by Jada Ryker
Alisa’s laugh was bitter. “It wasn’t lack of strength. Sometimes I wish it had been weakness. It was greed. My parents suddenly were awash in money. They’d been eking a living from our tiny, tired farm. After they told me to forget what had happened, they had money to buy new equipment, more livestock and feed, and a neighboring, fertile farm. They went from dirt poor to living high on the hog. Where do you think that money came from?”
“You should have thought up a better story, Alisa,” Barbara interjected, her tears under control. “Everyone knows schoolteachers make peanuts. How could Fulton bribe your parents?”
“Fulton Hart inherited money from his wealthy parents when they died in a car crash,” Alisa answered. “He didn’t have to work. He chose to teach school because it kept him near a supply of innocent young victims. I’m positive there were others before and after me. I wasn’t special.”
“Blah, blah, blah.” Barbara jeered. “None of that matters. My son is dead, and you killed him.” She tried to snatch the purse from Marisa’s shoulder. “Give me that purse! My gun is in there!”
“A crazy blackmailer murdered Mosely, Mom. Not Alisa.” Marisa held the purse up out of her short mother’s reach. “You want to kill Alisa to make her pay for bullying Mosely as a child and as an adult. You want your pound of flesh.”
Alisa screeched, “Help me! She has a gun!”
Marisa ignored the frantic woman. “Look at her.” She pointed at Alisa with her free hand. “Fate has taken much more than its pound of flesh from her. Metaphorically speaking, Fate has taken a ton of flesh, and Fate carved it out of her soul. She doesn’t have anything else to give, Mom. She’ll go to prison for the University shootings. Whatever you do to her is nothing compared to what she has done to herself.”
Barbara gasped in outrage.
“And if you take a pound of flesh from her,” Marisa added, “you’ll have to take several pounds from yourself.”
Alisa turned her face away. “I don’t deserve your pity, Marisa. For years, I’ve hurt as many people as I can. Each time Fulton Hart touched me, a terrible pressure built up in me. Picking on others released the pressure.”
“Alisa, you started bullying us long before eighth grade.” Marisa kept her voice even. “You don’t have Mr. Hart to blame for those years.”
“Oh, but I do,” Alisa said. “We had first through eighth grade in one elementary school building. Mr. Hart targeted me the first day of first grade.” Tears fell down her cheeks, the freckles in sharp contrast to the white skin. “It stopped when he retired. But the pressure didn’t. It’s here, inside me, every minute of every day. Targeting other people eases the pressure. I have to do it. Or else the pressure increases until it’s unbearable. Let your mother shoot me. It’ll stop the pressure for good.”
“I heard screaming about a gun.” Officer Landis glared from the doorway, his arms akimbo and his legs braced. “What’s in that bag dangling from your hand, Marisa, and why is your mother jumping to reach it?”
“Chocolate. Mom’s a diabetic and I won’t let her have it. It’s bad for her.” Marisa opened the bag and walked to the officer. “See? A chocolate bar. Nothing else but womanly odds and ends. Certainly no gun in here.”
The officer dug in the bag with one hand, his cell phone in the other. He stared at the woman on bed.
“I’ll take the chocolate bar off their hands, Officer.” She solemnly winked at Marisa.
“I want everyone except the prisoner out of this room.” He opened the shade with a clatter.
“Landis! This little brat keeps raising and lowering a sick woman’s bed! Get your ass in here now!” Officer Daviess’ bellow reached them from the hall. “The injured grandmother is moaning in pain! The little demon is laughing his head off! And the parents refuse to stop the kid! They say they don’t want me to interfere with his freaking interactions with his freaking environment!”
“If you touch our child, we’ll sue you and the police department! Watch your language! And you look like a pumpkin head!”
The officer threw the purse to Barbara Adair and sped out of the room.
Marisa pulled the ancient revolver from her jacket pocket. She checked it. “It’s empty.”
“I just wanted to scare her.” Barbara thrust out her lip like a thwarted toddler. “I didn’t really want to kill her.”
“I think she has even worse monsters to worry about than you, Mom.” Marisa stowed the empty gun in her purse.
“I’m not a monster,” Barbara insisted.
