’s dripping in sweat trying to hold this out of the barn and they go down the hill.
creature back with the doors digging his A loud bang and bright flash make the two
feet in the dirt to push the door. men turn around. A beam of light shines on
top of barn as a massive mothership reveals
“I got it!” Cole says pinning the last nail itself.
in the wood to the door.

About the Author
Michael E. Amato is a writer currently living in Orlando, Florida. He was raised in Chicago,
Illinois.

61

ON THE RUN

by Victoria Rowse

It was a regular day I got home about rushed out to see what all the noise was,
noon when I noticed the previously empty Ivan fell out of his car clutching his side he
house was now alive with activity, I looked looked hurt.
through my kitchen window to see my new
neighbor he was tall, well bit and who was “are you okay?” Alice asked starting to
I kidding good looking. He was moving his walk towards him “do you need a doctor?”
things alone; I made my way over to his she asked nervously.
yard as he came out to the truck to grab
another box. “I’m fine too much to drink go away,”
Ivan snapped struggling to his feet and
“Hi neighbor!” Alice said waving at the staggering to his door. Alice stood back and
man who looked slightly annoyed. crossed her arms over her chest, she didn’t
believe him, she picked up her garbage cans
“Oh, hi,” he said turning his attention to and went back inside glancing through the
his boxes picking out the next one to carry window at her neighbor’s house. Over the
in. next few days her suspicions increased it
seemed now he was watching her, every
“Anyway, nice to meet you I’m Alice,” time she went outside, he magically ap-
Alice said slightly put off by his rude be- peared she even caught him looking in her
havior, maybe he was just having a bad day. window. Alice decided she had enough she
was going to confront him; she could tol-
“Yeah Ivan, nice to meet you,” he said. erate him being rude, but he wasn’t going
Alice furrowed her eyebrows a bit miffed to blow her off and stalk her. Alice marched
from this less then friendly encounter; she over to his house and knocked on his door,
shifted awkwardly and decided to leave. no one answered but the door opened she
looked around for someone who might see
“Okay bye,” she said turning on her heel her and braced herself.
and leaving quickly, he was defiantly odd
she thought. Over the next few weeks Ivan’s “It’s not breaking in if the door is open,”
actions were even more strange, he kept she reasoned. Alice roamed from room to
odd hours, constantly looked out of his win- room it all looked so normal if not a little
dows, and over his shoulder. Alice watched spartan but, he was a guy, so she wasn’t re-
him closely; and then she didn’t see much ally surprised. Finally, she reached his bed-
of him at all that is until he crashed into room nothing interesting save for a huge
her trash cans at two in the morning. Alice

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armoire in the corner. She wrestled with her “Sorry Alice,” before he could pull the
conscious about whether or not she should trigger a loud crash filled the room and a
look in it and decided against it at least until canister rolled to Ivan’s feet, he kicked it
she saw the glint of something metal in the under the bed.
sunlight.
“Shit they found me,” he said grabbing
“Just a peek,” she said. Inside was a wide Alice’s wrist and running to the hallway.
array of weapons from firearms to bombs.
Alice silently took in the view she spotted “who found you?” Alice shouted over
a small metal box I’ve come this far she the sound of bullets raining down on them.
thought and opened the box inside she
found passports and idenfication cards from “Russian kill squad I botched a job
all over the world. awhile back been on the run ever since,” he
returned fire hitting his targets until his gun
“what the hell?” Alice jumped dropping clicked empty. “Damn,” he muttered tossing
everything she held in her hands. “what the gun aside. “run,” he said running into
the hell are you doing?” he shouted. Alice the kitchen and snatching another gun from
turned slowly and saw he had a gun trained under an upturned table.
on her.
“I did not sign up for this,” Alice said
“I…you! What are you? Who are you?” running after Ivan and ducking behind a
she asked. counter. Ivan was exchanging shots with the
final gunman.
“You know what doesn’t matter your
dead now,” Ivan said taking aim at Alice. “You broke into my house on a bad day,”
he said dryly, a bullet hit his shoulder taking
“Wait no!” Alice said raising her hands, him down and Alice scrambled over taking
“I’m sorry okay I have zero impulse control off her sweater “here” she said placing it on
I swear I won’t tell anyone. I will move you his wound.
will never see me again,” she said reaching
for anything that would make him spare her. “Look out!” Ivan shouted reaching for his
gun, Alice snatched it up and turned around
“I can’t do that,” Ivan said, “I don’t trust shooting the gun man without thinking. Ivan
you.” slumped over and took a breath “we need
to get out of here,” he said sitting up slowly.
“You don’t trust me! You’re the one out
here playing double O seven!” Alice said “We… five minutes ago you were going
motioning to the cabinets, Ivan rolled his to kill me,” Alice said in disbelief. Ivan
eyes and huffed. moved quickly and grabbed a duffle bag
from a false panel.
“I’m not a spy I’m a hitman,” he said
keeping his aim steady. “Yeah that was before you saved my life
and made yourself a target,” he said. The
“oh, cause that’s better,” Alice snapped. pair left without so much as a backwards.

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About the Author

Victoria Rowse is a first-year student at Full Sail University working on her bachelor’s degree
in Creative Writing for Entertainment. She has several works in progress including a fan
fiction series on Wattpad and a podcast story for a local Facebook page. Victoria had a poem
published in 2004 titled The Tsunami under her maiden name Lara on poetry.com. Victoria
is an avid reader of fantasy, horror and general fiction. She lives at home with her husband,
two children and small stable of pets.

64

FINDING HER

by Bianca Bonilla

When I went to check the time, I got an in- all the Gods on earth that the person who
coming call from my sister. Right from when took my daughter was not who I thought
I picked up the phone, I thought I was go- they were.
ing to go deaf. Emily kept screaming and
I could hear the tears in her voice. I tried When I reached the school, I couldn’t
calming her down, but nothing seemed to see much of anything. This is now a crime
work. Whatever I said, she wasn’t listening. scene.
I rubbed my hand over my face and shut my
eyes tightly. Red and blue lights flashed everywhere
but it’s silent. Officers scattered across the
When I told her to shut up, she went si- entrance and the parking lot. Even the news
lent. I asked her once more about what was crews were around speaking of a five year
wrong. And when the words came sobbing old girl being taken or reported missing. My
out of her mouth, my eyes went wide, the blood is boiling and my fists were clenched
room was spinning, and her voice was faint. tightly. Before I could act on impulse, I was
being pulled away by my sister. It took a few
The phone fell from my hands and as minutes to recollect myself. I turned to her
my brain was trying to register everything and asked her if anyone saw anything or if
at once, I ran. The stabbing sensation that the teachers and parents have seen anyone.
went to my heart and through my body is a No luck came from anywhere.
pain I never thought I would ever feel. Not
in all the years I’ve walked this earth. My The sinking feeling in my gut went
daughter was kidnapped. deeper. They say the first forty-eight hours
are critical, and if the person or child is not
I didn’t have time to think or process. My found it is likely they are dead. I couldn’t let
only thought is to get my daughter back and that happen.
to have her in my arms again. The beating
against my chest wouldn’t slow down as I I was soon forced to go home and that
ran to my car. was dangerous for me. My mind is a current
war zone, a never ending battle with my
I didn’t stop as the screaming voices be- own thoughts. When I got home, I noticed
hind me told me to slow down. a letter placed in my room. I ripped the top
part open and took the letter in my hands.
I sped down the calm streets with only I noticed the handwriting immediately. No
one thought clouding my mind. I pray to name was written but I knew. The energy

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coursing through my veins felt uncontrol- “You need help. You can’t keep holding
lable. The sound of his voice haunting my onto the past.”
mind.
“I’m going to be with her again.”
Long before Natalie was born, I was in a
bad place. I did things I’m not proud of but He wasn’t listening to me and I could no
I got out when she was born. I knew what I longer help him. There was nothing I could
had to do and I’m willing to do anything to do to stop him. He wouldn’t hurt Natalie,
get her back. Finding her is my top priority. but he would hurt me. I just stared at him as
he turned around to face death in its face.
I stood in front of the house I hoped I My body shook at the thought. I backed to-
never had to come back to. The quietness wards the door and opened it. The Florida
that loomed over left an unsettling feeling sun hitting my face as the sound of a gun-
in me as I stepped inside. Shutting the door, shot echoed through the air.
I looked up and there he stood with a grin
plastered on his face. Natalie was nowhere I stopped when I heard her sweet
in sight. My hands balled into fists. voice not realizing the blood spilling from
my torso, only the sound of my beloved
“Where is she, Kyle? She has nothing to daughter.
do with this.”
“Papa!”
“Oh, but she does little brother. Your
daughter killed the only woman I ever My eyes darted to the small girl running
loved,” he says. He had a sick smile on his towards me. I dropped to my knees as tears
face. streamed down my face. I engulfed her into
a tight embrace.

About the Author

Bianca Bonilla is an inspiring author who puts all her time
and energy into her writing. In her free time, you can
catch her reading or volunteering. Finding Her is her first
published piece.

66

A FORK IN THE
ROAD

by Gary Delmar Jaycox

“Can I pee in the back of your truck? Pleeeese.” time. But now she was standing next to me,
not two feet away, grasping what appeared
Thus roused from a fleeting daydream, to be a thermos bottle in one hand, and
I turned to my left to see her standing a half-emptied roll of paper towels in the
there. On the other side of my door. Out other.
in the hot mid-day sun. I recognized her in-
stantly. Tank-top. Well, that’s the nickname “Can I pee in the back of your truck?”
I’d given her after she pulled her shiny red she repeated, this time with greater ur-
convertible up alongside my SUV about an gency. “There’s no place for me to go out
hour earlier. She was piloting one of those here,” she added, motioning to an odd col-
sporty two-seaters. You know, the kind with lection of people along the roadside that
enough luggage space in back for an over- were randomly milling about.
night bag stuffed with a change of clothes
and maybe an extra tooth brush. A brown Now better acquainted with her predic-
leather saddle occupied the convertible’s ament, I opened my driver’s side door and
only other seat. A worn duffle bag was slung hurried to the rear of my SUV so that I could
over the saddle’s horn that protruded up- raise its liftgate. She hopped in and then
wards. From my elevated vantage point, I’d quickly latched the door shut behind her.
spied her outfit first. A tight fitting, yellow The concrete pavement radiated the day’s
tank-top partnered with a pair of worn heat upward as I made my way forward.
cut-off jeans below. That was about it. Her Leaning against my SUV’s front grill, I could
light blonde hair was gathered up tightly see that the interstate highway remained
into a neat ponytail that fell over her tanned one big parking lot. Both west-bound lanes
shoulders. I’d finally been caught staring in were jammed with a mix of cars and trucks
her general direction one too many times. for miles ahead. It was the start of the
She’d returned my gaze with a quirky smile Fourth of July weekend. So, everyone was
and then directed her attention back to a out and about, each with their own purpose
cell phone that was balanced on her lap. and destination in mind. And yet all of us
And that was that. Or so I’d thought at the were now bound together by one rather

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inconvenient fact. Simply put, we were all “The tag screwed on to the rear bumper,”
hostages of the highway. she said, if somehow sensing my confused
state. “The Pennsylvania license tag; the
Without warning, the liftgate slammed one attached to the back of your truck,” she
shut sending vibrations through the SUV’s added more assertively.
rigid frame and into the small of my back.
I turned in time to see her stowing several “Oh, yeah that.”
items away in her duffle bag. Then she
quickly stepped forward in my direction. “I mean, it is your truck, right? After all,
you did just let me pee in it,” she continued,
“Thanks, Cowboy. No way I was gonna now re-armed with her quirky smile.
make it through on a day like this,” she said,
pointing to the sea of idled cars and trucks I assured her that, yes, it was my truck
that enveloped us. and that I was indeed just passing through.
“Just letting the road take me,” I added. She
“No problem,” I answered casually, in- nodded in a knowing manner but didn’t say
tending to put her at ease. “After all, my anything.
truck is a sport-utility-vehicle,” I added,
placing an emphasis on the word utility. “Well, looks like we’re stuck here a
There was a moment of laughter between while. Nasty crash eighteen miles up near
us. the bridge. Fatalities accordin’ to the traffic
alert that came in over my cell.”
“Bad day to be out here with Fred,” she
continued. “Bridge?” I asked after pausing briefly.

