"Cut From The Same Surly Star"

     The beginning of a story I've put on the back burner for now. 

    "Where is she? I have a message for her."
    "Juno? In the healer's' tent. I'd be careful if I were you, though."
     "I'll take my chances. It's important."
     "Suit yourself."
     Juno lay on her stomach on the cot. An old woman in a white uniform was hesitantly dabbing a strong-smelling liquid on her bare shoulder with a cloth. Juno twitched when it came directly in contact with her skin.
    "Nearly gotcher run through this time, dintcha?" the healer said, cackling to herself. Juno groaned and rolled her shoulders back.
     Nina peered in the tent for a moment, making eye contact with the old crone. She stared at the intruder and waved her free hand towards her.
    "Shoo, shoo! Get out of here! No visitin', no visitin!"
     Backing away, Nina brandished the scroll in the old woman's face. "I'm just here to deliver a message..."
     "Shoo, shoo!"
     "It's alright, Dora. Let her in," Juno said.
     The healer sighed and turned away from the tent flap. She shook her head when her eyes met Juno's.
     "If you wasn't Electra's favorite, you'd have been out on your arse by now."
     "Now, now, there's no need of that. If you can't hold your tongue long enough to do your job properly, then be off with you. I'll send someone to fetch you when you're needed next," said Juno, dismissing Dora with a wave of her hand. "Come along, Nina. She was just leaving."
    The younger woman backed away as Dora approached, muttering under her breath: “Cursed whelp, I hope yer wound festers…”
     Juno rolled over on her back as Nina withdrew into the tent, wincing when her injured shoulder made contact with the cloth.
    “Sorry about that. Dora can be a bit prickly at times. Now, what was this message you needed to give me?” she asked.
    "Here. It’s actually a letter from your sister,” Nina said, handing over the scroll. “I…guess I should be going now…”
    "No, no. That’s quite alright,” Juno said as she unrolled the parchment. “But if you have other business to attend to, I won’t stand in your way.”
   With a quick bow, Nina backed away towards the tent flap and disappeared behind it.
    "Now, Rhea, let’s see what nonsense you have to report this time…”
   Her sister’s handwriting was a childish scrawl.
Juno,
Father is dead.
  No time to explain.
Please return home immediately.
Yrs,
Rhea
   “Father…dead?” Juno said to herself. Sitting up too quickly,  she felt a stinging pain surge through her shoulder. “No…” She felt her breath catch in her throat. “No, it can’t be…”

"For Good" (2012)

Donny was failing algebra, there was no doubt about that. Ms. Joy had her hands full with the class clowns and juvenile delinquents, leaving little time for those who actually needed help. 

It was the spring of our junior year of high school. Donny and I walked to his house that afternoon, with him lagging behind me. His shoulders slumped under the weight of his backpack, even though he'd only brought his algebra textbook home with him.

"Slow down, Lissy," he said. 

My bag was much heavier, yet I felt something pulling me along. I could hear Donny whimpering with each step.

Donny lived with his mother, Marge, in a local housing project. They shared their duplex with an old woman who put tin foil on her windows. The inside of their house was far from homey, but seemed to provide them enough comfort. A statue of the Virgin Mary stood near the center of the living room, surrounded by a string of blue Christmas lights. 

"Hullo, Lissy," Marge greeted me at the door in a yellow and white polka dot housedress, fingering the wooden rosary around her neck.

Donny was two steps behind me, slouching as if he might fall over. His mother watched him slog through the door.

"What's the matter, boy?" she asked.

"Not now, Ma," he said, tossing his bag on their beat-up couch.

Marge sighed and walked back into the kitchen. I could smell the pot of macaroni cooking on the stove, boiled almost to mush: she'd be serving Kraft Dinner again.

Donny was waiting at the foot of the stairs for me, textbook in hand. He trudged up to his room, never once turning to look at me. I had to take a deep breath once I realized the task at hand. Donny needed to start over almost at chapter one every time we reviewed the material. That may have been one of the reasons my grade had risen so much over the course of the year. 

"Don't work too hard, boy!" Marge called from the kitchen.

He was sitting cross-legged on the floor when I walked in the room, glancing at the start of chapter one. He traced his finger over the explanation of algebraic expressions.

"I don't get it, Lissy. Letters and numbers together? What's the point?"