“It depends on your perspective.” Marisa walked to the bed and touched Alisa’s cold, freckled hand.
“Take your hands off her, Marisa.” Barbara was incensed. “She’s the monster. She’s like a vicious, feral dog. You’re petting her with the hand of compassion. She’ll sink her teeth into it and infect you with her soulless sickness.”
Marisa turned her back on her mother and leaned over Alisa. “When I was little, we rarely had enough to eat or clothes to wear, let alone toys. Instead, I was forced to use whatever was at hand and my imagination.”
Alisa’s eyes were wide.
“I made miniature homes,” Marisa continued. “With the plentiful, shallow boxes which had held the cases of beer my father brought into the house every night, and figures cut from discarded paper, I was able to construct happy, loving homes. I carefully copied images from outdated library books and the unspoken yearnings of my imagination. On a trip to the dump, I found a book of wallpaper samples. I used the squares of bright colors and soft textures to transform my boxes into beautiful rooms.
“If I had one of those little homes here now, you and I could use our imaginations to go to a safe and wonderful place, with people who love us. People who would protect us and defend us.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
In her hotel suite, Althea wearily seated herself at the mahogany desk. She removed the cover from her typewriter. She thought about Diana and her magnificent fury. Diana as the Huntress is truly amazing. Althea smiled. And Diana the Human is pretty awe inspiring as well. Perhaps I’ve been too judgmental. I thought because the young woman takes her clothes off for money, she couldn’t be a woman of honor.
She fed a clean sheet of paper into her typewriter. Diana loves Marisa. She went to great lengths to try and help her. To help both of us.
What is honor? Althea asked herself. Does it encompass friendship and feelings? Is it more than just doing the right thing when no one is watching? Perhaps I have defined honor too narrowly.
She touched the keys.
An Alien Act of Honor
By Seretha Ranier
Part Seven
“It’s a dream,” the sheriff muttered as he took the heavy frame from Mae Rue. “I’ve been short of sleep for weeks, investigating this murder. I’m sitting in my cruiser, sound asleep.” Shaking his head, he followed Mae Rue to the kitchen, agitated balls bouncing in their wake.
When Mae Rue pulled away the yellowed linen, she exposed the metallic figure eight. “The time machine!”
“Time machine! This is what I get for reading science fiction in an effort to take my mind off the case and relax. Not to mention those spicy burritos at three o’clock this morning.” The sheriff expelled a discreet burp.
Mae Rue swallowed her tears. “Winter, we found it.” She carefully slid both hands under it and lifted it.
Winter hovered above the device. “It’s my chance to restore my honor.” His mother and wife joined him, their white surfaces touching. The children abandoned the sheriff, and formed a semi-circle behind their elders. Winter advanced a few inches, forming an apex with his family.
The sheriff staggered against the counter. “I heard it. Him. Talking in my head.”
Winter bowed. “Sha-riff. It is an honor to meet you. I have learned much about you from May-Roo’s perspective. She admires you.” Winter seemed to smile. “And she wishes to take you as her lover.”
Mae Rue choked. “Winter!”
“No
w I know I’m dreaming,” Sheriff Norton stated, “and I’m going to end up with Mae Rue, the beautiful woman of my dreams.”
Mae Rue’s mouth fell open. “I don’t even know your first name!”
“It’s Denham,” the sheriff answered. “I wanted to get to know you better as a person before we slept together, but I know things happen differently in dreams.” He placed his hands on her shoulders. The handcuffs in his fingers clattered. “Oops, how embarrassing.” He stuffed them in his pocket.
“Or apropos,” Winter interjected slyly.
Mother and Grandmother chuckled, gleefully bumping Winter in feigned displeasure.
Winter stilled. “It’s time for my act of honor.”
Mae Rue pulled away from Sheriff Norton’s grasping hands. “Sheriff, I mean Denham, this is not a dream. The device may only be used once. Winter must go back in time to right a terrible wrong—”
“I’m trying to catch up. Since I hurt my hand on that old picture frame when I carried it in for you, I know I’m not dreaming. I probably am infected with tetanus or worse from the rusty metal. There is no such thing as a time machine.” Denham inspected his scratched hand in the dim light filtering in through a dirty kitchen window.
