I remember the taste of adrenaline on my tongue, the sour flavor coating it in metallic scum as if I’d been sucking on a mouthful of pennies. Crouching silently in the darkness of my apartment, Quinn’s hand warm on my back, we waited to be found out. And when that didn’t happen, I tried to go on with my life, I did, but every time he touched me, I swear I could smell blood. That thick coppery scent that hits the back of your throat, triggering your most primitive fight or flight instincts. We split before the week was out but that’s jumping to the end of the story.

I moved around quite a bit when I was young. Due to my wonderful upbringing in the foster care system, I was on my own by the ripe old age of sixteen. As you might imagine, things did not get miraculously better after that. Still, I managed to scrape along and by the time I was twenty five, I lived in a cheap apartment complex next to a run-down strip mall. Nearly all the stores had been abandoned but there were a few fast food restaurants still limping along within it. Needless to say, it wasn’t one of the better sections of town.

I’d been there a few years when I caught wind of a rumor a few of my neighbors had been talking about. They told me that some friends of theirs had recently been caught stealing copper wiring from inside the walls of one of the vacant stores, but before they got caught, they'd been bragging about how much money they had already made selling the things they had stolen. Apparently one store in particular had shut down with all the merchandise still inside. The descriptions they gave to my inexperienced ears made it sound like easy money. Me and my friends began to form a plan, watching the store and the surrounding area, and after a few days of that we deemed ourselves ready. In hindsight we should have watched longer and planned better but most of us were in our mid-twenties. We were full of piss and vinegar and thought, as most young people do, that we were invincible. We were also mostly broke, and looking for extra beer money after work or class was something we embraced wholeheartedly. There was a trail that ran behind the store, between our apartment and the closest fast food places and we began using it to continue our surveillance. There were two rollup doors at the back of the store previously used for the delivery of merchandise. Usually, they were tightly closed and locked with intimidating padlocks, but on a cold clear morning in October, we saw that one of them had been left open, the lock dangling from the hasp. Seeing this, we excitedly made our plans to come back after dark.

We knew there was only one security guard for the whole place. We thought if we kept a lookout posted and timed it right, we could clean the place out. We waited until after dark, dressing ourselves all in black like cat burglars and snuck down to the site on foot, giggling and cutting up until we got close, and then we all stole quietly around to the back of the store. The mood was still charged, it was fun, an adventure. I remember having to suppress my laughter and feeling it bubbling up inside me like carbonation. The darkness was intermittent, with street lights and neon flickering randomly along the strip. The smell of honeysuckle was in the air, blowing to us from further up the street. Short hairs escaping my ponytail tickled my face and I tucked them behind my ears as I followed the nearly silent shadow in front of me. Quinn went first, having won the vote to be in charge, and led us all around the fence to the split the other thieves had told us about. One by one we filed in, Quinn holding the fence up and touching us all as we went through as if to count heads and make sure no one was lagging.

The smell blowing from the building to us on the breeze had undertones of something dead, making us all cover our noses, and I remember not wanting to go inside. I kept thinking something had made a kill and had gone in there to hide and eat it. All my hairs were standing at attention, cautioning me with that not so subtle warning. I picked up my pace, and pushing through to the front, I grabbed Quinn's shirt to get his attention. He whispered for the others to go on and wait for him at the doors and grabbing a handful of my shirt in his fist, he kept me there at the fence with him. I told him about my reservations and he nodded, slipped his hand into the warmth of my bra for a brief fondle, and then towed me over to the rest of the group. After hearing my best owl, he told me to hoot if the guard came and they all disappeared into the darkness, leaving me alone.

It was quiet, with the muted sounds of the street behind me and the empty loading dock in front of me. The breeze picked up, making me shiver as I sat still on the concrete. I had been warm while we were moving but now the chill crept out of the cement and invaded my personal spaces. I heard rustlings in the bushes behind the fence and squinted trying to see in the dark. It was quiet for so long I was beginning to think I had been left behind. Just then I saw shadows dancing to my right and the guard came around the far corner of the building, the beam of his flashlight cutting a path through the mist in front of his feet. I hooted, cleared my throat and hooted again. Nothing happened except the guard continued to advance. When he was halfway across the lot, I finally heard an answering call. Realizing the guard was approaching the door, I stood up and slid back into the loading bay, keeping to the shadows. I hooted again, feeling anxious and excited all at once. A few more owls called back to me from inside the building, sounding so genuine I remember wondering if any of them were real. I thought I heard a noise behind me and turning, nearly collided with Quinn coming to see why I had signaled. I squeaked in alarm, grabbing onto him as he steadied me with a warm hand. Recovering quickly, I pointed out the guard walking across the lot toward us, his light swinging from side to side and his shoes grinding on the scattered gravel. Quinn put his mouth to my ear and sent me to warn the others, sliding his knife from the scabbard at his belt as he crouched behind the door jamb. I could barely breathe as I crept quickly to the next cover, and ducking behind the extinct movie counter, I listened for any noise besides my rapidly beating heart and the sound of my breath whistling in and out. I signaled again as soon as I had my wind back, afraid to move anymore with the guard so close, and heard several muted answering calls from somewhere behind me in the store.

