part duck

removed at my own behest.

HOW DARE YOU QUESTION ME

removed. pm me if interested in cyb0r and/or story give aways.

Never happened before

I've been writing stories big and small since it clicked in my brain that a writer is what I was. But, in all that time and all those late nights, I've never actually dreamed a dream from my story (though, I think we've all tried to take a dream and spin it into a story--eh Unknown?)

Last night I had dream in my world though! A girl was was fighting Zeke while Edwy watched and smoked. I didn't know who the girl was; but obviously she wants into the story...so looks like my ever expanding cast will continue to do just that.

To peace and loveand oral sex you don't have to reciprocate!

Origins - part 1 | The Connection

  Shar-Kattori was a maximum-security prison located off the coast and in the vicinity of the Wellington Super City. It was considered the Alcatraz of the 21st century, the largest man made prison facility ever built in the Southern Hemisphere and home to some of the countries most dangerous mages. It was also the second maximum-security prison in the world to be granted full sanitation laws by the Collective and the only prison that did not use humans. If you managed to land yourself in Shar-Kattori then you were considered something very special. It was the pride of the country and rivalled many other prisons, both in size and the teams that were stationed there.

  The Chief Warden of Shar-Kattori watched the monitor as the Weavers submerged the catatonic body of prisoner Randolph Quentin into the holding tank that would become his cell for the next 58 years. Randolph, a class 4 mage and notorious child rapist would never see the light of day until he was one hundred and one years old, his sentence also carrying with it, a sanitation order twenty four hours after revival. It didn’t really matter whether his body lived out the sentence; he was a dead man anyway. The two Weavers lowered and sealed the tank, then turned to the watchman on duty and nodded, who was monitoring Quentin’s vital signs making sure they were all green The watchman then turned and faced the camera.

“The tank is secure Chief Warden.”
“And his vitals?”
“All signs are stable sir."
“Well done everyone. Continue on.”
“Yes sir.”

  The Warden nodded then turned away and walked to the opposite end of his office and stood in front of the window that over looked the ocean. Today the Cook Strait was calm and the sky clear and you could just make out the dark silhouette of land off in the distance. It was days like this that Chief Warden Shamus Adwin knew he had made the right decision when he accepted the job as master and executioner of Shar-Kattori prison. A buzzing sound interrupted his thoughts, sighing, he walked to his desk, sat down and pushed the flashing button.

“Yes?”
“Chief Warden, you have an incoming conference call from the Collective. Madame Secretary said to inform you, that representatives from The Hive and the Ops Division of Wellington Metro Police Department, Black Serenity will also be attending.”
“Thank you Lily. Is there anything else? “
“Yes Chief Warden. Madame Secretary would also like Arc Sentinels Gabriele and Zephon present and that you should perhaps have some refreshments brought to your office. She said its going to be a long conference.”

  Groaning out loud, the Chief Warden pinched the bridge of his nose and frowned.

“Sir? Would you like me to have the kitchen prepare a lunch for you and have it brought up?”

  Squeezing the bridge of his nose as hard as he could, he felt the onset of a dull ache forming behind his left eye. Shutting his eyes and sighing loudly he answered the voice that belonged to his secretary.

“Yes please Lily, that would be great. And get someone to bring Gabriele and Zephon to my office please.”
“Yes sir. Putting Madame Secretary through now sir.”
“Thank you Lily.”

  Standing up behind his desk with his hands clasped behind his back, the monitor he was viewing before blinked into life along with four others. Modern technology had come a long way, but it could still do with some vast improvements, he thought. He stood in silence, waiting for all the parties involved in this conference to connect.

“Ah, Chief Warden”
“Madame Secretary. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I’m not so sure a pleasure is quite the words to use Chief Warden. It’s a pity when we connect with Shar-Kattori that it is never on pleasant terms. But then again, there really isn’t anything at all pleasant about Shar-Kattori now is there?”
“We are a prison facility Madame Secretary not a creche.”
“Indeed Chief Warden and a damn good one. I must warn you Shamus; Superintendent Loren York of the Ops Division will also be attending this conference. Which is part of the reason why I asked for the Arcs’ to be present, not so much Zephon but Gabriele. I’d rather Gabriele knew from the beginning who she was going to be working in close quarters with for the next few weeks, rather than have her find out later on.”

  Shamus frowned and stepped out from behind his desk and walked a little closer to the screen. It was common knowledge among those at Shar-Kattori that Arc Sentinel Gabriele and the now Superintendent Loren York had a history together, one that saw a jealous lover try with sheer determination to kill his Arc. But what was most concerning, was the Collectives decision to appoint her to Superintendent and if he was correct with the assumption he had quietly came to in his mind, involve his Arc in what would surely be a manhunt with the woman who tried with sheer determination to kill her.

“I’m not so sure I want Gabriele to be present Madam Secretary let alone a part of whatever it is you would like my team to be a part of. LorenYork tried her damnest to kill Gabriele out of rage and jealousy, I hardly think. .”
“What you think Shamus, unfortunately has no sway with how things will proceed. Arc Sentinel Gabriele will be a part of the operation I am about to brief you on and as far as the Collective is concerned, she will be the Arcs’ liaison between WMPD and Black Serenity. I’m sorry Shamus but the Collective have all agreed that she is the right choice and the agreement has been sanctioned. Besides, you and I both know that Superintendent York never stood a chance against Gabriele.”

Drawing himself to full height and wiping his face of any expression the Chief Warden conceded to the Madame Secretaries wishes.

“Very well Madame Secretary, you have our full cooperation. Shar-Kattori is at your disposal.”
“Thank you Shamus and I am sorry it had to be this way.”

  Without replying, he watched the rest of the screens connect and four faces appear. He began his play of pleasantries as they waited for the Arcs’ to arrive. As he was greeting the last of the Ministers the door to his office opened and closed and he felt the bristling power of both Arcs pressing in against him as they took up their positions behind him. He allowed himself a brief smile, raising his head, as pride washed over him. It felt good to have two of the most powerful beings in the world standing in the same room as him and he knew it was the same for every Chief Warden across the globe. The Arcs were every Wardens pride and joy.

“Now that everyone is here, shall we begin.”

  It was the House Minister of the Hive that spoke first and started off a briefing that in the end would lead them on journey that could very well, destroy them all.

