Monday – August 13th

The Squad Room – 8:39 a.m.

“I can tell you that Jimmy and his son, Blake, were released from the hospital late Saturday afternoon. As far as what will happen between them, how they will try and heal from what happened, is a road they will either deal with or not. I wish them both well. What I do know is that his business won’t reopen until after Labor Day.

“On a lighter note; just a reminder to all of you who volunteered for MDA, we start up a week from tomorrow. All shifts will have a final reminder in your inbox on Monday the twentieth. So be advised. If something comes up, we do have eleven alternates if needed.

“Beyond that, if there aren't any questions, then get out there and stay safe and keep our streets safe.”

“Hold on a second.”

Heads turn and smiles appeared on everyone's faces.

“I’m delivering the donuts today, so don't any of you guys go anywhere just yet.”

Baker shook her head as Ed walked to the front and sat six boxes of a variety of pastries on a table.

“Ed, you didn't have to do that.”

“I know, but you kept telling me the guys wanted to see my ugly mug and here I am.”

The next twenty minutes were spent in asking Ed how he was doing. A few even said he should come back on the force.

“Sorry, but Robo-Cop I’m not. But one day, you guys might see me in a courtroom prosecuting the people you arrest.”

Eventually, the bodies in blue filtered out with the comments of, “Good to see you again,” to “Come back more often,” and “Don’t be such a stranger.”

Then it was just the two of them.

Ed excused himself a minute, went into the break room and yelled loudly enough for Baker to hear him.

She walked in and Ed sat at a table with two coffees and a chocolate donut and two eclairs.

“I couldn't forget my favorite Lieutenant of all time.”

She sat down next to Ed, squeezed his left hand which automatically squeezed back with the right amount of pressure, and she smiled at him.

“A clever way to start off a week. God, I love you, Ed Manning.”

A Touch Of Grace – 10:30 a.m.

“I can see from your smile, mother, you are happy about something.”

“Yes, I am. I suspect before very long, there will be two people who will finally join mind, body and soul and unite in both the sanctity of marriage and the realms that love has to offer.”

“You speak of that policeman, Page?”

“Yes. Destiny has called us here, and we in turn; help with that destiny for others.”

“You do know, mother, darkness lurks. An evil presence has invaded other people’s thoughts.”

“Yes, Jonah. I have been aware long before our coming here. I also know without evil, goodness cannot last forever, just as evil cannot last.

“Yet, when the two are close to one another, one must part the way so the other can take control. And soon , that very thing will happen.”

“I heard you, mother,” said her other son, Brian. “Does this mean our stay here is almost over?”

“That I cannot answer as yet, Brian, but we will know soon enough.” Grace blinked her eyes several times.

“Enough of what will or won’t be. We have work to do, shelves to fill. Let us begin our day.”

Taco Bell – 12:15 p.m.

Devon, J.W., Baker, Dianne, Clauson and Klugston were sitting outside at a concrete table, munching taco’s, tostada’s, and chicken and beef chimichanga’s.

“It’s nice not to have to rush off to a call or stop a speeder, or break up a fight,” remarked Terrance Klugston.

“I’m just happy,” said his partner, Henry, “to wake up this morning knowing I still have a job.”

“Yeah,” replied Devon. “It would scare the hell out of us if you showed up dead!”

Everyone laughed.

“You know what I mean. Every time we put on this uniform we become a target, we become the subject or object of someone’s idea of a bad time. Just to wake up and smell the air, no matter how bad it can be on some days, is a good thing.”

“How’s your wife doing with the pregnancy?” asked Baker.

“She’s doing really good,” replied Clauson. “She goes back to her doctor next week for another check-up; but things are looking good for us.”

One thing Henry had right, thought Baker, it’s days like today that’s worth waking up to.

And the rest of the day would meet a quiet evening, and for once, though you would never hear the independent, ye collective sigh; every man and woman in blue felt today was a beautiful day.

No one anywhere died.

Tuesday = August 14th

A Touch Of Grace – 9:30 a.m.

All because of a quarter-page ad in the Montie Daily, a quick thirty-second announcement on Channel 08 Evening News, and along with the sign in the window, people filled the store and there was a line over a city block long.

People were clamoring to get those special items they would never see again. all the ads said the same thing: Due to personal family responsibilities, August 18th will be our last day. The doors will close at noon. Every item is half price.

The money spent was incredible, but it seemed no matter the purchase, another specialty item would replace the “last” one-of-a-kind item previously sold.