It was pitch black inside the movie kiosk and the floor was covered with wayward VHS tapes, making it hard for me to sit still. The movies kept shifting beneath me, snapping and creaking every time I dared to move. I could almost hear Quinn shushing me inside my head. My attention was diverted back toward the bay doors by a slight noise. I found a crack and pressed my eye to the tiny peephole. The light coming through the open bay door was broken by the shadow of the officer as he paused, framed in the doorway. He vanished inside and I heard the muffled scrape of a shoe on concrete and a grunt like my old papa used to make getting up from his Lazy Boy.

We had forgotten to watch him for a while first tonight so we could ascertain his regular routine. We had no idea there were different guards on a rotating schedule. The one we watched only walked around the perimeter. This one came inside every third pass he made of the loading dock. I can't believe we were actually so careless as to have skipped such an important step, but I wasn't in charge and we had all agreed to take Quinn's instruction. In the excitement, he had forgotten, and we all assumed he had taken care of everything, so no one else thought to check. I hadn’t known him very long but I trusted him. Mainly because we were sleeping together and I had that blind trust we all have in our first few relationships, comfortably secure in the false knowledge of things working out in the ideal fashion of our fantasies and daydreams. But that night things took a right turn away from all that. Quinn told me later that it was my safety he was worried about the most. He said he felt responsible for me and that was the reason he gave for his impulsive actions.

I was unable to see much through the crack I had my eyeball pressed over, but a tangle of light and shadow rolled by several times, and flashes struck my retina as something bright was lifted and lowered so fast I wasn’t sure I saw it. Every thrust was accompanied by another human grunt, this time unlike anything I had ever heard before. They sounded hollow, like someone had let all the air out of someone. It wasn’t air. A long loud whistle rent the silence; our prearranged signal that it was time to leave, and I began to hear the rustlings and shuffling noises that let me know it was time to go. I stood up and stepped out from behind the counter I had been crouching behind. Not wanting to leave empty handed, I scooped up an armful of movies and dumped them into my bag. Then looking quickly around, I grabbed a jewelry rack and an adding machine that looked like it came straight out of a 50's gangster movie and made my way, thus laden, toward the doors where I could see everyone gathered in a loose circle around something on the floor. I pushed my way through into the circle and stopped short, my booty falling to the floor with a crash that made everyone jump. The security guard was lying on his back on the concrete, a dark patch spreading beneath him. I stared at him in shock for what seemed like a long time, but surely could have only been seconds. Someone touched me and I jumped back away, colliding with someone else in the dark. Then we were all running together, following Quinn to the fence. He grabbed the edge and pulled it up, pushing us all through, whispering, "GO, GO!" to each of us as we passed him. Panic caught and I didn't stop until I caught up to some of the others up the street. Quinn was right behind me, pushing us all to keep going.

Later there were multiple sirens, and ambulances and rescue vehicles rushing down the block, their lights pulsing over the neighborhood for hours. We all filed into my apartment and lay low with the lights out, afraid to move, sure the cops would be coming for us any moment.

But they never did. Nothing ever happened to us, and no one ever found out. Quinn gathered us all together the next day and we all solemnly cut ourselves and swore the blood oath to him, never to reveal what had happened that night. But I'll never forget the way the man reached up, pleading with us for the help that would come too late while his lifeblood slowly leaked out of him. I can still smell the blood and I remember how it reminded me of the taste in my mouth.

Cat Burgling

Fiction

Teen to Adult

2048 words

Deanna Salser

Everyone loves a good crime mystery

If you're planning a crime, it's best to have a plan

A group of young people decide to burgle an abandoned store with unexpected results

Older humans seem to like my stories but I have younger readers interested as well.

My name is Deanna Salser. I've always loved to read, in fact, I don't feel right if I don't have at least one book going. I've always had a fantasy about being a writer and I actually have a few good book ideas but I never felt like I had the time to write a novel. About seven years ago I had a story coming out of me so I decided to write when I had time and see how it went. It went slow but great. My first story is published and I am writing my second. In the meantime, I thought I would enter a few contests and see where it would get me. I need the publicity after all. So, here I am.

I am a Austin Macauley author.

I attended college to be a mechanical drafter but books have educated me as a writer.

I have published poetry and flash fiction besides my book, Procreation, published in 2021.

I tend toward the darker stories even though I am a die-hard optimist and Free Spirited Hippie who loves to draw, sculpt, paint and carve.

I am from Auburn, California.

I am 56 years young.

By the time I realized a storm was coming in, it was already too late to make it to the shelter. It had come on fast, faster than I had ever seen, and I had lived out here over ten years. I thought I knew the weather patterns but apparently, I did not. An hour ago the sky was clear, with not a cloud in sight. Now the wind whipped my hair around my head and half the dome overhead was filled with the towering shape of a massive cumulonimbus, lightning jigging and jagging within it. Pieces of plants and trees flew in the wind that buffeted me as I ran toward home and my scalp prickled with fear as I sensed a tornado behind me. I ran faster, my feet barely touching the ground as I nearly flew over it, but it wasn’t fast enough. The twister picked me up as easily as if I weighed nothing at all, holding me in its grip and flinging me around in a crazy, uncontrollable spiral. I saw the pig coming, kicking and squealing and heading right for me in the chaos of the swirling vortex, but there was no time, let alone any means to avoid him. I squeezed my eyes shut and cringed right before the solid bulk of him slammed into me and the darkness rose up and snatched me away.

