( Note as of 07/28/2015 ) I've revised this story and had another edit done. It will be posted in Short Stories, since the new version is over 1000 words. Read it at SD1100.Blogspot.com
When Bob walked into the gun store, he had no idea what he was doing. He had never owned a gun, only shot a BB gun when
he was a kid, and was not a very good shot. But he was now sixty-five
years old, he had heard about robberies in the area and started
thinking he needed to protect himself. Bob never served in the
military, and never did anything with law enforcement. He had been an
actuary before retirement. He and his wife of forty-five years were
living one block off the beach in a small cul-de-sac in sunny
tropical Florida. The crime rate for his zip code was less than one
in a thousand on petty crimes and zero per thousand on homicides. Bob
went ahead and bought a gun anyway and, paid for a months’ worth of
lessons.
"Stop
squeezing your wrist! Use your trigger finger! You miss all your
targets to the left!" The instructor exclaimed in a firm, but
barely polite tone.
“ I’m
trying, my finger is not strong enough to pull the trigger. Maybe you
can show me another way to fire the gun” Bob replied
Lummus park, always a relaxing place, at the heart of this jewel in the
south. You can sit here and enjoy the morning sun, unstressed, while the sounds
of a day in the making are created for your ears. Those sounds, la turistas, chatting and the blend of
delivery trucks making there rounds to all the restaurants along Ocean Drive.
Rollerbladers, most, barely dressed females, streaking by and weaving through
the dog walkers and a few homeless lugs on the sidewalk. Later some musicians
will appear on the street, playing some rhythms and melodies from transcendent
cultures deep in Latin America. The sounds of a Latin Guitar
riding on the
light breeze from the ocean, perfect!
Far off in the park, there is a
mirage and a distant image of a man walking towards me. No one else notices
him, disguised in his fedora, and dark glasses. He is holding a rolled up
newspaper, probably El Tiempo, or
maybe the Herald. He sees me on the
bench and points right at me while shaking his newspaper. It is Carlos and he
is upset with me. Carlos starts talking, I mean yelling, first.
“Gringo, it was your dumb luck we
met in the hospital last year. You’re all alike. Stupid! Always putting the cart before the horse”
“What are you ranting about now, you
old Mexican.”
“Your blog, I was looking at it yesterday. I think it is
stupid. Who cares about story development? In my day I sat down, with a pen
& paper, writing from eight a.m. to one p.m. After I finished I gave my
work to a publisher and they did they rest.”
“So you
think my blog is stupid, because I am posting stories before they are
completed. Carlos, you were a unique pre-modern writer. But times are different
and I am showing readers, especially young readers, the process of writing. For
me it starts with a story outline, then I write a first draft, maybe a second
draft. Then I ask for opinions from a critique group. I make changes and send
the story to a line editor.”
“So that's
it? You're a Gringo for sure. Cart before the horse mentality. You’re a writer,
you write, the publisher makes sure the story is edited, proof read, and begins
to sell and market your book. I know how it works, I have done it many times,
very successfully! Have you forgotten, Where the Air Is Clear & The Old Gringo?”
“Carlos, the
horse is the story. It is always
first. Publishers are, the cart, which all Indie Authors must be on their own. My Blog is the first
step in marketing my stories. I explain to the readers the status of each
story, as it goes through development. I also write some notes on why I am
writing the story.
“So now
you’re an Indie writer? Bullshit! Breaking into writing with a new model for
Indie writers. Pila de mierda.”
“Tranquilo, me amigo! I have a lot of
work to do. I have an outline for Story
Development.
After I publish my current works in progress, I will post the
first paragraphs and pages of each story and a link to the web site to purchase
the story or the collection.”
“Gringo, entonces que. Everyone is doing that … I
should care!”
“Yes, great
philandering Author God! When my next series of stories start. I will post the
outlines with the corresponding first draft, later adding critique notes from
esteemed Author Gods like you. Next I
will post edited versions with more critique notes. Before those stories get
published, I will post beta versions for a short time, then publish and start
the process all over again.”
