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[awholeotherlevel]

Mystery shorts and whodunits https://www.instagram.com/p/Clt5JBrumRF/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[awholeotherlevel]

[awholeotherlevel]

Talismans to draw your desires to you. Like crystals, seashells have healing properties. #ocean #nature #beach #magic #magick https://www.instagram.com/p/CDzsYzilyfJ/?igshid=1kfecc3qbtyaq

[awholeotherlevel]

(via https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r4QiZHuTlrU)

[awholeotherlevel]

Crime Diary-Chapter 3

By Camille Scott

After work, I took the bus to the address that Kenji had given me.  It turned out to be a gold shop.  I was bewildered.  Plum said that I wouldn’t have to sell the locket.  I hadn’t even brought it with me.  It was too late to try to catch a bus all the way home, just to get the necklace.  I decided to keep the appointment.  If nothing else, I’d just have to go back the next day.

The inside of the gold shop didn’t look much better than the outside.  It was an antiquated storefront space with scratched glass cases running from one wall to the other, along three walls.  The hardwood floors were stained and worn uneven by years of foot traffic.  I was beginning to have doubts about Kenji.  It didn’t look as though he had the finances to buy any of the hulking buildings on my books.

I told myself not to get my hopes up or get too bent out of shape, if things didn’t pan out.  Push come to shove, I could still pawn the locket.  An elderly Japanese woman in a flowered dress was standing behind the left counter, holding up a gold bracelet for a customer to admire. 

I approached them and waited for a pause in the conversation.  The customer was a tall, emaciated looking guy with big, showy rings on four fingers of his right hand.  I could probably pay my rent with just one of those rings and have plenty left over for groceries.

When he laughed, gold teeth flashed in the front of his mouth.  My eyes drifted down to the thick, fourteen carat gold rope bracelet hanging from his bony wrist, then over to the smart phone strapped to his belt.  He was leaning on an alligator skin briefcase.  Definitely a drug dealer.

The woman eventually glanced in my direction and I told her that I had an appointment with Kenji  She gave me the once over, turned towards the sheet covering the doorway to the rear of the store, and yelled something in her native tongue. I shifted uneasily, as her eyes raked across my face once more.

My nervous smile had no effect on her.  She dismissively turned back to her customer.  A moment later, Kenji emerged from behind the dusty sheet.  I was surprised at how young he looked.  He was skinny, but otherwise resembled the woman so closely that she had to be his mother.

When Kenji smiled, he looked even younger.  He offered his hand and I shook it.  Tattoos peeked out from underneath his long-sleeved shirt, when he extended his hand.  I remember thinking how they contradicted his overall appearance. Kenji looked like a college student.  Wire-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his flat nose enhanced the impression.

“I-I have some pictures of the properties that I felt would best suit your needs,” I  stammered, handing over the printouts.  A few tense moments passed, while he inspected the photographs.  The man with the gold teeth began looking at an assortment of gold rings.

“Can show me these properties tomorrow,” Kenji asked.

“Huh? Oh, sure I can.  What time works best for you?” 

The appointment was set for the following afternoon.  I left feeling elated.  Not only would the commission on any one of the properties pay my rent for several months, it would help me regain some of my boss David Canfield’s confidence in me.  Unloading one of my rundown properties might even raise me a few notches in his estimation.  

Maybe I could get enough of an advance to cover my current rent and utilities.  I hastily reminded myself not to get too excited.  Kenji hadn’t seen the actual building yet.  There was a big difference between a grainy snapshot and the real thing.

I went home and took the fire escape up to my apartment, not wishing to bump into my landlord until I had cash in hand.  He knew that payday had come and gone.  Needless to say, I didn’t get any sleep that night.  By morning, I was a bundle of nerves.

Kenji arrived at the appointed time and drove us to the buildings in his gold sport utility vehicle.  I held my breath, when he leaned forward and looked through the windshield at the first old house.  Kenji explained that he was looking to purchase a few homes to rehab and turn into section eight rental properties.  He didn’t say much during the tours.  His face was expressionless, but I could see his eyes taking note of everything.

I trailed behind him, as he moved from room to room.  We went to my office and Kenji retrieved a briefcase from the trunk of his car.  He wanted to buy all three of the houses we toured! It took every ounce of willpower not to leap from my seat and dance around my cubicle.

He wanted to start the transaction immediately and I was only too happy to oblige him.  It would be nice to look my landlord in the eye, when I paid him.  I decided to spend my entire commission on rent and utilities.  A couple of months to breathe, without worrying about those bills would seem like a vacation.  I drew up the paperwork and began filling in the necessary information.

“How would you like to pay for the property,” I asked.

“I’m paying with cash,” came the cool reply.

My hand froze over the keyboard.  Perhaps I hadn’t heard him correctly.  Altogether, the houses cost over two hundred thousand dollars.  My confused mind scrabbled for an explanation.  I decided that he must have meant that he wanted to make the down payment in cash.

“You mean you’re making a cash down payment?”

“No, I want to pay for the properties today in cash.  Is that going to be a problem?”

“Well, I...it’s just that I’ve never had anyone offer to pay such a large amount in cash before.  Let me clear it with my boss.”

I rose, trying to ignore the sinking sensation dampening my mood.  Mr. Canfield’s door was closed, so I knocked softly.  He bellowed permission for me to enter.  I opened the door on an office that hadn’t seen a new piece of furniture since the seventies.  Everything was orange and avocado green.

He was in his shirt-sleeves pouring over ledgers.  I hated talking to the man, while he was working on the books.  It always made him surly.  Not that he was ever really in a good mood, when I talked to him. I got right to the point and to my astonishment, not only did he grant permission for the transaction, he praised me.

His bulldog features actually softened into something that closely resembled a smile.  He followed me back to cubicle and introduced himself to Kenji.  Mr. Canfield accepted the payment and I finished the paperwork.  Kenji walked out with the bill of sale and I got my commission in cash.

Being able to pay my bills felt nice.  So, why did I still feel so empty?  I climbed into bed Friday evening and slept until Saturday afternoon.  That’s when my cell phone rang.  It was Plum with an invitation to lunch.  She knew it was short notice, but could I join her?  Plum’s relief sounded genuine, when I accepted the invitation.

My apartment looked like a tornado hit it, by the time I settled on an outfit.  Rather than let Plum see how I lived, I waited for her downstairs.  My nosy neighbor Mrs. Phelps just happened to be leaning out of her first floor window.  She was always riveted to that spot.  The woman must have slept standing up, with her nose pressed against the glass.

I had the pleasure of informing her that I was waiting for a friend.  Naturally, the suspicious old bat didn’t believe me.  Plum did not arrive at the appointed time and I felt myself beginning to panic.  What if she had just been toying with me?

The thought of her ending the call and laughing made me cringe.  In that instant, I became a miserable, friendless child once more.  Maybe telling my neighbor that Plum was coming had been a mistake.  She would never let me live it down.  I looked over at her creased face and those greedy little eyes crawled all over my face.

“When did you say your uh...friend was coming dear?”

“She should be here any minute now.”

Just then, Plum’s purple Mercedes pulled up to the curb.  I threw Ms. Phelps a triumphant smile and took my leave of her.  I took my time walking to the car, my back getting straighter with every step.  By that same time the next day, Mrs. Phelps would have notified the entire neighborhood about Plum.

I realized that I would do anything to hold onto my new friend.  It was a reckless thought that quickly got pushed to the back of my mind.  I don’t know what was more disturbing, the thought that I would sacrifice everything to stay friends with her or the knowledge that I couldn’t stop myself from doing it, if I tried. After all, Plum probably had hundreds of rich, influential friends.

What did I have to offer her with no money and no power?  I had only the same deep, abiding devotion that my mother offered up to my father.  Of course, that’s no less than what a woman like Plum demands.  Looking back on our relationship, I realize that is what made it work; I worshipped Plum and she graciously accepted my adoration.

The rest of the month was blissful.  Plum called me every day and we hung out together, when her busy schedule permitted.  To someone who never had a friend before, the feeling was indescribable.  She eclipsed my life.  I was willing to go to absurd lengths just to make her laugh.  If I said something that displeased her in any way, I couldn’t sleep until I made things right.

I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong.  It was not physical attraction that made longing well up in me, until it caught in my throat.  I’m not sure I can make you understand.  To a certain extent, everyone longs to possess a thing of beauty whether it’s a person, a work of art, a precious jewel or something else.  It is gratifying to feast your eyes upon it.  For those moments, your troubles seem far away.

That’s what it’s like to be around Plum.  She was beautiful and intelligent with a killer sense of humor. Plum had a way of looking directly at you and seeing you for who you are, underneath your public persona. She also had a way of tilting her elegant head to the side while you talked to her and nodding with the sweetest smile slowly spreading across her face.  You feel important, because she’s drinking in every word.

I won’t even attempt to describe her laugh, except to say that it assures you that you are the wittiest person on earth.  The combination of so many pleasing elements is quite bewitching.  I was torn between never wanting to let to let Plum out of my sight and wanting to trade places with her.  Adoration and jealousy were constantly at war inside of me.

My life now had purpose.  Instead of dreading lonely evenings, I looked forward to nightly contact with her.  She was my passport to a world that had previously been off-limits.  I’m almost ashamed to admit literally sitting by the phone.  Waiting for it to ring was agonizing.  Imagine offering a cool drink to someone dying of thirst.  What can I say?  I was extremely thirsty.