"We've gone over this before, Donny."

"Since when?"

"Since the beginning of the year."

It would seem like every time we had a review session, Donny would start crying earlier and earlier. I could see the tears welling up in his eyes as he pored over the textbook, shuddering as he went further along. By the middle of chapter one, he was a blubbering mess, huddled and shaking in the fetal position. I had to wrap my arms around him to stop him from hurting himself. 

"Knock it off, Donny!" I cried as he was about to hit his head against a bedpost. He sobbed and relaxed his body on the ground. 

"Lissy...I can't do it, Lissy..." he said, his face buried in his sleeve. I sighed and put my arms around him again, rocking him back and forth. I heard Marge's footsteps on the stairs.

"Everything alright up there?" she asked. 

"Just fine, Ma," Donny called to her, shaking his head. 

"Dinner will be ready in five if you're hungry."

I could smell the cheese sauce as well as the overcooked macaroni now, my stomach starting to turn over. Donny looked up at me and smiled.

"At least we're having Kraft Dinner," he said.

Donny ran downstairs as soon as he heard silverware clinking on the table. I followed him at a slower pace, the smell of Kraft Dinner growing stronger as I came down. Marge was ladling macaroni and cheese into three bowls on the table.

Donny was in his chair before I walked into the room. Marge sat down once she had doled out enough for each of us and looked at her son.

"You alright, boy? You look like you've been crying."

Donny's eyes were still red. He shrugged and dug his spoon in the bowl, shoveling a healthy portion into his mouth.

"I hope you're not working him too hard, Lissy. You know how he is," Marge said, gesturing at Donny with her spoon. "He's a little s-l-o-w."

Donny seemed to pay her no mind, gulping down several mouthfuls of macaroni. I looked down at my portion starting to congeal. I swallowed and tipped my spoon into the lump, setting it down a second later.

"I'm really not that hungry," I said, pushing away from the table. The display on the microwave read seven o'clock. "My mother's probably looking for me."

"Thanks for coming by," Marge said with her mouth full. Donny waved one hand up and continued to eat with the other.

It was around seven-thirty when I arrived home. My mother's car was in the driveway, only one light on in the house. I took a deep breath and opened the door. She was eating a frozen dinner at the kitchen table. 

"Where were you?" my mother asked, not looking up from her tray. "I had to work late tonight."

"Out, Ma."

"What was that?" she looked up.

"I said I was out, Ma." 

"Don't you use that tone with me, Felicity Marie. Where were you earlier?" she said, glaring at me.

"Helping Donny with his math homework."

"Humph. That Boyd boy is beyond help, " she set down her fork and rose from the table, dusting herself off. She looked over at a picture of my late father on the mantle. "You know what happens when you try to help people like that?"

My father had died two years before. He came stumbling home one winter night and attempted to climb the stairs to our second floor apartment. He hadn't accounted for the thick sheets of ice coating each step. My mother found him splayed out at the bottom of the steps the next morning, his neck broken. "Didn't look any different than he usually does." I remember her saying.

"I was a lot like you when I was your age, Felicity. Thought I could undo all the wrongs in the world. Then I met your father, and he was a lot like Donny Boyd. Now look where I am today."

"It doesn't have to be that way, Mama."

"Of course it doesn't. That's why you should stay away from that boy."

"But, Mama..."

"End of discussion, Felicity. Good night."

We went to bed in silence that night. When I looked over at my alarm clock after a fitful dream, I realized it was after one o'clock. Donny and Marge would still be up at this hour. While he may not have gotten enough sleep each night, at least he went to bed happy. 

I could hear my mother pacing back and forth across the hall in her bedroom.

"Control" (2012)

It was after two-thirty that Friday afternoon at Gorham Middle School. We had just been dismissed from seventh grade homeroom after closing announcements ran late. As soon as I got outside, I looked for my father's old Lincoln, with no luck. After standing near the doors for about five minutes, I heard a familiar clunk. 

As I got closer to the car, I realized it wasn't my father. My mother was struggling with the steering wheel, even though she'd already parked. She smiled when she saw me get in.

"Where's Dad?" I asked as I buckled up. 

"Did you have a good day at school?" she responded, putting the car in gear. 

"Dad usually picks me up from school..." I sighed.

"Felicity, I asked if you had a good day at school," she said, frowning.