“Fred?” I asked, half expecting to see “Yeah, the bridge. The big one leadin’ to
some guy sitting in the seat where the horse the other side. To the other side of Ol’ Blue.
saddle had been moments before. You know, the Mississippi.”

“Yeah, Fred. That’s what I call my ride.” Up until that moment, I had no idea that
my travels had carried me this far west. I
“I’m sorry,” I responded playfully. “There simply hadn’t been keeping track since the
are a lot of names that you might attach to night before. And now here she was, telling
a car like yours. But Fred isn’t one of them.” me that I was less than twenty miles from
crossing over the Mississippi River. I tried
“Exactly right,” she countered. “And to explain my new-found revelation to her.
that’s why I call him Fred. Speakin’ of And then in my own defense I added rather
names, mine’s Ellie,” she offered while ex- hastily, “You know, it all sort of looks the
tending her right hand forward. same out here.”

I introduced myself as I grasped her “Yeah, well that’s what you Easterners
hand. She had a surprisingly firm hand like to say. Just corn, soy and wheat. Flat dirt
shake. An honest one. that’s all the same. Right? Except, it’s not.
Not if you spend the proper time gettin’ to
“You’re a long way from Pennsylvania. know it, that is.”
You just passin’ through?”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to imply anything,”
For the second time in less than fifteen I interjected quickly, sensing that maybe I’d
minutes, her words caught me off guard. somehow offended her.
Pennsylvania. How did she know that? Did I
have a Philly accent or something?

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“Not a problem, Cowboy. Besides, you’re heads that mushroomed off to the north-
the ones back East that are missin’ out,” she west.
countered while gently shaking her head and
attendant ponytail from side to side. There By now, most of the traffic had forked
was a hint of playfulness in her voice, a bit over to the right, responding to road signs
of exaggeration as if she enjoyed verbally stationed along various exits that promised
sparing with me. We spent the next several good food and a decent place to bed-down
hours together along the roadside, hostages after a long day. As if somehow drawn to
as we both were. She offered up that in an the turbulence gathering on the horizon,
earlier life, she had been a graphic designer, I continued pressing forward however,
working in Chicago for a dozen years before choosing to pursue what was clearly the less
taking on a shorter stint in Kansas City. And travelled path on into the night. And that’s
that following her divorce, she’d abruptly how it would be for the next sixteen hours
switched paths. Now, she was a certified or so. Driving flat and often arrow-straight
riding instructor freelancing on the mid- through darkness, dawn and then on into
western equestrian circuit. Anyway, there the new day. Rolling ever westward. Ticking
was a free-spirited way about her. One that off mile after mile. Purposely moving away
I surmised was both sustained and nurtured from all that had been. That is, until I en-
by big open skies and the wide-open road. countered the two-lane parking lot choking
the interstate. And the little red convertible
*** that had come to an abrupt halt seconds
later in the passing lane situated to my im-
During the previous afternoon, I’d been mediate left.
west-bound on the interstate, coasting
down along the forested slopes of the Al- ***
legany Plateau, an ancient landform that,
both geographically and historically, has “Let me be frank. We’d like you to reconsid-
always served to isolate the eastern Unit- er your decision.” Those words, voiced by a
ed States from the middle of our country. Senior Partner in the law firm where I’d been
As the terrain gradually bottomed-out and gainfully employed for some time, marked
then opened-up, large farms sprouted on the start of a tense, one-on-one meeting
the horizon signaling that I was finally en- that had been hastily called two hours ear-
tering America’s Heartland. The sun, dip- lier, ostensibly on my behalf. I’d found my-
ping ever lower in the western sky, pressed self sitting in a glass-enclosed corner office
its warm red-orange glow through my atop one of the new gleaming high-rises
windshield as I motored forward. This was that shaped Philadelphia’s evolving skyline.
my favorite time to be out on the road. A This, about five weeks prior to my eventual
time when things slowed down a bit. When foray west. From my vantage point, I could
you could plan for tomorrow and yet still see him fingering the one-page letter that
appreciate where you’d been hours before. I’d submitted to the HR group the day be-
Earthy aromas swirled in the air, propelled fore. My Letter of Resignation.
upwards by the day’s latent heat that ener-
gized the ground along the highway. As the “Do you intend to join another group
sky darkened, intermittent flashes of pink across town?” he inquired directly.
and electric blue illuminated tall thunder-
“No, not at all,” I replied defensively.
“That’s not why I-”

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“Well, what then? You’re one of our “Should you elect to stay with our firm,
rising stars here at the Firm. And we need there’s no telling how far you could go, or
you in Corporate. If it’s more money or what you could ultimately have,” he said
higher profile work, we can negotiate that.” while pointing subtly toward the private
corner of his office. “Look, we know that
For the next several minutes, I tried to there’ve been some changes in your life.
explain my decision as best I could. My But you’re making a major decision here.
reason for leaving. I wasn’t seeking addi- Think about what’s truly at stake. Take a few
tional compensation or better opportunities days. Then get back to us.”
or any of the other things so often coveted
by those emmeshed in the arena of law. So, that’s exactly what I did. And three
There had to be more to life. There just had days later, I officially resigned.
to be. And I’d recently arrived at a crucial
time in my own life when I needed to find ***
out. One way or the other.
About eleven months before my little tête-
“So, you’re willing to walk away from à-tête atop the Philadelphia skyline, I’d
our team, your career and all that you’ve been out in my driveway happily applying a
strived for?” he asked while shaking his second coat of wax to my brand-new SUV.
head, telegraphing his disbelief. It was a beautiful Saturday morning at the
start of what promised to be another great
Before I could reply, a young woman summer. Karen stepped out into the garage
with shiny-black, shoulder-length hair en- wearing the pink terry-cloth robe that she’d
tered the room from a small alcove that was wrapped around her about an hour before.
partially hidden off in one corner. No more
than half his age and sporting three-inch “Hun, I’m going to get cleaned-up and
heels and a string of pearls that highlighted then drive to the grocery store. When I get
her bronzed cleavage, she was impeccably back, I’ll fix us a quick breakfast.”
dressed. That is, save for the fact that her
above-the-knee wool skirt was about a half- “I’ll go. I’m already dressed,” I replied,
size too small, and a button or two appeared eager to take my truck out for a quick spin.
to be absent from her white blouse up-top.
There was a brief exchange of papers be- “Oh no. I want you to finish up what
tween them as their eyes locked on one an- you’re doing here. Remember, we’re going
other. No words were spoken. And on that that new club tonight in Old City. You’re
occasion, none were required. I watched as taking me dancing.”
she turned and then slowly sauntered away,
retracing her steps back toward the dark- She turned and then playfully re-en-
ened, private recesses of his office. There tered the house. Dancing. That’s right, I had
was a moment of silence before he elected promised. And I loved my wife. Dearly. So,
to continue our meeting, now clearly better dancing we would go.
armed, and fully intent on pressing his case.
“You missed a spot,” she teased as she
“You know, you’re on the fast-track to strutted past my truck, now dressed to run her
make Partner.” His demeanor had softened. errand. “Don’t look at me, concentrate on your
work,” she continued, still in her frisky mood.
I nodded but remained silent.
I followed her silver BMW as it slowly
rolled down along the cul-de-sac that

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shaped our leafy neighborhood. This for consequence on any given day and are thus
what would be the last time. My cell phone quickly forgotten. Whether to do this or
vibrated to life forty minutes later. I was at that, to go here or there, to say one thing
the accident scene ten minutes after that. or another. And then there are other forks
What had been her car lay crumpled along that are of major import, forcing us to ago-
the side of the road, its driver’s side door nize for days or even weeks at a time over
caved-in due to an errant delivery truck an appropriate course of action vis-a-vis an
that had failed to properly heed a stop sign. outcome desired. But there is also a third
Sesame seed bagels littered the car’s car- kind of fork. The dangerous kind. The ones
peted floor. An odd mix of yellow egg yolks that lurk just below the surface and are thus
and white shell fragments clung to the tan mostly hidden from view. The stealthy ones
dashboard and fractured windshield above. that you enter into without fully knowing.
A small pool of blood was partially smeared That is, until you pop-out on the other side
along the edge of the driver’s seat, while often with life-altering consequences firm-
strands of light brown hair caught and tan- ly and forever attached. Interesting thing is,
gled within the webbed shoulder harness when all of our forks and choices are gath-
were all that visibly remained of the BMW’s ered-up and then threaded together back-
former occupant. There were the inevitable to-back, when they’re viewed collectively
questions, of course. Like those asked to in this way with the aid of twenty-twen-
complete the on-site accident report. Was ty-hindsight, for each of us, they constitute
she familiar with the area? Was her car a life lived. But when these same forks are
in good mechanical order? Had she been engaged in the forward direction, when
drinking? Was she on any medication? they’re encountered separately along the
rigid and unforgiving arrow-of-time as each
“Yes.” “Yes.” “No.” “No,” I answered ro- must, well……you just never know.
botically in a numbed state, surrounded by
an odd assortment of red and blue lights ***
that flashed and blinked out-of-sync. Later
on, after that fateful morning had passed “Hey, did you hear what I said?”
and her final affairs had been settled, there
were other questions that clung stubbornly I turned to see Ellie tugging on my arm.
to life, eager to assert themselves over and
over again. Uninvited questions that danced “Look, the traffic. It’s breakin’ up ahead.”
freely with my mind. Like, what if I’d gone to
the store instead of her? What if we’d de- Sure enough, off in the distance, cars
cided not to have breakfast? What if we’d and trucks that had been long idled were
remained in bed for another ten minutes starting to creep forward, their red brake
or so that morning? Or if we hadn’t made lights pulsing on and off in a halting, ir-
love at all? Nagging questions. The kind that regular manner. Like a stubborn clog stuck
dealt with life’s inevitable choices. Or as I’ve in a narrow drain pipe slowly working its
always called them - our forks in the road. way free, the traffic-jam choking the west-
bound interstate was now starting to clear.
*** We stood in the middle of the highway for
several minutes, sandwiched as we were
Forks. Choices. There are the different between a large SUV and a sporty red con-
kinds of course. Most are of little or no real vertible. Not saying anything. Just watching.
Ellie was the one to finally break the silence.