In a vision while asleep last night, Grace saw that she and her sons must move to another location. On the 21st of August, they would arrive (always showing up on a Tuesday) and open on Thursday (all part of the plan given her).

In her vision, she saw two men, one dangerous with a horrific past; the other, one of courage, yet filled with anger. She watched as both would do battle with only one walking away.

Hopefully, when that moment neared, her store would be nearby to help the goodness of one man's heart to overrule the dark heart of the other. But as with all things, nothing is ever guaranteed. Well, except the items she sold.

In the meantime, her sons worked speedily to create new and interesting items. After all, the store's logo must be met: We Bring The World To Your Home.

Baker just happened to be one of the people in line, who, after two hours, was finally inside. She what over to where Grace Middleton was standing, right behind the cash register.

“I don’t understand. Here not quite a month and already you are leaving us.”

“As I have tried to explain to others, we have family matters to attend to, and as regrettable as it is; business or not, family always comes before the coin. At least we are giving many a chance to bring a part of the world into their home.”

“I’m sorry. I hope you may reconsider one day and come back to Montie. You and your sons would be welcomed and the three of you are just so … creative. There hasn't ever been anyone like the three of you here before. You will be missed.”

“Oh, thank you. One day we may come back after all. In the meantime, what is it I can do for you?”

“Here is a photo of my son, Stevie, and his girlfriend, Ellie. They are standing on her father’s Catamaran. I was wondering if you could recreate this for me in some way. that is if you'll have enough time. if not, it's okay.”

“I don't see why I can't. Be here Friday. I will have it ready by then.”

“That soon?”

“We leave Friday at noon. Between myself and my boys, Friday will be perfect.”

“How much?”

“For you? For what you do for your community as well as your family? No charge.”

“I can't let…”

“No charge and not another word. Now, I have other customers. I will see you Friday, say around ten?”

Baker smiled, then walked out of the store. What an extremely interesting family. They haven't even left, and she could sense from the eyes of people waiting in line, they were saddened to see them go.

Inside, Grace placed the picture in the pocket of her light blue smock. She would have Baker’s gift ready after closing tonight.

Davenport Animal Clinic – 1:43 p.m.

“Terry, I just got off the phone with a retired married couple over in Mellon. Do you know where it is?”

“It’s north of here about eighty miles over in Elsmere County. You go through Stanhouse, stay on 60 for another eleven miles or so as if you're heading to Jefferson. Take Highway 15, which is a winding route for nine miles, and you run smack into Mellon. Why? What’s up there?”

“The Kincade’s. Retired couple, and they have about three dozen dogs in kennels, but both are in their nineties and well …”

“Let me guess. You said sure, we’ll take them.”

“Not exactly like that but close enough. Question is, do we have the room?”

Terry held up a finger, in his other hand is his cell phone.

“Yes, Kevin? Oh, sorry, John. No, that’s okay. You can give me an amount as good as Kevin could. How many empty cages do we have? Sure, I can wait.”

Looking at Patrick, Terry said, “He’s checking this morning’s latest entry.

“What? Oh, great! Thanks, John, and FYI, tell Kevin to be expecting thirty-six pups and adults.”

Putting his cell in his pants pocket, Terry said, “We’re in luck. We have forty-two empties, so it won’t be a problem, Patrick.”

“That’s good, and I have another idea I want to run by you.”

“You have my attention.”

“You know that empty space behind the grooming rooms?”

Terry nodded.

“I did some checking and there is one wall that dead ends or the kennel is. I’m toying with the idea of giving it an outdoorsy, playroom setting where the dogs can roam around for a few hours every day.

“It would cost about $20,000 for a running brook, fake grass, toys, lighting and drop traps where the grass is. The drop traps open just enough based on weight and pressure when the dogs party. That will then drop into a bin That is constantly sluiced with water from the time we open, until we close, and the waste drops into a hundred-gallon metal bin we exchange out for a new one when it fills.”

“Wow, Patrick, that’s a hell of a project. I just don't know if the trap thing will work, but the rest sounds good. It’s like Kevin and John could walk eight dogs an hour, and in an environment the dogs would readily adapt to.”

“Not only that, but when they are adopted, we can almost guarantee they are housebroken.”

“If you’re looking for my approval, I say why not. Like I said though, I’m not sure about the drop traps. Then again, that would be something to see.”

“If they don't work at first, I can get the company that would install them, to make certain they worked.”

“Sounds great, Patrick.”