“As of twelve hours ago, we received information that Hive Minister Madison Tate, a political representative of the Porirua district and the active CEO of Trans InterIsland, has been implemented in the murder of Stewart Embridge and his family.  We also have in our possession video footage that confirms this information.  Due to the nature and political ramifications that could arise from this incident, the Collective and House representatives of the Hive have agreed this situation be given a status of the highest priority.”
“So in other words, you want this covered up as quickly and as quietly as possible?”
“Chief Warden, I will remind you of who you are talking too.”
“My apologies Madame Secretary, I was only voicing the obvious which I’m sure has crossed the minds of everyone present, including House Minister Alverson.”
“You must realise Chief Warden, such things are delicate and need to be handled with the utmost delicacy.  Our country's political structure is somewhat fragile at the moment and a portion of the country’s population is looking for an excuse to destabilise it further.  I, for one would not like to hand them that opportunity.”
“House Minister, Madison Tate is a murderer and should be treated as such.  Just because he is a Minister of the Hive, special privilege should not be granted him.  It’s a perversion of justice when you grant such to someone of higher status than the general populace.”
“It doesn’t matter whether it’s a perversion or not. There’s more at stake here than the countries political standing.  Madison Tate is a class 7 mage and the only representative your kind have Shamus in the Hive.  So, in light of everything, it is imperative that we proceed with swiftness in apprehending Tate before more significant damage can be done.  So if we could all get past the need to voice our opinions and concerns, I would like this briefing to continue and everyone remain focused on the situation at hand.”

  All heads nodded in unison and a brief silence ensued.  Madame Secretary studied the faces of the people who stared back at her from their designated offices, she wondered silently if they had made the right choice in bringing aboard the Shar-Kattori mages.  She sighed inwardly at the responsibility ahead of her and everyone who was involved.  It didn’t really matter now anyway, the order had been put through and she had no choice but to relay the wishes of the Collective.  It was the Collectives job to direct the flow of law and order in the southern, western and eastern continents.  Without them the world would revert back to its chaotic war-mongering ways.  She nodded her head in reassurance more to herself than anyone else.

  She had a job to do, and that job was to recruit the very people on this planet that were capable of catching and bringing to justice a mage of exceptional power.  She focused her eyes on the screen that had the Chief Warden and looked past him at the two Arcs.  Yes, the right choice had been made.  The Arc Sentinels of Shar-Kattori would be the ones to hunt down a ruthless killer, a killer who had spilled the blood of innocent human beings.

* * * * * * * * *

Detective Mike Kelleher stood in the lounge of Stewart Embridge’s big six-bedroom home, looking out the window onto the front lawn watching in mild frustration as members of his homicide team, tried desperately to secure down an evidence tent. Over night the weather had turned nasty and the high winds were wreaking their own kind of havoc, making it a mission for his team to cover the twisted and dead body of 10 year old Sebastian Embridge.  He looked at his watch and frowned, he had just under an hour left on the clock before Superintendent York and her troupe of Neanderthals came stomping through this place and messing up his crime scene.   He cursed under his breath at the crappy weather and at a man who thought Miramar on Wellington’s eastern section of the city, was a good place to settle down in.

  His team had been working non-stop since they were assigned to the investigation by the Collective and they all looked like they could do with a few hours sleep. Unfortunately for them, that wasn’t going to happen any time soon.  People in higher places wanted answers, preferably yesterday rather than today.  He watched on as his team finally managed to secure down the tent and gave him the thumbs up.  He nodded then turned away and surveyed the rest of his team going about their jobs.  He moved toward a man known as Grim, his teams’ own version of a criminal analyst who had an uncanny ability to read a crime scene like a palm reader could read your hand.

“Hey Grim, found anything yet?”
“If you're asking if I’ve found anything that would hint at a motive for all this carnage…then no, I haven’t.”
“Care to share any thoughts you might have then?”
“God, I wouldn’t know where to begin.  There’s just so much destruction here I just don’t know where to start.  We’ve been over this house with a fine-toothed comb and there’s just nothing here to suggest that Embridge and Tate were enemies.  Its pretty obvious they knew each other to a certain extent but not enough to be walking in the same circles or having beers down at Ponte’s after work. We’ve sent his computers from his study and his office as well as his and his wife’s laptops in the master bedroom to the PC geeks at Metro.  So far, they haven’t come across anything significant that could point us in the right direction.  Even they are feeling a little frustrated at the lack of juicey tidbits that is on the Embridges computers.”
“There’s gotta be something? This place looks like a tornado swept through it.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t tell us anything either.  This is half the problem we face sir, especially where mages are concerned. Apart from all the blood, guts and the odd scorch marks here and there, they don’t really leave much behind except a wake of devastation.  It looks like all hell broke loose but in actual fact it didn’t.”
“What about a paper trail and Embridge’s wife?  Is there anything linking her to having an affair with Tate or anyone else?”
“Nope, nothing.  Stewart Embridge was clean and…boring.  So was his wife.  She was completely devoted to Embridge, their children and the life they had.  She was your typical soccer mum.  Drove her kids to school took them to their after school activities. She was a member of the kids School, Board of Trustees and was a member of the PTA.  She never had any affairs or any secret crushes or anything remotely wayward.  She did however have a particular taste for expensive perfumes, jewellery and loved shoes. Even...”
“What?  How do you know that Mrs Embridge liked expensive perfume?”
“Oh, I checked out the master bedroom once the laptops were removed to see if there was anything that could help us.  The woman had taste, albeit expensive, but taste nonetheless.”
“Oook. Just..carry on.  Let me know if you find anything worth mentioning.’
“Will do.”

  Mike stood with his hand against his hip and began rubbing his forehead, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly.  He paused to look at the dead girl whose body lay in between a three-seater leather sofa and a large rimu coffee table.  He frowned and bent down to take a closer look at her, he reached inside his jacket pulled out a pen, and used it to ease aside her bloodied hair.

“She didn’t suffer if that’s what you're wondering.”

  Without looking at Grim and continuing to remove bloodied hair from the victim’s face he asked his analyst why he thought she hadn’t suffered.

“The angle of her body suggests she was thrown with considerable force.”

  Turning and pointing toward the stairwell that spiralled upwards to the second floor that was situated on the opposite side of the large open plan lounge and back to where the body now lay.