I had been out in the orchard, picking apples. We only had a few trees and I cherished the job as my own, enjoying the solitude of the upper field. Lately, the accusing eyes of my husband were too much for me to bear and I had to admit I’d been finding more reasons to stay away from the house. Buying this farm had been Gavin’s idea, but I was the one who was finding myself in this land. He had hurt himself more than a year ago and as limited as he was in his wheelchair, he couldn’t follow me to the upper field. Gavin had become a different person after his accident and now he wanted to sell the farm and move back to the city to be closer to his doctors. I wasn’t sure I wanted to leave. I loved this place, it was my home. I wasn’t so sure about Gavin anymore but the land, yeah, I was sure about that.

It’s not a huge place, only twenty-five acres, but it’s sweetly situated in the foothills of the Colorado Rocky Mountains, perfectly nestled in a valley between two minor ridges. Our fields are mostly wheat and alfalfa, but back behind the house and barn, a virgin tangle of tall pines mixed with Aspen and Cottonwood march along our border almost all the way across, cradling its cluster of structures like a jewel. The barn stands just behind the house with only a breezeway between them. Before his accident, Gavin had liked that he could get there quickly if he had to check out a downed fence, missing livestock, or anything else on their acreage that needed his attention. With the barn right there he could saddle a horse and be anywhere on their property in minutes. Now he rarely leaves the house, preferring to wait for me if he needs anything. He has refused my every suggestion to hire help of any kind and relies solely on me for everything. It’s getting old. I can't take care of him and the farm. There’s just too much to do.

I woke up just in time to witness my landing. The tornado swung me by a tall cedar tree, sticking me into a nook between branches as gently as a mother setting down her newborn baby. It continued on down tornado alley without so much as a by-your-leave, leaving me staring down one hundred and fifty feet of trunk at the forest floor beneath me. My hair-raising trip to the ground was a nightmare I will never forget, taking me the better part of an hour, and I blew a sigh of relief when my feet finally hit the ground. My adventure inside the whirlwind had stripped me of both my shoes and my socks, leaving me in only my shorts and tank top. It was almost dark and not knowing where I was, I decided to hunker down for the night. I would find my way home in the morning.

After spending a sleepless night shivering, huddled beneath the branches of my cedar, I was stiff as I made my way up to higher ground to try and figure out where I was. I wrapped my arms around myself for warmth, my clothing damp with dew, as I stumbled over the uneven ground. Morning sunbeams began peeking between the trees I was walking through, and I lingered in the patches I came across, trying to warm up enough to stop the shivering. It was hurting my teeth and clenching my jaw was only making it sore. When I came to the clearing at the top of the ridge and the sun shone full in my face, bathing me with its rays, I stopped and closed my eyes, enjoying the sensation. When I opened them a few moments later, I knew exactly where I was. Directly in front of me on top of the next crest was a rock formation I recognized. I had been there before. The real estate agent had brought me and Gavin here before taking us to tour the ranch thirteen years ago. It was apparently some kind of historic spot where the Native American chiefs from the local tribes were said to have had some kind of confrontation with some of the pioneers in the early eighteen hundreds. Their agent had told them the story mysteriously, in hushed tones, like teenagers around a campfire.

The story went that when white men initially came to this area, there were only a few of them at first. The local villages tried to incorporate the new families into their territory, tolerating them as long as they stayed to themselves and committed no major faux pas, even trading with them and treating them like guests. It was said that one brave fell in love with Grace Rosemary Williams, the daughter of one of the settlers, carrying her away with him, as was their custom. The Williams men hunted them down and brought the couple up onto the highest ridge, calling out the chiefs of the tribe to come attend the impromptu trial. The matter could not be resolved and the two parties fell upon each other, resulting in the slaughter of all the natives and most of the colonists as well. They say Rose could not be consoled at the death of her brave and was overcome with grief. Evading her father, she flung herself from the pinnacle. When the surviving Williams went to retrieve her body, it could not be found. Afterward, many people claimed to see a ghostly, hysterical woman throwing herself off of the precipice. At some point, a monument had been erected naming it Weeping Maiden Rock. As such places often end up, it became a popular, if dangerous local teen hangout.

The Rock was deserted at the moment but I was relieved to see it because it meant home was only a few hours' walk away. I started out, warm after standing in the sun, and picked my way down the hill carefully in my bare feet. By the time I got to the top of Maiden Rock, they were stinging and sore. Stopping to rest was not an option, though. I knew I had been gone long enough to make Gavin worry, and there were probably numerous police and helpful neighbors combing the hills looking for me, as well. Following a smooth vein of rock, I got too close to the edge, my weight causing it to crumble beneath me, and before I even had time to be afraid, I landed with a jolt in the scree at the bottom of the cliff. Looking up in surprise, I could barely see the top of the rock far above my head. I couldn’t understand what had just happened to me. I was completely unhurt! How was that possible? I was thinking I should be dead and wondered if I was for a few minutes before I got up and dusted myself off. I continued limping toward home, so focused on picking my way through the rocks and thorns, I only dimly noticed the impossibility of the landscape I was walking through.