"But, Mom..."

"Felicity Marie. Enough." she said as she tightened her grip on the steering wheel, staring straight ahead. It was a good ten minutes before either of us spoke again.

I bounded into the house as soon as we got home. My mother had her hands full of groceries, but refused my help. We had barely been in the house for five minutes before she watched me set my backpack on the sofa, standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips.

"Have you started your homework?" she asked, staring at my plain canvas backpack. I had barely reached for the buckle when she crossed her arms. "Felicity Marie. Now."

"Yes, ma'am."

She was about to put the groceries away when she saw me spreading my work across the table. Sighing, she put the bag aside and sat down next to me.

"Why are you always so careless?" she asked as she watched me reach for my French textbook. Shrugging, I turned to the page for the assignment. As I read the directions, she quietly rifled through my papers, shaking her head as she shook them into some semblance of order. 

It took me about half an hour to finish the brief exercise, but by that time she had already organized the considerable pile into several smaller ones. She was watching me with her head in her hand, her eyes half-closed. She sat up as soon as she noticed I was looking.

"Are you finished?" she asked, reaching for my notebook. She frowned as she traced her finger over my handwriting. "Do it again. Neater this time."

We spent the next six hours going over each assignment, my hand cramping as I stopped to redo anything she didn't approve of. She only looked away to occasionally glance at the clock on the microwave. My stomach growled, supper long since forgotten.

By midnight I could hardly keep my head up, even though she kept staring at me. Taking one last look at the time, she sighed and stood up.

"Alright. Let's continue tomorrow," she said, stepping over the grocery bags as she headed for the door. 

There was a knock at the door just as she was about to lock up for the night. She peered through the blinds and shook her head, slowly reaching for the doorknob.

My father was standing against the flimsy screen door as she opened the main one, his entire right side pressing against the mesh. A sour, yeasty smell wafted into the house. He was smiling as my mother backed up to let him in. 

"Hey, Annie baby," he sputtered, nearly falling through the screen. It took him a moment to figure out how to get back inside.

My mother stood in front of the kitchen counter, hands on her hips as he stumbled in. He tottered towards her, stretching his arms out at the height of her shoulders. 

"Aw, c'mon, Annie baby...give me a hug..." he muttered as she tried to push him away. He grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her to his chest. 

"Felicity...Felicity...go to your room!" she yelled as she continued to struggle. He turned his head and smiled at me, never letting go of my mother.

"Hi, Lissy-Doll! How ya doin', kiddo?" he panted, breathing into my mother's face. 

"Felicity, go to your room," she yelled again. "And don't say a word!"

"Aw, c'mon, Annie, can't the kid say hi to her Daddy?"

"FELICITY. Go. To. Your. Room. Now!" she gasped, as he pulled her tighter. I backed into the hallway, but kept my eye on the two of them, retreating only so far into the darkness. 

I watched as my mother shook her arm, hand clasped into a claw. The long since forgotten grocery bags lay at their feet. Just as my father was about to trip over one, she managed to pull it up and over her head. 

BONK! The bag of cans came down on his head. My mother pulled away just as he dropped to the floor. 

Dusting herself off, she stepped over his unconscious body and walked into the hallway. She looked down at me and set the bag down again. 

"Felicity Marie. I thought I told you to go to bed," she said, watching as I scrambled to my bedroom door. "I'll take care of the mess in the morning."

"Lock Up Your Daughters" (2010)

Mom and Dad drove us to Cape Cod three days after our twelfth birthday. My sister Marnie did not want to get up at four-thirty in the morning to beat the rush hour traffic, but somehow our parents managed to get her out of bed and into the car, and still got to the motel on time. 

On the second day, Dad woke me up and asked if we wanted to join him and Mom on an early morning walk on the beach. Marnie pinned my left arm to the bed and hissed in my ear, "Keep your mouth shut."

"No, Dad," she said, and with that, I heard the keys plink on the table. Marnie jumped out of bed as soon as she heard the door shut. 

"Grab my purse," she called from the bathroom. I untangled myself from the sheets and stumbled over to the suitcase, groping inside for Marnie's hideous floral-print bag. 

When I hung it on the doorknob, she grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me into the bathroom with her. She rummaged through her bag and took out two small lipstick samples, a gift from our aunt who sold cosmetics door to door.