“I’d put my money on it was from the stairwell to here judging by the way she is lying. I’m also going to bet my paycheck on the fact that she never felt a thing and was probably dead before she hit the floor.  If we were to remove her clothes we would probably see massive trauma to her body and an x-ray would show considerable damage to her skeletal structure which in turn would support my theory on how she died.  But you’d need an expert opinion from the ME to confirm that.”

  Looking at the girl’s face he felt pity and anger stir within him.  What had the world come to?  Where murdering people was now as easy as getting in a car, driving to someones doorstep and knocking on the door.  The world maybe safe from wars but there was a new pattern of destruction emerging which was far more sinister and with alarming frequency.

“Lucky for her then, huh?  Is there anything else you can tell me about the other bodies?”
“Apart from the fact they died excruciating deaths, particularly the children and Mr Embridge…no.”
“Has anyone had a chance to check out the surveillance tapes the Collective have in their possession?”
"Not yet. Madame Secretary won't release them until SIC arrive which should be tomorrow."
"Figures.  Ok, lets get the ME in here and get these bodies down to the morgue.  I don’t want to keep them here any longer than we have too."

  Grim nodded and headed toward the entranceway hall leaving his boss to his thoughts, to find the ME and his team.  Mike remained where he was, looking at the face of a girl who looked to be no more than twenty years old.  He reached out his hand and stroked the cold hard face and shook his head in disbelief.  There truly were monsters out there, and like the victims whose lives they took, belonged to some mother and father who swore, they had raised their kids proper.

  Detective Kelleher moved out of the way as the coroner’s team made their way through the carnage and walked into the kitchen to find Lowry his best detective on his team taking photographs of the two eldest Embridge children as if they were modelling for him.  As much as he was an arrogant, cocky sonofabitch, he had to respect the man for his ability to get the job done and the dedication he had to his job.  He watched as Lowry shifted positions taking shot after shot of the crumpled bodies and felt a little sickened by the smile he had on his face and because he kept saying beautiful and you're really working the camera today.  Lowry wasn’t his personal choice to join his homicide team but when the order came from the top, he had no choice but to hold the door open for him.

  Lowry looked up and smiled at his boss, holding up his camera as if to signal he was all done and walked over to the fridge opened it and began rummaging around.  Closing the door he had a bottle of diet coke in one hand and a chicken drumstick crammed in his mouth.  Kelleher was just about to walk over and say something when a voice stopped him.

“I see you’re still unable to keep your boys in check”

  Lowry looked in the direction of the voice and smiled a toothy chicken grin and winked.  As one of the trundlers was being pushed past him he stopped it, placed the chicken on the bag opened up the diet coke took a swig, then picked up the chicken and sauntered away.  Kelleher breathed deeply through his nose, his nostrils flaring as he did so. He didn’t have to make any guesses as to who the voice belonged too, it was a voice he knew or too well.  Turning around, he came face to face with a woman he had learned, would do anything to get what she wanted.

“What are you doing here?  You're not meant to be here for another 45 minutes.”
“I was excused from the briefing by Madame Secretary and asked to see if there had been any developments so far.  I think she was more concerned about whether or not you and your team had what it took to handle such a high profile investigation.”

  The note of sarcasm didn’t escape Mike as he eyed the Superintendent with contempt.  His jaw tightened as he silently grinded his teeth, his hands balling up into tight fists turning his knuckles white.  Loren smiled at him giving him a look of satisfaction.

“Oh come on Mike, don’t be like that.  No one likes a pouter.  Besides, this is bigger than you and I remember.”
“Oh wow Loren your powers of deduction are astounding.  Oh my god, you could be a mage!  Oh no wait…that’s right.  You prefer to try and kill them don’t you Loren or would you like me to call you Superintendent York?”

  He stared at her intently daring her to say he was wrong, instead she narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips into thin lines of pink flesh, inhaled deeply then smiled.

“No.  You may call me Loren Detective Kelleher.”
“Whatever, I’ve got an investigation going on here now if you don’t mind I’d like to get on with it.”

  Gregan Warren Theodore Hutch or more commonly known as Grim among his peers and colleagues came into the kitchen gasping for air and gripped onto the dining room table and tried to steady his breathing.  He looked at his boss and then at Superintendent York and cocked an eyebrow at the way they were standing, looking at each other.  To him it looked like Superintendent York was going to scratch his bosses’ eyes out, while his boss looked like he was going to shoot her on the spot.  He thought about asking if everything was okay, but the need to live a long and happy life overruled that foolish thought.

“Um, sir…you might want to come and see this.”

  Pushing past the woman standing in front of him, Kelleher approached Grim who took a couple of unsteady steps backwards.

“See what Grim?”
“Ah, I think I may have found that link you were looking for”
“What?”
“The kid sir, Sebastian?”
“What about him?”

 Rolling his eyes at his boss, he shook his head, slumped his shoulders and motioned for them to follow.

“Just come and take a look.  You too Superintendent York.  The whole time we've been here, we've looking in the wrong place.”

 All three people hurried outside and stepped through the flap of the tent that kept the boys body housed from the elements.  Two other detectives were standing inside with their arms folded just looking at the kid.  Grim looked at the Medical Coroner and waved him aside then knelt down beside the boy and began explaining himself in a more excited tone.

“You asked me inside if I had found anything to explain the tornado right and I said no?”
“Yeeaah.  I still don't see how this kid has anything to do with it or how you think we were looking in the wrong place.”
“Well sir, its not your job to think its mine, that’s what you hired me for.”

 A few chuckles came from some of those present which were cut off by the cold glare aimed at them.

“The link please?”
“Oh..right.  Sorry sir”

 Grabbing a pair of clean latex gloves from his pocket and putting them on, Grim reached out with both hands, and gently pried the boys eyelids open then motioned for the ME to shine his penlight into the kids eyes.  Both the Detective and Superintendent leaned in closer and looked at the small boy’s eyes then at each other.

“Exactly what are we looking at or for?”
“His eyes Superintendent York”
“Loren, will do.  Okay, so we are looking at his eyes, they’re very pretty, unusual colouring, but…?”
“Exactly Super..I mean Loren.  The colouring of his eyes.”
“Grim make sense will you.  What about his eyes?”

Sighing loudly while giving his boss an are you serious look, Grim wondered to himself how this man had ever gotten a job as a Detective.  A thought he was more than happy to keep to himself.