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“Look, you gotta be kind of tired, havin’ “Hey Cowboy,” she shouted-out as she
been out on the road all this time. Comin’ turned in my direction, “Thanks for the use
as far west as you have. Well, there’s a little of your truck.”
place up ahead, about half an hour on the
other side. On the other side of the bridge.” My seat and steering wheel were uncom-
She hesitated briefly before continuing. “It’s fortably warm as I hurriedly started my own
not much. But my cookin’s not too bad. And engine, now in need of demonstrating some
the conversation’s bound to be a whole lot degree of forward motion lest I receive un-
better. If you want...if you want to get off wanted encouragement from those idling in
this road for a while, then just follow me the right-hand lane behind me. For the next
after we cross over. Okay?” several miles, the red convertible and my
SUV maintained an even pace, driving along
I nodded as if I’d fully grasped her offer. side-by-side in halting traffic that gradually
But I hadn’t. Not at that moment anyway. thinned as it ramped-up to full speed. Then,
Instead, I’d turned my attention back to- without warning, the convertible abruptly
ward the narrow strip of concrete, and to- switched lanes, darting into a space that
ward a red-orange sun that was beginning had opened up directly in front of me. And
to stage its appearance along the western that’s how the two of us proceeded for-
horizon once again. ward. Motoring along in single-file. Moving
toward the mighty Mississippi. Toward the
“Of course, you could keep on drivin’ gateway to the American West. And all that
along, too. Follow this highway far enough lay beyond.
and it’ll take you clear across the High Plains.
Heck, it’ll eventually carry you over the Flashing lights up ahead marked the fatal
Continental Divide. And once you’re on the accident scene near the base of the bridge.
other side, if you chose a proper path, well The one that Ellie had mentioned earlier
you’ll cross over the Sierras and then glide that afternoon. A powder-blue SUV, flipped
down into the coastal valleys of California. upside-down, rested off in a field not far
But, you’ll have to tap your brakes eventu- from the highway, its roof partly caved-in
ally or you’ll roll right on into the Pacific.” due to the sheer weight of what was now
positioned above it. Two bicycles and a large
There was a gleam in her eye, a knowing ice cooler were strewn haphazardly in the
one that I imagined was at least partially in- grass nearby while a child’s bike clung stub-
formed and shaped by past experience. But bornly to the truck’s rear bumper, its small
then her demeanor shifted. And before I could wheels spinning slowly as they pointed
respond, she added hastily, “I guess stayin’ oddly skyward. Pink handle-bar streamers
out on the road would be an okay choice too.” animated by a gentle breeze blowing off the
river dangled and sparkled playfully in the
“Ellie, I’d really like to-” late-day sun.

But she didn’t hear me. All around us My mind raced as it retraced: a carefree
cars and trucks were firing-up their motors, summer intercepted; a young family’s path
revving to full power, with those in com- forever altered; another fork cruelly pre-
mand clearly eager to get on with their de- sented. I regained my composure a minute
layed travels. I watched as she hopped into or two later.
her red convertible, it’s finely tuned engine
quickly stirring to life. Tank-top once again.

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*** in the air, while the setting sun offered up
its seductive orange rays once again. No
The four-lane suspension bridge that storms tonight I thought as I casually sur-
spanned the Mississippi provided an un- veyed the cloudless horizon ahead. Then,
obstructed view of the river below. Roiling, without warning, the small convertible in
frothing and deep muddy-brown, the water front of me began to slow in response to
flowing under me appeared agitated as if it a large exit sign that suddenly appeared
was in a hurry to get somewhere else. Ol’ off to the right. The car’s red break lights
Blue was anything but blue tonight I though and pulsing directional signal added to the
as my truck touched down on the other red-orange glow that streamed through my
side. It didn’t take me long to notice that windshield. A radiant glow now formed of
I’d landed somewhere new. Rolling hills and blended light divergent both in its source
thick forests enveloped by ever-lengthen- and in its intended path forward. Light
ing shadows replaced the flat, featureless filled with different opportunities, possibili-
terrain from before. Gone were the sprawl- ties……and, yes, promise. The kind of prom-
ing farms and their wide-open industrial- ise that ultimately attends each new day.
ized fields crammed with corn and soy. This Taking a deep breath, I adjusted my SUV’s
new place had a different feel to it. One speed and direction so that I might prop-
that was both comforting and somehow erly follow the light that now beckoned me
oddly familiar. The twin aromas of native forward.
clover and sweet-fern swirled and mixed

About the Author

Gary Delmar Jaycox holds a PhD in chemistry from Dartmouth. After several years at
Columbia University and Caltech, he spent the next quarter century at DuPont as a Principal
Investigator in their Central Research Division. Two of his short stories have recently appeared
in The MacGuffin and Adelaide Literary Magazine.

73

CADAVER IN
THE FOREST

by Robert Faszczewski

Author’s Note: The following story is purely after his vehicle stalled for no reason along
fictional. Any resemblance to real people or a roadway.
incidents is strictly coincidental.
“What really shook us up though was
*** prying loose the cover of this abandoned
well and finding actual skeletal remains,”
The badly decomposed body lay deep in a Salisbury student John Blanchard said. “We
long-unused well in one of the far reaches had heard all the rumors, but never ex-
of Pocomoke State Forest. It seemed like pected to find what we discovered at the
little remained of the cadaver— so little, in bottom of that pit.”
fact, that it looked like this mysterious dis-
covery would go down again as another one Up to now, stories about the forest’s
of the bizarre findings reported throughout eerie past apparently had resulted from
the history of these vast Worcester County overactive imaginations steeped in folklore.
parklands.
However, this body in the well actually
This latest journey into this land of brought the college hikers face-to-face with
strange occurrences happened in late Oc- the possibility of a real crime—either com-
tober 2019, when a group of students mitted elsewhere with the body dumped
from nearby Salisbury University began a into the well or the killing actually taking
weekend excursion into the forest. place within the forest.

Urban legends springing up from Po- After making the bizarre discovery,
komoke over the years included the de- Blanchard and his fellow hikers immediately
capitated body of a young boy supposedly called in the local authorities, who took the
found swinging from a tree, a male Cam- skeletal remains to the office of Maryland’s
bridge State Hospital escapee with a hook chief medical examiner.
instead of a hand chasing visitors around
the forest and the mysterious disappear- It took chief ME Delia McMillan nearly
ance of a school bus driver in the forest three weeks to come to something she felt
“approximated a firm conclusion.”

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“Fortunately,” said Dr. McMillan, “our not take place more than a mile or two from
state-of-the-art DNA research system en- the discovery site,” Speakman pointed out.
abled us to estimate the age of the cadaver
at about 20 years. The remains found by The narrowing-down process still con-
the students appeared to have come from tinued for another month, and it looked
an African-American female. The breaks we like the Christmas holidays would approach
found in what appeared to be neck bones, before the announcement of any further
seemed to indicate strangulation, and what definite conclusions.
appeared as a deep wound in what re-
mained of the skull seemed to point to a Even if detectives found the date and
fatal gunshot wound.” location of the murder and the identity of
the victims, the entire story of the motives
“Tracing this evidence back to the source for the killing and those who committed the
of this murder will take every bit of detec- heinous crime still had not opened up for
tive skill my squad can muster,” Worcester them.
Detective Bureau Chief Sam Speakman de-
clared at the Thanksgiving Eve press briefing They scoured the area for additional
following discovery of the remains. clues, interviewed colleagues and former
colleagues who had worked for local and
Combing through a few months or even a county law enforcement agencies around
few weeks of unsolved murder cases would the probable time of the murder and re-
present a Herculean task, Speakman noted, viewed the entire history of the Pokomoke
but a 20-year puzzle presented almost an State Forest for the previous two decades.
impossible proposition.
“It turns out,” Speakman reported, “that
However, Worcester County’s relatively the area now included within the bound-
small rate of murders appeared to give aries of the state forest had, at one time,
Speakman and his crew a small leg up. encompased a residential zone that be-
came deserted over the years after severe
They carefully went through every flooding following torrential downpours
murder report in the previous two decades during a number of storms in late summer
and then delved further into those cases and early fall. Those who had lived there
for which police never had found a cause abandoned their homes and the forest
or suspect. overtook the previous home sites.”

Narrowing the search further, the de- In addition, the previous residential area
tectives only looked at murders in the im- had, for many years been the “stomping
mediate area of Pokemoke State Forest and grounds” of one of the county’s most noto-
those allegedly involving a combination of rious crime families, which engaged heavily
stabbings and shootings. in the prostitution and illegal drug trades.

“We figured that, even with the state of “At the same time,” the Worcester
deterioration found in these remains, the County detective chief added, “a number
fact that the hikers discovered them so near of very religious Baptist congregants lived
the probable surface of the abandoned well in the area. They fought valiantly for many
and the discovery of any identifiable re- years in an attempt to rid their neighbor-
mains at all means the murder probably did hood of the blight of the gang lords and

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return it to a safe place in which they could Longo let it be known through his under-
raise their children and live out the re- cover gangland channels that he would “pay
mainder of their lives.” big bucks to the person willing to make this
threat disappear.”
The local and county law enforcement
officials discovered that, beginning in 1999, Of course, although local law enforc-
the skirmishes between the criminal ele- ment officials had a very effective pipeline
ment and and the religious community had into the underworld, the mob remained
come to a head. one step ahead of them.

Resident Bernardine Warrington led the Then, at the beginning of a winter eve-
charge on many fronts against the gangs. ning in 1999, Ms. Warrington’s nephew
She conducted Bible studies four nights a Harry went to her Pokomoke home, then on
week at the Pokomoke Forest Baptist Con- the edge of Pokomoke State Forest, to dis-
gregational Church, deliberately scheduling cuss her sermon for the upcoming Sunday.
them on Saturdays, long seen as the prime
times for the crime families to recruit their When Harry arrived at her house he
newest “interns.” found the front door unlocked, something
his aunt warned against in her sermons and
Bernardine also acted as a guest preacher something she never would allow in her
at as many church services as possible every own home.
week. Her sermons centered around the
evils of the criminal life, the dangers it posed Rushing up to Bernardine’s bedroom, he
to the futures of young people and the ero- found her body hanging in a closet with a
sion of family life by the mob lifestyle. bullet wound in her head.