“How is your wife doing?”

“Wonderful. Actually, before I forget, she asked me to ask you to have dinner at our home Friday night.”

“Oh, I'd love to go, Terry, but I already have a dinner date for Friday.”

“Well, good for you. Is she from around here?”

Patrick smiled but wasn't sure how to answer his question.

“Actually, my date is from out of state.”

“I hope you have a wonderful time. Maybe you can join us for dinner another time.”

“I’d love too.”

How can it be? My life is a ticking time bomb and I cannot stop it. The pain is constant and the worries in my mind overflow until I cry. How can I have hope when the end of the line is near? The only option out of this is a peaceful death in my sleep, except it won't be peaceful. How can the only escape from this life is death? I want to feel better, my body is old and fragile, they say they can't fix it, my only cure is the sweet release of death. How can it be?

"Don't you dare say a word", her mind said. She was just about to reveal her secrets, secrets about her dark Life but her mind, like always, restrained her.

Life wasn't a fairy tale for her. It wasn't for so many other people either. But it was "abnormal" for her. she found her life too embarrassing. She was just a kid at that time. She had a completely different life from other normal kids. She had a bunch of friends who she thought were her best friends and they were, indeed. But she had never let them know how "different" her life was.

That was the darkest time of her life when she had no one to rely on. Life felt like a hell. But, to the world, she was pretty normal. That was because she was quite talented at pretending. Keeping too much inside her heart, she was feeling suffocated, so much that she could hardly breathe.

So, on that day when her friend was talking about her problem, she felt like exploding. " When they can tell me, why shouldn't I?", her heart whispered. Like lava, she was about to say that but her mind stopped her. " You shouldn't let it out. They will never understand and it's not gonna solve your problems. Your secrets are safe with you, just hold it in." And she was silent. It was a really a narrow escape

Now, so many years have passed. She is an adult and a very mature person. Life feels a lot better now. Now, thinking back, she thinks she did the right thing. If she had told them, she would always feel scared and embarrassed to meet them again. Although, it had nothing to do with them, but still, her wounds were safe with her. She really had A NARROW ESCAPE...

I agree that it's good to share with people you trust. It eases your burdens. But sometimes, it's great to keep it in. It might feel heavy and suffocated, but it hurts even more when people know your deepest, ugliest wounds and fail to understand!! Even if they are your closest people, they will start to see you in completely different light when they know your life is different than them.

was moments from being

as limbs flailed and

ants fought with my skin like each other.

Dying to be less than they were,

starving for the moisture pooling in my pores.

I pray I will never be enough to satiate them all.

They haven't left me,

the ants, they still swarm.

I see black liquid drip down the needle to

my shriveled hand,

veins have all run dry and little legs

crawl like pins where the blood should have been.

but finally the dark void parts for the plaster,

a white almost bright enough to blind

I narrowly escaped a nothingness that I still long to find.

"God damn, I need a cigarette."

It was difficult to see anything around him. Darkness, tunnel vision, and gunsmoke lurked in a windless cloud that surrounded his senses. His heartbeat should have been a kettledrum in his ears, but he could hardly even hear himself speak.

Hands barely trembling, the detective replaced a partially spent magazine. Operating in the dark, leaning on training and instinct, he moved quickly through the parking lot. He leapfrogged from the cover of one car before approaching another. One jungle was just as good as another, even if leaves had been replaced by steel.

Safety glass spiderwebbed just above his head and he flattened himself on the blacktop.

In the yellow glow of a lonely overhead light, he saw movement of stark white athletic shoes.

Quickly and quietly, the green glow of his front sight found the splash of red that Nike never intended as a target.

Daylight and thunder, a scream and a curse.

Two more thunderclaps and the cursing stopped.

Groaning, the old man climbed up from the pavement and hobbled to where another man would never learn how to be old.

Holstering, he had that cigarette before calling it in.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uX0beZHshOw

John was driving his car at the highway, his soft hands steering. The car moved in a swift and straight direction. There were no other cars present. The tall trees covered most of the sunlight, darkening his sight. A female soprano opera singer started singing in Italian, coming from the radio. The radio suddenly changed stations resulting in a mix of different sounds. "Heavy traffic is expected at MacArthur Avenue", a radio announcer said. Meanwhile a man doing an impression of a woman started, "Honey I'm Home", followed by a bunch of laughter. "Oh, In heaven there'll only be you an me", a Texan started singing until he is interrupted by the voice of a young woman who sang the words, "Beautiful stranger; beautiful danger". By this time John's mouth kept opening and closing as he tried to calm himself down. The radio kept changing stations at an alarming rate. John stopped his car as he turned off the radio. He then started it again and moved on when another car at the intersection broomed closer and closer.