With the tenderness of my feet increasing, it was late afternoon before I topped the hill above my farm. As I descended the upper field, I began noticing changes. Little things at first, then as I rounded the corner of the barn what I saw stopped me dead in my tracks. The yard was completely different! The corrals we kept our horses in had vanished and the barn and house looked brand new, each with what looked like a fresh coat of paint. I experienced a fleeting surge of hope that Gavin had people rounding up our horses, but I had no idea where we would put them when they brought them back. When I stepped around to the front of the house I stopped again as I saw the lush new lawn and flower beds in front of the house. What had Gavin done and how had he done it so quickly? Setting my jaw, I resolutely stomped toward the house to have it out with him. If he thought he was going to sell this place out from under me, he had another thing coming.

The house was cool and dim when I opened the door and I stopped just inside to let my eyes adjust and to listen for a clue to where Gavin was. He usually spent most of his days in the den, watching TV, but I didn't hear it on. I stepped into the hallway, feeling the cool wood soothe my poor battered feet as I padded into the kitchen, stopping as the sight of neat black and white décor met my eyes instead of the bright yellows and greens I had decorated with. I backed out the doorway, my eyes wide, and turned and sprinted to my bedroom. I stopped just inside the chamber, shock rendering me breathless. All my things were gone! All of Gavin's equipment and most of the furniture was gone as well. Around the mostly empty room, hanging on the walls at eye level, were several ornate frames but I couldn't tell what they contained from the doorway where I stood. Intrigued, I moved toward the one closest to me and stared at the words shouting at me from the page. It was a yellowing newspaper article, the headline catching my interest immediately. "Unusual Tornado Activity Reported in Red Lodge." Boy, I’ll say. I was thinking that was an understatement while I stepped over to the next one which read, "The Search for Cassie Thatcher Extended," making my heart leap in my chest, and next to that, "Missing Colorado Woman Feared Dead." I went mechanically around the room to the other frames, standing before each one only a moment before moving on. The last one made my hair stand up. "Gavin Thatcher calls off search for missing wife." My scalp was tingling and I couldn't see through the spots in front of my eyes as I fought not to lose consciousness. They couldn't be talking about me, could they? I’d been gone less than twenty-four hours! These articles spoke of a timeline that was measured in months, years even. A sound behind me had me spinning in place, and as I spun I saw someone standing in the doorway. It was some old guy. He was shrunken and wrinkled and his thinning hair was snow white. I squinted at him, thinking he looked familiar when he spoke.

"Cassie?!" His pinched mouth was drawn down in deep lines around a permanent frown. "How?" he asked, his eyes dominating his face. I wasn't listening. I was staring at him, my face drained of color.

"Gavin?" My voice came out in a hoarse whisper. "What’s happened to you?"

"Me?! What happened to you?!" He demanded, gesturing to the walls around me. But my blood was roaring in my ears and I couldn't hear him. I covered them with my hands and pushing past him, I ran, not noticing where I was going. I needed to think. My head was still spinning, making it hard for any firing neurons to land anywhere productive. I thought this probably had something to do with my tumble off Maiden Rock, earlier. That was decidedly strange and I was starting to feel like a character in a twilight zone episode. I skirted the house and barn and headed back the way I had come, my feet complaining every time they hit the ground, but I didn’t stop. I was afraid if I did, I would turn around to see Gavin encased in some kind of exoskeleton, jerking along back there trying to catch up. The idea took shape behind me, giving me the incentive I needed to put a comfortable distance between me and the one place on earth where I felt at home.

I ran on while the day faded around me, ignoring my pain and fatigue, and reached the escarpment just as the last of the sun’s light gave way to stars. I stood at the bottom and looked up. Was there a slight disturbance up there? I did see an area where my view of the stars was obscured, but from here and in the dark, I couldn’t tell how high up it was or any other details about it. It was there, though, I was sure of that and the knowledge comforted me. I would figure it out. But as shattered as I was, I still understood I would have to get help. If it was even possible, I knew getting back up through that thing wasn’t going to be easy. Exhausted, I eased myself down with my back against the warmth of the rock and examined my soles with cautious fingers. They were a mass of cuts, thankfully none were serious, but I must have pulled out a hundred stickers before my eyes closed of their own accord and my chin dropped to my chest as I fell headlong into the gaping maw of slumber, supported by the embrace of the outcropping I leaned against.

I woke to someone stroking my forehead with a tender hand. Startled, I sat up quickly, my heart hammering away inside my chest. Gavin lowered his hand and watched me without speaking while I gathered my bearings. I was in an unfamiliar bed but I recognized our guest room. Gavin sat in a chair beside the bed, a book upside down in his lap. He smiled and standing up slowly, grabbed a cane from the back of the chair and made his way to the door.

“I’ll have Rose make you something to eat if you want to get dressed and come to the kitchen.” He nodded his head at a neatly folded stack of clothing on a nearby bureau and went out, closing the door behind him. I hoped I hadn’t offended him but I couldn’t help staring at him. He had to be at least ninety years old. The implications were staggering and I wasn’t sure I didn’t still believe I was dreaming. It would explain the changes in the property, though. I took my time getting dressed, noticing that someone had cleaned and dressed my feet while I had been sleeping. I froze, seeing my shoes beneath the dresser the clothes had been sitting on, and picked them up to get a closer look. Where had he found them? They really did look like I had taken them off yesterday. My hands were shaking so much I couldn’t tie them. After several tries, I gave up and tucked the laces in instead, then taking a deep breath, I opened the door.