“Who gave you
this strategy, was it one of my Cuban Author friends?”
“You do not have any Cuban friends, remember? … No great
Carlos, it was you. I read about your early writing, always challenging
everyone, always trying to be different and irreverent at the same time. You’re
last book, is inspiring me to write a novel. My work in progress, will be about
the biggest challenge faced in my life, a challenge that many are facing, and
suffering through every day. I loved the way you used, sarcasm and knowledge,
blending both elements so well together. Pure Artistry!”
“So, my
American friend, you’re going to show other aspiring writers the need to have
patience and work through the process, not publishing until the process is
complete.”
“Tu eres correcto! Spoke the old man with
both feet in the grave. Now you are catching on, it is a different world out
there for writers.
Carlos, do you
remember when we met last year? I had just finished reading your book in the
hospital, I fell asleep and you came into my room. The book about the starlet ( Diana: The Goddess Who Hunts Alone ) you met, while she was filming in Mexico.”
“I was a real
dumbass for going with her. Mucho
machismo!”
Carlos got up, shaking his head a little, and waved goodbye.
He walked south towards Fifth Street and slowly disappeared into the mirage
that he walked out of earlier.
“Jenny Marie you get in this house,
now! I am talking to the air, Robert do you know where she is at?”
“You know where
she is, she always goes to Lisa's house and then they go hide in the woods.”
“I don't like
this”
“Cheryl, will
you just quiet down some?”
“No… no I won't
it’s time for her to be home. Her and Lisa joined at the hip, sometimes I would
swear by it! But I am worried, please go check on them. I will call Lisa's
house and talk to her mom.”
“Hello”
“Hi Kathleen,
it's Cheryl. Do you know where the girls are?”
“I thought they
were at your house. When Lisa left here this morning, she said she was going to
spend the whole day at your house. She told Philip and I that ya’ll were going
to the beach. I know Lisa had a towel with her. Cheryl did you and Robert go to
the beach today?
“No, no we did
not! Where are our girls? I am worried.”
“I don't know,
but when Lisa gets home, she will be grounded for a month”
“I am thinking a
year right now for Jenny-Marie. Let me
talk more with Robert and we will call you if anything comes up.”
“Thanks, we will
do the same.”
“Bye”
“Bye”
“Lisa wait up. Do
you think our parents are looking for us now? What did you tell your mom
anyway?”
“That I was going
to the beach with you”
“You're such a good
liar.”
“I am! What about
you? What did you tell your mom?”
“That we were
spending the day together and we would find some adventure to go on”
“You always do that,
tell some little white lie. Do you really think she fell for it? Did you even
hint that we were going to visit your Uncle in Orlando”
“No, I kept it a nice
clean white lie”
“Let's go to the
interstate highway and hitchhike up to Cocoa Beach then take that road that goes west
to Orlando”
“Okay”
“Jen, how much more sunlight you think we have?”
“We have a few hours, more than we need to get to Orlando. My
Uncle will be shocked when he see's us standing at his door.”
“You didn't call your Uncle? Another white lie.”
“I did call him and I said we wanted to visit him in Orlando.
He said 'Well Jenny-Marie we'd love to have you come up this weekend'”
“And that's all?... just a white lie, to me and your Uncle.
Why am I your fiend?”
“You know we are two free spirits, nothing but wanderlust
in
our feet”
“Hey Jen , I think we got a ride, that old car is slowing
down for us. Do you think we should take it, the ride that is”
“Let's see who's driving first”
An old Buick Electra slows to a stop on the shoulder about
100 feet in front of the girls.
“Why you girls out here on this road—it is dangerous—do you
need a ride somewhere?
“Yes Mister, we're going to Orlando. Can you give us a ride?
“Get in, I'm only going up to Cocoa at Route 520. I will drop
you off there. Can I call your parents
or something for you's? Let's get moving.” The man replied and continued
talking to the girls.
“How old are you two anyway, don't look like much more than
fourteen. Don't you know it ain't the sixties anymore. Used to be able to
hitchhike any where in the U S of A back then, but times are different. If I
had the time I take you to Orlando, make sure you got there safe. But I got my
life too, I got me a wife, fine woman. I got's to spend time with her.”