“Well, to date we haven’t made any significant leaps and bounds into the genetics of a mage as they have virtually the same gene sequencing as us except for a few variables.  We have however, found that there is a kind of hierarchy that sets some mages apart from others and since that discovery we have termed that hierarchy as a “class”. Now, it’s my belief sir that there are certain markers, which establish among the mages, where they actually sit on the hierarchal ladder. And it’s these markers which suggest that this boy was a mage of considerable power.”

 Staring in disbelief at his crime analyst Kelleher looked back down at the boy.

"Whoa Nelly now, back up a sec.  Did you just say this boy is a mage?"
"Yes sir, I did."

 Frowning at Grim, then looking back at the boy’s eyes, a thought kept nagging at the Detective about something he felt he should know or probably did know.  The only problem was he didn’t have a clue as to what it could be.  But the more he looked at the boys eyes the more prominent the nagging feeling became.  He turned his attention back to Grim and nodded for him to continue.

“Okay, say for argument sakes that this boy had lived and not died.  As he got older his power level would increase exponentially and his eye colour would also change dramatically from the silvery grey they are now to a mercurial grey.  These changes would have made it unmistakable to anyone that came in contact with the boy and if his parents had also lived even they would not have been able to deny or hide what their son was from anyone.  The genetic markers that made him what he was, would have been irrefutable, to his parents, doctors, us, even others of his kind.”

 With the creases deepening on his forehead he looked from Grim to the Superintendent who was staring at the boy with a knowing look on her face, he turned back and asked his crime analyst in a barely audible voice,

“What are you trying to say Grim?”

  Grim looked his boss in the face and answered.

“Sebastian Embridge sir…was an Arc.”

Fifty Cents part one: College and After

It wasn't Jeff's coffee that woke him up that morning so much as it was the change he got back after paying for it. He was still drowsy, doing the morning sleepwalk routine on his way to his first class. Tuesdays and Thursdays were his early days this semester, and three weeks into the term Jeff Baxter was still having a hard time waking up in time for his nine o'clock Humanities lecture with Dr. Hall. Part of the problem was the anticipation of Professor Hall's dusty monotone as he droned on about the Odyssey or the Aeneid or . . what was it this week? Oh, yes . . Poor Henry.

The other part of the problem, the larger part, by far, was Jeff's inability to make himself go to bed at a decent hour when he knew damn well he had to get up for something the next day. He'd developed this particular aversion to scheduled bedtimes as a youth basking in the glorious freedom of irresponsibility afforded only to kids on summer vacation. It stuck with him. Jeff always had the hardest time making himself go to bed. There was always something interesting going on at night when most people were nodding off, he was sure of it. Sleeping during these hours seemed like such a waste to him. Not sleeping late of a morning also was a crime in the Big Book of Life by Jeffery R. Baxter. So the fact that he was out of bed and dressed—if somewhat disheveled and not wholly conscious—was something of a miracle that bright Tuesday morning in September.

He gave the pretty brunette cashier at the Bookstore Bistro two singles for his buck twenty five tall house coffee, and as his hand closed around the coins she dropped in his palm his eyes widened in surprise. One of the coins in his hand didn't feel right. It was too large. He looked down at the two dimes and a nickel dwarfed by the shining silver profile of John F. Kennedy.

“Don't see many of those anymore, do ya?” the pretty cashier asked him. “My grandpa used to give 'em to me and my sister every Easter and we'd get two dollar bills on the Fourth of July. He always said to keep 'em cause they're rare now, but we'd always go blow it all on candy,” she finished this last with a giggle.

“Yeah,” was all Jeff could manage back being slightly more awake but still in his pre-caffeine stupor. Later he would mentally berate himself for not seizing this opportunity to flirt with the girl, something he'd been trying to work on for two and a half weeks now.

He stared down at the coin reading the date. 1978. The same age as me, he thought. How long's it been since I had one of these? He couldn't remember and realized he was just standing there like a goon, so he managed a half grin at the girl and pocketed his change then shambled off to class sipping his coffee.

The caffeine was just enough to boost him through the first fifteen minutes of Dr. Hall's decidedly undramatic account of Leprosy and Sin. Jeff felt himself dozing and let himself drift through most of the class, sometimes jerking alert as his head drooped enough to catch momentum. He wasn't worried about notes—he'd read Poor Henry in high school and again, in it's original language for a German course he'd taken over the summer.

So it was no surprise to him or anyone—including Dr. Hall, who may have been dusty and dry in his lecture delivery, but took strict mental note of those who nodded off in his class—when Jeff awoke with a start at particularly vicious nod and realized the last of the other students was shuffling out the door. Dr. Hall just smiled blandly at him as he hastily grabbed his things and bolted from the room. Adrenaline had him fully awake now, as it only can for one who oversleeps and realizes instantly that they may be late for something important. Like work. Or worse, the first day of a new job.

Or, even worse, as was Jeff's case today: a meeting with his academic advisor and his parents, who had driven three hours last night just for this occasion, to discuss the rest of his academic fate here at Southern Oregon University.

Jeff Baxter had more failings than just not wanting to go to sleep at a decent time, or get up more than an hour before noon. Jeff was extremely bright. Bright enough to have aggravated his high school teachers when he did little or no coursework but aced all of their tests. This behavior, which was a routine for him from early middle school and allowed him to scrape by with decent enough grades after flattering his teachers into giving him a little slack, did not make for a successful college career as Jeff was finding out the hard way. He was on academic probation. Not because he couldn't pass the tests, and not because he was marked down for missing classes. Teachers in college felt it was up to the students whether or not they wanted to apply themselves enough to attend class. Jeff was on academic probation because he was finding out (the hard way) that doing your coursework in college actually counted and you could not ass kiss your way into a better grade so easily here as you could at Bend High.

Jeff had sat down with his advisor, one Dr. Evelyn Percy, the English Department Head, at the start of the term, and she had laid out his options for him in black and white. She had also arranged for this meeting with his parents at that time. His father had not been pleased, nor surprised. His mother had tried to encourage him sheepishly, but deferred to his father's judgment, as she always did. Jeff, himself, had handled it as he did with most stressful situations. He ignored it.

Jeff wasn't ignoring it now. And he wasn't half asleep anymore, either. He was wide awake, wired, some of his friends would say.