While she searched for antiseptic and bandages, Mae Rue told Denham the story of Winter and his family. “Sorry, the label on this medicine says it’s for cows and it expired a few years ago, but it’s all I have.” She squeezed the tube and smeared a noxious film on his hand.
“I think I’d rather dip my hand in a pig sty.” Denham tried to free himself from Mae Rue’s grip.
“Stop whining. It’s very unattractive.” Mae Rue bent over his hand. “I can’t find any bandages, but this old bandana looks clean.” She wrapped it around his hand and tied it in a neat bow. “Well, fairly clean. It was in a box of old clothes in the little building with the shape of a cutout moon on the front.”
Denham bleated and tried to untie it with his good hand.
Mae Rue grasped his flailing hands. “I’ve learned Winter’s society is focused on honor. The gentle beings on his world strongly believe in doing the right thing, whatever the cost. Now, Winter must use the time machine to satisfy his honor.”
“I’m having a difficult time with all of this, Mae Rue.” The sheriff closed his eyes, his skin paled to the shade of honey. “I admit I did hear the balls talking in my head. Let’s say I believe everything you’ve said. We’ll also assume I’m not delirious from some agricultural disease, but we all know what they say about assumptions.”
Denham opened his eyes, the dark chocolate depths troubled. “What will he do with the artifact? Is he going to change the course of his world’s history? Earth’s history? Stop the Black Death before it wiped out a significant percentage of the world’s population? Prevent the horrific world wars? Ensure Hitler was never born to save the millions of Jews who were exterminated under the dictatorship of that madman? Or save upwards of a half million people killed under Idi Amin’s tyranny? The possibilities are endless.”
“What about unintended consequences? What if changing those events resulted in even worse outcomes?” Mae Rue shuddered. “Winter doesn’t want to do any of those things, Denham. He needs to change his own history.”
“I have decided upon a course change.” Winter decisively approached Mae Rue. “We will use the device to see what really happened a few weeks ago. We shall go back to your husband’s murder. We will see for ourselves what happened that fateful night. We will not interfere. We will observe.”
“Winter! You travelled across the universe to fulfill this quest. Now you abandon it?” Mae Rue put her hands on her hips.
“If I changed the event in my youth, what would happen? Would I still perform the myriad acts of honor intended to erase the act of dishonor?” Winter drifted to his wife. “Would I meet my Wife? Would she find me lacking and keep looking for her Mate?” He hovered over his children. “If she rejected me, these little ones would not exist.”
Winter floated. “You gave us sanctuary and helped us search for the device. You helped Cat channel his endless curiosity and boundless energy in productive ways. You helped Sparrow overcome her crippling shyness through your gentle encouragement. You are the favored aunt among the children, loved and cherished by them.”
Winter rotated toward his womenfolk. “You made friends with Mother and Grandmother. I love them, but I also recognize they are a dauntingly formidable duo. You have inspired such fierce loyalty, each would give her life for you.”
Winter drifted to Mae Rue. “I believe my quest was to realize my current life is too precious to risk changing for a past indiscretion. Therefore, I have fulfilled my quest, May-Roo.”
The alien orbs moved to their paternal leader. When they all formed a circle around Mae Rue, Mother spoke. “You are in mortal danger, May-Roo. Even if the Sha-riff does not arrest you, another member of law enforcement will. We fear you will be unjustly convicted. We will use the device to save you by showing you and the Sha-riff what really happened that night.”
As the orbs determinedly changed their arrangement to surround both Mae Rue and Denham, she felt the first thrill of fear since she’d met the family of aliens.
Part Eight
“I can’t allow you to make this sacrifice, Winter.” The cabin was filled with the slanting rays of winter sunshine. When Mae Rue’s eyes fell on the chalked outline marring the rough pine floor boards, she shuddered and looked away. The surfaces of the blocky furniture were covered with gritty black powder.
Winter seemed to smile. “Not your choice, May-Roo.” The artifact levitated between them, suspended in the cold, musty air. Winter moved to the artifact. His round form seemed to crack, forming an opening. The artifact slid inside.