Things weren’t all sweetness and light though.  My relief at feeling vital after walking around numb was tempered by frustration.  The more I saw of her life, the more jealousy chipped away at me.  Why did Plum get to be beautiful, popular, and successful?

I was a good person.  At least, I tried to be.  Didn’t I deserve some modicum of success?  The unfairness of it all caught in my throat.  I felt guilty all of the time, because my feelings for Plum were deepening.  It was undeniable though, I wanted power with the naked desire that only the downtrodden can feel.

[awholeotherlevel]

Valley of Shadows- Chapter 3

By Camille Scott

Joshua downed the last bit of tea and rose to rinse the mug at the sink.  He set it on the draining board and yawned fiercely.  He had been up working since six something that morning.  According to his watch, it was what....two a.m.!  No wonder he was so tired.  Joshua stretched his long arms and turned to face his siblings.

“Well folks, I’m gonna head on up to bed.  Mom is scheduled for surgery at nine tomorrow morning and she wants to see us, before she goes under the knife.  I figured we could leave for the hospital at around eight thirty.  Is that alright with you all?”

Harriet and Richard looked at each other and groaned, nodding wordlessly.

“What about Rachel,” asked Harriet.

Joshua shrugged, “Oh, I'll just wake her up when I get up.”

“No, I mean by the time she gets back, it’ll practically be time to get up.  She’ll be dead on her feet.”

“Good!”

Harriet couldn’t help laughing at how earnestly her brothers replied in unison.  Joshua’s grin matched Richard’s.  Up until now, they had all been unwittingly dubious about speaking ill of Rachel; as though she might hear them.  That feeling was even stronger around their mother.

Both women had a habit of eavesdropping.  So much so, that one felt as though they were always listening and could never be sure when one wasn’t.  They  certainly did not feel like subjecting themselves to a drunken tirade at this hour. Joshua lumbered across the kitchen, yawning and stretching all the way.  He stopped at the door, turning to Richard and Harriet once more.

“Your beds are made and there are fresh towels in the hall closet, but then you already know that.  Good night.”

“Goodnight Josh,” chirped Harriet.

“Yeah, night,” mumbled Richard.

Joshua turned and headed for the steps feeling somewhat relieved. All evening, he had the distinct impression that he was interrupting something. The very air that flowed between his siblings seemed charged with anticipation.  Joshua dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand.  He was just tired enough to have imagined it all.  Oh well, it was none of his concern anyway.  

Back in the kitchen, the mood was anything but one of relief.  Uneasiness settled on the kitchen like a dense fog.  Harriet was bewildered by her discomfort at being alone with her brother.  It was silly to feel that way about someone with whom she had shared so much of her life.  Yet, this knowledge did little to quell the discomfort.

Perhaps that’s why she developed a sudden interest in the dishes on the table, taking great care in collecting each piece and becoming utterly engrossed in cleaning them.  The running water kept the uncomfortable silence at bay.

Richard found himself in a similar state, confounded by his complete loss for words.  It was moments like this, when he regretted his reclusive lifestyle.  Harriet was obviously not a child anymore.  So, what kinds of things did young ladies talk about?  How old was she anyway?  Let’s see, she’s three years younger so...she’s twenty-four!  Could that be right?  Uh...yeah, she is twenty-four!  Okay, so what do women her age talk about?

There was a time, when Richard was quite the ladies’ man, as witty as he was charming.  Two years ago, he was a different person.  Back then, he was fun-loving and easygoing.  Now...now, he was solemn and tense, a mere shadow of his former self.

In Richard’s mind, a quintessential part of him died two years ago, when his wife blew a hole in his chest and broke his heart.  How many years must pass, before he could remember without waves of anguish overwhelming him?  At times, it grew so intense that Richard was sure he would lose his mind.  But then rage would flare up and boil the pain down to a dull, throbbing ache in his chest.

“Richard?”

“Huh? Oh, I’m sorry Harriet.  What did you say?”

“I was just thanking you for what you did earlier.”

“What did I do?”

“You got Rachel off my case.  Some things never change.  She always could get to me.  I just wanted to let you know that I appreciate the way you always have my back.”

Before he could reply, Harriet was hugging his neck and kissing his cheek.  Those actions had taken every ounce of her resolve.  She wasn’t sure how Richard would react.  Nevertheless, Harriet made a decision and carried it out.  For once, she hadn’t talked herself out of doing something.  It felt nice to hug her brother.

Harriet always felt safe encircled in his strong arms.  She hadn’t realized just how much she missed him.  But now, standing close enough to smell his musky cologne with him gazing down into her eyes made her acutely self-conscious.  

“Goodnight Richard.”

“Night Harriet.”

They exchanged hesitant smiles, before she turned and whisked out of the kitchen. Harriet didn’t slow down, until she was safely on the other side of her closed bedroom door.  She kicked off both shoes and sat down on her bed to rest.  Lately, the slightest effort seemed to drain her energy.  She couldn’t wait to crawl into bed.  Harriet rose and took off her dress, pausing before the mirrored closet door to appraise the wasted body underneath.

She stared at her abdomen, turning one way and then another.  Any weight gain?  Harriet hoped not.  Maybe she shouldn’t have eaten so much on the plane.  Harriet had potato chips, cookies and half a bag of chocolate kisses.  Then she let Joshua talk her into eating that big slice of chocolate cake after dinner

Harriet was so nervous about going home that she had stuffed her face all day.  She tried to curb her appetite with chewing gum, but it just made her hungry.  Harriet could practically feel all of those calories turning into fat.  Her doctor felt that she was grossly underweight, but what did he know?

As a ballerina, she simply had to maintain a streamlined figure.  Harriet threw her dress on a hanger, grabbed her bag of toiletries and headed down the hall to the bathroom. Trembling hands washed a pinched face and brushed her teeth.  

Harriet bent to rinse out her mouth.  She straightened, meeting her own critical gaze.  Harriet tentatively felt her sharp chin for signs of doubling.  Her other hand compulsively shot down her flat stomach.  How she loathed her body!  Self-hatred boiled over and clouded her better judgement.

All at once, Harriet stepped over to the commode, lifted the seat, bent forward, and shoved the toothbrush down her throat.  The spasms began immediately.  Everything in her stomach came spewing into the bowl.  When the molten stream ended, she calmly brushed her teeth a second time and returned to the bedroom.

For an instant, she felt relieved, at peace, in control.  Then shame came crashing down on her elation.  Dammit, dammit, dammit!  She was not supposed to do that again.  She had promised herself!  It was just that Harriet always felt helpless, in her mother’s house. The moment she walked in and Rachel lit into her, she became the miserable, chubby little girl that she had fought so hard over the years to forget.

Harriet turned off the lights and climbed into bed, hoping to find some comfort in sleep.  Her overwrought emotions continued to torment her.  She surrendered her self-control to the tears that flooded her eyes, feeling a crushing sense of disappointed in herself.  For the thousandth time, Harriet rued the date of her birth.

[awholeotherlevel]

The Doorkeepers- Chapter 3

By Camille Scott

Janet searched for something to say, to break the tension in the air between them.  Desperate to change the subject, she seized upon the first thing she saw.

“Hey, there’s a dog outside.  It’s looking right at me.”

“Yeah so what?  It’s probably just a stray.”

The words were scarcely out of her mouth, before the dog bared its teeth and began barking.  Another dog leapt out of the tall weeds and launched itself at the door, striking it with a thud that echoed in the cavernous warehouse.  Janet was staring at the door in stunned silence, when Andrea seized her hand and pulled her towards the basement.

They stumbled down the chipped concrete stairs as footsteps sounded on the floor above their heads.  In the dark recesses of the basement, Janet could make out the shadowy hulking masses of manufacturing machinery.  Andrea pulled her down on her knees, beside a massive piece of equipment.

Janet followed her sister’s lead and slid on her belly beneath the machine.  Andrea ran a sweaty hand along the bottom, until she found what she was looking for.  Janet wondered fleetingly, if her sister had been to the warehouse before.  One yank and the door opened.  Andrea slithered through the opening and pulled her sister along behind her.  Andrea noiselessly closed the trapdoor.  They clung to one another and waited.

Dust tickled Janet’s nose.  She fought the urge to sneeze. The dogs were coming close.  She could hear the dogs’ claws clicking on the concreter floor.  Andrea and Janet held each other tightly, in the filthy crawl space, listening to what sounded to their frightened ears like an army of men shouting to be heard over the incessant barking of the excited dogs.

The men’s booted footsteps pounded the floor, as they rushed around searching for the sisters.  One of the dogs snuffed around the base of their hiding place and began barking.  Janet caught and held her breath, her eyes wide with fear. They anticipated the awful moment, when the trapdoor would open and they would be dragged out.

What if they set the dogs on them?  Janet could practically feel those razor-sharp teeth sinking into her yielding flesh.  They sat folded together, motionless for what seemed like hours, barely noticing cramps setting into their joints.

Just when Janet thought she could bear the suspense no longer, she heard footsteps retreating.  All at once, the ordeal was over.  Their pursuers had obviously overlooked the trapdoor.  The men resumed their search upstairs and eventually, left them alone.

When the silence resumed, Janet could hear the scuttle of vermin in the gloom around them.  She moved to slip out.  Now that the fear of capture had receded, claustrophobia was closing in.  She could feel herself about to begin hyperventilating.