He ran across the quad towards Cedar Hall, the building housing Dr. Percy's Lair. The lair in which his parents and Dr. Percy were undoubtedly sitting in an uncomfortable cloud of false pleasantries and unfelt smalltalk. Waiting for Jeff. Wondering where Jeff was. Wondering why he was late. Wondering if he was going to fuck this up like he fucked up so many things in his bright, unguided, Jeff-does-as-Jeff-pleases life.

Sweat broke out on his neck and back as he ran, part of him stressed out and frantic, but the part of Jeff that ruled Jeff's life held that part in check. That part was the part of him that presently relished in the juices now flowing through his veins. The high tension of it. This was the part of Jeff that didn't really believe in repercussions or consequences. The precocious twelve or fourteen year old boy; cocky and believing he understands far more about the world than he actually does. The naively optimistic personality that never really quite died in him as it dies in most people lucky or cursed enough to go through that phase.

Cedar Hall was not large, as some of the more modern campus buildings were. Rather a squat, square three story building perching on the edge of an oval punchbowl of lawn, surrounded by siblings, not twins, of the same ilk. Sitting like a redbrick, ivy crusted toad waiting for unsuspecting insects to wander close enough to be sucked in and digested. He was almost to it when he decided to slow down and walk, calm his breathing and compose. He mounted the cement steps and thrust his hands in his pockets as he rose. His hand found the forgotten fifty cent piece from the coffee stand and absentmindedly turned it over in his sweaty palm just as he crossed the marble threshold of that red-bricked toad.

Something shifted.

Jeff registered the shift on some level of consciousness, just not the level he was concentrating on at that particular moment. So it was that he was up on floor two and starting his ascent to floor three, where his parents and Dr. Percy would be impatiently waiting for him, before he noticed.

He stopped there on the third step up from floor two, almost a quarter of the way up to the landing. Something was not right. Something was askew.

He turned and looked out the picture window behind him at the aspen grove across the quad where the late fall wind was claiming the last of the yellow and brown leaves from their lofty perches, dragging them down to the graying grass already littered with their decomposing brethren. Then it struck him. The common area of floor two, branching off on either side in doorways to paired classrooms, was deserted. There were no students milling about, heading into the classrooms for their next lecture. No professors striding stately through the throng, ready to deliver their practiced insight. The doors to all four classrooms were ajar, revealing empty desks reeking an air of abandonment.

All of this puzzled Jeff, but he was busy thinking of how he was going to sweet talk his way out of his current predicament so he continued on up to floor three. The windows here greeted him with a blazing view of the aspen grove in full summer flower and splendor, but the two classrooms to the left and entry to the English Department's office suite on the right were as empty as the floor below.. Part of his mind registered this as something wrong, something askew, but most of it was composing a convincing apology and a sufficiently remorseful promise to do better and paid no nevermind to his familiar-but-wrong environs.

He swept down the hall towards Dr. Percy's office, growing more confident with each step. The door was cracked and the receptionist's desk, usually filled by girls or boys earning workstudy financial aid, was empty, so he kept his momentum and went right in.

“I'm so sorry everyone, I was just talking to Dr. Hall after class and didn't realize-”

This was when he noticed he was talking to no one in particular.

Mouth agape, Jeff looked at the empty office for a full twenty seconds before glancing at his watch.

It read: 00:00.

Jeff stood staring down at his watch, mouth still open, looking rather like the time when he first got stoned. Not the first time he had smoked weed, mind, but the first time smoking it had worked on him. That time he had gotten seriously baked, had sat on the park bench rocking back and forth, laughing and asking his friends to stop shaking the world, then stared catatonic at the grass with a string of drool sliding from his open mouth.

A string of drool slid from his open mouth towards his watch and he slurped it back up with a big breath and looked around the office once more. It had the feel that no one had been there in a long time. A thin sheen of dust covered the desk, the chairs, the empty bookshelves. Empty bookshelves? Last time I was here, the bookshelves were crammed. There were books stacked on the floor because there wasn't room on the shelves.

He looked out the window, at the aspen grove across the quad, where the late September breeze was delivering the first kiss of gold to the rippling green canopy. This struck him funny, for some reason he couldn't pin down and he giggled like the pretty brunette cashier who'd sold him his coffee this morning.

He kept waiting for the punchline. For his parents and Dr. Percy to burst in on him, laughing. And he'd laugh right along with them, red-faced and admitting they'd gotten him a good one and promising he'd do better in class and could we all just move on now? Like it was before, please?

But that never happened.

Jeff looked down at Dr. Percy's desk—at what had been Dr. Percy's desk the last time he was in here anyway—and the only item on it was a telephone. An old telephone. He couldn't quite recall what type of phone had been on the desk when he'd suffered through that meeting with her starkly laying out his options in a tone that tried for, but missed being caring back at the start of the term. He'd been hungover that morning and was worried more about what he was going to say to his parents on the inevitable call knew he would receive later that day than he was about cataloging the many items that had been on his advisor's desk. But he thought that the phone had been different—was almost sure of it—and he knew there had been a computer there. Hadn't she puled up his records on the computer so she could better discuss his diminishing future with him that day?

Presently, he crossed to the desk and picked up the handset from the phone and was not immediately surprised to find there was no dial tone, only a distant whine that brought to mind the sound of the trains grinding to a halt on the track that ran not far from his parent's house back in Bend. As he stood there listening to that whine, it seemed to increase in volume, as if it were growing closer, and he thought he could hear voices buried under that high-pitched squeal. A chorus of voices speaking low and quick in a tongue he could not make out.

A growing sense of alarm crept up from his stomach at this sound and it really began to hit home to him that things were definitely not right here. Things were most definitely askew.

He replaced the handset in its cradle, cutting off that unpleasant noise. As he did this, the skin on the back of his neck prickled under the drying sweat and he whirled around, sure that someone was behind him.

No one was there.

His heart started to race now, more so than it had during his panicked dash over from the Brayburn Building. Jeff was beginning to get scared now. Something was going on that made no sense at all.

A door slammed on one of the floors below him and he started then gave a nervous laugh. Relief flooded through him momentarily at this sign that he was not alone, and he turned out of the office to see if the noise was made by someone who could tell him what the hell was going on. Someone who was in on the joke.

