"I love you, Dad." The voice echoed.
He froze, desperately wanting to hear the voice again.
"Dad." August's son whispered.
"Son?" He asked in disbelief.
"Dad... Where are you?" The voice seemed to travel out of the bathroom and into the hall. He swung the door open, careless of the noise he made. The door slammed against the wall as he ran out of the bathroom.
"I'm here Augustus. I'M RIGHT HERE!"
"What are you doing, love? It's late." His wife was leaning against the wall. "Come back to bed."
"I hear him. He's not dead." He ran down the stairs.
"What are you talking about, love?" She was confused as she followed him.
"Katherine, Augustus is here!" He exclaimed, turning to her.
"Oh my God." Katherine drew back as if she had seen something really horrible. "Calm down,” she pleaded.
He grabbed her arms and pulled her closer. "Please just listen!" He covered her mouth and looked around the room in silence. Katherine yanked away from him and ran to the stairs. As he shook his head, he fell to his knees in defeat. Three minutes later, Katherine approached him with a prescription bottle in one hand, and a glass of water in the other.
"I hear him too, love." Katharine spoke softly as she opened the prescription bottle. He couldn't look her in the eyes nor did he have the courage to apologize. He drank the water after his pill was consumed.
"Are you okay?" Katherine knelt beside him to help him stand to his feet.
"Katherine... I'm..." He whispered.
She interrupted him. "I forgive you." Katherine helped her husband to their bedroom. She sat on the end of the bed until she was sure that he had fallen asleep. Three hours passed before Katherine felt the need to take her sleeping pills. It was 3:23 a.m. and she had work in a few hours.
* * *
"No!" He yelled indignantly. His conscious mind sunk under guilt and shame. His body fell onto the floor. It was happening again. Dragging his feet across the floor, he found himself at the top of the stairs. With each step he took, there was a creak.
He turned on the stove top and threw a skillet upon the stove plate. "I got peace, love and joy like a river mountain, fountain." He sang. "I got peace, love, and joy in my soul." He opened the refrigerator and continued singing. A spark of flame flared from the skillet as he chewed the bread and ham. However, he didn't turn the stove off, nor did he care about the flame. He walked into the living room and turned on the TV. The sound was not loud enough but the visual was all he wanted. Pieces of the sandwich fell out of his mouth as he laughed at the cartoon. Flames flared upon the cabinets but he was unable to hear over his laughter. Blood spilled out of his mouth and dripped down his chin. He continued to chew until he smelt burning wood. Dragging his feet into the kitchen, he walked past the flames on the walls, before reaching the stove. Grabbing the burning skillet handle, he opened his mouth, not to yell, but to sing.
"Daddy..." Augustus's voice echoed.
Immediately, he stared into the fire.
"Come save me! Come save me, please. It hurts, dad."
Tears streamed down his face as a smile painted across his lips.
"I'm coming, son." Then hurdled himself into the fire. The only sound remaining was the fire alarm and screams of terror.
Prisoner
By Cleopatra Kimbitskey
“Get off of me!” she howled, thrashing against the men in black clothes who grabbed for her. It was all a blur. One man spoke to another in a strange dialect; the girl couldn’t understand a single thing they said. Yet they had rifles and blades, and when they held the jagged knife to her throat, she bit back a guttural scream. Before long, she decided that it was more bearable when she shut her eyes. The men adored her that way. Like a doll, soundless and petite, all bark and no bite.
The van’s wheels screeched against the pavement. Panic shot through her. The woman opened her mouth to protest, but the men simply looked at her and shrugged. One glanced to a smaller man, who nodded and picked up his rifle. The auburn-haired woman did her best to increase her distance from the man; she yearned to scoot back. The ropes made it impossible. He smashed the butt of his rifle against her forehead.
Had she known, she would have taken comfort in the quiet darkness.