Andrea grabbed her arm and shook her head.  Janet signed and resigned herself to a few more moments in the cramped space.  When they emerged, Janet allowed herself the luxury of a sneeze.  Stiff legs conveyed them back up the stairs.  The sunlight which shone weakly through the dusty window panes was reassuring, after the dark, fetid basement.  Janet fixed her sister with a stern look.

“How on earth did they find us?”

“Do I look like a mind reader? Who knows how they tracked us down?”

“Why do I get the feeling you’re not telling me something?”

“I tried to tell you.  You said you didn’t want to talk about it.”

“Yeah, well I changed my mind.  Allowing you to keep secrets is obviously bad for my health.  You’ve been here before haven’t you?”

“Yes, but they don’t know that.”

“How the hell do you know what those people know?  And who is they anyway?”

“I don’t know their names.”

“Alright smart ass, what have you done or what is it that they think you did?”

“They may be under the impression that I have something that belongs to them.”

“I’m going to assume you have it.  Where did you get it?”

“Steve gave it to me for safekeeping.”

“So, give it back to Steve and let them chase him.”

“It’s valuable.  I’m not just gonna hand it over to a bunch of strangers.  Something tells me, they’re not gonna just let us go on our merry way afterwards.  My gut tells me that the minute I hand it over, they’ll kill both of us.  These are the kind of people who hold grudges.”

“How do you know it’s valuable? Let’s face it sis, you’ve screwed over a lot of people.  I would need a spreadsheet, just to keep them all straight.  How do you know what those people want?”

“Steve told me all about it.  He was going to double-cross them and then sell it to the highest bidder.”

“Let me get this straight.  This Steve guy tells you he’s about to screw over a bunch of dangerous people and you decide to join him?  Just give this, this...what is this thing that has everybody all worked up?”

“It’s a talisman.”

“Give Steve back the stupid talisman, so that we can go home.”

“I can’t do that Janet.”

“You can’t do it?  What you mean is that you won’t give it back.”

“No, I mean I can’t give it back to Steve.”

“I’m probably going to regret asking, but why can’t you give it back?”

“I can’t give it back, because that was Steve’s dead body that we stepped over last night.”

“What a minute.  I thought that guy was some stranger, who broke into your house.  You mean you knew him?  Why the hell did you shoot him?  Don’t tell me you shot him, so you could keep the talisman.”

“Don’t look at me like that Janet.  I had no choice.  All I wanted to do was split the proceeds from this little sale.  If you knew about some of the favors I’ve done for this man, you would realize that I earned half of that money.  I helped him get the damn thing.  Of course, at the time he said it was just a little gift he had given a woman and once they broke up, she wouldn’t give it back.  What he didn’t tell me at the time was that she was a Doorkeeper.”

“She was a what?  A doorkeeper?  What? Like a doorman at some fancy high-rise apartment building?”

“No stupid, Doorkeepers are part of an order that dates back to ancient times when they would guard religious assemblies against spies and magistrates.  Of course, they’ve evolved into something much more...deadly.  I almost died helping Steve get that damn talisman, but that’s a story for another day.  The point is, he wouldn’t listen to reason.  He started threatening me.  You know I don’t do well with threats.  The next thing I knew, he was attacking me.  Nobody puts their hands on me.  Not anymore.”

Andrea’s expression hardened.  Janet had seen that look before and knew she meant every word.  There was no point in arguing with her.  Andrea’s temper always made things go from bad to worse.  Janet jumped at the sound of a sudden knock at the door.  Her first instinct was to run back down to the basement and crawl back into their hiding place.

Andrea put a restraining hand on her arm and went to open the door.  Janet couldn’t believe her eyes.  She pounced on her sister and dragged her back from the door.

“Are you crazy?  It’s probably those men.  They must have doubled back.”

“Why the hell would they pause and knock on the door?  Relax, I know who it is.  I called Ethan on the way here, while you were passed out in the truck.  He’s going to take us someplace safe, so that we can figure out what to do next.”

“How do we know we can trust this guy?  Let’s face it Andrea, you don’t have the best track record with men. Does he know about the talisman?”

“Yes, but he doesn’t know how valuable it is.  I’m telling you, we can trust him.  He’s my ride-or-die.”

“He’s your what?”

Andrea rolled her eyes and went to let Ethan inside.

[awholeotherlevel]

Crime Diary-Chapter 2

By Camille Scott

Janet watched her sister arrange a smile and begin shamelessly flattering the portly truck driver.  The cautious look melted off of his face.  Andrea leaned over and whispered conspiratorially into his hear.  Their laugher bounced around in the cabin of the truck.

Janet rolled her eyes and turned toward the window.  Maybe she should have pulled the trigger.  Janet shuddered and chased the thought away, chastising herself for conjuring up such evil.  She was just tired.  Yeah, sure that was it.  All the excitement left her drained.  Janet lay her head back and fell asleep moments later.

When she awoke, it was like rising out of a pitch black well.  Reality gradually reasserted itself.  She heard voices.  Someone was nudging her.  Janet barely had time to focus her eyes, before Andrea pushed her out of the truck.  The stranger was saying something, but she was still groggy.  Janet felt more tired than she had been before falling asleep.

Once again, irritation made her consider striking out alone.  All she wanted right now was a few hours of uninterrupted sleep in a warm bed.  Janet stretched and rubbed her eyes, while Andrea said her goodbyes.  It was so dark, she couldn’t see much.

They appeared to be on the outskirts of the city.  There probably wasn’t another living soul around for miles.  Janet was taken aback, when Andrea scampered away as though hounds were nipping at her heels.  She shrugged and followed suit with a weary sigh.  The ground was so muddy it sucked at their shoes, but Janet was too tired to care

Andrea finally stopped at an abandoned building.  Janet leaned against its crumbling front and closed her eyes, while her sister investigated inside.  She reappeared quickly, motioning for her sister to enter.  The moment Janet stepped inside, an indescribable feeling of dread swept over her.  Something about the place spooked her.  She didn’t dare mention it to Andrea. 

If her sister wasn’t afraid, then Janet refused to show her fear. They curled up in a dusty corner, opposite the scarred front door.  Andrea fell asleep right away, while Janet shifted uncomfortably on the hard floor.  Every time she began drifting off, her ears picked up some extraneous sound and she would snap wide awake.  Janet lost track of how long she sat bolt upright, straining her eyes against the inky darkness.

Exhaustion eventually overtook her and she dropped off into an uneasy sleep.  Her dreams were troubled by nightmares.  The shadowy figure from the woods was chasing them again.  This time, there was no truck to whisk them away.  She could hear his breath huffing.  Their footsteps were light and frantic like two frightened rabbits.

In the dream, their pursuers’ footsteps seemed to shake the ground.  Janet did not want to look back, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself.  When she turned forward again, Andrea was gone.  Janet tripped over a partially buried vine and fell to her knees.  She felt a hand clamp down on her shoulder.

Her startled eyes looked into the soulless eyes of the dead man from her sister’s apartment.  Janet awoke drenched in sweat.  Her heart was racing and she couldn’t seem to catch her breath.  Andrea lay beside her sound asleep.  That woman could sleep through an earthquake.  Janet decided to get up and watch the sunrise.

She found a scrap of cloth and scrubbed at a grimy windowpane, so that she could watch the darkness outside fade away.  Her neck and back were painfully stiff from sleeping in the same uncomfortable position for hours on end.  She tried to work out the kinks with neck rolls, until she felt her sister’s hands begin massaging her shoulders.  Their warmth was comforting in the chilly morning air. 

“I’m sorry,” Andrea said.

It came out so softly that for a moment, Janet was sure she was hearing things.  Andrea never apologized for anything.  That woman would rather gnaw off a limb, than admit that she had made a mistake.  The apology hung in the air between them.  It frightened Janet more than anything that happened the night before.  The small, tight sound of her voice conveyed the gravity of their predicament.

At any other time, Janet would gloat, savor the apology, and use it as ammunition during their next argument. That morning, she didn’t say a word.  Janet didn’t even turn around.  Fear would be swimming in her sister’s eyes again.  Instead, Janet waited what seemed like an eternity for her to speak. She didn’t want to hear it, but needed to know as badly as Andrea needed to say it.

“I don’t even know how to begin explaining.”

Janet didn’t make it any easier for her.  She pursed her lips, refusing to bridge the gap of silence between them.  Andrea sighed, drawing out the first words.

“I...guess...I just...fell in with the wrong crowd.  It all started innocently enough.  You’ve met Steve before right?  He was at my apartment two weeks ago, watching the game.  Steve is the redhead.”

Janet nodded impatiently and motioned for her to continue.  She wasn’t at all certain who Steve was, but that wasn’t her concern.  Andrea smiled sheepishly and continued her story.

“He introduced me to a few of his drinking buddies and their girlfriends.  It was fun partying every weekend.  I know you think I’m a party girl, but I promise you that before meeting Steve, I didn’t go out to clubs that much.  He and his friends took good care of me.  I never even had to pay for anything.  There was never a shortage for cash.  My rent was about to come due and I was broke.  Steve was really generous with his money.   He gave me enough to cover my bills and get some groceries.  I didn’t even have to pay him back.  All he wanted in return was a favor.”

“You know what Andrea?  I don’t think I want to hear anymore.  It doesn’t really matter.  I just want to go home.  I’m tired, cold, and hungry.  I have to get to a phone and make up a good excuse for my boss.”

“That’s kind of what I’m trying to explain.  You can’t go back.”