The girls giggled in the back seat as they listened to the
man driving.
“Well this is your stop. You can go over to the gas station
and here is some change for the pay phone. Sure I can't help in some way?”
“My Uncle in Orlando is expecting us, we're okay thanks” Jen
replied.
The old Buick Electra drove away. They watched it go east and
then they turned west, noticing the sun had started to set. They were only
about thirty minutes from Jen's Uncle’s house. There was just enough sunlight
to get there safe.
“Come on, Lisa we need to get moving.”
“Where are we?”
“We’re on Route 520 and we better start going west to
Orlando.” Jen replied.
“Jen you ever think about the future? I am thinking about
tomorrow, going to some water park, going down a slide, splashing, and having
fun with you.” Lisa said.
“I think about the past, when I was a kid, at Christmas time.
My mom and dad always had some surprise for us. My brothers always planned our
attack of the presents. My older brother telling everyone what to do, ‘Jen you
get the scissors, don’t let little bobby have them.’ We have good families.
Lisa what are you staring at?”
“The tree’s it’s just a never ending line of tall trees”
“What is?” Jen asked.
“This road, it’s all Pine trees, not one palm tree like in
our yard. The pines don’t sway with the wind, like palms. They just let the air
pass them by and leave the sounds of whispers flowing in the breeze.”
“You’re creeping me out”
“Jen look that old pickup truck is stopping, maybe we got a
ride.”
“You girls can jump in the back if you want, I am going
towards Orlando. I do need to stop in Naracoosee, but only for a moment. You
two should not be out here all alone.” The driver said.
“Lisa stop pulling at me, we need a ride”
“Not him – I’m not getting in that truck”
“Thanks mister, we’re okay” replied both girls
If you want to read the full story go to Story Development ( Top Menu ) and read Whispers through the Pines.
I watched Lisa
stare down the road, looking at the tall pines, and began to wonder what our
mothers were thinking right now. A moment ago Lisa was thinking one day into her
future and telling me what a wonderful day tomorrow would be.She turned around a lot to watch me as I
walked just a little behind her. Lisa knew I was mad because we had not
accepted the ride in the old pickup truck. The truck was gone —long gone out of
sight —and I knew her fears
were increasing as the sun set over the tall pines—
her dreamy ideas fading away within a mirage far up the road.
What else could I
do but keep walking towards the setting sun?
With each step, I thought about my past, and my family. Not talking—thinking. This was all my idea, going to visit my Uncle
in Orlando, I talked Lisa into it, now we were on a deserted road, thirty miles
away from my Uncle’s and we were tired and hungry.
“Jen wait up, here comes a car. It looks like the car that
the old man was driving, the one who gave us a ride earlier.” Lisa said
“I don't think it is! That car was light gray, this car is
darker” Jen replied.
“How can you tell with the sun going down.” Lisa asked.
“It's slowing down, we have a ride”
The car—full of
partying teenagers—just slowed down. The teens inside laughed at the girls,
then sped up and drove away.
We watched the car go off and seemingly vanish
into the never ending line of trees. Neither of us noticed the van that had
been following the car, but now stopped a short distance away.
Two men got out.
They began to walk towards us. They spoke in soft tones and asked us questions.
“Where do you girls need a ride to?” said the older one.
Their non-threatening words did not match the quick pace in
their steps. They were coming after us and I ran out into the road screaming
for help. Lisa froze. The men forced us into the open back doors of the van and
told us to be quiet, and we would not get hurt. The older man was mostly bald
with straggly hair down the sides of his head. His hands were callused and they
felt rough on my skin, he continued to touch me and Lisa. The men did not say
much and only referred to each other as ‘Cousin’. The younger man had a
moustache and longer hair. He held a gun—pointing it at both of us—while
placing a finger up to his lips. The older man, stopped fondling us and quickly
moved to the driver seat, started the engine, and drove away. The van went
about one hundred feet up the road and turned around back towards the
interstate highway. The man in the back with a gun put duct tape over our
mouth’s. He sat across from us just staring at us, devoid of any expression.