John woke up in the middle of a pure white room. He looked at his bruised body, not knowing where he was. The window only showed the plain blue sky. He then opened his mouth and held a deep breath before going back to sleep.

His father moved his wheelchair. "I built a ramp here just for you", he said to him as he moved his wheelchair, approaching the ramp. The wood that supported the wheelchair moved unsteadily as the wheels go up. "Andrew, it's not steady you might cause him more pain", an old woman, John's mother, shouted as she walked the stairs up. Andrew struggled to push the wheelchair up. "Margaret help me", he said. Margaret, who was already a the porch, moved to the ramp and helped John move up in his wheelchair. John's face was still and pale, like a dead man's face.

The three were now seated together in the dining room. One chair was moved out in order to make room for John and his wheelchair. Margaret started, "Dearest Lord, we thank you for our son's safety. We thank that he's safe here, with us. And we thank you because I know he's going to feel much better. All of us are here because of your grace. Amen".

Andrew rolled the wheelchair softly to a bedroom. He opened the door and left the wheelchair in the middle of the room. He carried John's light body into the bed and tucked him in like a little child, his face still pale. "Do you want anything else", Andrew asked. "No, thank you papa", John replied. "Goodnight son", Andrew told him as he exited the room. As he shut the door, a picture frame fell to the ground, the glass breaking into pieces. An old picture of John smiling.

"Is he asleep yet", Margaret asked.

"No not yet", Andrew replied.

Andrew then took a seat at the couch beside Margaret.

"What happened to our son", Margaret asked.

"Well, he got into an accident and is still very shocked about it"

"No, I meant why he became the way he is now"

"I guess he just grew up"

"I mean, he barely even talks anymore. When he was little was the most talkative and brightest person in the room"

"Margaret, give it a rest. We all change"

"I know we all do but why did it had to happen to our son"

Andrew opened the curtains revealing the sunlight. John was already awake. "Good Morning", he said to his son. He then lifted his body, feeling it gained a few pounds. He moved it to the wheelchair and headed to the dining room.

Margaret walked down aisle four; Cereals. She took a box of 'Fruity Os'. "Cereal, what do you need that for", a woman spoke. "Long time no see, Margaret", she continued. "Kiara", exclaimed Margaret. "I haven't seen you since my son was in High School, how are you". "I'm good, how about your son, is he okay", asked Kiara. Margaret let out a small sigh. She replied "He's still recovering". "That's good.", said Kiara.

Andrew opened the faucet. He carried John to the bathtub full of water.

Margaret had encountered another friend at the market. "It's so tragic. I included him in my own prayers. May the good lord bless him", she said. "Thank you", was all Margaret could say.

Andrew had already taken John to his room.

"You know I saw Kiara today, guess what she talked to me about"

"What"

"She talked to me about John. Doris also talked to me about how she felt sorry for him. You know this is the only time they've talked to me for years"

John was in his bed, awake. He took a mirror from the bedside table and looked at his face. His eyes were drowning in tears. Even his lips were bruised. He moved closer to the edge of the bed and fell. Andrew and Margaret opened the door. "What did you do", Margaret shouted. They both helped John lay down again.

"I'm in pain", John said.

"We know you are but you'll overcome it like you always--"

"I'm in pain and nothing can heal me. I heard you last night, 'why did our son have to change'. I am in pain, in deep deep pain! Do you know what it feels like to have a mother who doesn't like his own son. Do you know how it feels to be left out from the world. I may have suffered because of the incident but I have always felt pain even a long time ago. I also miss how I used to be. How I used to be so happy and full of life. I was even quite glad when I thought I would finally die. How I escaped from it, I don't even know. Now I have to live in pain for the rest of my damn life", with this John started to cry.

"Son, you know nothing about pain. You are a child and believe me when I say that your life will get better"

Margaret moved closer to his son and sat with him. Andrew also sat beside him and hugged both of them.

Later John took a glass, once again to look at his face. Suddenly he felt as if he saw the reflection of a dead man smiling at him.