Relief faded by the time he'd backtracked to the landing between the second and third floors, the unease he'd felt in Dr. Percy's mysteriously vacant office came back stronger than before and Jeff stopped there, wondering if he really wanted to meet whoever had slammed the door. An image arose in his mind that it might not be a person at all, the noise might have been caused by something completely alien. The atmosphere of the building certainly lent credence to the whole notion. He stood there pondering this for several moments, creeping himself out and cheering himself on by turns.

In the end, it was nicotine that decided him. He hadn't had a smoke since before his coffee, and he felt he damn sure needed one now. On the way down, he'd casually check the classrooms on floor two, and if no one was there . . . he'd just go all the way down and out and have a cigarette. Yes, have a smoke and regroup.

Resolved by his plan, he continued down to the second floor, glancing out the window and regretting his tee shirt as he saw the first few flakes of snow pattering off the glass. He took several steps towards the classrooms on his left then stopped. Snow? He looked more closely at the chilly gray sky outside. Wasn't it just sunny? It's September! Or was it? For some reason, when he tried to concentrate on the date, it just slipped away from him. He felt an odd vertigo as his mind whirled, trying to come to rest on what day it was, what season it was, but his thought process couldn't focus on the right answer.

Motion flickered in the corner of his eye and he started out of his whirlwind confusion. The doorway to the classroom was empty, but he'd seen a form duck behind the door there. Chill waves ran up his spine and he found himself possessed of no desire to chase the movement, convinced that whoever was there meant him no good. Another flicker from another room got him moving towards the stairs. This one had been accompanied by a low, barely audible laugh. An almost reptilian snicker.

By the time Jeff hit the landing he was running and he slammed out the doors of Cedar Hall into bright afternoon sunlight. His momentum carried him down the steps where he crashed into a young man just walking up the grassy slope. They both went sprawling in the grass.

“Dude! What the . .?”

Jeff scrambled up, looking around him wildly. The day looked to be the same as it had before he'd gone into Cedar Hall, albeit several hours later. Student's could be seen ambling or rushing their way around the campus. The sun shone down as it should for that time of year. He looked to the aspen grove. Green leaves with just a hint of yellow here and there rustled in a lazy breeze. He looked down at the boy he'd run into and saw it was his roommate Brian.

“Shit, sorry man,” he said, bending to grasp Brian's hand and haul him up to standing. “I didn't see you until it was too late.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Brian said a little resentfully. “What the hell were you running from? Where have you been? I was just looking for you, man, your parents are pissed!”

“I've been in Dr. Percy's office looking for them. But nobody was there. It was all emptied out and there was nobody in the building. I thought I was freaking out or something.”

“Dude, nobody's seen you since this morning. Your parents showed up at the apartment when you didn't show for your meeting and I told them I hadn't seen you since last night. I said I'd thought you were in your room when I left for class, but that I wasn't sure. They said for you to call them when I see you. They had to get back to Bend.”

“What time is it?” Jeff was afraid to look at his own watch.

“Just after four. What happened? Did you get high or something?”

“No, I . . . I guess I must have fallen asleep or something. Look, I'd better go call them. Sorry about running into you.” He walked off to find a payphone, Brian staring after him.

* * *

Jeff pulled the last box out of the trunk of his car and balanced it against his hip, using his free hand to slam the trunk shut. He trudged up to the dingy little four-plex which was to be his new home. He couldn't afford better what with the child support and alimony he had to give her every month. Truth to tell, he was not sure if he was going to be able to afford this little two bedroom on the bottom floor. But he didn't let it stress him out. He ignored it.

He went inside and set the box on a stack of others, the whole thing listing dangerously now with the added weight. So much to do, so much to unpack and put away and all he wanted was a beer and some tv. He helped himself to the former, then, sitting on the torn, second-had sofa, switched on the latter. But after fifteen minutes of channel surfing, and getting well into his second beer, he felt restless, finding nothing on to catch his interest. He glanced at the boxes lining the walls, sitting on the table. Might as well get started.

He got the last box he'd brought in and took it back over to the couch so he could go through it, not entirely sure of the contents. This box had been stuffed all the way to the back of the garage at the house he'd just left to his ex-wife and kids.

Opening the box, and his third beer, he sifted through the contents. It seemed to be full of things from his stint at college. He winced remembering the few months he'd spent trying to prove to himself and his parents that he could do something with his life. That had been over a decade ago, before he'd gotten news that Jenny was pregnant. Before his parents had died in a crash on their way home from visiting him at school. Fuck, he thought, what a waste.

He pulled out old notebooks, textbooks and pens. He found some other odds and ends, reminiscing over them, thinking he probably hadn't seen or held many of these items since just after the wedding, since before Jeff junior was born. There was an old letter from Dr. Percy to his parents, requesting a meeting with him to discuss his grades. This tickled his memory. Wasn't that why his parents had visited him the day they died? He couldn't be sure. Part of him remembered having a great time with them and going out to eat after showing them around the campus. Another part remembered . . something else. He couldn't quite reach it.

He put the letter back in the box, thinking randomly that Dr. Percy herself had died within weeks of his parents, but damned if he could remember how. Something tragic; another accident or a fast-acting disease. He began to put the other relics of his short-lived academic life back in the box as well when he noticed something shiny in the very bottom. He pulled it out. A fifty cent piece.

A cold sweat broke out on his neck and he felt chills as he stared at the coin in his hand. He remembered now. Remembered everything. But, it didn't make sense. He remembered the missed appointment, dashing through the empty building, the confusion wondering where everyone was. But that wasn't right . . because he also remembered meeting his parents and Dr. Percy. He remembered telling his parents afterward in an awkward moment that he had just heard from Jenny and that they would soon be grandparents. He was quite sure, though, that in the memory of that empty building, with the seasons outside changing as he changed floors, that Jenny had not been pregnant yet, that he had not even slept with her yet.

Jeff's mind was reeling as he tried to make sense of it all. He hadn't thought about those times in years, blocking out the memory of his parents death and his struggle to provide for his young family. Now here he sat, divorced from Jenny, sharing custody with their two sons and he held in his hand this talisman of those times. Those strange times.

“The leaves kept changing,” he said. “The leaves on the trees outside. Kept changing.”

He turned the coin over in his hand.

Something shifted.