Feeling the terror, we just stared at each other. Lisa began to urinate and the
urine soaked right through her new Guess jeans. When the odor from the urine
reached the man’s sense of smell, he grinned. We felt the van turn right and
speed up as it entered the traffic on the interstate highway. Our eyes watered
up. Lisa’s view of the future was full of sadness, and I could see it in her
expression and feel it. She saw other people in the future but she could not
see herself. She felt my presence, and I felt hers even though it was dark now,
and we were unable to really see each other.
The van continued south on the interstate for some time, time that the
men enjoyed as our terror increased. We felt the van slow and turn to the right
again. The van was off the interstate.
The road we were on was bumpy and stones were hitting the bottom of the
van. We had begun to feel a bond now that transcended verbal language and we
began to read each other’s minds. The van stopped.
The older man got
out opened the back door of the van, pulled Lisa out. He tore off the duct tape
covering her mouth, then dragged her down a path. The younger man did the same
with me. It was dark and we could not see each other. I heard Lisa screaming.
The men took turns with us. Then one said ‘I’m done’. He left Lisa on the
ground crying. I heard chains on the ground, Lisa screaming again and then, a
loud flash and a bang. I had never heard a gun go off before. I heard the
sounds of the chains then a splash. I
knew Lisa’s life was over, but I still felt her presence. Both men grabbed
me, and took me down a path. I could hear fish splashing and the croak of a
gator in the water nearby. Lisa was still with me. I listened to the men argue
for a minute, while tied-up – not being able to run away. My breathing became
heavy then a flash.
***
The two men
wrapped me in a tarp and loaded my lifeless body into the van. They went back
to the interstate and drove south towards Indian Springs County. They parked the van at their shop and put my
body in a large drum. It was there for a week, soaked in some kind of chemical.
At the end of the week a man opened the lid on the drum. He called out to
another man that was there.
“Detective Summers, we got another one”
***
Lisa and Jen were together in a spiritual
stasis. Their existence, no longer of the physical world, but both aware of
each other—they were ghosts
.
If you want to read the complete story go to Story Development ( Top Menu ) and read Whispers through the Pines .
“Your silly, how can you make a joke at a
time like this? And it is only two dozen people, who I'm sure are getting
paid.”
"What color is that?"
"Some shade of green"
"Do you think they gave him
enough? I hope it is. I don't want something bad to happen. I mean I don't care
if he is in pain, I just want to make sure he is dead
"
"I know"
“It is
strange being two spirits. Knowing
exactly what you are thinking and feeling. If we were alive we’d be joined at
the hip.”
“We have always been joined
somehow.”
“Look at her, the witness in the second
row, third chair. She looks like she is crying. Did we know her? Maybe she knew
him. There is always someone who loves a murderer.”
“We did not know her, but the
guy in the first row third chair knew your uncle. Remember we saw him at your
Uncles funeral. Your Uncle Bob took all this pretty hard.”
“You know, there are a lot of
cars outside.”
“Yea people always get curious
about this kind of thing. They didn't get to curious about us or any of the
rest of the victims. If I could laugh, I would be hysterical over the people
doing the candle light vigil for the killer.”
“Remember the trial? He and his
cousin were convicted of killing six. I wish we could do something for the
other eight that nobody knows about.”
“Someday, someone will find more
bones”
“We need to help with that”
“I know, but later. We both need
to go back home when this is done. We have to sit with our families, let them
know it is okay, help them move on.”
“It's kinda cool that we can
just imagine ourselves at home and then be there.”
“Yea our poor relatives outside,
have a long ride home from Starke.”
“We had some nice family trips
coming up this way of course for nicer places than here. My Dad putting his
hand out the window, letting it ride the flow of air, pretending he was a
pilot. Now they will all have to get in the car and ride on that highway,
silently, thinking about us- it will be a long ride.”