Gavin explained, while I wolfed a delicious omelet made for me by a melancholy young woman he called Rose, that he had come after me in his TF-X, whatever that was, and unable to wake me, had trapped me with his Bessel Beams, whatever those were, and brought me back here. I looked up from my plate to see him smiling his cat that caught the canary smile and narrowed my eyes at him. Same old Gavin.

“Spill,” I told him. Instead, he turned to Rose, who was washing dishes in the sink despite the very obvious space-age machine next to her emblazoned with the words, Bosch DishMaster.

“Rose, honey, will you tell Cassie what year you were born?” Without stopping or turning around, she answered in a clear voice.

“1803.” Goosebumps began chasing each other up and down my spine. Then she did turn around to look at me, her hands dripping suds on the floor at her feet. Her face spoke volumes about how this had previously been received. I could almost feel the heat of the lightbulb over my head as it dawned on me who she was. Grace Rosemary Williams.

The Weeping Maiden of the Rock has just made me breakfast.

I don’t think I’m going to get home.

Title: Weeping Maiden Rock

Genre: Science Fiction

Age Range: Teen to Adult

2914 Words

Author Name: Deanna Salser

Why it is a good fit: I would be a bestseller if I could get my work out there. Everyone who reads them likes my stories.

Hook: How many people have fallen through time?

Synopsis: Follow Cassie on her journey as she travels inside a tornado, falls from a cliff into an invisible portal through time, and meets two people as she tries to find her way home, one familiar and one she has only heard about from the past.

Target Audience: Nerds like me.

Bio: My name is Deanna Salser. I've always loved to read, in fact, I don't feel right if I don't have at least one book going. I've always had a fantasy about being a writer and I actually have a few good book ideas but I never felt like I had the time to write a novel. About seven years ago I had a story coming out of me so I decided to write when I had time and see how it went. It went slow but great. My first story is published and I am writing my second. In the meantime, I thought I would enter a few contests and see where it would get me. I need the publicity after all. So, here I am.

Platform: Not sure what this is.

Education: I am educated to be a Mechanical Draftsperson but I read voraciously.

Experience: I have several poems published as well as my first book; Procreation.

Personality/Writing Style: I love Stephen King. I tend to write darker stories like that but I am an optimist at heart.

Likes/Hobbies: Writing, reading, drawing, sculpting, carving, painting, yoga, energy healing, Stephen King, Dean Koontz, Diana Gabaldon, Pears Anthony, Anne McCaffery, etc.

Hometown: Auburn, California

Age: 56

Lately I have a feeling that my Aunt is dead. I haven’t seen her since she left a few days before Thanksgiving. She was basically homeless. I had wanted her to come and stay since I found her seven years ago but she was all the way over in Florida and it seemed like a daunting task to get her all the way to California. She wouldn’t let me spend any money on her beyond a few dollars when she was hungry, or a motel room when the weather was particularly bad, so I couldn’t just get her a ticket. But then we moved to Texas and she did come. But she insisted on taking a bus and it took days for her to get here. When I picked her up I felt something ominous but she was my spiritual mentor and I trusted her so I disregarded my feelings. Turns out she had some kind of psychic parasite or something because she was a completely different person while she was here. Things got darker and darker until I found myself not wanting to come out of my room. When she would leave the house to go for a walk, I would compulsively cleanse the whole house with sage and prayed for whatever it was to be gone. I would feel great until she came back. I didn’t know what to do, I love her, she’s my family and if you knew my history, you would understand what a huge thing that is to me. But it just kept getting worse. Every day she was here I felt more and more depressed and afraid. Of what, I wasn’t sure but by then I had all but narrowed it down to something to do with her. She left on her own, without my having to engineer it, but she hurt me pretty badly by giving all the gifts I had bought her back. Not to my face, of course, she just left them in the room she had been staying in and when I went in to tidy up, I found them all.

She had been teaching me how to honor my divinity and the universe and how to access energy to raise my vibration. She had been showing me how to find my path and figure out my life purpose. Her direction has been the single most defining thing in my life, leading me to so many epiphanies and insights about myself and the earth and the way things work. The things she taught me have been invaluable. My life is so much better than it was when I found her. And now I think she is dead.

One of the things she insisted upon is that when a person dies, it is a happy occurrence, only sad because we will miss them. She said that our loved ones visit and send signs that they are there with us. One of those signs, she said, is butterflies following you or flitting about you, especially yellow ones. I used to scoff at nearly everything she tried to tell me, until I had experiences that made them seem not so fanciful. Every time I would smile an inner smile and nod along, within a few days, I would have an involvement that spoke to me about that very thing. It was uncanny. And now there are butterflies following me every time I go outside. They fly in my face, light on my head, my arms, and right in front of my feet when I’m walking or my tires when I’m riding my bike.

I hope she’s not dead. I love her. I miss her and wish I could have helped her more. But she did just teach me that the universe takes from your life that which no longer serves you and puts in what will. Maybe the butterflies are her telling me she’s okay, that she left to spare me the pain of her more permanent loss. Coins are supposed to be another sign of the presence of a loved one who is no longer with us. Yesterday I found a dime where I had just stepped minutes before.