“What are you talking about?  I didn’t do anything wrong.  Whatever you did to this Steve guy,” Janet raised a restraining hand to her sister, before she could protest.  “Alright whatever Steve and his friends think you did is none of my concern.  You shot that guy.  I haven’t done anything wrong.  I’m going to walk to the nearest gas station or truck station and call a cab.”

Janet started to walk toward the front door.  Andrea was old enough to solve her own problems.  What was she supposed to do, devote a lifetime to bailing a grown woman out of jams?  Andrea would be alright...wouldn’t she?  Janet was almost relieved, when her sister reached out to stop her.

“They will kill you, if you go back.”

Alarm cut Janet’s breath short.  She had to sit down, before her legs gave out.  It wasn’t true.  This just couldn’t be happening! One stupid mistake and all those years of hard work were flushed away.  It wasn’t fair! Janet spun around in a fit of rage and smacked Andrea.

“You idiot! How could you do this to me?  It wasn’t enough for you to ruin your own pathetic life.  You had to drag me into the cesspool!”

“I guess I deserve that,” Andrea murmured.

“You’re damn right you do! If by some miracle we find a way out of this mess alive, I never want to lay eyes on you again!”

Janet was not moved by the tears that sprang into her sister’s eyes.  Thirty-two years of pent-up anger and resentment came seething out.  She had always drawn comfort from the predictable routine of the nine-to-five grind.  While her sister squandered her youth, Janet was frugal and worked hard.  Her diligence was rewarded; she was able to buy a beautiful house, drive an expensive car, and had ambitious friends.

In one fell swoop, Andrea had swept all of that away.  Janet turned on her heels and strode to the window by the front door, weighing her chances of survival alone.  The wounded puppy eyes Andrea was giving her would not work this time.  Janet blinked back her own tears and glared out of the window.  Life as she knew it was over.

[awholeotherlevel]

Valley of Shadows-Chapter 2

By Camille Scott

Harriet took one last breath of freedom, before gingerly stepping across her mother’s threshold. 

“Hey sis, how goes it?  You should have called.  I would’ve picked you up.”

“Hi Josh, I’m fine.  I uh, took a cab because I didn’t want to bother anybody.”

“Oh woman please, you’re my sister! Now stop acting like a stranger and give me a hug beautiful!”

Harriet smiled despite herself and relaxed.  They embraced and then walked into the front room arm-in-arm.  She saw Richard and parted her lips to speak, moving to hug his neck. Her sister’s sour voice suddenly rose from the corner.

“Well, well, well, if it ain’t Tinkerbell.  All the way from Never Never Land! So kid, tell me what’s it like in La La Land?”

Harriet froze, startled by the attack.  So Rachel had decided to come.  Damn! She must have been in her room delving into her stash of liquor.  Mother never kept liquor in the house.  Harriet sighed and turned to greet Rachel, choosing to ignore the loaded remarks.

“Hello Rachel, glad you could make it.”

She hoped that Rachel would not hear the insincerity or see the distaste clouding her eyes.  Rachel’s face writhed and then contracted with gales of angry laughter.  Hatred spilled our of her cold, hazel eyes.  Rachel uttered a screeching imitation of her sister.

“H-hello Rachel, glad you could make it.  Sheeit girl, you never could lie!  As a matter-of-fact, you never could do anything right! You’re nothing but a...”

Joshua cut in, “Shut up Rachel.  Nobody wants to be bothered with you right now.  Go sit down somewhere!”

Rachel started to reply, but Harriet jumped in.

“Oh that’s okay Joshua.  I know she’s drunk.  It doesn’t bother me.  I’m okay.”

“See Joshua, I’m not bothering her.  I’m just trying to make small talk.  Soo Harry, is there much call for monkeys in Paris or are you the only one?”

Rachel fell against the fireplace, toppling a religious statue, as she laughed hysterically over her mean-spirited joke.  Harriet bit her bottom lip to stay the tears that stung her eyes, hating herself for succumbing to the childish digs.  Richard’s voice suddenly split the air.

“If you don't shut up right now, I’m gonna lodge my foot so deep that your breath will smell like shoe polish for a month! Now apologize to Harriet and don’t ever let me hear you talk to her that way again, or I will slap you toothless, hairless, and senseless!”

All eyes were on Rachel, whose first instinct was to counterattack.  Her eyes shot to his, but her arsenal was temporarily dismantled by the glare that burned the very insults from the tip of her tongue.  She flung a “sorry” in Harriet’s direction, exchanged her glass for her purse and stormed out of the house.

Bastards! Rachel stalked out to the front porch and paused long enough to take stock of her hair and clothes; carefully smoothing both.  Laughter erupted from behind, pelting Rachel’s defeated back and driving her off of the porch. 

Forget them! She would be damned if she would waste a Saturday night closeted with those wet blankets.  What was the big deal about Harriet anyway?  Rachel was just having a little fun.  She was sick and tired of everyone making such a big deal over Miss Prissy.  Even their mother had started throwing that girl in her face!  Well, Rachel would simply have to take that heifer down a peg or two.  Just wait until she caught Harriet alone without their brothers to protect her!

Rachel remembered the night Harried ran away ten years ago.  Their mother was so angry, she beat Richard until her arms were tired because he knew where Harriet was and refused to tell.  He stuck to his claim that he didn't know but they all knew that was a lie.  Harriet always told Richard everything.

Four years later, after winning a scholarship to attend a prestigious college in Paris, Harriet finally contacted their mother.  Harriet had attended a private performing arts high school in New York and lived with relatives of her dance instructor.

Their mother wouldn’t reply to her letter until the next year, after stories of Harriet’s achievements began reaching town.  Then, their mother welcomed her with open arms.  She knew that guilt would be the perfect device with which she could control Harriet.  So, they resolved their differences (more or less) and their mother took credit for everything. 

Richard had protected Harriet then and he was still doing it now.  Why? He could give less than a damn about anyone else.  What was so special about her?  His threats had been the only things that kept Rachel from tearing Harriet apart back there.  Richard meant every word and Rachel knew it.

Richard was a lot like her husband Timothy; both were quiet men.  At times, she found that silence unnerving because it was like the quiet before a storm, whenever they were displeased.  Their anger always struck without warning for Rachel.  In those moments, it was fierce and uncompromising.  Headlights flashed against the darkness and Rachel moved to the side of the narrow road.

“Issat who I think it is? Naw, it can’t be.  I only see Beyoncé in my dreams!”

Rachel instantly recognized the voice.  Her face opened with a smile for Carl.  Trouble fell away from her mind.  She danced over to the car and leaned in.

“Would you like my autograph?”

“Why queen bee, I’d be honored.”

“What would you like?”

They shared conspiratorial grins and then resumed their act.

“Oh, something short and sweet.”

Rachel gave him a quick kiss on the tips of his lips.

“You forgot to dot the I.”

Surrendering to the laughter that tickled her belly, Rachel stammered.

“C-C-Carl, you’re a mess!”

“Where are you headed gorgeous?”

“Over to the Peacock Lounge.”

“Want some company?”

“Sure!”

He flashed his irresistible grin.

“Great, get in sweets.  So, what brings you to town?”

“Oh, mom’s having another one of her fits.”

“That time again already huh?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Say, where is that husband of yours?  Why isn’t he taking you up here?”

Rachel shifted in her seat, suddenly uncomfortable, trying to gauge the tone of his voice.  She knew that she was being silly.  How could he possibly know?  Her sister and brothers didn’t even know.  Rachel looked away from Carl, watching the darkness settle on the other side of her window.

“He um, had to stay home and oversee some detailed construction.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right.  Your old man owns a construction company.  Business must be booming, for him to let such a vision of loveliness out of his sight!”

Rachel grinned and rolled her eyes, loving every minute of it.  She was relieved that the conversation lighted up so quickly.  That was what she loved most about Carl; he couldn’t stay serious for more than a minute.  Rachel fished a lighted compact out of her purse and checked her makeup.

“Here we are,” Carl announced a moment later.

Rachel bent her gaze upon the storefront lounge, tapping her fingers to the music that floated out.  He parked and they danced their way across the sidewalk.  Automatically, the couple paused before the entrance.  All kidding was temporarily put aside.  Beyond that door lay Rachel’s domain.  Here, she Aphrodite was sovereign.

There was no Harriet to dim her beauty with virtue or trivialize her illustrious spunk with accomplishment.  Carl opened the door.  Ceremoniously, Rachel took his arm and they stepped across the threshold.  All eyes acknowledged their arrival.  Enthusiastic greetings rose above the music.  Carl shooed away Rachel’s admirers with a promise to share her with them later.  He propelled her towards the bar.

Seated sideways on her throne, she began to exercise power.  A crossing of those shapely legs, slight arching of the svelte back and graceful tilt of the elegant head drew all eyes unto the queen.  Rachel surveyed her territory while conversing with Carl.  A sudden crash sounded from a small room behind the bar, joined by the sound of breaking glass.  An angry voice erupted behind the beaded curtain over the doorway.

“Gina!  Gina, where are you?”

“Out here standing in my shoes.  Where else would I be?  Someone had to pick up your order, or did you forget?  I swear, it’s a wonder you find your way home at night!”

Rachel turned towards the entrance and saw Gina sauntering in carrying a package in one hand, with the other hand firmly planted on her hip.  She had a lit cigarette clenched between ruby lips.

“Come in here a minute Gina.  I want you to see the mess you made!”