“Remember Ichetucknee”
Read Norse Mythology, By Neil Gaiman
“Yea that was so much fun riding
the tubes down the river. Swimming in the spring water
, ohh -that was
always cold.”
“You got used to it quick. It
was the best times for us. We had good families. Why did we do something so
stupid?”
“Adventure”
“It wasn’t worth it. This has
hurt so many people. I know there were others, but look at what it did to our
families. This has taken so long, he has been on death row for twenty-eight
years.”
“How long is this going to take?
Is he still breathing?”
“I think he is, trying to fight
it maybe. Should we help?”
“No —and you know the rules”
“Yea you’re right. Just testing
you”
“We never said that when we were
young: Just testing you!”
“I am getting with the times.”
“How are we going to help the
others?”
“Good question. We have to be
careful the rules are very strict. Only show the truth. Never cause a loss of
life —no revenge.”
“I know … those bones in the
grove. We can have some kids ride there four-wheelers near the bones.”
“Maybe , there are some big
Orange tree’s growing over some of them now.”
“What about the ones near his
shop? I can’t believe the detectives didn’t find them, they were so close.”
“To late for those, his shop is
gone. Bulldozer took it down faster than this creep is taking to die.”
“It is strange how society just
erases things, all the bad memories, just gone so no one can see it and relive
it. Just like us, we are gone. They wrote very little about us.”
“That was because of our age,
and our families”
“I know, but what about us. We
were just fourteen. We stopped on that day, at that moment- just ceased to
exist, to dream, and to ever know the feelings of love.”
“No, we knew love, and we can
still see it and feel it”
“You know what I mean—love—with
a boy.”
“You were always ahead of me on
that. I knew the things you thought about, even when you tried not to tell me,
but I knew. Joined together always!”
“You know what I want to do? I
want to go sit in school, and find some girls who think they can do stupid
stuff like we did, and stop them”
“Stop them. How?”
“Like we could lock the doors of
their rooms, keep them safe.”
“You know that if their truth is
taking them down a bad road, we cannot stop them”
“Their truth, their truth, I am
tired of that. I know of two girls right now, who are on the same path as us, I
want to stop them. I am tired of this truth- this unchanging path for the
living. And you know this truth is not complete: there are some who do their own
will even as wandering souls”
“I know that is true, but we are
not ready for that next step, maybe we will be soon.”
“Remember the guy driving the
old pickup truck, the one I did not trust. He rides on Rte. 520 everyday
looking for the lost and still living. He was our Angels
and we did not know
it.”
“Yea … on that deserted road
alone, every day. Nothing about him has changed”
“But he does not interfere. The
truth is in the decision of those he offers to help.”
“Look I think his heart stopped”
“Oh it did”
“He’s dead. It’s 6:19 pm”
If you want to read the entire story go to Story Development ( Top Menu ) and read Whispers Through The Pines.
“So did you. Your presence was
almost glowing when they pushed the green fluid into his arm.”
“I accepted what happened.”
“That's a lie. Tell the truth. You
enjoyed watching him die! Your thoughts were swirling with anticipation, about
us, about our families, and it all centered on his death. You think we'll all
be better for it.”
“Why won't we be better off? Tell
me if you’re so smart. Suddenly you understand all of this, murder, revenge,
judgment, and healing. You think …you understand, healing: no you don't! I only
know what direction I'm being guided towards—it's not my choice, but I feel
it—taking me to another place, and I'll go willingly.”
“So you don't accept all of this,
and now you want another path, away from me. Well I don't, I won't forgive
predators, rapists, and murderers
. I want to see them all on the table soaking
up the green fluid!”
“We can't continue like this. Yes
I felt something at that moment — it was a strange sense of joy— but it hasn’t
changed anything, and neither will interfering.”
“I can't forgive what they did.”
“Then you will remain the way you
are now.”
“How can you just let it go? I
heard that gun fire- the one that killed you- I still feel that bullet, as if
it hit me. I constantly see—my last moment of life— that flash at the barrel of
the gun.”
“It's not about that anymore.”
“What’s it about, then?”
“It's about letting the living, make their own
decisions, until their time has come. We can move on from this, this stasis,
from ourselves.”