I didn’t really like her

When she was here.

She wasn’t cuddly or sweet.

She scratched me and bit my book.

She made a mess of the yard,

Piles everywhere, her personal privy.

Animal parts strewn here and there,

Morbid gifts left on the porch.

I sometimes wished she wasn’t,

When she was here.

I count each day since I last saw her.

Now that she’s gone.

Her brother searches, calling

All around the yard

And there are lizards and mice

Racing and darting from here to there.

No happy cry as she trots out

To say hello in the morning

Or follow me down the road

When I walk the dogs.

I thought I didn’t like her

But the hole in my heart aches

Now that she’s gone.

I tip toe into the room, glancing backward to make sure Michael is still on the couch. He is sitting up on his knees, bouncing a little, watching me. That’s pretty good, he’s only a baby and not very much in control of himself. He listens to me more than anyone else, though, it’s been him and me since I can remember. I put my finger to my lips and he stops bouncing, looking away as his grin dissolves off of his face. I struggle to keep my face straight so he won’t see how it hurts me to melt his smile. I turn back around, easing past the foot of the bed toward the head where her dark hair floods the faded pillow case. I freeze, waiting for her to breathe. She’s still sleeping. I watch her for a moment, yearning for her to wake, before a sound from the other room tells me my brother has forgotten my carefully repeated instructions. I fly back to the other room, heart in my throat and catch him before he can open the door. This is the city, he could get hurt or lost and it would be my fault.

Mom drove to get us and brought us to her apartment for a visit. But she was tired and went to bed when we got here, apologizing and asking me to keep an eye on my brother so she could take a nap. Just a short one, she said, but she has been sleeping for hours and soon it will be time to go back.

Michael finally fell asleep on the couch. It’s quiet here inside, but outside there’s a lot of cars, and sirens and voices going back and forth. There’s a picture up on the wall above the sink, of a naked woman. You can’t really see anything because of her hair, but it is the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen and I can’t stop staring at it. I look at the clock to see that it’s almost time to wake her up to take us back. I ease my leg out from under my brother’s head and go back to the door to her bedroom.

Still sleeping, her lashes dark against the paleness of her cheeks. I step closer, breathing her in, her smell, so potent here in her room. My heart aches, heavy with regret and sorrow I know I have to hide. From her, from everyone. I need her so desperately but she can’t see it, and I can’t tell her. I stuff my feelings back inside as I watch her sleep our time away. I’m only four years old and not very much in control of myself.

Waking to the smell of coffee, I slip out from beneath the covers and sit on the edge of my bed, blinking and yawning. Shuffling to the kitchen, I accept a kiss from George as I grab a cup and fill it with the hot brew. The news is on low in the background and I am able to catch a word here and there. A female voice, high pitched and excited breaks into the drone of the running stories. “COVID-19 has been defeated!” she nearly screams. “Stay at home orders are lifted nationwide!” Her hair is sticking up in a rat’s nest all over her head and her dinner plate orbs stare out from a gaunt visage. George and I look at each other, our eyes and mouths open wide. It has been a long seven months during which we have both lost our jobs and almost all the money we had saved over the last twenty years. We both scramble for our clothes and shoes and dressed, we step outside into the world. Keys jingle and the sound of the car unlocking reaches our ears but it takes George fifteen minutes of tinkering to start the car and he grumbles about old gas in the tank settling and condensing. I feel lucky that he is an automotive tech or we might not be going anywhere today. We are thirty miles from any city and are anxious to visit friends and family we have been estranged from for far too long. Silence descends inside the car, comfortable as we have gotten used to each other’s company and no longer need to chat to fill it up. It seems to me like an unbearably long ride, not being used to travelling anymore. There are few cars on the road around us, the faces inside white and solemn as they pass us. We wave at them and they all wave back.

Reaching the city, we see one or two open signs lit where for the last seven months, they have all been dark. The only thing open for months has been Walmart and the few franchise fast food joints near the freeway, plus a few gas stations that look deserted as we pass. I had expected to see a flood of people in town but it is eerily quiet with only a handful out and about. George’s hand reaches for mine just as I am reaching for his and he gives it a squeeze as our eyes meet again speechlessly. We start to pass dozens of flocks of huge black birds clustered around something we can’t see. I tell myself they are deer or other roadkill but I get a sinking feeling in my stomach as we cause one such cluster to fly up as we drive past and I see a tennis shoe at the end of a ragged jean-clad leg sticking out. As we get closer to the center of town, we begin to see skeletons dotting the landscape, topped with the familiar round dome of a human skull. I flip the vent over to recirculate as a nasty pervasive smell enters the car. George and I exchange another meaningful glance as he turns onto an off-ramp and heads toward the nearest of our friends’ houses. Our excitement turns to dread and George’s foot eases up on the gas as we move toward a massive black cloud winging up into the sky. The first house looks deserted from the street where we park, drapes closed, grass thigh high in the yard. George tells me to stay put and steps out to knock on the door. No answer greets his tentative banging and he walks around out of my sight to check the back for signs of life. His face is grim as he slides back into the driver’s seat. He shakes his head and tears track down his cheeks. I don’t ask. The same sights meet our eyes as we go from house to house. Our hands stay clasped letting our grief roll down our faces and drip off of our chins. Heading home, no conversation is necessary as we both know we are thinking the same thing. It seems there was a lot the news didn’t cover while we were in quarantine.