She bailed out many young people after That night, even before local and county
their first infractions for mob-related activi- officials even had time to remove the body,
ties and fought hard to make sure they had a fire destroyed her home and those of
sports and vocational programs to enrich many of her neighbors. Law enforcement
their lives and steer them away from the authorities could not gather the evidence
gangs. they needed to find either the killers or the
arsonist who set the neighborhood blazes.
Ms. Warrington’s activities had gone on
for about five years, and they began taking a Longo and his “associates” left the area
toll. Gangland recruit numbers took a nose- and never surfaced again in the vicinity of
dive and the gangs began to experience Pokomoke State Forest.
huge losses in their profits from criminal
enterprises throughout the area bordering Torrential rains the next week further
Pokomoke Forest State Park. buried what little evidence the fire had not
destroyed.
“We would be willing to allow this little
preacher to have her fun as long as she For 20 years the murder of Bernardine
peacefully coexisted with us and did not Warrington and the neighborhood fires that
damage our bottom line,” top gang boss followed remained some of the greatest un-
Hugo Longo said. “She has put too big a solved mysteries in the history of the Del-
dent into our profitability and something marva Peninsula.
has to give.”
In 2019, however, the discovery of the ca-
daver buried in the abandoned well seemed

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to provide a roadmap to the solution of the charges in connection with the death of
mysteries. Not only did 21st century DNA Bernardine Warrington and the massive ar-
provide clues to the identity of the murder sons in her former neighborhood.
victim and how she died. Other tests gave
law enforcement officials some weapons The Curacao authorities knew the former
they felt would lead them to the arrests and American gangster very well. For a number
convictions of those responsible. of years they had kept tabs on his under-
cover operations, but the mobster and his
Local, Worcester County, Maryland and crew had been so good at bribing lower
federal officials put out an international level officials and making death threats
communications dragnet, including notices against those who dealt with them and for
on law enforcement sites in every form of them that it had been impossible to “nail”
social media available. them on any concrete charges.

“We finally are on our way to bringing The Curacao authorities welcomed the
justice to the late Bernardine Warrington American arrest warrant as the pathway
and peace-of-mind to her family,” Speakman they hoped would rid their previous-
said. “It may take some time, but if we ly-peaceful island of this gangland scourge.
find that Longo and any of his cohorts and
successors destroyed one of the greatest It took another eight months, and the
leaders our area has ever known and one prosecuting attorneys had to fight off a
of our great neighborhoods, we will bring number of slippery legal manuevers by the
them in and give them a good taste of Del- stable of well-connected defense lawyers
marva justice.” hired by the mob.

Finally, after hooking up with police However, Maryland courts eventually
agencies at every level in the United States convicted Longo and his “business part-
and abroad, even employing the vast re- ners” on all charges and sentenced them to
sources of Interpol, in 194 countries across life in prison. Curacao followed up with its
the globe, Speakman and his colleagues own indictments and added five more life
struck pay dirt. The national police agency sentences for bribery, criminal conspiracy
in Curacao located Longo. Now 94 years and murder.
old, he lived on a lavish estate in one of the
backwoods villages on the island. After decades of rumor and speculation
about Pokomoke State Forest at long last it
Worcester authorities, with the total looked like residents of the area could put
cooperation of Curacao, Interpol and FBI the one true mystery of the forest and the
investigators, arrested Hugo Longo and five many rumors surrounding it to rest and
of his colleagues on murder and conspiracy bring peace to one of the most beautiful
natural sites on the Delmarva Peninsula.

About the Author

Robert Faszczewski is a fiction writer based in Berlin, MD. He retired in 2018 after 30 years as
an editor and reporter on some of the most well-liked community publications in suburban
Northern New Jersey, USA. He is a member of the Maryland Writers Association and a former
member of the board of the Editorial Freelancers Association.

77

MOLLY PITCHER

by Daniel Picker

I “Hurry up and finish,” mom said. “Drink
your juice!”
The early spring sun shone brightly outside
the kitchen windows as our mom stood The juice tasted bitter, but the French
over the griddle on the stove in the kitch- Toast was delicious, golden brown, warm
en, making us French Toast, my favorite. off the center griddle on the turquoise
She then turned toward the frig and pulled stove. The butter I slathered over my last
the carton of juice out and poured orange piece melted quickly and I dumped a tea-
juice for my little brother and me. I sat at spoon scoop of Confectioner’s Sugar on my
the kitchen table and sipped my juice; my last piece, and chomped with appreciation.
younger brother sat sullenly across from
me, hiding behind a box of Rice Krispies. As we walked out the front door to-
Using a spatula, mom slid two slices of gether and down the front steps to the
French Toast on our plates. walk we could hear the birds singing as
they flitted about the side hedges on either
“Eat up; we don’t have a lot of time; we side of us. The forsythia had just begun to
have to walk downtown,” she insisted. bloom a bright yellow. The spring sun shone
brightly, but a still cool March wind blew.
“I know,” I retorted. “Today is the morning We turned left and walked up our sloping,
for Little League sign – ups at the Town Hall.” curving hill, then crossed our street at the
top of the hill and stepped up the side curb
Dad registered me the previous year that and walked over the worn old bricks of the
first spring, and filled in an old family nick- avenue below the canopy of giant sycamore
name for me no one even used and even and maple trees. Tulip Poplar Avenue was
I had not heard before he told me, “Your empty of walkers except for us; my little
great Uncle says a relative played profes- brother and I were thankful mom didn’t
sionally for the old Philadelphia Athletics; work on Saturdays. In the spring, creamy
they called him Yaller.” off white and pale orange blossoms lay scat-
tered on the grass to the side of the worn
In fact, I had never heard it until he brick sidewalk. I never understood why the
mentioned it to me the previous year. My trees were called “Tulip Poplars”; the trees
brother and I silently realized that normally and their blossoms seemed so unlike the
dad would have taken care of this task, but tulip flowers I knew. With her working in
he had moved out of our house at the end
of last winter.

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the city so much my brother and I had be- my arms free at my sides when we reached
come accustomed to a new – found inde- the traffic light of busy Haydon Avenue as
pendence walking together to school in the she reached for and held my little broth-
morning on weekdays. er’s left hand. The small Apothecary Shop
stood near the opposite corner. I recalled
The crossing guard was not at her tradi- that they fielded one of the worst T – Shirt
tional corner to help us cross the street on teams last year, only eclipsed by the abso-
Saturday. lute ineptitude of “Losers Dodge” which
was actually named Winner’s Dodge. We as
Soon we reached the street where we kids understood the ironic joke.
would usually turn right for school and if
we walked together with mom, she would We crossed the busy street and soon
walk straight to the train station, but this reached the front of Town Hall; mom in-
morning we all turned right and walked past formed us, “It’s a poor replica of The White
the curving, crescent bank of the many – House” which is modeled after an estate in
paned windows of the kindergarten class- Ireland where your great Uncle was born.
room of the elementary school where all of
my siblings had begun school. We had just It certainly wasn’t white, but its dimen-
walked straight past the old Administration sions were similar, but it had a deep grey
building, the oldest school building in town; stone façade, and the appropriate tall, rect-
the newer red brick elementary school angular – paned windows. The scraggly lawn
stood beside it, and the even newer middle seemed dank and bare. Once within the dull
school building stood beside that. Instead of sheen of those old brass doors we noticed
turning in and walking up the center front the marble with lines and veins on either
steps as mom would on “Back – to School side of us, and soon at the end of the hall,
Night” – one of my least favorite events – as we prepared to ascend the tall stairs with
we kept walking straight past the school. the curving wrought – iron banister with its
brass handrail; in the stairwell we noticed
I was thankful mom didn’t insist we more grey, black – veined marble and the
turn left and walk alongside the side of the diamond square black and white marble
school toward the highway, or Main Street, floor at our feet. A big window shone to our
but instead we walked along on this avenue right at the top of the stairs, and the many –
toward Horse Chestnut Street where we paned rectangular French Doors were open
turned left and walked three long blocks wide to a brightly – lit room with several big
past a friend’s old semi – dilapidated Vic- rectangular tables arranged before us. As I
torian, and then a row of brick row homes was afraid to voice earlier, mom stood as
with short steep steps on our right. The the only woman in the room.
street was so shaded it felt cold nearly as we
walked past the narrow, side driveway back We walked up to a long brown table and
toward the old A&P Market, mom’s favorite a town father asked us to fill out two forms
grocery store. and mom paid the fees for both of us.

But soon we were back in the sun, and “Tryouts for Majors are next Saturday for
just a half block from Haydon Avenue and the older boy, and the rookie will meet at
another half block from the large Town the T – Shirt Field the same morning,” he
Hall. I was thankful mom left me to swing uttered matter – of – factly with a smile.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

As we turned to leave by walking to our II
right, both my little brother and I looked up at
the old man who was probably in late middle Last year I played with an ancient dark
age, but seemed old to us, and then we brown leather mitt with fat fingers and a
looked down as mom said, “Thank you.” Then nearly useless fat thumb of another era. But
she turned and looked down at both of us a week earlier mom had arranged one of
and said very quietly with a slight yet nearly my older sister’s boyfriend to drive us with
triumphant smile, “You boys are all set.” her in his parent’s car to the local sporting
goods store in the next town, several miles
We smiled slightly back up to her with west on Haydon Avenue.
thankfulness in our eyes and both quietly
said, “Thanks mom.” I had told her, “Ferdie, Ralph’s younger
brother in school said, “Get a HUTCH Little
But my brother and I felt deep within League glove, they fit best.”
that this seemed a duty for dad. But nev-
ertheless, I was all set for my second spring The ones in the store had a rectangular
season. red and white cloth label sewn over the
wide leather wrist strap with the letters H U
As we walked back toward the open T C H on the label. I tried one glove on while
doors we noticed a man standing behind standing in the aisle, then another, and could
a square table right past those open wood feel how good it felt and fit well as I thumped
and glass doors. A big tall window with a my fist into the pocket, and pressed my
half – moon pie window cut in triangular hand against the tops of the leather fingers.
slices gleamed behind him and over his It felt a great improvement over the family
balding head with white hair on the sides relic found in the dusty depths of the cellar
and a few streaks combed over the center. flower box on the landing with my oldest sis-
ter’s old softball mitt.
“Are the boys registered?” he asked.
Later that morning, out in front of the
“Yes they are!” mom said to the gen- house, under a grey sky, across the two rect-
tleman. angles of our front lawn and the center walk
my little brother threw me a baseball in a
“Well these are for the boys,” and he catch just as we had last spring. I had on my
took two white paperback copies of Base- deep crimson wool Little League cap from
ball: The First 100 Years from several short my first – year team. That cap, seemed one
stacks of books on the table and handed of the best things about Little League, and I
one to each of us. “They’re a gift from RCA,” recalled the morning the coach gave us each
he said. a new T – shirt, also deep crimson and a cap,
our uniform, that Saturday morning before
With those gifts we all three smiled; our first game. But this morning as I caught
my little brother and I said “Thanks,” and the ball I loved the sensation and sound of
we began walking down the marble stairs leather in leather and the wonderful heft
to the diamond black and white checkered of the ball even more than when using the
marble floor below. old mitt. I tossed the ball back to my little
brother. He had a new glove too. What
Mom said, “That’s a Palladian window,” could be better than having a catch?
pointing up above the man’s bald head. Then
she reminded, “Hold the handrail.” It stood
with a dull brass gleam at our shoulders.