“The what that who made?  Now I know you are not talking to me, because chances are whoever is standing in the mess is the one who made it.”

Unable to contain herself any longer, Rachel  threw her head back and laughed.  She missed those two most of all. They had been friends since freshman year of high school, when Gina’s family moved into town.  Gina and Robert weren’t married, but they argued if they had been married for years.  Rachel had never seen anyone else argue with as much love as the two of them.  Their shenanigans were so common that none of the patrons even batted an eye.

When Rachel laughed at her friends, it was an expression of happiness; for her friend’s good fortune in love and for being blessed with the two of them in her life.  Rachel’s laughter was also a sigh of relief.  As long as those two were together, the world made sense.  They were her constant.  For them to separate would surely mean the world was coming to an end.  At the sound of Rachel’s laughter recognition blossomed on Gina’s face.  

“Could that be...is that my friend-girl Rachel?”

Gina walked haltingly towards Rachel, feigning uncertainty.  Their grins were identically bright.  They embraced like sisters.  Rachel was the first to pull away, wanting a good at her friend.  Robert’s voice rose again.

“Gina? Gina! What in the hell is taking you so long to get back here?”

“Why don’t you come see for yourself?”

“Will you just get back here?”

Gina rolled her big eyes and sighed.  She opened her mouth to shout a reply and then closed it.  Another sigh.  Then in her best childish accent:

“I’d better go see what wittle Wobert wants, befowa he has a conniption.”

Rachel laughed and watched Gina disappear behind the curtain, still shaking her head.  Remembering Carl, she turned in time to see him drop a coin in the old jukebox.  He leaned forward to select a song.  Rachel started walking towards him out of curiosity. The music began, bringing on a wave of memories.

“Is that?”

“Yep, let’s dance sweetness.”

[awholeotherlevel]

Crime Diary-Chapter 2

By Camille Scott

The night I met Plum, she took me home.  I was a little ashamed for her to see the neighborhood I lived in, but then I was sure I’d never see her again.  My fingers were on the door handle when Plum reached out and briefly touched my leg.  She meant it as a sincere gesture of friendship.

I fumbled with the door handle, mumbling about the lateness of the hour.  She produced a business card.  Her friend Kenji would be in the next day, if I decided to give him a call about the property.  Plum was so nonchalant about it that I didn’t feel the least bit awkward about accepting the card.

I went up to the dingy hole that passes as my apartment, thankful that my landlord’s light wasn’t on.  He would be knocking on my door soon enough.  The end of the month was drawing perilously close.  I went upstairs, sat on my worn couch and savored my first encounter with Plum.  Tomorrow, I’d be a pumpkin again.

I got up and strode to my cramped bathroom.  Using my sleeve to swipe at the toothpaste spattered mirror only succeeded in smudging it.  A dampened bath towel from the heap at my feet did the trick.  I scrubbed the mirror until it squeaked, before leaning towards the reflective surface, peering with comic intensity.  What did Plum see, when she looked at me?

I wanted to believe that I had an air of accidental coolness about me.  You know, the just-threw-something-on sort of stylishness.  My reflection pained me.  What I had actually achieved was a dopey, mom-picks-my clothes look.  No matter how hard I attempt to look mature, my face always betrays me.  Somehow, it always manages to retain an air of young gullibility.  My doe-like eyes intensify the effect.

No wonder con artists and social misfits are drawn to me.  My face is like an open invitation.  Plum was definitely not a social misfit.  I realized that Plum might have ulterior motives and then quickly banished the thought, telling myself not to ruin a good thing with negative thoughts.  You see, my doubt-infested mind rebels against anything positive.

Whenever someone is nice to me or something good happens to me, I automatically look for the catch, because there always seems to be one.  Call it paranoia if you’d like, but I see it as safeguarding my feelings.  Someone does something nice and then the next words out of his/her mouth are usually something like, “Oh by the way, I was wondering if you wouldn’t mid doing me a little favor.”

Since I have a fear bordering on the pathological of disappointing people, I usually wind up doing whatever they ask.  You’d think I would be accustomed to being used by now.  It shouldn’t even bother me anymore but it does.  I’m angry with myself, long after the person has forgotten the favor.  That’s just how I am.

Other people don’t seem to give a second thought to things that keep me awake at night.  That’s my biggest problem.  I over think everything.  It’s the curse of having an overactive imagination.  Sometimes, I wish I could just switch off my brain.  If I could do that for an hour or so a day, then I’d never need to take a vacation.

That night, I decided for once in my life to just go with the flow.  I glared at my reflection and resolved not to analyze every little thing.  If Plum never spoke to me again, it wouldn’t be the end of the world.  I repeated the thought out loud for good measure.  Even as my lips formed the words, my heart knew it wasn’t  true. 

If I’m going to make sense of the bind that I allowed Plum to get me into, then I really ought to be completely honest.  I have thought about it before.  You know, the big “S,” last call, skydiving without a parachute, stop the world I’m getting off.  But I’d never have the guts to actually go through with it.

Thinking about suicide mostly satisfied the drama queen in me.  Whenever I get depressed enough to entertain the thought, I mostly fantasize about the guilt that my family would feel.  It’s the ultimate in having the last word.  Of course, with my luck I’d do it and no one would even notice that I was gone.

I seem to have that effect, or rather lack of effect, on people.  Someone could be sitting in the same room with me and forget that I was there.  All that was going to change, now that I had Plum.  I turned away from the mirror and moved to stand just outside of the bathroom, puzzling over a way to make myself look more mature and sophisticated.

I stalked to the bedroom and flung open my closet.  There had to be something in there halfway decent.  It didn’t take long to work through every piece of clothing I owned.  Everything was out of date, frumpy, too tight, or had some indelible stain in an obvious place.  I’m kind of accident prone with my clothes.  Maybe that’s why I couldn’t recall the last time I’d actually bought something to wear.

I hate shopping for clothes.  Getting undressed and trying things on in a drafty dressing room is a nuisance.  Then the clothes I pick out never look quite as nice as they do on the mannequin.  Even when I manage to find something that looks like it might work, I wind up balking at the price tag and shoving it back on the rack.

When you have to count every penny like I do, buying new clothes seems extravagant.  It’s easy to get by, when you never get invited anywhere.  On weekends, a big outing for me is a trip to the grocery store or the mall.  So I keep clothes until I wear a hole in them or the seams start unraveling.  Even then, I don’t throw them out.  They usually become pajamas. My mother teases me about it.

“One of these days, you’ll wind up naked on the bus because you’ll sneeze and your whole outfit will disintegrate.”

At work the next day, I fished the business card out of my purse.  It was still scented with Plum’s sumptuous perfume--a blend of white musk, flowers, and spices.  For the thousandth time that day, I wondered what she was doing.  Should I call her friend? What would I say if I worked up enough nerve?  Maybe if I called him and set up an appointment, she would be there.

That was silly.  Why would she be hanging around this guy’s place of business?  Someone like her had plenty of important things to do.  If anything, the man probably hung around Plum.  I daydreamed about running into her again.  Maybe I could invite Plum to lunch.  Would it be devastating, if she blew me off?  I tucked away the card and tried to forget about Plum.

The days crawled by and nights seemed endless.  The paltry amount of my paycheck was a nasty shock.  It would only cover my groceries for the coming week.  That was without anything extra, just the barest necessities.  It looked like another week of lunchmeat and salty canned goods.

I could forget about paying rent or utilities.  I hadn’t seen a check that small since I was a teenager bagging groceries at the corner store in my neighborhood.  Asking my boss Mr. Canfield about it would do more harm than good.  I was having a run of bad luck.  Sales were few and far between.  No one was buying any of the rundown properties I had on my books.

He didn’t trust me with any of the nice properties in decent neighborhoods.  Just kept claiming that I was too green.  Despair came home to roost and I gave myself over to it.  I was determined not to sell the locket though, seized with the irrational fear that doing so would signal the end of my dreams.

I had already sold off my television set.  Next went my prized computer.  As long as I kept the locket, I’d be able to reassure myself that I hadn’t hit rock bottom.  How may failed attempts would that make?  I had too many plans to move back home with my tail between my legs.

The thought of my sister dismissing my dreams with a smug, “I told you so” made me physically ill.  I couldn’t let her win.  The two of us had always been competitive.  When I moved into my own apartment and left her living at home saddled with two kids and no husband, she could have spit fire.

No one in my family understands me or my ambition.  To them, I’m a dreamer.  Any attempts to discuss dreams with my family are met with indulgent smiles.  My mother wants me to settle down, get married and allow my husband to take care of me while I shoot out babies like a Pez dispenser.  In desperate moments, that image has almost been inviting.

That isn’t what I want for myself though.  I could never be happy sitting around the house wondering about what might have been.  I grew up watching her waste the best years of her life working every day and then rushing home to hover anxiously at my dad’s elbow.  She’d dash about all evening, attending to his every whim.

Devotion seems to have a crippling effect.  It impairs your common sense.  My mother can’t seem to grasp the fact that dad will never be satisfied.  The more she does for him, the more he expects.  It’s a never-ending cycle.  If that is the sacred institution of marriage, then maybe it isn’t for me.

I want to have a family...eventually.  I just want to make sure that I’ve achieved a few goals first.  Otherwise, I could never be happy.  There would always be that doubt gnawing away at my insides.  Could I or couldn’t I have been successful?  It wouldn’t be fair to bring children into the world and not be prepared to make them my priority.  I never want to resent my children.

