Destiny Pills & Space Wizards

by Jean Davis

  She knelt down and put her hand on the still woman’s lips. Nothing. Not even the faintest hint of breath. She smiled.

  Emily touched the face of the healer, stroking her cheek. “Night night.”

  With the little girl seemingly satisfied, Mona grabbed Emily and left. The police could make what they wanted from the bloody scene. Maybe they’d think there had been an attack. She didn’t have time to waste finding the single bullet she’d fired, but the gun wasn’t hers anyway. She’d bought it from some guy on the street three days ago and who knew where he’d got it from.

  “What do you think about being Canadian, honey?”

  Emily had already closed her eyes. Her sure and steady breathing brought warmth to Mona’s heart. No one would recognize them there. All they had to do was make it across the border.

  No one stopped them as they left the hotel. Mona hummed a lullaby she remembered hearing someone sing to a baby in a movie. Lilacs scented the air as she traveled down the sidewalk. Sunlight warmed her skin.

  The rusted, silver sedan sat in the parking space alongside the park right where she’d left it. She couldn’t bear to look at the park or the swings. The park should have been a safe place, and this one mostly vacant, had set her at ease, no meddlesome people on cell phones that she had to worry about calling the police. Now she knew the true reason why no one played there.

  A car drove by slowly. Her heart pounded. She couldn’t remember what the other one had looked like before the bullets flew. This one kept going.

  Her hands shook as she quickly buckled Emily into the stolen booster seat. Another car turned the corner and headed towards her. She ran around her car and got in, thrusting the keys into the ignition. The engine rumbled to life. She fumbled with the radio knob, hoping to check for news reports, but it seemed to be on one of it's not working whims. She gave up on it and headed to the nearest northbound highway. Emily’s head was already resting on her shoulder, eyes closed before she got up the ramp.

  Ohio had given way to Michigan before she heard Emily stirring around in the back seat. “Waking up, baby? Do you need to go to the bathroom?” Potty training on the run wasn’t the easiest thing, but when she’d taken Emily three months ago, she’d been in underwear, so she thought she’d better keep up the effort. Besides, she didn’t have money for diapers.

  “I gotta go.” Emily squirmed in her seat.

  “We’ll stop in just a minute. I need to get gas anyway.” Mona pulled into the next gas station. After she’d parked the car, she unbuckled Emily.

  The little girl pushed her away. “I do.”

  “Sure, baby, you can get out by yourself.”

  Emily didn’t want her help in the bathroom either. She closed the door to the stall before Mona could get in. The lock clicked.

  “Let mommy in. You need help. That’s a big toilet.”

  “No.”

  “Emily. Really. Let me in. This isn’t funny. You could get hurt.”

  “I do.”

  Mona bit her lip. This was the first time Emily had refused her help. Ever since she’d stopped crying for her other mommy and accepted Mona, she’d been very cuddly. It was almost as if she was afraid to let Mona out of her sight.

  “What’s gotten into you?” Was this the terrible twos she’d heard so much about? As terrible as they might be, as long as she had her baby, it didn’t matter. She’d love her right through two and three and everything afterward.

  The toilet flushed and the door opened. Emily walked out, her bare feet padding over the gray painted cement floor.

  “You did that all by yourself?”

  “Yep. I big girl.”

  It suddenly seemed so. Mona wasn’t sure what to make of this new advancement. She liked the needy toddler better. Having someone need her made the nights warmer and her days brighter. Someone had to listen to her for a change. That felt pretty good.

  “Are you hungry, honey?”

  “I wash hands first.”

  Since when did two-year-olds care about washing their hands? They ate old gum from under tables if you didn’t watch them.

  “I’ll help you. You can’t reach.” She scooped Emily up and held her next to the rust-stained sink. The water dribbled out of the faucet. The soap dispenser was empty.

  Emily’s petite face crumpled up as if she were disgusted. “Icky!”