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One game last year in Little League I had “She would be a‘heroine’,” dad said; “A
made a great catch in right field which sur- female hero is a heroine.”
prised everyone, especially the coach, and I
enjoyed the unexpected good fortune. But “Oh,” I said. “Well that’s my topic.”
now the second season, the second spring
arrived.. I would have to try out first for the “I think when I was a kid, there was a
Majors, and if I were not chosen, then the playground named after her?” His voice
Minors; I knew from talking with other Little trailed off for a moment, then he continued,
Leaguers in school, “If you don’t make Ma- “Well I could pick you up and take you to the
jors your first year, you might never make Library on Saturday,” he offered.
it,” Ferdie said at lunch in school.
“I’m supposed to ride bikes with Eddie to
Try outs were next Saturday at the Major the Little League Fields that morning; I have
League Field. I thought about it all week tryouts for Majors and Eddie’s supposed to
when not in school. That week I learned report to the T – shirt Field for his team as-
I also had a Library Research Project for signment.”
fourth grade. My dad, though not around
much anymore had moved out last winter, “Well, I have work on Saturday morning
still might help. He would call our house for this new real estate firm; I have to show
after school. I heard the big black table a couple a house; anyhow, I think it might
phone ring in the master bedroom by the rain that day.”
door across the hall. I picked up the heavy
black receiver from the rotary phone cradle “What time are tryouts supposed to
on the third ring. end?” he asked.

“Hello?” “I think by noon; the information sheet
said‘9 – 12pm’, I think.”
“Hi son; it’s your dad. How are you?”
“You think? You mean you don’t know?”
“OK.”
“No, I’m sure that is right,” I responded.
“How was school?”
“Well OK; I’ll pick you up at the house at
“OK; I have a Research Report to write 12:30 pm.”
for Social Studies.”
I knew that with dad that meant about
“Do you have a subject?” he asked. 2 or 3 PM even; he was always late, except
to work.
I stood looking back across what was
mom’s bedroom now; the headboard over III
her bed was partially detached and leaning
against the wall. I felt tired standing by the The morning of Tryouts Eddie and I rode our
phone, but the cord wouldn’t reach over bikes up our hill, down Tulip Poplar, then
to the near corner of the big double bed turned past the school, and past friends’
where I might sit down. The bedspread was houses, then down the hill to cross Elysian
smooth with a cream ornate print. Street. We locked our bikes to a tree in the
sun since the wooden bike rack behind the
“My topic is Molly Pitcher, a hero of the Stand was full. The sun shone brightly. Kids
Revolutionary War.” stood out in the outfield tossing baseballs

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back and forth. A man standing by a table thick, not matted down. The sun shone in
on the edge of the field, just outside the clear blue sky above us; no rain after all I
open gate asked us, “Are you hear for Try- thought. I threw the ball back to Conor who
outs? What are your names?” I knew from fourth grade; he lived about
three blocks away. The coach called to him
I told him, “My little brother Eddie is and said, “Grab a bat and a helmet and take
here for T – shirts; this is his first year; my a few swings by the backstop.”
second.”
Conor smiled and scampered in. I soon
“What’s your last name?” he asked saw him facing Major League pitching. A
brusquely. tall boy hummed pitches in toward him.
Conor fouled one off, and nicked another,
“Billy,” I said. and it rang against the chain link fence be-
hind him. The gravel dust behind him was a
“Oh, he said. “Is you father or mother fine dull pale blonde. It seemed Conor took
here?” about seven swings and hit the ball hard
through the infield twice. His last swing
“No,” I said. he connected; we all heard an impressive
whack of the bat, and I watched as the ball
He slid his finger down the long white sailed out over right center field near where
page; “Oh, Billy, you head out to right field; I stood. Another kid ran in front of me and
your brother needs to report to the T – shirt caught it.
Field for his team assignment; does he know
where it is?” “OK, that’s great, a good hit and a good
catch,” Coach yelled.
“I’ll point him there, thanks.”
He didn’t ask me to even pick up a bat.
I showed Eddie that path toward the T – He then called us all over toward the first
shirt Field where I played last year; I pointed base side; “OK boys hustle on in.”
it out from where I stood by the back fence
of right field on the Majors Field. Conor picked up his glove from the grass
where he had left it near where earlier I
“I see it,” he said. was having a catch with another kid, and
the three of us all scampered in toward the
“Meet me back here when you’re fin- coach.
ished,” I said.
“You two are to report to Molly Pitcher
He smiled and walked past, trotting and Field next Saturday at 9 AM sharp for Minor
eager to join the other kids he saw below. League Tryouts.”
I looked back toward the Major’s dugouts
and saw serious fathers hobnobbing with Conor had been cut from the herd based
their sons; it seemed coaches’ sons were on his hitting and we had been dropped
the first selected, then the coaches’ friends’ from The Majors to trying out for The Mi-
sons. One coach did have his eye out for nors.
new talent as he walked toward right field
from near first base. We all knew we had not made the Ma-
jors this year, and we might not next year.
The grass here in the infield seemed Conor had made it, it seemed, but he would
cut lower than it was in right field in my
old field; it seemed a perfect green carpet
about two – three inches high, lush and

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have to prove himself in the field, but his and forth under the grey – white sky with
hitting impressed the coach. Cooper Creek running darkly beyond and
below the outfield fence and the brush be-
We all looked up toward the coach in yond it.
the glare and then back to each other; the
warm morning had turned cooler and the IV
sky grew grey. Mist was starting to spit and
I heard another coach call in the distance, We all walked down the hill toward the T –
“Bring it in to the dugouts boys.” Shirt field; the tall trees waved behind the
backstop and the trail was tan dusty grav-
Boys rushed in, some picking up bats el at our feet below our sneakers. None of
from the gravel. I looked at Ralph and he us wore cleats, but some of the kids in the
looked at me, and he said, “We have to Majors did; they called them “spikes.” We
head down to the T – shirt Field to find our joined our little brothers and walked back
little brothers.” up past the Minor League Field, then up the
railroad ties and steps to the Majors’ Field;
He was right, we did. “I’ll see you next we found our bikes; my brother and I un-
Saturday for Minors,” he said. locked ours, and proceeded to ride first up
the sidewalk, then down the hill across the
“OK.” bottom of Elysian Street.

“We better run down there; it may start “Let’s head this way,” Conor insisted.
to rain soon.”
And we followed him up Elysian hill to-
“I think it hold off for a while,” I said. ward downtown, then cut across the new
supermarket parking lot, then across the
We both scampered down the pale path street, and across the old A&P parking lot;
behind the Major Field toward the lower then we rode behind the Middle School and
fields; we could see kids gathered around Lincoln School. Neither Ed nor I would have
the Minor League Field dugouts below us; thought of riding this route from where we
we both knew that that field would be started, but it was a good way to travel.
better than another year of T – shirts; we Ralph pedaled far behind Conor, and Ed and
knew the Minor League players wore real I were in the middle.
uniforms of baggy grey flannel just like
those the players wore in the big leagues Before he turned down his street about
with the team names stitched across them, four blocks from our school Ralph shouted,
names like Moore Plumbing or Haydon Na- “See you next week for Minors!”
tional Bank; not as illustrious as the Major
League teams we had memorized: Rotary, Eddie and I kept pedaling. “Do you think
Y’s Men, Kiwanis, Fire Co., Lions, and Amer- dad will be home?” I asked Ed.
ican Legion, “The Majors” we called them.
“I doubt it,” he said, “It’s not even 1
But we also knew The Minors were a o’clock I would guess.”
step up from T – shirts and most T – shirt
teams were much better than “Losers But to our surprise we saw his green
Dodge” Conor said, and we both laughed as truck, a Scout parked out front. “It’s 1
we padded down the path toward the other o’clock boys; I’m early.”
field where we saw our brothers gathered,
some still having a catch, tossing a ball back

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“Hi Dad,” we both said almost in unison. “OK, let’s get going. You sit in front.”
“Neither my friend nor I made the Majors,”
I said. I reached up to open the front passenger
side door. Then I stepped up with my left
“Well that’s ok; you are still growing. foot and plunked down on the grey vinyl
Now put your bikes back in the garage; seat.
don’t just lean them against the outside of
the doors.” “Pull the door shut firmly, but don’t slam
it,” dad commanded.
“OK, then we are going to put our gloves
inside the house, OK, Dad?” I did as he did the same on his side; we
both could see the clouded sky before us,
“OK, hurry up; the Library closes at 5 then we heard a loud cloudburst, and the
today, and it’s sometimes crowded on Sat- dark grey sky grew even darker, then rain
urdays.” poured down in grey – white sheets as dad
started the engine.
Ed and I walked up the driveway, then
across the front lawn, then up the front “Reach up to the grey box above your
steps and inside; dad didn’t come in. He was side of the front window. See the little silver
trying to straighten out boxes and blankets button? Push it in; that turns your wind-
and tools scattered behind and over the shield wiper on.”
second seat, and move brochures and pa-
pers from the passenger – side seat. I followed his order. This International
Harvester Scout was unique, and dad’s
When I came back outside I informed pride; he used it to plow snow in the winter.
dad, “Eddie’s not feeling so well; mom said I had never seen another truck like it. There
he could lie down.” were three shifts, one above knee height,
one a little shorter, and one shorter still.
“OK; do you have your folder for your
school project?” “Now I’m going to teach you how to shift
her into gear,” dad said. “Put your hand on
“I’ll go get it.” top of my right hand on top of the knob of
the big shifter; I have the clutch in. Now feel
“Grab your light blue spring jacket I gave the movements: down to the right is first,
you! We may have a cloudburst, and keep then back to neutral in the middle, then up
your cap on!” to the right is second, then back to neutral,
then up to the left is third, then back to the
I reached just inside the dining room middle, then down to the left is fourth; see
and grabbed the folder from the marble it’s an H, just like‘I H’ here for International
top chest. My jacket hung draped over a Harvester; that’s all you have to know.”
maple chair beside the dining room table.
The dull purple folder held my Assignment “That’s something; neat.”
Sheet for Research Project #1, the first of
fourth grade. Dad asked me to read the as- “Now you try; put us in first gear and we
signment to him as I stood beside the truck will be on our way.”
door.
I pulled the tallest lever down and away
“‘Research a person who played a signif- from me, down toward the side of dad’s
icant role in American history’” the Assign- right leg, but also a little toward me.
ment Sheet says, Dad,” I read.