Holding one up to the light, she squinted and looked at my face. 

"What do you think you're doing with that?" I backed away from her and nearly tumbled into the tub, getting a grip on the vinyl curtain. She uncapped the tube and pulled me up. 

"What's your shade?" she said, holding it up to my face. Dabbing it on the back of my hand, she pushed me back down. "Perfect." 

"What?" 

Before I knew what hit me, she was drawing it across my mouth and pursing my lips with her fingers.     

"Hold still!" she cried, as I squirmed to get away. When I managed to pull away from her, I looked into the mirror under the dim light. "What do you think?"

I stared at my reflection in horror as she applied her own lipstick slowly and carefully, smacking her lips together. My mouth was ringed with bright red, standing out against my pale face. Marnie's skin was darker, lessening the effect. 

She smiled at her reflection and tossed the tubes back into the floral bag, pressing it against my chest. "Carry that."

We had slept in our bathing suits with the bleak hope of going for an early morning swim. Now that Mom and Dad were gone, we were forbidden to go in the pool without supervision. Marnie threw on a black T-shirt and tossed me one of her old bleach-stained ones. It nearly fell to my knees, making me look much smaller. 

She shoved me out the door and slammed it as soon as she walked out. "Finally," she sighed, flipping her blonde bobbed hair up. I shook her purse from side to side, slyly attempting to whack her on the back of the leg.

We circled the parking lot five times before she got bored. "Let's walk to the beach," she said, looking across the street at the sand. 

I heard laughing from the second floor of the motel as she rifled through her bag. Leaning against the railing were two boys in baseball caps chatting to each other. Marnie pulled me over to the steps and sat down.

"Mar?" 

The laughter died down when they realized they'd been spotted. One of the boys looked down at me and smiled, pulling on his hat brim. I tugged at Marnie's sleeve, but she brushed me off.

"Hello," they called from the railing. Marnie shot up when she heard them.

"Hello," she purred, doing her best to sound sophisticated. I pressed her bag to my chest and looked away, thinking about how much trouble we'd get into if Mom and Dad found out we'd been talking to boys -- strange boys, at that -- and froze on the spot.

"Don't just stand there, Al. Say something!" Marnie chirped, pounding my back with her fist. I nearly hit the ground, but braced myself just in time. The boys laughed when they saw me, while Marnie lifted a hand to her lips to stifle a giggle. 

I stomped my feet a couple times and threw the floral bag to the ground, hoping that anything delicate of hers would break. I was ready to head back to the room when I heard them.

"Wait...your name is Al?" one of the boys called to me, swinging his legs below the railing. I whirled around and looked at them, nearly tripping over the bag. 

"Well, it's short for Allison," I wanted to bite my tongue, but somehow it had gotten ahead of me. Marnie stopped giggling long enough to smile in my direction. 

"And what's your name, cutie?" the older boy asked her as he put a hand on her shoulder. Her hands were raised to her mouth again. 

"Her name's 'Marnie, we are in so much trouble," I hissed, balling my hands into fists. 

"Heh. I've never met a girl named Trouble before. That's pretty cool," the older one said, gently stroking her shoulder. "So we'll just have to call you Al and Trouble from now on." 

I stomped my feet again as a warning. When I didn't see Marnie making a move, I walked away by myself. 

I'd walked around the parking lot alone for well over an hour by the time I'd heard Marnie's voice again. She was curling her finger back and forth to get me to come back to the steps where she and the two troublemakers seemed to have gotten real cozy. 

"So what have you been telling these guys, Mar?" I asked her, looking warily away from the boys in case they weren't taking the hint. She fluttered her eyelids coyly and embraced my shoulders. 

"Well, Al, we're both sixteen and going to be juniors next year, right?" she looked at them and squeezed me tight, making me squeal. "We can't wait to go to the prom together, right?"

"That's cool. Maybe we could go together," the older one chimed in. "That is, unless you two don't already have dates by then..." Marnie's vice grip tightened on my shoulders again and I squeaked.

"No, of course we won't. That would be fun..." she purred, looking into his eyes. "That is, of course, if you ever tell us your names."

They smacked each other on the back and bowed to us. "I'm Jack, and this is my younger brother, Ed."