The crows mourned in the city streets under the dusk light, singing together a merry song. A woman in a bright raincoat strolled in the slush. “Hell,” she uttered to herself, glancing to and fro. Her brunette hair danced with the wind, while her chocolate eyes trailed the ground beneath her feet. She walked a mile before she reached a scarlet door with a wide window expanse. She tapped at it in anticipation. “It’s been so long.”
Nobody answered. “Ashleigh,” she muttered impatiently. “It’s Vanessa. Don’t make me dig out my key. Open up!” She pounded on the door, growing more and more anxious at being left out in the cold. She peered around the door glass until she saw a pair of two small feet hobbling down the corridor. They belonged to a young girl, she thought, for the feet were adorned with small pink slippers. Vanessa gave in with a sigh.
“Ashleigh, you know I said no visitors — !” Vanessa started, only to drop both her key and her satchel with fright. She spied the gore in the halls. It was a blood splatter that only just trickled into the corridor; in the parlor, there was much more to see. The young child tiptoed over to Vanessa and tugged on her sleeve, staring up at her with wide eyes. She was soundless. No words, no phrases, absent of all ability to speak. And so she spoke instead with an innocent look.
“What happened?” Vanessa whispered, brushing the girl’s messy blonde bangs from her face. The girl didn’t answer. She gave a little twirl, toddling up and down the hallway, glancing from lifeless body to lifeless body. The girl pointed at a middle-aged woman. Vanessa stumbled over, her eyes sliding over the woman’s sunken wounds. A single knife was lodged in where her heart should have been. A knife with her name on it.
Horror hit her straight in the face. Quickly, she dashed through each room, eyeing the shocking amount of post-it notes on each wall. There was a calendar in her room, marked with daunting plans and ideals. May 5th: grab her and hide her in the depths of Chicago. They won’t seek her there, she read. Each date was forged in her own handwriting. Each ideal was written exactly how she would scrawl it down herself. And on the carpet, there was an open diary tacked to a single page. “I’ll sell her and receive all the money that I’ll need for the trip.”
There was a ferocious slamming on the door. “Police!” Somebody wailed, and while Vanessa tried to scramble away, knowing she’d be taken, they bucked the door with their safety boots and charged in with pistols and smoke bombs. The blood was the first thing they saw, and then the girl. Then they saw the bodies, the notes, and the knife with Vanessa’s name on it. They stomped into her room and pinned her against the wall with their weapons, thinking her a dangerous foe. Without a word, the policemen snapped steel handcuffs around her wrists. One of them paged through the diary, waving his warrant in the air. “Ashleigh,” he read, giving Vanessa a look of disgust. “You hired men to abduct this Ashleigh and bring her to Chicago?”
Vanessa gave him a stony look. “I want a lawyer,” was all she said, and the man spat on the ground in response.
“Take her in,” he told the others. “And not too rough. She’ll want to look pretty in isolation.”
Words Unsaid
By Deanna Bauer
It had been a year now that Sara met this mysterious guy named Steven. She’d see him every morning at her bus stop. She was going to work, but she never knew where he was going. Actually, no one did. He was very profound and intellectual, which she appreciated since she was a big writer in New York. He would read her poems and tell her in depth stories about all the places he had gone. Come to think of it, she didn’t even know if his name was Steven. He looked like a Steven. She blushed and grew embarrassed at this realization. She hadn’t seen him at her bus stop for a few months now so
she worried. Then, suddenly as she glanced to her left and stepped into the bus she saw him. She did a double take and her face lit up.
”How have you been?” Asked Steven as he lit up a cigarette. She wanted to interrupt and yell “Where have you been?!” But she stopped herself.
“Whe- I’m doing alright..” He was the type of person that you felt like you knew inside out, while not knowing him at all. He was deep. She was actually extremely frustrated, because she’s had writer’s block for months now. He said nothing more, because he could tell she was frustrated. He was her muse. He told her about being in the military, traveling to the middle east, and the Mediterranean sea. He also told her how he fought in the Gulf War. She never grew tired of his stories and believed every word.. He looked like he led a rough life, but he was very attractive nonetheless.