As she felt a tremendous pressure throughout her body, Mae Rue clutched Denham and pressed her face into his jacket. When the pressure eased, she raised her head.
The sunshine was gone, the windows black with night. A kerosene lantern on the rough table illuminated the area around it, leaving the rest of the room in shadows.
“Babs, honey, just be patient. I have to get rid of Amy’s brother before I can put the plan into action with Mae Rue. Coy is suspicious.”
“Jeremy, I hate that nickname!” The woman in blue jeans and a heavy black jacket turned away in anger.
“Babs is perfect, since your name is Beth Ann Blackburn.” Smirking, he grabbed Beth Ann and pulled her into his arms.
Mae Rue gasped. “Jeremy! You’re alive!”
Winter hovered at her shoulder. “Silence! We have only one chance.”
“Did you hear something?” Jeremy tilted his head to one side, listening. He shrugged. “You’re the perfect paralegal.” Jeremy tousled Beth Ann’s curls. “Your law firm handles Mae Rue’s affairs. When you saw she was a single, mousy librarian who had been left a pot of money by her parents, you knew she’d be the perfect temporary wife for me. All I had to do was arrange an ‘accidental meeting’ in the library, and pretend to like to read.”
“Why does the stupid bitch keep her inheritance a deep, dark secret?” Beth Ann shook her curls in disbelief. “If I’d had drug-addled parents who’d won the lottery, run through half of the humongous jackpot, and then had the decency to inject each other with an overdose, I’d be shouting it to the world.”
“But her closed mouth is an advantage.” Jeremy laughed. “When I arrange her fatal accident, no one will think I killed her for her money. Everyone believes she’s an underpaid librarian. The police won’t find a motive and we’ll be home free.”
“That’s what you said before you killed Amy. That we’d be home free and living it up on her insurance money.”
Jeremy growled and pushed Beth Ann away. “How could I know she wasn’t paying the premiums? All of that work for nothing! If I could bring her back, I’d kill her again!” He savagely kicked the wood box. “And her stupid brother had to show up! I’d never met her family. They didn’t even have the same la
st name!”
Beth Ann licked her lips and tried to smile. “You need to move up your timetable, Jeremy. I’m pregnant. I don’t want to be an unwed mother.”
Away from Beth Ann but facing his unknown audience, Jeremy raised his head.
Mae Rue shivered at the look on his face. Denham hugged her closer.
“You know our plans don’t include any squalling brats interfering with our party time.” He walked to a duffel bag in the corner. “You’ll have to get rid of it.”
“No! I’m not getting any younger, Jeremy! I helped you commit murder! I want this baby and I want us to be a family!” She strode across the room.
His back to the distraught woman, Jeremy unzipped the bag. He pulled out a handgun and turned around.
Beth Ann’s trembling hands flew to her mouth. “You’re going to kill me? And our baby?” She grabbed the gun barrel. “No!”
“Let go!” Jeremy tried to twist away from her desperate hands.
The gun exploded.
Jeremy fell to the floor, exactly where the chalked outline would be.
Part Nine: Conclusion
“Once we knew to question Beth Ann and what to ask her, she fell apart like a dropped jigsaw puzzle.” Denham held Mae Rue close in the darkness, sheltering her from the cold breeze blowing off the pond.
“I am sorry for Deputy Blackburn. His heart is in the right place, and this must have been a devastating blow.” Mae Rue snuggled into the warmth of his open jacket.
The ice covering the surface of the pond cracked with shot-gun loud explosions. The round white craft rose from the water, hovering above the surface. Then, the ship shot straight up.
Denham waved at the retreating vessel. “You never told me what Mae Rue means.”
“When my mother was in labor, she asked for a quart of whiskey to ease her pain. She was already doped up to the max, but wanted more relief. My father pulled a bottle out of his coat and passed it to her. The doctor sniffed and said, ‘You may rue mixing alcohol and pain killers, Mrs. Conner.’ They laughed and mocked his upper-crust accent. My father turned to my mother, grabbed the bottle, and took a big swig. ‘May Rue! That’s what we’ll name the baby if she’s a girl!’ And that’s the story behind my name.”