  “You play in the dirt and mud puddles and you call this icky? Silly girl.” Mona shook her head and carried the little girl into the gas station. She had to set her down to grab two sandwiches and two sodas but kept the little girl close as she approached the counter. “I need gas too,” she told the attendant. “Give me fifty bucks worth.” She ruffled Emily’s curls. “We’ll eat in the car.”

  “Don’t want to go.”

  Mona picked up the little girl. “That’s enough, baby.” She smiled at the young man and slid the cash across the counter. “Someone is grumpy today.”

  Emily lunged forward, grabbing the counter. “Not my mommy.”

  The cashier gave Mona a questioning glance as he handed her the change.

  “She’s two.”

  The cashier nodded as if that answered everything. “It will be a long year.”

  Mona held Emily tight and balanced the food and drinks in her other arm and hand. The walk back to the car was a precarious one. She set the drinks on top of the car and buckled Emily back in her seat.

  “What’s gotten into you, baby?”

  Emily sulked in her seat, not even looking at her.

  Mona sighed. She put their lunch in the front seat, the drinks in the cupholders, and went to pump the gas. One woman parked at the pump beside her but she didn’t leave the car and she kept her purse on her arm the whole time. Hopefully, there would be other opportunities for easy money in the near future or they’d be going hungry real soon.

  After squeezing out the last drop of gas, she went back around to her door only to find it locked. Emily stood on the front seat, showing off her pearl white teeth and the tiny dimple on her left cheek. Mona swore. Apparently, she couldn’t take her eyes off Emily for even a minute.

  “Baby, open the door.”

  “No.”

  “Emily, please.” Mona looked around, but no one paid her any attention. “This isn’t funny. Open the door for mommy.”

  “Not my mommy.”

  Mona laughed weakly, plastering a smile on her face. “Don’t say silly things like that, baby. Open the door.”

  Emily crossed her arms over her chest and giggled.

  “This isn’t a game. Open the damn door.”

  “Ma’am?” the man at the pump in front of her called out. “The kid didn’t touch the passenger side door. Try that.”

  “Thanks.” Mona flashed him her best frazzled-mother smile and darted to the other side of the car before Emily caught on and continued her game. The handle creaked as she swung the door open.

  She slid inside and grabbed the troublesome little girl. “That was very naughty, Emily. Mommy should spank you.”

  “Spank Mommy. Spank Mommy,” Emily chanted. “Naughty Mommy.”

  “I’m not the naughty one, little miss. Now sit back in your seat and eat your lunch. If you stay put, I won’t buckle you in until we get back on the road.” Mona pulled the car away from the pump and into one of the vacant parking spaces. As she took a bite of her sandwich, she glanced in the rearview mirror.

  “How on earth did you get out of your seat?” Maybe I didn’t push the belt latch down all the way, she thought. The stupid thing stuck half the time. It didn’t surprise her that it might have jammed and not fastened completely.

  Emily nibbled at her sandwich, eating neatly for a two-year-old. “All done,” she announced as she held out the empty can and wrapper to Mona.

  “Thank you.” Mona took the garbage and crumpled it up with her own. Making sure to keep the door open and one hand on it, she tossed the garbage into the can on the sidewalk and fastened Emily into her seat again. This tim
e she made sure to click it closed and double checked it.

  “Can’t have you wandering around inside the car while I’m driving.” She landed a kiss on the little girl’s nose and then got back in her own seat.

  Mona continued northward for an hour before jutting east. With all the people in Detroit, it would be easy to get lost in the crowd heading into Canada.

  Emily squirmed in her seat. “Out.”

  “Sorry, baby. Gotta stay safe in your seat. I don’t ever want you to get hurt again.”

  “No more heal. I free.”

  Mona’s breath caught in her throat. “What did you say?”

  “Out!” Emily yanked in the lap bar of her seat.

  “No, before that.” Mona eyed the girl in the rear view mirror.

  Emily stared back. Her young, round face was innocent but her eyes were anything but.

  Mona’s hands shook on the steering wheel. Her voice came out even shakier than her hands. “We’ll get out and play soon.”