It sounds cold, but that’s how I feel.  Children absorb a lot of time, energy, and money.  In my frustrated mind, they would come to symbolize barriers to my dreams.  At times, the way my father looked at me made me wonder if that wasn’t what he saw when he looked at us; barriers to his happiness.  Like, if my mom hadn’t gotten pregnant with my sister, when they were young, he might not have married her and settled for a nine-to-five life.

My pitiful paycheck made me pick up the phone and contact Kenji. That call changed my life forever.  Funny how you rarely grasp the significance of some things while you’re experiencing them.  I made an appointment to meet with him after work.  That way, there wouldn’t be enough time for me to lose my nerve.

[awholeotherlevel]

The Doorkeepers-Chapter 1

By Camille Scott

Janet raised the gun with trembling hands and aimed it at her sister.  Putting a hole in Andrea’s smug face would make her feel better.  She had ruined Janet’s life and didn’t seem to care.  On the contrary, Andrea thought it was funny.  Janet had always been the good one, the hard worker. Her sister had never done an honest day’s work in her life.  

She was in and out of jail for everything from shoplifting to drunk driving.  Each time, Janet dutifully bailed her out.  When the police knocked on her door the night before, she assumed that there was another warrant out for Andrea’s arrest.  She never even suspected that her ungrateful sister had stolen her driver’s license.  

Andrea flashed it every time the police pulled her over, during the past three months.  Now, Janet had a police record.  Her sister even dropped her driver’s license at the scene of a home invasion.  The only reason she wasn’t behind bars was the fingerprints found at the scene were traced to Andrea and Janet had an alibi for the time of the crime.

Janet had just confronted Andrea at her apartment and Andrea laughed at her.  That was all the thanks she got for trying to help her over the years.  Janet finally snapped and took the gun from Andrea’s hiding place, in the back of her top dresser drawer.  She would make her care, one way or another.

Janet held it inches from Andrea’s face.  She wanted to pull the trigger and relieve the burden of having a viper for a sister.  Janet gripped the worn handle, until her arms ached and her hands throbbed.  Andrea lost interest and turned her back on her sister.

A knock sounded at the door and Janet dropped the gun onto the bed between them.  Andrea whirled around and looked at her sister with wide eyes.  The knock came again, this time more insistent.  Janet backed towards the bedroom closet.  She had just enough time to hide, before the door splintered inward.

Andrea screamed and shots rang out.  The sound of Janet’s own voice filled her ears, before she was aware that she was screaming.  A thud sounded on the other side of the door and then everything fell silent.  Janet couldn’t move.  She was angry when she aimed the gun at her sister.  Janet could never actually hurt Andrea.  What if she had been shot?  Janet’s heart felt as though it might burst through her chest.

Suddenly, the closet door opened.  Janet felt another scream rising in her throat and stifled it with both hands.  She just knew it was the intruder coming for her.  Janet went limp with relief, when Andrea’s frightened face appeared.  Perhaps Janet had just imagined the whole thing.

Janet was still trying to convince herself that what she heard was a car backfiring and not the report of a gun, when Andrea pulled her to her feet.  The sight of a body lying in the floor amid a widening pool of blood confused her frightened eyes.  A scream caught in her throat, when Andrea jerked her forward through the door.  She was moving so quickly that Janet tripped over her own feet.

Down the stairs they went, charging out into the cool night air.  This wasn’t supposed to be happening! Janet had to go to work the next morning.  She needed to go home and iron something to wear.  Who would feed her dog?  Janet stopped running.  Andrea tried to pull her along, but she yanked her arm free.  Things were spinning out of control.  She needed time to think.  

“Come on stupid,” hissed Andrea.

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Andrea shoved her sister into a shadowy doorway, pinning her to the door by her neck.  Janet couldn’t breathe.  She struggled, but Andera only tightened her grip.  She pressed her face next to Janet’s ear and whispered.

“Look you idiot, we have got to get out of here.  The police are probably on their way over here right now.  A dead man is bleeding on my floor and our fingerprints are all over the gun.  Call me crazy, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to hang around here.”

Andrea released Janet and ran down the sidewalk, disappearing into the shadows.  Suddenly, the distant wail of approaching sirens could be heard.  Janet looked up at the lit window of her sister’s apartment.  Neighbors were beginning to peer out of their windows.  Janet scuttled off after Andrea.  Her shaky legs threatened to pitch her headfirst to the ground, but she kept moving.  Andrea was scaling a fence, when Janet caught up to her.  Janet tried to follow suit and succeeded in ripping her pants.

They ran for what seemed like hours, with Janet trailing behind her sister.  She was dying to stop and rest.  Everything was happening too fast to absorb.  Andrea fairly raked her sister through the underbrush at the edge of the neighborhood park.  Janet lost her shoe.  When she knelt to retrieve it, Andera nearly wrenched her arm out of its socket.

“Leave it,” she snapped.

Janet pulled free and went back for the shoe.  She put it on and looked up in time to see Andrea run into a stand of trees several yards away.  Janet followed suit and emerged alongside a highway ramp.  Andrea was waving her arms, trying to get a passing motorist to slow down.  Janet couldn’t believe her eyes. 

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“I’m not getting into a stranger’s car Andrea.  They might be a serial killer or something.”

“If you have a better idea, then let’s hear it.”

Andrea glared at her sister and crossed her arms expectantly.  Janet almost got indignant, but the fear in her sister’s eyes was unnerving.  Andrea shot her an exasperated look and turned back to the road.  Janet blinked back the tears stinging her eyes.  Why did she always feel so foolish, when her sister gave her that look?

A truck pulled alongside them and Andrea wasted no time clambering inside.  Janet wavered for a moment.  Ladies just didn’t do things like this.  Besides, Andrea had been awful to her all evening.  Janet was still mentally rehashing their argument when the sound of approaching footsteps startled her.

Someone was running through the trees behind her.  Andrea looked over Janet’s shoulder and her eyes widened.  Janet dove into the truck and slammed the door.  A hulking figure flew into the clearing, moments after they pulled off.  Janet suppressed a shriek.  The sisters’ eyes met.  Janet was about to ask what the hell Andrea had gotten her into, when Andrea shook her head slowly, as if to say, “I’ll explain later.”

[awholeotherlevel]

Valley of Shadows-Chapter 1

By Camille Scott

Harriet stretched a slender arm sideways, grasping the bar underneath her foot.  She touched forehead to knee, before whisking the leg from its perch.  Harriet retreated, leaving Bach alone with his music.  Such were the times she was at peace; on the verge of exhaustion, the ballerina ran fresh bathwater and added a touch of jasmine to the swirling water.

In the bedroom, Harriet peeled off her leotard.  She returned to the bathroom and quickly immersed herself in the foaming liquid. Bach floated into the room.  Harriet smiled and began scrubbing her skin with the soapy towel.  Now that the ballet tour was over, she would go and see about mom.  Her brother sent the text last night.

Some mothers phoned, hers contracted mysterious illnesses.  Visits from each of her children were the doses necessitated by her “illnesses.”  Harriet and her siblings loathed such visits and went reluctantly.  Guilt forced them there, maintaining its unwavering grasp on the reins of their conscience.  The adult children had been summoned to pay homage to their earthly master; the one mortal who could break their spirits.

An oppressive sense of obligation would take Harriet, Rachel, and Richard into custody until they had done their duty.  Then having served their time, they would be released on parole into the world beyond their mother’s front gate.  Poor Joshua never did escape.  He still lived with her.

Harriet sighed over the uneasy, guilt laden days and sleepless nights that lay ahead.  Then she dismissed the burdensome thoughts and summoned up more pleasant ones.  Harriet thought about the previous nights’ performance.  Her mind’s eye traveled across the happy faces in the Parisian audience. A faint smile spread across her face.

She completed her task and climbed out of the tub, wrapping herself in a bath towel before releasing the water.  Bach had already finished and lay dormant until his presence was again requested.  Harriet gazed at her reflection, attributing grace to the sharp almost gaunt face, overlooking the cloudy eyes and dark circles that had begun to show despite her deep complexion.

“Now that the show is over, I can eat a decent meal.  Not now though, I’ve got a plane to catch tonight and I haven’t even thought about packing!”

*                                                      *                                                   *

Across the ocean in a New York apartment, lay Harriet’s brother Richard listening to the sounds of traffic and pedestrians below his open window.  Darkness was absolute.  HIs body tensed and relaxed, fighting for control of his consciousness.  All at once, the battle ended.  Richard’s body was overcome with fatigue and he fell into a fitful sleep:

“Richard? Richard! Where are you boy?”

“Mom, is that you?”

“Who do you think it is boy?  Get in this house.  You haven’t done a single chore!”

In the dream, Richard started towards the house staring in disbelief.  With each step, the house seemed to shift and expand, to age.  He reached the front porch and suddenly found himself before a dilapidated building.  Anxiety numbed his faculties, holding him riveted to that spot.  Richard knew that he had seen the building before, but where?  Where?

“Richard, if I have to come get you, then you’ll be sorry!”

“B-but mom, this isn’t our house.”

“Stop talking foolish and get in here boy!”

He lingered for a moment, stunned by a powerful foreboding brought on by the strange familiarity of the building and the situation before him.”

“Get in here now!”

Her angry voice propelled him forward, through a decaying door, into the darkness beyond it.

“Well, it’s about time! What in the hell were you doing? Always running off somewhere...”