Soooo...how we dooooin'?

Everyone doing good? Working on their stuff? I can't make you kids write; if it has turned out this isn't something you're interested in or something you can't do I can start finding more writers I can pitch this project too--or hell, you could send some my way even.

I am pretty sure PEGASUS isn't feeling it; not being much a writer but having tons of free time gave me hope. Still hoping he'll pull through.

Passenger might help us with some layout stuff; but as near as I can tell his well is dry.

Unknown and Mr Lord seem to maybe hanging in there?

In case we've forgotten the pitch:

12 part serial story (with potential to keep going for more installments); 6 written and we can start moving forward with the once a month publishing and other stuff. Other stuff I have planned is making sound files of the stories so potential fans would be able to throw the stories onto their mp3 players.

Blah, blah, blah.

[1: A Friendly Face in a Dirty Place]

She slapped the monitor but the static fuzz persisted. “Does that mean we’re not recording or that we’re recording fuzz?”
    “I don’t know. They’ve never gone out on me.”
    She sighed and gave up on the monitors. It was a horrible job but it was close to her place but she wasn’t about to take on extra problems and bring people their food. Not that she made much on her side of Dirty Pete’s.
    Pete’s was in danger of being a dive, it was just a few half assed cleanings away from making the title official. It was a two pump truck stop right off the high way that shared a parking lot with a bowling alley better known for its late night bar.
Pete’s was proud of the greasy food and seedy reputation. Heather could have cashed in by fueling that reputation and make triple the she was taking in if she was willing to work on the smoking section—but she wasn’t.
    Dirty Pete’s layout was a mirror of itself with the cash register counter right in the middle where customers both entered and exited the diner. On the left was the non smoking side; the only side that ever got sun. There was a row of high backed booths and a long, a long counter that sat thirty.
    The smoking side—the side Heather swore she would never work on, was identical except the curtains were always drawn and at night they kept the lights so low you had to squint to see your food. Only women worked the smoking end—even the counter. You got a booth if you wanted to set a twenty on table to have your waitress lean in pull down the elastic neckline of her work shirt —bra and everything, for a peek-a-boo show that went all the way to the count of five-Mississippi.
    You had to follow the rules though. Even though Heather would never have to apply them—she had to know them. She still had to seat people and if they wanted smoking, she had to ask out right if they new about the special and the special rules.
    The rules were in no particular order—hands on the table—no jerking it. No touching, period. No cameras, or course; you didn’t ask to see—you put your money on the table and she picked it up or didn’t. No soliciting and if you were too drunk there was no show. And naturally, you had to order a meal.
    Drunk could be a problem. The owner—Pete, shared a parking lot with his cousin and fellow entrepreneur; Hank. Hank ran Dirty Hanks Bowling Alley and Bar. Most nights, especially when it got this late, getting close to midnight, it was more bar than bowling alley.
    Both places ran twenty four hours. It was right off the highway, an easy place for three different towns to lend their locals to the weekend crowd at the Dirties’. Adding to the patronage were truckers that could fuel up in the back lot.
    Heather eyed the crowd—only in the blurry time between late night and early morning did if ever slow down, and sighed. Non smoking was only three fourths full. Smoking was full with a waiting list.
Their uniform included a ruffled chest shirt with an elastic bust line that could easily be pulled down. She watched girls put on wicked grins, hands just below their necks leaning in on one knee and disappearing into the high backed booths for five seconds. She tried not to hate them.
    She had worked at Dirty Pete’s for a month in a half. Heather did okay for money with her tips but every week when she collected her check, Pete remarked how much more the other girls made. She’d say no thanks and he’d say he was just savoring aloud the tragedy of wasted youth.
    Heather watched from the server’s station, tucked back where non smoking customers couldn’t see them. This is where the girls all had to sneak in their smoking—there just wasn’t time for going out back with the cooks.
    She smoked and watched as Angie slid up beside her. She produced a handkerchief and dabbed along her hair line while she smiled a hello. She found her ashtray—all the girls had an ashtray they shared with one other girl. That way the could take some quick drags, stomp her smoke out and come back for the rest when time permitted.
    Angie lived down the road at the Oakridge Trailer Court, the same as Heather. She worked the smoking end of Dirty Pete’s and was a living reminder of the consequences of saying no to temptation. Ever night, Angie would spend a special two minutes, collected five Mississippi at a time, doing something Heather wouldn’t. Angie drove a better car, had a better living room set and only worked four days a week.
    “Heather!”
    She jumped with the sort of startlement that comes from slipping into one’s thoughts without realizing it. It was Terri, their teeny-bopper hostess with crystal earrings the size of her pinky dangling. “You have a table.”
    “You shouldn’t have so much cleavage showing,” she whispered to her as she grabbed a pitcher of ice water and patter her side pocket for her pen and pad.
    Terri just smiled. “Set’s the mood.”
    “Adorable,” Heather said with a wink, knowing as soon as Terri turned eighteen she’d be bringing $2.99 egg plate specials to the smokers.
    

Truth be told, he never wanted to be a father and never really expected to be. It seemed an easy enough situation to dodge, after all. But, situations were to be handled and dealt with, not dodged or worried over.
    He didn’t know anything about kids. He glanced to the passenger seat where his six year old son Teddy sat in silence, one hand resting on the seatbelt strap stretched across his chest. He was a quiet kid, which was nice sometimes but didn’t really help ease along the learning process.
    It wasn’t the silence he had to look out for. It was that look in the little guy’s eyes. “Hey?” he said, glancing from the freeway to his son. “Hey?”
    His son answered him with a look. A bad look. “Fuck,” he said, rolling his window down and lighting up. “Yer getting that gleam in your eye, kid. Do you feel funny yet?” he asked, suddenly mad at himself for losing track of their position on highway. There was always a town coming up but how soon was suddenly a crucial variable. “Hey!” He said, getting some eye contact. “How you feeling? Funny?”
    “Yes,” he said quietly.
    “Funny?”
    “Yeah. Funny, Jim.”
    “Shit, shit, shit. You’re supposed to tell me. Remember?”
    “I’m sorry,” he looked down shamefully, closed his eyes and said even quieter, “It’s going to be big, Jim.”
    He went cold. “Big?”
    Teddy nodded fiercely and a tear rolled down his cheek.
    “That’s okay.” Jim said, putting both hands on the wheel for a second. He threw his smoke out the window, too sick to even smoke. He patted his coat where his gun was holstered against his chest. “Big is okay. We’ll handle it.”
    His son kept his eyes closed and said nothing. Jim sped up.