“Uh.. I’m actually working on a book.” Sara intervened as he complained about some sort of muscle ache.
“Oh, yeah? What’s it about?!” Steven was always delighted to hear about any books or projects Sara was working on. He admired her ambition and thought she was absolutely stunning.
“I can’t tell you… Yet.” The truth was for once in her life she was actually shy and afraid of what someone might think of her work. It didn’t even matter what publicist or authors thought. It was Steven.
“Can you please tell me what your book’s about..?” Asked Steven as he looked into her eyes and made sort of a frowning face. She knew that if she wanted to write a really good story she would have to ask more questions.
“Well.. I thought I’d write a book about all the places you’ve visited. It’s way too interesting not to get it written down. I hope you don’t mind..”
“We’d better get started!” said Steven eagerly. He told her about all the hardships he experienced in the military, traveling overseas, and his living situations. She felt bad and knew she had to do something.
“You can stay at my place if you want until you get back on your feet.” Sara replied, panicky.
“That’s alright.. I really don’t mind it.”
She gave him a stern look.
“I mean, I don’t want to be a bother…” He couldn’t lie.
“It’s fine. Really.”
“No..”
“I WANT you to!” She raised her voice.
She agreed to meet him at the bus stop when she got off work. She sat all day thinking about him. Watching the clock. It was 5 o’clock when her workday was finally done and she didn’t know if she would see him. She waited 15 minutes and then she pulled out her phone and to ask her co-worker for a ride.
Later, she was just making coffee when she heard a knock.
It was Steven. “Hi… I’ll only be staying here a day or two if you don’t mind…” As he stepped into her apartment he noticed the bed she made for him in the living room and the clothes she had set out for him, and he grew embarrassed. “You don’t have to do all this for me… Really.”
“I don’t mind. Would you like some coffee?” He nodded. She made more than enough as if she needed it. She was a frantic, heavy coffee drinker. Sometimes Steven reminded her to slow down. That night they both laid on each couch in the living room and talked all night. They just talked until she finally dozed off and jumped up an hour later realizing she was late for work.
“So… Who’s that cute, kinda Kurt Cobain looking guy you’ve been walking into work with..?” Teased Annie, one of her closest work friends.
“Um, it’s just an old friend.”
“Just a friend?”
“Mhm.” She couldn’t face Annie as she said this.
“Are you sure..?”
“Okay, well, you can’t tell anybody about this but…I met him on the bus and… we have been talking for a few months. Okay, maybe a year…. But he seriously needs help. He’s homeless.” She added abruptly.
“Are you guys like, a thing?”
“What?! No. It’s not like that at all. Although, he is pretty mysterious and attractive. No.”
Word spread around the workplace like wild-fire. They had a wonderful four weeks together full of bad jokes, late night conversations, sneaking into theaters, and dates with her good friend and her fiancé. It was perfect. They were perfect. Steven had a new life. A great life, until he decided it wasn’t him and one morning he packed up all his stuff and kissed her goodbye.
She didn’t understand what he was doing, but she thought that maybe he just needed some space and that he would be back. Three weeks passed that she hadn’t seen or heard from him. Then she found a note in their usual spot on the bus, tucked in a window that read, “I love you. I always have, ever since I first met you on this bus, but don’t look for me. I’m not here, but don’t let that stop you from finishing your story. Love, Steven”
Five Reasons
Robbin VanWyck
The first time I saw her, she was sweaty and her face was flushed and her hair was messy and she had a bullet in the middle of her right calf.
And I had never seen a girl so beautiful.
She had limped into the hospital where my parents worked, refused a wheelchair, limped all the way to the room she'd been given, and plopped down on the hospital bed without so much as a hint that she was in pain.
I was there as a sort of take-your-kid-to-work day. Except that I was on of those kids (who's really too old to still be called a kid) who didn't know what to do with their lives and was only considering a medical career because that what my parents did. 21 and still undecided.