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“That’s right; you’ve got it.” We walked over to a big square wooden
case with about thirty small square drawers.
I felt the truck roll forward smoothly as
dad let out the clutch and gave the vehicle “We should look under‘Pitcher’ I think,”
some gas. He drove us on our way, then as I said.
we picked up speed, dad brusquely pushed
the shifter up into second right on top of my “But‘I think’ you’re correct this time. Pull
hand, then he turned up the adjacent hill out that long drawer; it’s the right height
and we drove up to the stop sign near Tulip for you.”
Poplar Avenue.
I slid the drawer about halfway out. We
“OK, we are off to the Library son. So could see to our right the blue – haired li-
how are school and Little League going?” brarian busy with a mom and two short
little girls who stood on a step stool to reach
“Both are OK; I’m not sure I will make over the counter while pushing their large
Minors even, after seeing how good the picture books toward the librarian.
players are who didn’t make Majors.”
“That’s Miss Dizzy Curtis; she’s not a real
“Well, all you can do is try. You’re short librarian like your mom; she’s the mayor’s
for your age, but just try your best.” aunt; She’s just the town gossip.”

We bounced along the street; few cars “Here’s two books on‘Molly Pitcher’ dad;
were out; the rain poured a river of water see the cards?”
down our flat windshield; runnels of rain
puddled a bit at the bottom corner of my Dad leaned over the top of my cap.
side of the windshield; a few drops made it
in at the bottom of the side window. “Yes, very good; what section?”

“The rubber edging is worn; I have to try “It’s says‘Bio B & P’” I said.
to replace it.”
“Well slide that back in and let’s find that
“It’s OK, dad; I wouldn’t worry about it. section among the shelves.”
It’s raining really hard.”
We both walked a bit to our right and
We parked alongside the Library; there turned around, then crossed the tiled floor.
were old meters there but dad knew we
didn’t need to pay on weekends. We headed “Your mother read her poetry in the
down the side steps to the Children’s Floor. Community Room over there,” dad said.
Dad pulled on the white door and held it
open after he stepped in; we were both out We walked over toward the hall that led
of the rain; both of us were wearing just to the upstairs; the wooden shelves on the
light spring jackets zipped up; I had my Little other side were tall and packed with books.
League cap from my first year; the crimson I could see in the first few shelves each book
wool got wet fast; dad had an old blue cap had a still distinct, yet partially faded “B” on
on from when he served in the Navy on a a small square sticker near the base of the
Destroyer. spine. We stood side – by – side before a
tall shelf, the second one in from the alcove
Dad said, “Let’s look up Molly Pitcher in hallway that led around another room full of
the card catalog over there.” books before the stairs that went upstairs.
I could hear the rain pouring down against
the small rectangular windows that stood

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

high up near the ceiling and just above the rain. Some clear puddles formed down the
tallest bookcases. My dad stood beside me. steps on the other walk.

“Here they are dad; the books on Molly Once we were back in the truck dad
Pitcher;‘Revolutionary Heroine’ it says.” started the engine; it made a mild guttural
roar, which sounded like dad did when he
“You found them son; choose just one; cleared his throat in the early morning.
that other one is for real little kids; you’re a
big boy now.” “Let’s go; I’ll get you home in no time; I
have to meet another client this afternoon.
“Let’s go upstairs to check this out; that If I had not been laid off by Burnham and
woman is most unpleasant; besides, we will Bass engineers and architects, I would not
be closer to the vehicle from the front en- be selling real estate.”
trance.”
We bounced down the avenue under
We walked one in front of the other into the dark trees; the cold damp air crept in
the alcove and up the narrow stairs; I fol- between the windows; although most of
lowed dad. the trees had begun to bud none had fully
leafed out yet this spring; the dark after-
After checking out the book at the main noon sky and heavy rain made the day
desk under the center hall dome above the feel closer to cold autumn. We were both
rotunda dad remarked: “The building is de- quiet block after block after we crossed the
signed after Monticello, Thomas Jefferson’s highway from downtown.
home; I took you there when you were still
in a stroller hoping to imbue you with the “How’s your mother?” dad asked.
spirit of Jefferson.”
“She seems OK most of the time; she
The lady at the desk slid the book in a seems very sad after dinner sometimes.”
bag; “It’s really coming down out there.”
I didn’t know what to say next, so I just
“That it is,” dad said. “We don’t have an sat there quietly with the rain pouring down
umbrella, but it is just a short walk.” over the rectangular panes, and the tall
dark poplars with their arms reaching up
Outside the front door we stood below and over from both sides of the street like
the porch; the sidewalk and slate walk now old forlorn grandparents.
stained a deep tan and dark grey from the

About the Author

Daniel Picker is the author of a book of poems, “Steep Stony Road” which was published
by Viral Cat Press of San Francisco in 2012. Daniel’s poems have appeared in The Dudley
Review at Harvard where Daniel was awarded The Dudley Review Poetry Prize in 2010, and
Plough: A Journal of Faith, Society, and Spirituality, Sequoia: The Stanford Literary Magazine,

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Elysian Fields Quarterly: The National Baseball Journal, RUNE: MIT, Vermont Literary Review,
Soundings East, Folio, Art Calendar Magazine of Maryland, Dial Tone: Stanford’s Journal of
the Arts, Ireland of the Welcomes Magazine, and many more. Daniel’s reviews, articles,
essays, and short prose works have appeared in Harvard Review, The Sewanee Review, The
Philadelphia Inquirer, Middlebury Magazine, The Oxonian Review of the University of Oxford,
Rain Taxi Review of Books, Poetry(Chicago), Harvard Magazine, and many more. Recently,
Daniel’s fictional short stories have appeared in The Abington Review, The Kelsey Review,
The 67th Street Scribe, and The Adelaide Literary Magazine.

87

HUNTER AND
HUNTED

by Judy Bee and Antaeus

Dudleyville, Arizona, population 959 The handyman must be mistaken. After all,
he’s not from around here,” his mother said
The blond-haired young man, whose to the lawman. The deputy looked over at me
mother called him “Angel Face,” clutched the and sez, “I have to agree with Missus Holland
knife tightly as he stalked me through the here. You’re not from around here, and she is,
woods. We’d been runnin’ for a while, so I was so her word means something. You’re just a
actin’ like I was tirin’. Angel Face was probably drifter trying to get a good boy in trouble.” He
thinkin’ it wouldn’t be long before he caught picked up his hat and went on his way.
up to his victim. When I looked back, I could
see the thick muscled twenty-year-old smilin’ I had been watchin’ the boy for two
in anticipation of what was to come. weeks. The pig had been his latest victim.
Near the end, the baby pig’s squealin’ had
He was probably thinkin’...This will be my turned Angel Face on. So much so, that he
first human kill. I’ve killed before, but only had to masturbate afterward. I watched the
birds, rabbits, cats, and dogs. Last week I whole disgustin’ thing.
killed a baby pig. The fun part was staking
them out and torturing them to death. The Afterward, he sez to the pig, “That felt
best part was that no one suspected. Well, even better than when I did it while secretly
almost no one. The old man that was doing watchin’ my sister takin’ a bath.”
some repair work around mom’s house did,
and now he’s gonna pay. After that, my gift told me that Angel
Face had fixated on killin’ a human. That’s
*** when I told the Sheriff about the boy and
what he was up to. A lotta good that did me.
“How could anyone with such a beauti- After the deputy talked to the boy’s mother,
ful face do anything evil.” That’s what his the kid fixated on me. He probably figured
mother said to the deputy when he showed no one would miss a transient handyman.
up at the house.
I was one step ahead of him, though. I set
“The baby pig probably just ran away. My a trap for him far enough away from town
Angel Face wouldn’t do anything like that. so that no one would hear his screams.

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*** go lookin’ at me like that, I got no pity for
ya at all. I know you’re afraid, and ya should
The would-be murderer stopped runnin’ at be, boy. Your day of reckonin’ is comin’, and
the tree line. He was scarcely outa breath the Lord has a special place reserved for ya.
when he caught up with me. We had come No worries though, it’ll all be over in a little
full circle. I was sittin’ on a tree stump, not while, then you’ll sleep sound in the dark of
twenty feet from the tree line, right next to the grave‘til judgment day.
Angel Face’s brand new, 1951 Harley-David-
son. My truck was a few yards further away. ***

I tried to make it look like I couldn’t run I’ve been around for quite a while, and I’ve
no more. My shoulders were slumped, and dug hundreds of graves in my time. I gave
my head was hangin’ down. I watched the up countin’ somewhere around 10,000,
boy get an erection. and that was a very long time ago. Except
for the fact that I had to hurry fillin’ it in,
He was probably thinkin’...”This is goin’ this one was no different. I wanted to finish
to be easy. I’m younger and stronger than before ol’ Sol peaked over the mountain-
the old man, and he’s given up. I’ll take my top and lit up the place,‘cause it gets really
time with him, experiment a little.” hot really fast in Arizona. The ground was
baked hard by the sun, so it had taken me
I know that’s what I would be thinkin’. most of the night to dig that grave, and I
was plumb wore out.
I picked up a good-sized rock and put a
big dent in the fender of the Harley. When Not really. I’ve got the stamina of ten
Angel Face saw that, he got madder than men. I just like the way it sounds; “plumb
a rabid dog and came tearin’ outa the wore out.” Besides, it gives the impression
woods at me. I planted iron, and his legs of an older man leanin’ on a shovel barely
buckled. He was lyin’ flat on his back before able to move.
he knew what happened. When he looked
down, there was an old, rusty, railroad spike That’s how my gift works. I can make
stickin’ outa his stomach at an angle. people see what I want‘em to see. Just like
Angel Face saw what he wanted to see. All I
When he looked up, I was standin’ over gotta do is act the part and suggest. Some-
him, grinnin’ like the cat that ate the canary. times I’m an old man, sometimes I’m not.
I sez, “Guess who’s in deep shit now, boy?” Sometimes I’m the “Fix-It Man,” sometimes
I’m not. It’s like I’m a chameleon. Except this
The Lord provides. lizard can kill ya if he has a mind to.

Chapter 6 Shing, fisshh, pushh. The first shovel full
of dirt went on the demon-spawn’s face.
The sun was just risin’ behind the mountains That’s so I wouldn’t be tempted by those
when I kicked Angel Face into the grave. His innocent lookin’ eyes. Shing, fisshh, pushh.
body landed face-up at the bottom of the The next one went to cover the rusty iron
hole, and the young man’s eyes popped open railroad spike stickin’ outa his gut. Just for
pleadin’ with me. The tape over his mouth a second, I had a mind to pull it free, but I
kept him from temptin’ me with his lies. fought the urge to do so. That hunk of iron
was the only thing keepin’ him from movin’.
I thought to myself, Angel Face, my ass.
I see ya for who ya really are, boy. Don’t ya

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*** The Lord provides.