Richard followed the sound of his mother’s voice, until it stopped abruptly.  The darkness suddenly contracted; pushing in on all sides like thousands of tiny hands.  Richard gasped stale air.  All at once, the sensation ceased.  He felt a presence behind him and spun around to face a woman’s shadowy figure.  Richard recognized her and the entire situation came back to him.

“Is that?  Oh no, she’s going to..nooooo!”

Richard with a jolt. The sound of the gunshot echoed in his mind.  As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he realized that it had just been another nightmare.  Yet one hand unconsciously moved to his heaving chest.  Yes, it had only been a dream.  Richard sat up, further reassured by the shabby room.  Swinging his legs off of the rickety bed, he rose and crossed to the television.  In switching it on, Richard dislodged a stack of envelopes.

On a whim, he knelt and began studying the accumulation of mail.  Richard now made it a point to sift through the stack every few weeks, after unnoticed utility bills left him without gas and electricity for several days in the dead of winter.  Magazine subscription offers, contests and organizational literature ran together until something made him stop.  He glared at the all too familiar envelope and discarded it unopened.

“What does mom want now?”

     *                                                    *                                                       *

In Chicago at that same moment, Rachel cast one last glance over her shoulder, reassuring herself that no one had followed her.  She quickly slipped through her front door and bolted it.  Something on the floor caught one of her high heels and flung her against the carpet.

“Ouch! Let me find some light, before I break my neck!”

Blind man’s bluff ended with her switching on an end table lamp.  The weak bulb gashed a dim hole in the middle of the room, forcing darkness against the walls.  Rachel did not need light to know that Billie Holiday was waiting on the vintage record player turntable.  She strolled over and gingerly switched on friend, soul sister and emotional mediator.  Remembering her package, she stooped to retrieve it with her purse and met the sinister gaze of a rag doll.

“I could have mauled myself on that stupid thing! How many times have I told that little imp to keep her...”

Pain tore at Rachel’s insides, as rage and sorrow welled up in a violent tug-of-war. 

“That no good bastard! It’s just like that coward to snatch my baby and run off with his tail between his legs!”

Anger gave way and sorrow forced Rachel to her knees.  She knelt in silence, watching tears shower the carpet at her knees.  As the pain subsided, Rachel became aware that Billie was still with her.  She moaned, “I’m getting too old for this.  Yes, it’s time to go and see momma gain.  She’ll fix everything.”

Rachel picked herself up and carried her packages to the bedroom.  She unwrapped the dress, taking a moment to caress the silky fabric.  Yes, time would stop when Rachel slipped into this little number.  Just imagining all of the jealous faces lifted her spirits.  After a train ticket and a present for her mother, this dress had taken her last dollar, but she couldn't go home looking like something the cat dragged in could she?  

Besides, the hicks in her hometown looked up to her; lived to see what they could never have or be.  Come Sunday morning, she wanted...no, she had to give her mother’s congregation something to remember until the next visit.  Oh yeah, she’d knock those old hags flat!  Rachel opened her closet door, gazing lovingly at her many hats, shoes, furs, suits, dresses and slacks like Nefertiti surveying her royal treasures.  She started to pack, tossing her costly selections into an equally exorbitant suitcase.

A mirror caught Rachel’s eye and she stopped to admire her beauty.  A visit back home was just what she needed.  She would go home and let those losers feast their eyes on her.  Let them put her back up on a pedestal where she belonged.  Her smile faded as each step towards the mirror highlighted the weariness, bringing into focus the bags that hung from her tired eyes. 

Once again, reality butchered her high spirits and Rachel mourned the passing.  How could he?  That bastard! She hadn’t even wanted to marry him.  Her mother had chosen this one, arguing that he could take care of her and provide a comfortable life. For a while, it really seemed as though it would work.  He adored her and gave her everything she asked for.

Rachel stumbled out of the room, possessed by a need to stifle pain before it consumed her.  How was she going to explain her predicament to her mother? How could she go slinking back home with her hand out again? She dreaded it, but she had nowhere else to go.  She had no job and no prospects.  Without her husband to pay the bills, she would lose the house.  Rachel sank onto the couch and tore open her purse.  Unsteady hands filled the needle and emptied it back into a speckled arm.  Rachel closed her eyes and lay back.

Soon, Billie’s voice rose and swirled around the room, twirling about Rachel’s limp body.  Rachel opened deluded eyes to a vivid hallucination.  She gazed at sleek couples crouched behind their nightclub tables, silently devouring each note captured by their hungry ears.  She looked up and there was Lady Day herself, bejeweled, austere, framed by the magic that poured from her shimmering lips.  The spell faded as the record ended.  Rachel watched the audience dissipate, curling towards the ceiling like so much cigarette smoke.  Ms. Holiday gave a royal curtsey and exited through the living room wall.

Rachel closed her heavy lids, listening to the phonograph arm bump along empty record grooves.  Then grooves became tracks and rhythm was motion.  She was a passenger on a locomotive.  Once more, Rachel opened her watery eyes and was amazed at what she saw.  She was in a train, seated by a window, surrounded by daisies that sprung up out of the seat cushions.  A conductor strolled down the aisle, smiling genially at her.

“Ticket please.”

She looked up at him and smiled.

“Daddy?”

“Yes baby, I came back for you.  I just need your ticket.”

“But daddy, I don't have a ticket.”

“Then you have to go back home.”

“No, take me with you daddy!”

       *                                                       *                                                *

It was already hot down in Arkansas where Joshua stood staring absentmindedly at his full coffee mug.  His tired eyes sought answers which surely lie within and dissipated with the steam that rose from the scalding brew as phantoms fleeing purgatory.  Joshua surrendered with a weary sigh, after taking a vindictive sip.

“Needs more sugar.”

He reached across the counter and began transferring huge sums to his coffee, stopping just short of syrup.  This having failed to inspire, Joshua wandered back over to the kitchen table and sat in front of his laptop, glowering at the screen.  He was having a serious case of writer’s block.

“Aw hell,” he muttered.

Joshua switched off his laptop and reached consolingly for his pack of cigarettes.  A coughing jag tormented his lean body, interrupting his lack of concentration.

“These things are gonna kill me.”

As if death were as inconsequential as the stubbing of one’s toe, Joshua shrugged.  He picked up a pencil and doodled on a crumpled napkin. His mother wouldn’t be home from the hospital for a few days and he hardly knew what to do with himself.  A knock at the door temporarily resolved the dilemma.  He went and glanced through the screen.  A smile bloomed on Joshua’s face.

“Hey man, what are you doing up this early on a Saturday morning? I thought you’d be under somebody’s porch sleeping off last night.”

“Nah man, when you’re in love, you don’t need sleep!”

“I know what that means.  Your old lady must want you to do something,” said Joshua laughingly.

“Well, now that you mention it, I do need to borrow your lawn mower.”

“I knew it! She sure keeps you jumping.”

“Can I come in, or are you gonna leave me standing out here?”

“Well, If you’re waiting for an engraved invitation, then you’re gonna grow old standing out there on the porch!”

Thomas lumbered past Richard grinning and sprawled on the living room couch.

“What you got to eat in this joint?”

“Nothing for you!”

“Aw come on man, I’m starving.  What did you have for breakfast?”

“Coffee, cold collard greens and a hot dog.”

Thomas’ masculine face twisted in distaste.

“Now why would anyone willingly eat garbage for breakfast?  You don’t have an ulcer, you’ve got heartburn Einstein!”

Joshua laughed appreciatively, more at Thomas than the joke.  What was it about this lazy, mischievous, beautifully ugly dude that pleased him so?  Thomas was the only person on earth who could make Joshua laugh at himself and the world.  But then, it had always been that way.  Whenever Joshua started taking things too seriously, felt the tide of his emotions carrying him away, Thomas was there to drag him back to reality sometimes kicking and screaming but always laughing.

“I thought you came to borrow my lawn mower.”

“I did, but I’m still hungry.  What you got sweet to eat? Any of your mom’s pie left?”

Thomas followed Joshua into the kitchen, peering over his shoulder when he opened the refrigerator.

“Listen, how’s your mom Josh?”

“Fine, she’ll be home in a few days.”

“What was wrong with her?”

“They’re not sure.  They want to run a few more tests and keep her under observation for a while.”

“Oh...hey, isn’t that a slice of pie over behind the peas?”

“It sure is.  Here you go.”

Joshua retrieved the dish and handed it to his friend.

“Grab that milk Josh.  I can’t eat pie without milk.  Hey, tell your mom I hope she’s back on her feet soon.”

Joshua leaned against the kitchen counter, watching Thomas finish off the pie quickly with big bites.  He gulped down the rest of the milk and put his dishes in the sink.

“Nine o’clock already! I’ve gotta get going.  Is the mower still out in the garage?”

Joshua nodded and watched Thomas move to the back door.

“So, why does her highness want you to mow her lawn?  Where are her brothers?”

“Otherwise occupied and she’s having a dinner party tonight.”

“It’s at night?  Nobody’s gonna notice her lawn in the dark!”

“Yeah, but you know how she is; gotta have everything just so.”

Joshua shook his head over the invisible leash which seemed to grow shorter everyday.  It was times like this which made him thankful that he wasn’t in a “serious” relationship.  Joshua sat on the back porch and waited for Thomas to emerge from the detached garage at the other end of the yard.  