If you could have anything in the world that you wish

(It could be a dog, it could be a fish)

I’m talking no limits, set your mind free

You can choose whatever you wish it to be

What would you pick out of all that exists?

I don’t know about you, but I have a list

I’d have a hard time deciding one thing

Would it be a car, or would it be a ring?

I guess it would be what I needed that day

Something to eat, or a warm place to stay

I couldn’t tell you right now what I’d pick

Too many choices are making me sick

If you could have whatever you choose

It could be socks, it could be shoes

If you could name it, would you speak up?

(It could be a kitten, it could be a pup)

The sky is the limit, really, your choice

Now clear your throat and use your voice

Thoughts of cool grass and fragrant breezes thrust at the boundaries holding them back. Memories surge to the surface, stroking pleasure from the depths. Drifting off to sleep, the memories linger, spinning into dreams of the past. Running free through the lengthy stems, feeling the harsh edges of the blades catch and release in the regular rhythm of movement, the sun shining hot and bright on his back. Air flowing fresh with snatches of scent, streaming into being like magic, awakening hungers long forgotten. Legs churn and ears twitch, as remembrance shakes the foundation of his existence. The absence of the exquisitely boundless feeling of freedom becomes unbearable, even in slumber, and the bear wakes, shaking free of the dream. Lifting his head, he sniffs the stale air coming through the bars of his cage. A single tear falls from his lash as he wearily lays his head back down.

I decide I need to see my shrink, so I drag myself to his office, feeling like my head is floating along behind me on a string, I'm so tired. Because of my unique condition, I have a standing appointment. Whenever I show up, he reschedules the person he's with, and sees me, right then and there. Today is no exception. His receptionist calls him to let him know I’m there, and I sit down briefly to wait. In a few minutes the door opens, and I wave goodbye to Josh on his way out. I know all of his other patients, having interrupted them all at least once.

"Rachel, so good to see you." He greets me. I murmur my response, and head for my favorite chair. He waits until I'm settled before he sits and arranges himself comfortably in his own chair, giving me time to compose myself.

I’m actually good friends with my shrink. He’s probably the only person, besides my sister Jane, with whom I have had an ongoing relationship that I know about, and facilitate. His name is David, and he's about forty, with dark hair and blue eyes. He's too old for me, but I still like to tease him because I know he's attracted to me, and he's so easy.

"What, no kiss today, David?" I purr, smiling at him seductively. His face reddens as he glances up at me, but he doesn't take the bait.

"Would you like to start?" He asks instead, avoiding my eyes. I sigh. It's a serious day.

"Okay. I have some questions I was hoping you could answer." I say, getting right into it.

"Sure, go ahead." He responds, flipping the cover back on his notepad and preparing to write. "I'll do my best." I take a deep breath.

"I want to know all the people I become." I say, and watch as his eyebrows rise up almost to his hairline.

"What makes you think you become other people?" He asks me, scribbling madly on his pad. I stand up. If it's a serious day, then I expect a serious answer. He looks up at me and then back down at his pad.

"Can you please sit down, Rachel?" He asks, but it sounds like an order. He's treating me like a child, and I'm suddenly not in the mood to be coddled.

"No, I cannot." I tell him, taking a step forward. "I need to know what you know about me." He pushes his glasses back on his face, and tries to give me that long suffering look, but I’m having none of it. I take another step forward, and looking down at him, I narrow my eyes to show him I'm serious, as well. He snaps the notebook closed and stands up, facing me over the coffee table between us. He stands there looking into my eyes as if we are having a glare war. I hate to tell him, but I would win.

“You are going to tell me what I want to know.” I say, in my most authoritative voice, drawing my brows down over my eyes, and leaning toward him. He flinches, and I know I have him, but he’s still standing there trying to stare me down. I step around the table and stand in front of him, so close I can feel his breath on my face.

“Alright.” He says suddenly, trying to compose himself. Surprise springs my brows back up.

“Okay, then.” I say. “Good.” We stand there staring into each other’s eyes until he breaks contact by looking down. He sits and flips his notebook open again.

“I have the list right here.” I stretch, trying to see it, but he sits back and pauses, holding it to his chest. “I’ll tell you.” He says nervously. “But I need you to go back to your chair.” He eyes my cleavage, where my Sgian Dubh, a Celtic sock knife with an interwoven pattern for the handle and a green jewel set into the very end, with a plain black leather scabbard, that it fits neatly into, sticks out just enough for the jewel to show. I see his eyes flick to it, and then he looks back down to his notebook. My whole head starts to prickle with goosebumps. He knows about the blood. I don’t remember telling him that story. How did he find out? I narrow my eyes at him again, but he’s not looking at me. I sigh and go back to my chair, making myself comfortable with my legs drawn up underneath me. He watches, and when I look up, he takes a breath and begins.

“Okay, now this is a list of your different personalities that I have met.” He says, by way of explanation. “If there are more, I haven’t met them.” He looks up as he says this, making eye contact. I nod and he nods back, and looks back down at his list.

“Well, first there’s you, Rachel, and then the one that I see the most besides you, is Saul.” He says, and I frown again.