Ya see, iron is the demon-spawn’s Achilles The sun was full up now, and the sweat-
heel. Ya needs to put it under the stomach band of my fedora was soaked through. I
and through the gut. If ya do it right, the in- took it off, and my mop of unruly hair tum-
testine will move outa the way, and you’ll bled all over my head. First, I made a mark
break the spine. That way, ya don’t hit any- with my thumbnail on the sweatband, then
thin’ vital, and the demon-spawn can’t move. I mopped my forehead and neck with my
bandanna.
A knife will work, but it might cut the in-
testine, which will cause unnecessary pain. I tossed my head back to get the hair out
A railroad spike works just fine. As an added from in front of my eyes. It was time to pray.
bonus, it shatters the spine nicely.
“Lord, it’s hard doin’ your work,” I sez.
While the demon-spawn is down, ya stick “Ya gave me the gift of knowin’ and sent me
your knife in the back of its neck and sever on a mission. Now, I ain’t complainin’‘bout
the spinal cord between C-4 and C-5. Doin’ it, but I sure wish ya would give me a little
it that way don’t kill the demon-spawn, but help sometimes. This here body of mine
it makes it so it can’t move at all. The other ain’t gettin’ any younger, ya know.
important thing ya has to do is tape their
mouth shut.‘Cause their beggin’, pleadin’, “This boy’s momma is hurtin’ bad,‘cause
and lies will soften your heart if ya don’t. she’s missin’ her boy right now, and it’s only
gonna get worse for her. So, please, Lord,
I know how to do these things‘cause I’m help her get through this,‘cause she ain’t
a hunter, and I been doin’ it as long as I can never gonna see her Angel Face again.
remember. I’m good at it too. Usin’ railroad
spikes is my specialty. I like to use railroad “And Lord, that boy was only on this
spikes because they’re made of iron, and Earth for twenty years. After I shoved the
they’re easy to come by. I’ve got a whole iron in his gut, I told him that I knew he had
truckload of‘em. marked ten people for torture and killin’.
I tol’ him I would take the spike out if he
*** admitted to it. He did confess to everythin’,
torturin’ the animals, lookin’ at his naked
Shing, fisshh, pushh, Shing, fisshh, pushh, sister, and havin’ a list, but I didn’t take out
Shing, fisshh, pushh. With each shov- the spike.
el full of dirt that went on top of the de-
mon-spawn, I felt less and less guilty. In the “I confess to lyin’, but I don’t think it was
end, there was just a low mound to mark really a lie, Lord, cause lyin’ to demon-spawn
where the boy’s body lay. don’t count. Anyway, who knows, the boy
might’ve even started killin’ the innocent
I imagined a headstone over the grave people on his list right away, if ya hadn’t
that read, “Here lies Angel Face, born in sent me to him when ya did.
the year of our Lord 1931. He went into the
Earth on July 12, 1952. May Hellfire keep “That spike is gonna take a couple of
him warm.” hundred years to rust away. When it does,
ya need to smite him down afore he can rise
A strong wind started to blow, and it up outa there. Amen.”
wiped away any trace of my footprints or
my diggin’.

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*** I noticed the butterfly tattoo on his neck
and could see by his eyes that he was gifted
I had no sooner put my hat back on and like me. I told him that fact right out.
looked up from my prayers when I saw it.
The dust cloud was about three miles away. Duane started to lie to me, thought
better of it, and confessed that he had a
I thought...It looks like there’s somethin’ dream the night before. He told me that
movin’ this way, Lord. I hope it’s You sendin’ when he woke up at four in the mornin’, he
me the help I asked for and not a friend of had a strong feelin’ to hitch a ride on this
what’s lyin’ under the ground here. road, so that’s what he did. When he saw
my truck sittin’ by the side of the road, he
I picked up the iron shovel and tightened knew he was in the right place, and asked
my grip on its handle. Whichever it was, my to be let off.
gift would tell me, and I’d deal with it.
Later, while we were sittin’ round the
The Lord provides. campfire, I told Duane about my gift, but
not that I was immortal. It’s best to keep
Chapter 7 things like that to one’s self.

I had to take a leak so bad my back teeth “Ya see, Duane,” I sez. “I’ve got this gift
were floatin’, so I walked into the woods a from the Lord where I can look ahead to
little way and pissed behind a tree. When I what a thing will become. That’s why I can
came out, a young man was standin’ beside fix anythin’. Sometimes while I’m in a town,
my truck and leanin’ on her hood. I can see what a person really is, or what
they will become. If they’re evil, I do the
My visitor turned out to be some young Lord’s work, and I fix‘em, so the evil don’t
buck, who looked to be a bit older than the spread. If I see they’re gonna do good in the
boy restin’ in the ground. I could tell right off world, I help‘em as best as I can.”
that this one wasn’t a demon-spawn,‘cause
my butterfly tattoo wasn’t twitchin’. I was Duane just took another sip of moon-
glad I wouldn’t have to put him in the shine and shrugged. I could tell he was a bit
ground with the other boy. woozy, so I let him digest what I had said
while he drank some more. It’s been my ex-
He held out his hand to me and sez, “My perience that when people drink, their real
name is Duane Eddy Pienkowski, but every- personality tends to come out.
body just calls me‘Duane.’”
I remember thinkin’...The boy may be
I moved the shovel to my left hand and a hunter like me, but I’m gonna test him
took his hand in mine. I squeezed a bit to anyway. Some hunters forget why the Lord
test his strength, and he jumped. That was put‘em here. They get all upset when ya
a good thing, it meant I was stronger than tell‘em ya been killin’ demon-spawn and the
him. like. Sometimes they try to run away when
ya ask‘em to join ya in doin’ the Lord’s work.
“My name is Jon Thomas, my friends call If he fails the test, I’ll put him in with the
me JT,” I sez. “Most folks I meet, call me‘The boy. It won’t be too much work this time
Fix-It Man,’ though. That’s because I travel around,‘cause the dirt is still soft from my
from town to town, fixin’ the things that diggin’.
people don’t want to, or can’t, fix themselves.”

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When I thought the time was right, I told I was a lot younger then and looked for
Duane about the boy. My hand was close creative ways to do things. I knocked her
to the shovel’s handle, just in case. That’s out, put her on an empty slab, and em-
when Duane admitted that he did have the balmed her while she was still alive.
gift, but never did anythin’ with it. He said
he’d be happy to join me in doin’ the Lord’s ***
work if I were willin’ to teach him.
In the mornin’, me and Duane ate some
The Lord provides. smoked meat for breakfast, and I cleaned
up the campsite. When we were ready to
*** go, I picked up the dead kid’s Harley and
tossed it into my truck’s bed. Yeah, I can
We finished off the last of the moonshine do things like that,‘cause I’m a lot stronger
and turned in. The boy slept like a log while than I look.
I stayed awake, just in case. It didn’t bother
me none, I’d stayed awake for three days Angel Face had said he had been in touch
once, waitin’ to catch a flesh-eater who with some demon-spawn down in New Or-
worked in a morgue. leans, so I figured we should head in that
direction. But first, we had to make a stop
The flesh-eater was wearin’ a lab coat in New Mexico. My gift was lettin’ me know
and even had an ID badge. She damn near we were needed there.
soiled her britches when I jumped off the
slab nearest to the new body, she was about The Lord provides.
to take a bite outa.

About the Author

Judy Bee is the co-author of “The Fix-It Man.” Judy grew
up in New Jersey, where, at the age of five, she wrote her
first poem titled “My Kitten.” The four-line poem about her
kitten “Mittens” was published in a children’s magazine.
Judy currently resides in the Sarasota area of Florida. Her
first book, “Barbie the Ghost,” was written in her cherished
companion’s memory.

Antaeus is the author of “The Prepared Citizen,” a three-
book series on how to react to and avoid dangerous situations and active shooter attacks.
He also lectures on Situational Awareness and has appeared on the “Front Sight Press” talk
show. In addition to nonfiction, Antaeus has self-published sci-fi, action/adventure, and
fantasy novels. You can find his poetry and short stories in magazines such as Gravel, Ariel
Chart, The Lycan Valley Press, Trampset, Armarolla, Heart and Humanity, as well as other
publications.

92

THE SPIN CYCLE

by Donna Lee Miele

The top-load stuck at drain. Frank felt bad without knowing why he
should. “What,” he said, “is there a quota?
A problem because Frank’s good work The pants are too heavy for one bag.”
pants were in there. He only had two pairs—
the others were tar-stained from a driveway “No, I gotta ration water sometimes—
job he probably should’ve turned down, but trash bags are free as God made’em,” she
the couple were friends of Margery’s and he said. “But you know, we have a drop-off ser-
owed them a favor. The ones in the top-load vice. I could’ve took care of those Carhartts
weren’t bad, just dusty from today’s wood- for you, soon as one of the front-loads was
milling—he only threw them in to fill out a free.”
load of socks, along with the stocking cap
he’d found on the floor of his truck. It must’ve Frank tried reviving the flirty vibe of the
been there since winter, gathering dust. Last lingerie joke. “Who knew? You got to adver-
he wore it, Margery was in the hospital. tise better.”

He called over to Stace, the attendant—a “And you got to learn to ask for help,
good soul, despite the hippy hair and tie- dude,” she said, spinning a finger in the air.
dyes, like him a Carhartts fan. They’d com- “It’s how the world goes’round.”
pared workboots and shared photos of their
kids. “Stace. Got a couple trash bags?” “Okay.” Frank balled up the bags in one
hand.
“Those top-loads,” she said. “Some
people swear by’em, though. I guess they’re “I could take care of those pants today,
easier on the delicates.” even,” she said. She wasn’t flirting back. She
was being nice—she was a nice person, was
“I definitely wouldn’t know about that,” all. “No charge.”
said Frank, “Just didn’t want to line up for
the front-loads.” Stace stumped over and Frank waved his bags. “Next time, Stace.”
handed him a bag, commenting about his
lingerie. They shared a laugh that made him Maybe, he thought, he should pay the
feel re-connected to the world for a second. five bucks or whatever fee, next time there
“Hey,” he said, “you got a second bag?” was a line for the front-loads. But he’d
gotten leery of favors. He and Margery had
Stace gave him a look, but walked him to been going through two years of people
her station and dug out the bag. forcing favors on them so far, and Frank
never could relax into it.