Heather smiled at the man as she filled his glass with ice water and again for who she assumed was his son. The young boy sat on the inside the booth, next to his father. She squinted at him—he seemed feverish.
    “He okay?” she asked. “Anything I can get for him?”
    “The water will help. We’re on the road and he’s not really taking to it.” The man had long hair slicked back, a quick, smooth top and a jumble of curls that gathered at nape of his neck on the bottom. He wore a leather coat, shades tucked in the breast pocket. All he needed was a motor cycle and he’d be the perfect cliché bad boy.
    “Do you know what you want?”
    “Yeah. You to sit for a minute.”
    She raised an eyebrow at him. Normally this is when she’d refer him to Hank’s joint, where he’d get the details on landing some time with one of the parking lot girls and she’d get a little pay bump for the send along. The kid threw that assumption off, and he didn’t have that sleazy glint in his eye she usually saw before politely telling someone to shove off.
    He smiled at her as if he had read her mind. “Hey nothing funny. He doesn’t have a mom, see? You don’t have to say anything, but he likes it when a pretty girl is around. Seems to make him feel better about things.”
    She bit her lip while her mind told her to ignore the flattery and focus on situation. The guy seemed a little greasy, but sincere. It was a slow night, too.
    “I know. I look rough. Tell ya what though, this will be for taking a chance,” he said, laying a hundred dollar bill down in the middle of the table. “My name is Jim. This little guy here is Teddy.”
    Her eyes popped and she sat down without a word, scooping up the bill and holding it up into the light where the feint shadow of the authenticator-strip could be seen. She pocketed the bill and looked at the kid. He seemed a bit paler. “You sure he’s okay?”
    “He get’s like this. Too many hours in the car. He’s not used to all the scenery moving by like it does.” He sounded like he smoked; his rough voice rumbled low.
    “Where are you headed?”
    “Me and Teddy are on a road trip to no where in particular.”
    “Really? Well, it must be important if you two are out this late.” She said, savoring the idea of just driving around and eating in restaurants. “Have you made it very far?”
    “Oh yeah. We cover a lot of miles.” He looked down at his son and asked, “Isn’t that right, Teddy-boy?”
    “Lots of miles,” the boy said quietly. He seemed to be starting to perspire a bit.
    Jim nodded as if hadn’t been sure the boy had been listening.
    “Which way are you going?”
    “All of them,” Jim said with a coy smile.
    “Can I get him some Slice or something?”
    “Slice?”
    “The drink. My mom used to make me drink Slice all day long when I was sick.”
    Jim seemed startled by that. “Did it help?”
    “Seemed to. Hey, he’s starting to shake.”
    “Really, he’s fine. This is just how he get’s for a little bit. He’ll be better before you’d like.”
    “Better,” Teddy whispered.
    “How do you decide where you’ll drive?”
    Jim pointed a thumb at his son. “I ask him which way feels lucky.”
    Teddy made her jump then; he slammed both hands down on the table, hands flat with the finger splayed wide like he was trying to somehow grip the flat surface for purchase. He hissed in a breath. He was dripping sweat now and shaking.
    Jim stood up smoothly. “Could you check his forehead for me? I check so much I doubt my judgment all to hell some days.”
    “Oh, uh, sure.” She said, scooting out of her side of the booth. After so many offers to get him something she felt obligated to press the back of her hand against the young boy’s forehead. “Oh weird, he’s freezing
Jim put his arms around Heather then and pushed her down into the booth. Her head landed in Teddy’s lap and she started to scream but Jim’s calloused hand was over her mouth before she could even start.
    “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m actually sort of saving your life.”
    She wanted to scream, bite his hand, start kicking but Teddy made a sound like a whimper, an unholy murmur the sucked all the sound out of the restaurant. The silence lasted a quick heartbeat and ended with the ground dropping out from all of them.
    Waitresses fell, trays flipped over and patrons sitting on stools flailed helplessly as they were thrown to the ground. Booths swayed as if the were made from cloth and a gust had picked up. She watched the ripple but felt none of the effects.
    Above her, Teddy was tensed, hands gripping the table and his mouth kept opening wide like he were slowly screaming words, but she didn’t hear even a hint of his voice surrounding roar. His eyes were an unexplainable blur as they darted around the room, making them seem like blurred lines rather than round pupils.
    An explosion roared out of the common window the cooks put plates of food for the servers to take away. Screams from the kitchen followed and the sound of ceramic dishes raining down onto the floor hadn’t stopped since the first shake. Time seemed strangely stretched, and thick, her thoughts refused to come to her and she was forced to observe the world gone strange.
    She was yanked to her feet, feeling the thick numbness and shock—like she had suffered an invisible slap. Jim had Teddy, who was limp now, lying draped over Jim’s side with his head resting on his shoulder. Jim held onto her wrist and pulled her after him. It was strange, the way they walked through the chaos, glass flying in all directions while they moved undisturbed and in slow motion. Everyone and everything else reeled.
    Jim stopped at the pay counter—the cash register had broken open, she stood numbly while he quickly scooped up the bills before retaking her wrist. Her hand moved at the last second, numbly entwining her fingers with his, and not thinking it odd that it seemed more comfortable this way.
    He pulled her along to his car, a two door vehicle that was shaped like a mustang, but seemed thicker built and not quite smooth enough. He pushed her into the back seat and then unceremoniously dumped Teddy into the passenger side.
    As they sped out of the parking lot, she began to realize her situation was not normal and she was definitely being too calm about things.
    “Teddy,” Jim said sharply. “Hey, Teddy!”
    “Hey,” she yelled. “Hey what are you doing?”
    “Teddy she’s coming out of it guy, c’mon!”
    “Coming out of what?” She yelled, suddenly feeling frantic. “Stop the car!” She started to lean forward between the driver and passenger seats, determined to pummel Jim until he listened. She stopped though, surprised to see Teddy’s face spring around to face her. His eyes—
    “You have gray eyes.” She said as the boy’s gaze locked with hers.
    “Sleep.” Teddy hissed so strangely she almost didn’t comprehend the word before she fell asleep.