"Charmed, I'm sure," Marnie offered her hand to Jack, who quickly seized and kissed it.

I trailed behind them to a building attached to the main office with a wooden sign over the entrance that read "Clubhouse" in faded white letters. The sliding door opened to a large room with pink sofas, a sink, and a TV set, with tables covered in stacks of magazines.

As we sat down at a white plastic table, a woman with a floppy hat peered in the door. 

"What do you kids think you're doing?!" she rasped, sliding the door to let herself in. She was about five feet tall, with a mop of bleached-blonde hair. Jack and Ed chattered on as if nothing had happened, but I cowered behind Marnie in her chair. "I thought I told you no kids under thirteen in this clubhouse?!"

Grabbing each of us by the collars of our T-shirts, she dragged us out of the building and into the parking lot, then stormed back into the clubhouse and shut the door in our faces.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Marnie hissed, slapping me on the shoulder. 

"Me?! You're the one who kept insisting we were sixteen!" 

Before I could get her back, she had stormed off to the outdoor pool, sitting against the fence. There were small children playing in the water, with their parents watching them. Marnie hooked her fingers in the chain link fence and stared at them. 

"Doesn't that look nice?" I asked her, losing myself in the sight of the cool blue chlorine. I heard her cussing under her breath. "Mar?"

"How did that witch know we were under thirteen? It's not as if Mom and Dad told her to keep an eye on us!" she turned to me with hatred in her eyes. "Did you blab to her?!"

"Mom and Dad had to say how old we were to get a discount on the room. If they said we were adults, they would have had to pay more."

"Great. Just great. Not only are we banned from the clubhouse, but the pool as well," she said, pointing to a sign that said "ALL CHILDREN UNDER 14 MUST BE ACCOMPANIED BY A PARENT IN THE POOL AREA."

Not wanting to resign ourselves to an afternoon of circling the parking lot, we headed back to the hotel room. At the door, I dug through the bag for the keys. 

"Uh, Mar...bad news."

She appeared ready to throttle me when I came up empty. 

We sat at the door for three hours, quickly falling asleep in the heat. When I heard something jangling, I looked up, only to see the old witch standing over us with a ring of keys. 

"I thought I told you--"

Before she could say any more, Mom took hold of the doorknob and gently rapped me on the head, smiling when I looked up.

"Well, well, sleepyheads. Have you been here the whole day?"

Dad took the old lady aside once she'd gotten the door open and whispered something in her ear, and she slunk off, scrunching her face up when I looked at her. 

"You two must have had quite a boring day being locked out. Why didn't you stay in here?" Dad ushered us into the cool, dark room where he flipped the light on. Marnie flopped on the bed and spread her arms out, taking up most of the room. I crawled into the space between her and the wall and fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. 

By the time we woke up, it was after dark, and Mom and Dad had ordered Chinese take-away. Marnie looked out the window to see what was going on. At the sight of glowing embers in front of the clubhouse, she grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me out the door.

"These Things Happen" (2010)

     We hadn't been to visit Uncle Pete in seven years. Even so, the place still seemed overly delicate. I had to admit, the sight of all those porcelain figures creeped me out. The boys with dogs and fishing rods, and the little girls making kissy-faces were among the worst. "Don't touch that!" Aunt Laurine had always snapped if I got too close to her stained glass lamps or the various china cabinets around the house. But now she was nowhere to be seen. 

     There were three Siamese cats sitting at the table when I walked in the room. A collie slept soundly on the floor. The table was set for six, although there were only three of us having dinner. Dad walked in shortly afterward and looked around the room, shaking his head silently. He sat down next to me and looked down at his place setting. 

     Uncle Pete walked in, smiling, and clapped me on the shoulder. "How's my favorite nephew?" He sat down and looked across at one of the cats, chuckling to himself. "I see you've met Errol, Merlin, and Slinky..." The collie yawned under the table. "And that's D'Artagnan."

     Dad shrugged and gave me a sidelong glance. "So, Bill, I heard about your divorce." Dad kept on staring at his plate and fidgeted with his fork, nodding. "Well, these things happen. We all have to move on eventually."

     My father looked over at Uncle Pete and raised an eyebrow. "If I didn't know any better, Pete, I'd say you'd be one to talk. Didn't Laurine walk out on you a few years ago?" 

     Uncle Pete rolled his eyes with a smile. "These things happen."