  She tore her gaze from the child in the backseat just in time to see the semi stopped in front of her. “Damn traffic jams,” she said as she stomped on the brake pedal. A scream welled in her throat as she realized she was too close. It was too late. The front of her car crumpled under the back end of the trailer.

  The steering wheel slammed into her chest. The impact knocked the air from her lungs. The car came to an abrupt stop with an explosion of metal.

  Mona coughed and drew a ragged breath. She glanced up for the rearview mirror, but the windshield’s shattered glass lay sprinkled over her and what remained of the front seats. “Emily,” she croaked.

  The click of a seatbelt being unfastened was the only indication that Emily was alive. Seconds later, the rear door opened.

  Mona tried to turn to look behind her, but pain kept her head pinned against the headrest. “Emily?”

  Movement outside the car caught her attention. Mona’s vision blurred as she tried to make out who stood outside her broken window. “Help,” she breathed.

  Emily came into focus. She stood safe and healthy on the gravel roadside. Breathing was so hard. Why was it so hard? Mona looked down. So much blood.

  The little girl peered over the jagged glass at the bent edges of the window frame. Her words were slow and deliberate. “Sorry lady, you can’t heal death.”

  THE SPELL

  First published electronically on Saturday Night Reader 2015

  Ambrose looked down at the wailing baby on the wooden floor. This wasn't good. No sir, not good at all.

  "Quiet. Crying isn't going to help anyone."

  The infant kicked and waved its arms about until it worked its way out of the giant robe. Then it soiled itself.

  "Great, just great." Ambrose wrung his hands and paced around the chamber. "I didn't sign up to be a nursemaid, you know."

  No help for that now. He sighed and wrapped the infant in the robe. "Guess we better get you cleaned up. Maybe you'll smell better once we're done."

  He walked outside to the well and drew up a bucket of fresh water. Then he dunked his screaming charge into it. The baby’s face turned red with his boisterous protests. Once he was clean, Ambrose discarded the nasty old smelly robe in the garbage heap and went back inside.

  Inside the big bedchamber, he rifled through trunks until he found a fine, white linen shirt. It wouldn't fit him, but, wrapped up a few times, it would do well enough for the baby.

  Wrapped securely in the shirt, the baby calmed down. "See now, Simon, that's not so bad, is it?" He pondered the baby in his arms. "You're going to have to make do with goat's milk. I'm not about to get one of those nattering wet nurses from the village. We don't need anyone around here asking questions."

  He fashioned a nice bed of furs in one of the large baskets he used to carry supplies up to the tower from the village. That would do well enough to contain Simon while he went out to the field to hunt down a goat and gather some milk.

  When he returned, he found Simon fast asleep. He was quite a handsome baby, smooth, pale skin, round cheeks, and a fine head of dark hair. He'd be quite a favorite with the ladies once he grew up.

  Ambrose set the milk aside and went back to the chamber. The book still lay open to the page he'd been using to practice his reading before Simon had surprised him. He'd been learning slowly, too slowly for his master, but with his secret practice outside their lessons, he was proud of his progress. Once he got the recitation down, he'd make a tolerable apprentice. The master said so, said he had the touch deep inside.

  Ambrose's hand shook as he picked up the book. He should have listened to the words rather than practicing speaking them. He should have heard the old wizard had walked in the room. After all, the way the old man jabbed the cane into the floorboards with each shuffling step was far from quiet, but he'd been concentrating on the words.

  Maybe he could find a spell to change him back. Ambrose carried the book back into the bedchamber and set the basket on the floor next to the large bed. He sat down on the thick mattress. This was way better than his cot in the kitchen.

  He turned the pages, skimming the words, but after a few pages, he realized he wasn't reading them. If he did manage to turn Simon back, he'd be angry. Really angry. Angry to the degree of calling down lightning to fry him up like bacon.