Dark molars falling out of my mouth? Have I lost something precious, and it was time to move on? There’s a strange hand touching mine. I don’t what hand that it is or why it is approaching me. I have to run to escape a barrage of words from an anti-depressant, over-the-counter drug induced person sleeping next to me who related unrelated events, telling stories of what could’ve been but never should’ve happened. I have to escape a barrage of bullets because unkind times are following me everywhere and every things that falls in every place I go is a scare. I wake up sweating from a night’s half-baked sleep wondering where I am when I am faced by a reality that doesn’t fit me, and I try to change the fit but it doesn’t work because life isn’t a shop where fits are fitted. So, I run adapting to what the faithful tell me to adapt to because if I can’t change then I adapt. I feel like everyone is setting me in a trap trying to unravel my vulnerabilities. Their smiles are missiles, their gazes are blames, and their eyes’ avoidance is their guilt and my shame. So, I know that tomorrow I will reach for the unattainable, but it doesn’t matter because I’ve done it before. I know some people say that I can’t have it because I’m not cut out for it and it’s not the man who fits the cloth but the cloth that fits the man. But I know someone who is willing to sign the contract that I am so willing to escape. I tell myself not to sign, but my idle hand is moving inevitably toward the deal with Mephistopheles look-alike, smirk on the outside, brimstone on the inside, both of us wishing things had never come to be. I search for the exit, there’s light at the end of my sleep. I wake and I never escape.

Tick-tock

Oh dear, cards crashing down

As tailing guards rush forth

Their faces red with anger

And perhaps a hint of rouge

Tick-tock, tick-tock

Oh dear, oh dear, would you look at the time?

It’s teatime, teatime, why don’t you look at that?

No need to trip all over yourself

No need to follow me down this winding trail

Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, I mustn't be late!

Cricket-green blades of ever-sharp grass

Blood-red blossoms that snap at me

Tear-clear sap trickling down my back

Tick-tock, tick-tock

Oh my Queen, please wait for me!

Why must this world taunt me so?

I shake like a leaf at the sight of it all

This world makes me go mad, go mad I say!

Tick-tock

M-my Queen, m-my Q-Queen, please stop the guards

I-I’m here, I-I’m here, p-please look at me

T-the blades will soon pass right through me

M-MY QUEEN, IS THAT A GIRL I SEE?

Tick-tock

then the grass

firm beneath my feet

seems to become unsteady

he's sure to look for me

every man i see

looks a little bit like him

but i promise i wont die

im not going out like this

but then again im tired

and woth him i'd have a place to stay

but i have to stay strong

and focus on getting away

because though i'd have a bed

i'd have a hard time sleeping

scared of the knife

and he's scared of the secrets i'd be keeping

so off i go into

the woods paranoid and naked

and hopefully find a town

and find a police station

but if i dont

cuz i know i wont

i can say that i tried

if it kills me

i tried

Once upon a time there was a girl who lived in despair. She broke all the rules and found herself possessed by the masses. She became a weak and pitiful thing. She felt like a castaway because she could not “feel” emotionally distraught. She believed she was broken and lost. So, she took to the streets—

Her forsaken becoming. She played in the dark despite knowing that all she wanted was a savior. She circled their towers and took from their wells—she housed her holy delusions in their power.

She continued exploring within the damned and found herself a holy whore. She took from those who thought it natural to fornicate voraciously and without will.

What she brought to the table was the illusion of lust because she neither kissed them nor performed for them in the sack. She despised watching them pound her against the wall, but found more atrocious her ability to overcome.

And she waltzed in the dark pretending that all was fine and dandy. She defiled herself further and became a ruthless mercenary to any sister whore who defied her by disturbing her gory sanctuary, for the heads on the platters were hers, and hers alone—her trophy’s, the evidence of shame.

Yet, she felt nothing. Confusion was in her thoughts but not emotional distraught, not chaos, remorse, or guilt. She continued laughing, singing, preying, waltzing in the dark, circling around and around—shifting partners ever so often as required to “feel” alive.

Then one day she had enough, and she blew down their castles like the big bad wolf that she was. She stood there in the silence of her own despair, and noticed nothing in the pitch black—her body vanished the raging wars and she ushered out to the sluts: “this is my body given to you, you can have it no more”. She exiled herself not because they were bad, but because she had learned all that she needed from them. She conquered their world which had been hers too, and a new name emerged from the wreckage.

It was very becoming of her, and she feared it greatly, but she contended it was time to penetrate the system without a disguise—

She threw down her Clark Kent suit and traded it in for her truth—she yelled to the masses: “armageddon is here, and with it, I am, the exorcist, throw down your swords—fearful whores, redemption is here.