“Wait, what?” I think I just heard him say I come here often as a man. He nods again.

“Saul.” He says and then flips a page. “Saul sees himself as a man trapped in a woman’s body.” His eyes flick to me, and then back to the page. “He always comes dressed in a suit and tie, and carries a briefcase. He talks about working on wall street.” He flips back to the list. Wow, I had no idea. I’m speechless. David continues.

“Next is Sammie.” He says. I raise my brows again. I’m even stranger than I had thought. “I know what you’re thinking.” He says. “But Sammie is a woman. It’s Samantha.” He clarifies. “She is one of the most interesting women I have ever met.” There is a gleam in his eye that I interpret as desire, and I smile.

“Go on.” I say. He looks back down at his pad again, avoiding my eye.

“She’s a southern Belle. She sees herself as a rich eccentric, living off of her dead husband’s money.” That’s where the purse and the knife must have come from. Sammie had likely killed her husband, and the evidence had my fingerprints all over it. I look up to see him watching my face. I look at him sharply, gesturing for him to continue, and he looks back down.

“Then there’s Stephanie.” He stops and a blush stains his neck on its way to his face. “Stephanie is a tad extreme.” He says.

“Extreme?” I ask. “What do you mean?” He turns even redder.

“Well, she dresses very extravagantly, and her makeup usually matches.” He explains. “Also…” He hesitates. I roll my eyes, and gesture for him to continue. “She likes pain.” He says simply. Ah, that explains the leather harness.

“Is that all?” I ask, counting four already. He shakes his head.

“One more.” He says. He looks back down at his pad. “Kaliope.” There it is. That name, the man I was with, had called me last night. I look up to see David with a strange expression on his face, as he watches me. He's interested in my reaction to the name. The realization dawns in my brain as he notices me watching him. He rearranges his face quickly, and looks back down at his list. I feel something when he does that, and it makes me suspicious. There’s something about Kaliope that David doesn’t think I should know. He glances to my face again, covertly, and the feeling sharpens. I put my feet down and scoot to the edge of my chair.

“What about Kaliope, David?” I ask him, my tone warning him that I’m not taking any more shit. He feels the difference and looks up quickly.

“Rachel?” He scrutinizes my face. “It is still Rachel?” He asks. Startled, I nod.

“Yeah, it’s still me.” I look at him, puzzled. Doesn’t he know how it works? Haven’t I already told him it happens when I fall asleep? Wait, has he seen me change? I’m afraid to ask. If the answer is yes, then it’s worse than I thought. I shake my head. He almost got me off track. “What about Kaliope, David?” I ask again, making it clear that I mean to have an answer. He gathers himself as if he’d like to make a run for it, and avoids eye contact, looking everywhere but at me.

“We didn’t want you to know.” He says, so quietly I almost can’t hear him. He swallows and glancing to my face, quickly explains. “I mean, the others, they know. Except Sammie.” He adds. He really doesn’t want to tell me whatever it is. It must be bad. Did I really want to know?

“Spit it out, David.” I say before I can change my mind. He takes a deep breath.

“Rachel, you haven’t been here very many times.” He tells me. What? What is he talking about? I remember coming here dozens of times. At my puzzled expression, he tries to explain. “You, Rachel, are a new person.” He says gently, leaning forward toward me. “Kaliope and I created you, so we could begin to merge the others into one. One will be easier to deal with. You are Saul, and Stephanie and Sammie. Your memories are borrowed from them.” My brain is too full. He sighs, seeing I still don’t understand. “Rachel, Kaliope and I are trying to kill off the other three.” I look up at him with a frown. “But I think Sammie has other plans.” He says. “I hope you can hold her off until we finish.”

“Hold her off?” I ask him. “Why would I want to hold her off?”

He pales.

“She’s going to kill me.” He says. I shake my head.

“Not if I kill you first.” I growl, between my teeth.

“Sammie?” He asks, his face ghostly. He has seen me change. I slowly shake my head.

“No, it’s still Rachel.” He lets his breath out in a whoosh, and I suddenly understand. I have to go. I get up and he looks up at me, startled. I gesture for him to stay seated.

“Later, Doc.” I say on my way to the door. “I have to go tell Jane.” He stands up but I’m already gone.

“Jane who?” He asks the empty room.

***

On my way home I experience a clarity of mind I chalk up to my sleep deprived state. But for the first time in my life, I can see clearly what I have to do. First, I have to tell Jane what I've decided, though. She has a right to know. Oh, there’s something I forgot to tell you, Jane and I are more than sisters, she's my twin.

I waited so long

and you didn't come

I was so all alone

I was so very young

but as old as I am

I still fail to see

how my own mom

could forget about me

you didn't call me

why didn't you know?

that I would be waiting

and time goes so slow

all through the day

every time a car passed

sitting there by the window

my heart would beat fast

I'd be so disappointed

and torn with my fears

when each car wasn't you

I'd be holding back tears

it kept getting harder

every hour spent this way

but I faithfully sat there

'til the end of the day

my chest would be aching

when I finally gave up

another day wasted

more trauma to stuff

and to keep the emotion

tucked neatly inside

reminding myself

all I had was my pride

and the dignity of

an emotionless face

struggling for control

'til I reached my own space

Where I could let out

in private, the pain

squeezing out of my eyes

down my face like hot rain