“What about the ones who make a
bad decision?”
“Like we did? There is nothing we
can do about that. I'm going to see the kind man who gave us a ride. He's
dying, and he’ll become an angel when he passes.”
“So he’ll never be a wandering
spirit like us.”
“That's correct. He's calling for
me now.”
“He’s calling for you … but not
for me?”
“You must come with me.”
“No, I’m going to go see Mr. Fred
Waters, who sits in his prison cell
, pretending that all is forgiven.”
“You can’t do that. You must come
with me”
“I’m not taking any orders.
Goodbye!”
***
I’ve
lost it all, my life, my family, and my best friend. Lisa will become an Angel
,
I’m sure of that. All I want to do is make that man suffer—the pseudo
accomplice —the true mastermind: Mr Fred Waters, the predator who knew he would
rape and kill on that day, and how he would use those chains.
***
“Good evening Mr. Waters.”
“Who are you? Get out of my cell.
Guards! Someone is in my cell.”
“They can’t see or hear me Mr.
Waters.”
"Who are you?”
“You know who I am. I look the
same, and my voice is the same as it was twenty-eight years ago. You remember
me crying, pleading for my life, and begging you to ‘let us go’. I’ve been in
your thoughts and nightmares for a long time. The last time you saw me, you
ordered your nephew Allen to shoot me.”
“You’re the one they found in the
barrel.”
“Good, now we can talk. I’m not
going to ask you, why.”
“Then what are you here for …
revenge?”
“I watched your nephew die. I
enjoyed that moment. The changes in his respiration, taking in those last
breathes of sterile air. The malfunctions with the equipment, letting him
linger in that state of consciousness, watching him tremble, just before
death.”
“You’re here to kill me?”
“A lot of time went by. We, I mean
me and the other girl—my friend—that you killed, forgot about you. But she has
moved on to be with angels, and I’m here with you.”
“Kill me or get out of my cell.”
“Nothing has changed you. Not
time. Not reflection. You give orders. You bear your false witness to god every
day, lying to him, telling him you didn't kill those girls.”
“I didn't kill them. I only had
sex.”
“Liar! You choked some with your
bare hands …your callused hands that disgrace true, hard working men. Men who
work each day, with their bare hardened skin: bare hands like my father used to
work on cars. The hands he washed every day, trying to clean his hands, his
heart, and his mind. Staring into that dirty sink, scrubbing, thinking, rinsing,
hoping …to be free of my memories. He could never work hard enough to forget
me, to just let me be the past. You left the scrapes of your calluses in his
soul, it eventually killed him too.”
“You ran away.”
“I did, but you took my life. You
stole the lives of so many. The ones who were easy prey, like me, and the
family members who died not knowing how to handle the grief.”
“Get it over with, do what you
came here for!”
“I’ve been thinking about
that—what I came here for—and how I would do it: to become like you—and enjoy
the satiable pleasure of taking another person’s life. Perhaps I’ll use a guard, or maybe another
inmate to help fulfill my desires.”
“You’re still a whiney little
coward, just like the day you died.”
“No, I’m different now, my
presence glistens with thoughts of revenge. Look into your mirror you will see
my whole life— the life you took away.”
“I don’t take orders from a kid.”
“Stand up and face the mirror Mr.Waters!”
“I see you, unchanged.”
“No, that’s another lie, you took
everything from me. I grew up, got married, and had kids.”
“Look for yourself, you were going
to die anyway.”
“Your lies won’t save you.”
“I’m forgiven and ready for
Heaven,” Mr. Waters yelled, his words echoing through the walls of the prison.
.jpg)
Florida
riding on the
light breeze from the ocean, perfect!
& 
? ”
) you met, while she was filming in Mexico.”
in
our feet”
were increasing as the sun set over the tall pines—
her dreamy ideas fading away within a mirage far up the road.
.
.jpg)
"
, ohh -that was
always cold.”
and we did not know
it.”
. I want to see them all on the table soaking
up the green fluid!”
, pretending that all is forgiven.”
?”