  Maybe this wasn't so bad. Sure he'd be stuck with a baby for a few years, but was that worse than serving a demanding old man? Seemed much the same, the more he thought about it. And if Simon eventually remembered what Ambrose had done, he'd have his youth back. Seemed a fair trade-off for missing a few years of his life. At least his anger might not get to the lightening stage.

  Ambrose closed the book and spread out on the bed. Tonight he'd enjoy a good sleep on Simon's bed. Tomorrow he'd see about making sure Simon had the happiest childhood ever.

  KICK THE CAT

  First published in the 3288 Review 2015

  Shireen's cat had been a pain in the neck since I'd moved in but, now, it had literally become a pain in my neck. Having a sorceress for a girlfriend was both exciting and a little unnerving, but her legs and her lips and... Let's just say they outweighed the unnerving part. Except for the cat. The damn thing yowled whenever I got near Shireen. It hissed and attacked my feet every time I took my shoes off. It watched us in bed.

  Whenever I'd complain about the cat, she'd wave it off, but it would sneak back. Biting, hissing, watching. She'd tell me to ignore it.

  One night, I couldn't ignore it anymore. I kicked the little bastard in the ribs and sent it flying across the room. The next thing I know, she's fused the cat to my neck. Seriously. Right to my damned neck.

  Now, this might be a somewhat welcome turn of events if it were the dead of winter, but being mid-summer, I'm sweating enough already. I don't need an angry furball scarf. His claws dig into my shoulders. I'm bleeding all down my chest and back.

  His tail keeps flicking into my eyes. You know how annoying an eyelash is in your eye? Try cat fur. Lots of cat fur. I've never been allergic to cats, but I think I am now. Probably did that too. Damn her.

  My eyes have swollen up and turned red. I keep sneezing, and that does nothing in my favor because every sinus-racking sneeze scares the cat, making it writhe, and claw, and loudly express its dislike of this situation directly into my right ear. I'm pretty sure I'm going deaf in that ear, too.

  Her words on this predicament? "You need to learn to get along. Both of you." She'd glared at the cat as much as at me, and then left. Not just left the room but left the house.

  I can't go outside like this. There isn't a hood big enough to hide a cat, let alone a very pissed off cat.

  Eating is all but impossible. The cat kept taking bites of my food or batting the fork out of my hand, and once, managed to rake its paw across my nose and most of my cheek. I don't know what that cat had on its claws, but now the side of my face is hot and the cuts are all swollen and red.

  I tried looking at my back in the mirror, but the
cat got all sorts of angry when it saw its reflection. I ended up with a hundred more gouges for my trouble.

  Three miserable days later, Shireen came back.

  The cat let out a pitiful meow that reverberated through its stomach and down my neck where we were joined.

  She stood there, looking beautiful as ever, hands on her black leather mini-skirt clad hips, perfectly arched brows raised. "So, you've both learned your lesson?"

  "Yes," I said. "You're insane. Get this damned thing off me."

  The cat beat my head with its paws, claws fully extended, ripping hair from my scalp.

  She sighed and shook her head. "Very well." She waved her hands in the air, making rhythmic motions and muttering under her breath.

  The cat went still. Finally. Then it's weight was gone.

  A warm breeze blew against my skin. My spine tingled and goose bumps rose all over my body. Though she stood across the room, her touch ran over my back. I spun around to make sure someone else wasn't standing behind me.

  No one was there but the cat, staring at the floor, its head hung low. What the hell was its problem? We were finally free of each other.

  A roaring heat seared through me and the room shifted, blurring, fading in and out. Sure I was about to pass out, I dropped to my knees. But my knees were no longer my knees, they were feet. I caught myself with my hands before my face hit the tiled floor.

  When my head stopped spinning so badly, I stood, but my eyes were still far too close to the floor for that to be right. I blinked several times.

  A low voice beside me said, "It will take some getting used to."

  I turned to see the cat looking at me. In the eye. Face to face.

  I lifted a paw. My paw. Holy hell.

  "Name's Hank," the other cat said.

  My voice was odd, shaking, not my own, and the words I heard in my head didn't correspond with the sounds in my ears. "John."