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The water in the machine seemed too then, thinking in the next moment about
warm on his hands as he hauled out his the shortage of laughs they’d be facing this
load. He’d punched in a cold wash, but it summer, he wanted to cry.
was a hundred degrees today, and the
pipes leading in from outside must still be He coughed into his shoulder. “Sure,
glowing hot, even past 5pm. He hoped the you can laugh,” he said. “When was the last
hat hadn’t run and messed up the pants. time you cared about the colors running be-
tween your stocking cap and your only good
When he got home, he saw that Margery pair of pants?”
had managed to make herself a smoothie.
He could see she’d drunk some of it, too— “I don’t care, and good riddance,” she
“glass half empty” described the bright side said. “You can have your crockpot and your
of life, with regard to Margery’s appetite— fall bulbs, too!”
and was pleased that she’d gotten herself
out to the deck on her own. He’d insisted Margery had declared herself retired
on a deck when they moved out here from from housework long before she got sick,
town, even though all Frank could manage as soon as their youngest was out of the
around the trailer was a bit of lattice and house. It didn’t bother Frank. He liked
some plywood on top of the footings. They stewing chicken and sorting cold-darks from
were on the hill facing town now, and the hot-whites. (Most of the garden at the old
sun set behind them, but it was still a pretty house, which had meandered into beds of
view at twilight, with the little houses mismatched annuals and perennials and
glowing clean and buttery in the waning vegetables when the kids were little, they
light, the lamps around the rodeo grounds built a deck over.) Margery had liked to
coming on like a fairy convention. keep up with what people call the heavy
cleaning—getting into the seams around
“Ho there, Cowboy,” she called, just like the toilet, into the kitchen corners to scour
always, even though Frank hadn’t ridden away the old grease.
since—God, it had been thirty years since
Skye died. The only horse he’d ever owned “Just sunflowers this year, remember?”
in this country, to which he’d come in the Frank said gently. They’d agreed not to
first place just to ride. dwell on the fall.

“Hey there, Mama,” he said, just like al- “No, no,” Margery said, pointing at him,
ways. He went around to the back of the those eyes of hers drilling through him,
truck and eased out the doubled trash bag. “Sunflowers and tomatoes. Both of the kids
will be home.”
“Hooo-lyy, what’d you do at the laun-
dromat?” Margery said, and her gaze was “Right,” he murmured. “Can’t have
as clear as ever in her thinned-out face. anyone pouting.”

“Wasn’t me,” Frank said. “It was the Michael was the sunflowers—poor kid, he
damned machine. It got stuck at drain.” and Margery had uprooted a yellow jackets’
nest preparing the bed when he was only
Margery laughed. That gave Frank a buzz. about five years old, and it had always been a
He’d haul home half-done laundry every point of controversy whether Michael should
night, just to hear her laugh. He grinned and consider the magnificent blooms, two heads
taller than a tall man, worth the insult to his

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genitals. Gracie was the tomatoes. Margery the immediate problem of the half-drained
had grumbled every dawn that she had to load, slippery with soap.
go out to tie up vines and shoo thirsty robins
from the ripening fruit, but the photo of “Oh, this,” Frank said, heaving the bag up
Gracie smiling her noonday-sun smile at the so that it threatened to split at the seams.
homemade roadside stand still had pride of “Well, I’ve been thinking about it and I have
place above the trailer’s kitchen table. Our a plan.”
tomatoes are verry sweet, read the sign, with
all the esses turned backward. “Do you, now? Well, that’s a surprise.”

“Sunflowers’ll be pretty easy, even with “Watch this.”
the dirt so hard,” Frank said, kicking the
ground. “Get some potting soil, cram it in When Frank came to Skyhorse as a young
the cracks between some of the boulders man, the name of the place sang in his ears.
there up the hill, make sure they get plenty His first job in the country was at the rodeo
of water to begin with, sunflowers’ll be up grounds, and he earned his horse there,
in no time and they’ll last all summer. Toma- named for the town, on a bit of a fluke.
toes, though.” He wrung his hands together
absently, as if anticipating the pain of dig- Everyone knew him as a good hand—not
ging into the yellow clay. Maybe he could that anyone was about to give him a horse.
pull some of the bigger Tupperwares out The kind of work he was doing wouldn’t let
from under the deck and start the tomatoes him save enough to buy one soon, but he
indoors, where it wasn’t so dry, hack some was a good hand and got along well with
holes into the clay and move them outside the boarded horses, if not always with the
just before Gracie came home. Thinking people—seemed whenever he spoke to a
about the Tupperwares and nice wicker bas- Skyhorse native there would be a little skip
kets that had accumulated over the last two in the conversation, like they had to take
years got Frank wondering what Margery a moment to translate what he’d said into
had eaten today. They had always tossed their own way of understanding, like the
most of the strange casseroles people kept language he’d assumed he had in common
on bringing—Why does everyone think that with them was only superficially the same.
sick people run better on shitty food? Mar- When Skye’s owner lost him to the rodeo
gery would fume in the early days of her stables by defaulting grievously on his fees,
first post-surgical recovery—and maybe Frank begged them not to auction off the
it was the guilt that kept Frank from ever horse. He had little hope, but figured at first
returning the containers. Lately, though, that his way with horses might tip the bal-
no matter what brewed in the crock-pot all ance in his favor.
day every day as Frank found fancier, ever
more novel ways to boil chicken and onions, Let me make an offer, he said. I’ll work
beans and peppers, beef and pork sausages off the cost.
and beer and celery and leafy greens, Mar-
gery could keep hardly anything down. He made an offer that was more than
he could afford, and they made the deal,
“What are you going to do with the although they grumbled that they could’ve
bag?” Margery said, bringing Frank back to got more selling the horse in farther-off
horse country. Everyone around here knows
that horse is bad luck, they told Frank. That’s
how the owner lost him. He should’ve never

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named him after the town. It’s a bad luck mutters died away, and that was worse—it
name. meant people thought he’d got what he’d
asked for, but were too smug to tell him so.
The legend of Skyhorse, they said, did Like they’d known all along the bad luck
not end well. Frank knew the story: it was would come full circle. Frank understood
about a half-breed horse-man who tried then that the rodeo people hadn’t sold him
to make horses equal to humans. He could the horse because they liked him. They’d
also fly. In the typical manner of legends, sold him Skye because they wanted a way
the power of flight only earned him a fan- to mark him.
tastic death, shot out of the sky during a
righteous battle and remembered ever after The first person he’d met coming out
with regret and superstition. Don’t renege of the hospital had been Margery, a girl he
on a promise to anyone less fortunate, Sky- knew well from the corrals, a Skyhorse na-
horse’s eye was on you, Don’t mistreat a tive with a gaze that made him understand,
horse, Skyhorse would take revenge. He was for the first time, why arrows and hearts
still flying around keeping tabs on things, got carved into stone together in the first
and his hooves were poised to strike down lovers’ declaration.
the cruel and stingy. Yes, everyone having
to do with horses in that country made sure Ho there, Cowboy, she’d said. She’d come
Frank knew the story, even though he was in to warn him that speculators were already
no position to be cruel or stingy to anyone. sniffing around Skye’s stall, figuring they’d
But Frank also knew that the owner lost the get him at a good price and sell him abroad.
horse because of gambling debt—probably Don’t sell him, she finished. I’ve seen you
won him on a bet to begin with. And being ride. You guys are a beautiful team.
a half-breed himself, Frank savvied Skye’s
name to be the opposite of bad luck. Frank He shook his head. They tell me I’m not
was already broke. Whatever had been the going to be riding again.
bad luck of the horse’s former owner, Frank
didn’t think it would stick to him. She shook her head back at him. Maybe
not in the rodeo, she said. But if you let that
Frank rode Skye in some rodeos and won crap about a mythical horse-man get to you
some prize money. Meanwhile, someone in I’ll walk right out of your life and I’ll take
town figured out he’d been a cabinet-maker that horse with me.
as well as a budding rider back home,
and he started getting regular work that Frank began to say that he didn’t know
beat the corral pay by about a thousand a Margery had ever walked into his life. Then
month. He didn’t quit the corral—he loved it occurred to him that she’d been there all
the horses too much—but he paid off Skye along—having a glass of whatever was on
in months, instead of years, and rented a tap after closing up the stables for the night,
house in town. talking horses, talking not-horses, planning a
life in town, because, she said, I would never
People muttered about Skyhorse’s curse have said it a year ago, but maybe I don’t
all the time behind his back, and sometimes want to think about nothing but horses all
brought it up to his face, peering at him as my life. He’d been too closed-up to see her
if he were about to sprout horns. When he that way because, with all the jealousy and
finally got hurt too bad to ride again, the suspicion and bad-luck theories that had
sprung up between Skyhorse and him after

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his purchase of Skye, he’d never gotten over When the water ran clear Frank tied a
feeling like an outsider. knot in the neck. He picked up the bag, and it
was so dead-white, so taut with ice-cold hose
He said to Margery, In that case, let’s not water, that he almost said something about a
sell the horse. witch’s tit in mid-July, but didn’t think it was
something Margery would laugh at.
He must’ve proposed to her in some
other way after that. Must’ve—but all he He dug his keys out of his pocket.
remembered clearly, for sure, was that
Margery took his hand and marched him “Drain,” he said.
off to the rodeo stables to confirm his claim
on Skye. And at some point much later on, With his keys he tore a ragged hole in the
still holding on for dear life, they’d marched double bag. The water spilled out so cold
down the aisle. that it hurt his knuckles.

Frank considered, from time to time, “Ready for this, now? This is the grand
whether Margery had to step out of Sky- finale.”
horse a little bit to be with him, a half-breed
from away, or whether being with her made “I’m ready for anything, Cowboy.”
it easier for him to step in, made the walls
between him and Skyhorse seem insubstan- “Spin,” he said. He grabbed the knot two-
tial, easy to pass through. He always con- fisted and begin to spin, expecting clean
cluded that those concerns should be least water to spray from the hole, intending to
on his mind. Neither he nor his wife were speed up and go until it was just a spray
like anyone else in the known world. What- of diamonds, even if it destroyed his back.
ever the world’s understanding of blessings Instead, his Carhartts tore through and
and curses, none of it could stick to them. dropped. The blacktop, gritty from thunder-
storm runoff, steamed around them.
“I’m watching,” Margery said, easing
back into her lawn chair. Margery burst out laughing so hard Frank
was afraid he’d gone too far. But when he
Frank plopped the doubled bag onto the glanced up to take a look at her, he thought
blacktop patch, ran the hose into it, and let he couldn’t remember the last time he’d
it overflow. seen her cheeks so pink, her eyes so soft.

“Rinse cycle,” he said. He turned his He dropped his gaze and shook his head
eyes up to Margery’s, making sure she was to hide his own smile. “Stace is going to
smiling. She was, but she was almost ready have a field day with this story.”
to retire. “I say this for the benefit of those
who might not be familiar with the modern “What’re you going to do now, Cowboy?”
washing machine.” Margery sighed, leaning back and closing
her eyes.
“I appreciate that,” she said, taking a sip
of her smoothie. “Don’t you worry, Mama,” he said, easing
down to gather the draggled load. “I’ll just
start over, like I always do.”

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About the Author

Donna Lee Miele lives and writes in New York’s Hudson Valley. Her fiction has appeared or is
forthcoming in |tap| litmag, Atticus Review, Ms. Aligned 3, and elsewhere. She is a founding
member of River River Writers’ Circle.

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