Anyway, I watched her do all this, wondering how she wasn't in pain. It wasn't until the nurse left that I saw her grimace as she readjusted herself.
I followed my mother into her room and immediately her face was a mask of indifference.
My mother sat down in a chair next to the bed and I leaned against the wall. "Tell me how you got shot." My mother said
She shrugged. "Just did."
She looked to be about my age, with red hair and green eyes. She wasn't tan or pale and her face was blemish-free with the exception of one small freckle just beneath the outside corner of her left eye. Well...there were also some flecks of dried blood.
God, she was beautiful. Her short, tan dress with dark purple flowers and pleated skirt. She had on red spandex running shorts underneath, because of the length of the her dress. She was lying on her side while my mother examined the wound. She was curvy and her legs were long and she was about 5'10".
I cleaned off her face as my mother instructed. "How did you get blood on your face? The wound is in your leg." I asked.
She laid there, not looking at me. "It's not mine." She answered.
I have her a confused look as my mother stood up. "This needs a tiny bit of surgery. Is there anyone you want me to call?"
She shook her head and examined her black fingernails. Screaming suddenly came from out in the hall. She looked uninterested, but I could tell she was alert. "Stay here." My mother instructed, worry etched in the lines on her face. She rushed out to see what all the commotion was.
My father always said that the first thing every good doctor should do is make the patient forget what's going on.
"I'm Luke." I said. "What's your name?"
She tore her gaze from her nails to me. I suppressed a gasp. Her eyes felt like she was looking into my soul and could hear my every thought. She sighed.
"Claire." She said.
“That’s pretty. I like it.” I wasn’t sure how to continue this conversation anymore, and she didn’t seem too keen on talking.
I didn’t have to worry, however, because at that moment, a gunshot rang through the halls, followed by many frightened screams.
Claire was already on her feet and at the door before I could get up. She stuck her head out to see what was happening. Another gun shot went off and she brought her head back inside, closed the door, and shut the curtain.
“Where is she?!” Someone in the hall roared.
Another shot.
“Clarissa! I know you’re here! Come out, come out wherever you are! Let’s not play this game, my dear.” A man sing-songed.
For a moment I thought he’d been talking about Claire, but then another shot rang out with a sickening “Gotcha, sweetheart!” Footsteps, and then, “Aw damn...sure looks like her though…” This did nothing to reassure me.
Claire got in my face. “Whatever you do, whatever you hear or see, stay here and don’t leave this room. Got it?”
I gulped and nodded. She pulled her own gun out from… somewhere and slowly opened the door.
She stepped out and shut it immediately behind her. I walked to the window and peeked through the curtain. The hall was empty except for Claire, the dead girl, a lot of blood, and a burly man facing the other way, a gun in his hand.
“Renaldo!” she called, her strong soprano ringing through the hall.
He turned and gave her a toothy smile, resembling a shark. “Clarissa! How wonderful to see you! I trust you’ve been well? How’s the leg?” His voice was gruff and creepy. His grin widened.
“Can it, Renaldo! We both know what you’re here for.” What was she talking about?
His smile dropped into a sneer. “Why don’t you hand it over then, Clarissa?” He said, grinding his teeth.
“I don’t have it.” She said simply.
“What?!” Renaldo shouted. This looked like it was about to get worse. Worse than three potentially dead people, I suppose. I mean I was used to seeing death, but not like this…
“I don’t have it.” She said again.
“You forget that I worked with you for four years, Clarissa. I know when you’re lying. And right now,” he paused and aimed his gun at her head, “you’re lying through your teeth.”
I turned back from the scene, not wanting to see her get shot. On her bed, I noticed a blood-red jewel attached to a gold chain. So she really didn’t have it…
Before I knew what I was doing, I grabbed the jewel and opened the door.
“It’s right here.” I said, surprised that my voice hadn’t cracked from fear.
She whipped her head to look at me while still aiming at Renaldo. Her eyes flashed full of gratitude and fear.
Motionless Crowd Page 4