Come to think of it, he had never been in a steady relationship.  Joshua was always much too shy to approach girls in high school and college.  Even now, he only went on dates as favors to pals whose girlfriends had homely friends.  Besides, the few times he started dating, his mother ran the women off with fire and brimstone lectures about sinful flesh.  No one was ever morally wholesome enough for her son.  Joshua was lost in thought and did not see Thomas emerge from the garage.  His friend’s voice startled him.

“Well, I’m gonna take off.  I’ll bring back your mower tomorrow.”

“Huh? Oh alright man, I’ll catch you later.”

Thomas waved and pushed the mower to his car.  Joshua watched his friend’s lopsided grin disappear around the side of the house.  The sun fell from his mental horizon and an all too familiar pang returned to nudge at his stomach.  Joshua knew it would be weeks before he saw or heard from Thomas again.  Since meeting Nicole two years ago, she had wormed her way into more and more of his life; consuming his time like a tapeworm.  It wouldn’t be long before that woman figured out how to sever all his old ties.

Nicole was a highfalutin’ wannabe who worked hard at forgetting where she had come from.  She also didn’t seem to recall scheming her way into the good life, by charming and manipulating the terminal patients she provided care to as a nurse.  Somehow, she got many of them to sign over their assets to her.  Of course, she and her crowd told a different story.  Joshua rubbed his eyes, retrieved a cigarette from behind his left ear and lit it with the lighter he always kept in his pocket.  He sighed, thinking about an imminent deadline for his latest article.  Time to get busy.

[awholeotherlevel]

Crime Diary-Chapter 1

by Camille Scott

I don’t recall the exact moment that my obsession with Plum began.  It must have been seconds after we met.  I was drawn to Plum because of the things she appeared to represent.  Plum exuded charm, grace, sensuality and power.  It was the quiet strength of someone in control of herself and everyone around her.

Plum sat across from me in a crowded coffee house, bringing a cloud of intoxicating perfume that seemed to waft from her pores.  She smiled and an uncontrollable longing welled up inside of me.  What was it like to be her?

I must have been staring, because Plum held out a gleaming case of cigarettes.  Didn’t ask if I minded the smoke, just pulled one out of the case and lit it with a gold, engraved lighter.  I watched her long, manicured nails flash each time she took a drag.  The polish was a deep, almost black hue with a metallic, purple sheen.  Her lips were painted the same color, in stark contrast to porcelain skin.

I was in awe of her and she knew it with the certainty that all beautiful people know they are adored.  The longing became a terrible ache.  I wanted to know everything about her.  Maybe, if I could lose myself in those amazing almond-shaped eyes, I’d escape my empty existence.  Just being near her made me feel special.

People at nearby tables cast appreciative glances in Plum’s direction.  I could feel their eyes alight on me before flitting back to her.  They probably wondered what such a wretched specimen like me was doing in the company of such magnificence.

At that moment, I knew I would abandon my life to be with Plum.  Maybe some of her charm and grace would rub off on me.  The intensity of my emotions was alarming. I couldn’t seem to stop being melodramatic.  It was Sunday night and I had just missed the last bus home.  The threat of resuming the daily grind of my job in a matter of hours was looming over my head.

I was so depressed that I felt damn near suicidal. In other words, it was a night like any other night for me.  I always work myself up into a lather dreading the return to work.  Around midnight, resignation always sets in and I crawl into bed in a futile attempt to get some rest.  It seems like my entire adult life has been spent either at work or dreading the return to work.

It’s not the actual work that bothers me.  I have never been lazy.  It’s the people.  I just don’t seem to fit in anywhere.  That might seem trivial to you, but then the majority of your co-workers probably like you.  I’ll wager you even have one or two co-workers with whom you are friends.  I have never been able to connect with people that way.

Something about me seems to make people uneasy.  I’m not good at social nuances.  You know, the meaningless exchanges around the office, on the elevator, and in the halls.  I’m never quite sure how many times I should say hello or hold the I’m-fine-how-are-you grin or where to rest my eyes while chatting.

Eye contact seems to make people uneasy.  They prefer to keep up a friendly façade, rather than allowing people to see how they really feel about them.  I don’t like most of the things I see swimming around in people’s eyes.  I’ve always been sensitive that way.  Perhaps that’s why I’ve always been a bit reclusive.  The things I sense about people are rarely pleasant.

Unfortunately, my face is like an open book; any uneasiness is clearly spelled out in my expression.  I’ve never been skilled at hiding my feelings.  I just can’t get the hang of the chirpiness that people seem to crave.  It’s very draining to be around other people.  I’m an introvert and people want you to talk nonstop.

I’m always on guard.  My gentle nature causes me no end of trouble.  Sooner or later, people succumb to seemingly overwhelming urge to take advantage of me.  I’ve come to believe in the law of nature; the strong feeding off of the weak. 

In the beginning, that’s what drew me to Plum.  I felt completely at ease with her. She seemed genuine and that was refreshing.  I didn’t have to rack my brain for conversation.  It flowed naturally.  I didn’t feel the need to weigh each word I said. There was no strained politeness between us.  You know, the way someone nods and offers an occasional “uh huh” at appropriate intervals.  All the while, it’s obvious their mind is a million miles away.

Surprisingly, her beauty did not intimidate me in the least.  On the contrary, I sat back and admired her.  My eyes greedily drank in every detail about her whenever she looked away.  I was attempting to commit each second to memory. 

Plum had a model’s petite figure sheathed in an expensive beige pantsuit.  Gold flashed around her neck, dotted her delicate ears and encrusted her long, slender fingers.  I looked down at my own rumpled shirt and my ever-present spectacles slid down my nose.  I couldn’t help chuckling.  Someone like her would never befriend a loser like me.

She was obviously being polite, because she’d had to sit at my table.  All of the other seats were taken.  We may as well have been from different planets.  I had to get out of there, before I got my feelings hurt.  Plum smiled again and I forgot about leaving.  She leaned across the table speaking in conspiratorial tones and my misery halted.

I don’t even remember what she said, probably some offhanded comment about the weather.  Her next words didn’t register either.  I was too busy grinning like an idiot.  Plum smiled indulgently and pointed at my hand.

“You don’t have to sell that you know,” she repeated.

I started guiltily.  My hand reflexively closed around the locket in my palm.  Suddenly, I couldn’t meet her gaze.  It was my grandmother’s locket.  I had inherited it.  The dread of pawning it and not being able to get it back before some stranger bought it had kept me glued to my seat all night drinking cup after cup of bad coffee.

“What makes you think that I’m planning on selling anything,” I mumbled.

“Just the fact that you keep looking over my shoulder at the pawn shop across the street.  You’ve been turning that locket around in your hand the entire time I’ve been sitting here.”

I had spent the past year convincing my family that going into real estate sales had been a wise decision.  My letters home were regular public relations pieces.  I guess I started believing that no one could see through the propaganda. 

Having a perfect stranger quickly appraise me and glean the truth was a little unnerving.  After all, if a complete stranger could size me up that quickly, then perhaps my parents suspected the truth as well.  I was embarrassed.  The urge to get up and flee was overwhelming.

My opportunity to impress Plum had just been eliminated with surgical precision.  I felt foolish for even entertaining the idea of friendship.  I had forgotten my place in the natural order of things.  A bottom feeder like me had no business aspiring above my station in the food chain. 

I was sure that, she would make some snide remark or start making fun of me.  That’s how my interactions with other people had been ending since grade school.  People seem to find creative ways to stick it to me, when I least expect it.  I’ll be having a pleasant conversation with someone and out of the blue, he or she will say something mean spirited while innocently gazing into my face.  Their hard glittery eyes bore into mine, waiting to feast on the pain welling up behind my stunned eyes.

To my surprise, Plum didn’t look down her nose at me.  On the contrary, her expression softened and one of her manicured hands momentarily rested on my hand, which clenched around my locket.  I must have looked foolish goggling at her hand.  She had caught me completely off guard; it was such a tender gesture for a stranger to make.  Our eyes met and she murmured.

“You don’t have to be ashamed.  Everyone has needed a few extra bucks at one time or another.  I was just going to say that I have a friend who may be able to supply a little money.  It just doesn’t seem right to sell such a beautiful locket.”

“I-I don’t own anything valuable enough to use as collateral for a loan.  Do you think he would be willing to accept the necklace and hold onto it, until I can pay him back?”

“That won’t be necessary.  Kenji is a businessman.  I’m sure he would find an exchange of services acceptable.  That way, you won’t owe him any money.  He would simply be paying you for services rendered.”

“I don’t understand.  What exactly do you mean by an exchange of services?”

“You’re a real estate broker aren’t you? Kenji is looking to expand his business enterprises.  You can offer him a good deal on a piece of real estate can’t you?”

“How did you know I sell real estate?”

“The pin on your lapel.”

I was flattered that Plum would notice such a small thing.  Of course, looking back on it now, I realize that she knew who I was before she even sat down.  It’s amazing how may glaring signs you pick up after the fact.  Plum was completely out of place in that coffee house.  Why would someone as rich as her even walk past such a dump, let alone walk in and take a seat?

That should have been the first red flag for me.  We weren’t in one of those trendy coffee shops frequented by the well-to-do.  It was several steps down from that; the kind of place where you feel compelled to take a napkin and wipe off a greasy, scarred plastic seat before you sit down.

I wouldn’t even have been sitting in there after dark myself, if I hadn’t missed my bus.  No, she made a special trip that evening to meet me.  I’m not patting myself on the back.  Plum needed something illegal done and I just happened to be the schmuck in the right position to get the job done.