     Looking around, it seemed hard to tell if he'd gotten over her absence at all. The house looked exactly the same as it did the last time I'd been there -- when I was five. I couldn't even remember how many years it had been since - 

     "Seven. It's been seven years since she left." Uncle Pete slumped in his chair and looked down at his plate, fingering the gold on the edge. "Interesting that you brought it up, Bill. Tonight's kind of a special night." We looked at him. "You see, there's a bit of a parlor trick I've been meaning to try that Laurine would never have let me do. But now that she's gone..."

     Suddenly, Uncle Pete jumped up from his chair, threw his arms up, and yelled, "KITTYBALL!" The three Siamese cats launched up in a blur, and the collie jumped out from under the table, nearly upending it in the process. The cats collided with the china cabinet in the left corner of the room, with the collie's impact delivering the final blow. Rather than sit and stare in shock like my father and I did, Uncle Pete simply pulled the table further to the right and peered out into the hallway, where the four animals were laying waste to Aunt Laurine's Precious Moments doll collection. Right across from the shelves where they formerly sat, an antique Tiffany lamp teetered and shattered on the floor, the tinkling of broken glass nearly drowned out by a chorus of barking and yowling. Though we couldn't see into the kitchen, the sound of dishes clattering to the floor made it clear where they'd gone next. 

     My father stared at Uncle Pete in disbelief as the animals made their way back to the dining room and returned to their places as if nothing had happened. Uncle Pete stood up, applauded, and took a bow. "BRAVO!" he cried, causing the cats to perk up their ears. The collie barked under the table. Dad tapped me on the shoulder and grabbed his coat off the back of the chair. 

     "Uh...I think we should be going..." he stammered, pulling one arm into his sleeve. I remained in my seat as Uncle Pete slumped back down. "You think so, Ray?"

     I looked at my father and back at Uncle Pete. The tinkling of broken glass still rang in my ears. "I'd say so, Dad..."

     Uncle Pete shrugged and looked around the room one more time. Waving us off as Dad walked out of the room, he looked me in the eye and smiled. "Come back any time, guys. After all...these things happen."

"The Rats Send Their Love" (2006; 2015)

      Disclaimer: The reader should temporarily withhold his skepticism for the sake of pure entertainment.

      It's never going to be an ordinary day, Joanna thought to herself. She sipped her coffee as she stared out through the basement window. Especially when you're working at this place. 

      Unlike most papers, the Daily Quidnunc refused to publish anything that didn't have to do with Bigfoot or the Mole People. It was probably the most understaffed tabloid in the country, and not particularly fussy when it came to hiring reporters. Joanna had been working there for about five years, and had seen the best of them come and go without a word. Yet, not once had she been up for a promotion. All she'd wanted was a small corner office, a place somewhere in the chaos where she could organize her files in peace. 

What she got instead was Joaquin.

He had started off there in an internship, claiming he wanted to gain some experience in the wild world of sensational journalism. Now he was just a pesky junior reporter with a penchant for sleeping on the job. Worst of all, he still believed in what he was writing about. He'd started his first day on the job pestering her nonstop with questions like "Have you ever been abducted?" or "Ever seen Elvis in person?"

She remembered the day he'd first come into her life. 

She hadn't seen her boss, JP, at his desk when she'd arrived that morning. The oversized head editor was usually the first to arrive in the office, and the last one to leave at night. He could often be heard jingling his keys as he made his way around the office. On rare occasions, he would try to squeeze his way in through Joanna's narrow office door, usually without success. But today, something just didn't seem right. 

At first. 

"Morning, Joanna. I'd like you to meet the new guy," JP's voice boomed from outside the doorway. 

"New guy? We haven't had any new hires in eight months," Joanna said. "This I gotta see." She stood up from her desk, staggering over to him on wobbly legs. 

"Say hello to Joaquin, our new intern," JP said as he backed away from the door. A scrawny-looking kid in a dress shirt and slacks emerged from behind him. His back was slumped as he kicked at the ground.

Chuck Taylors. Real professional.

A slap on the back from JP sent him flying towards her. They collapsed in a heap on the office floor. Joanna dragged herself out from under him by her elbows. She sat up as far as she could, the middle of her back hitting a small box against the wall. Looking down, she saw Joaquin's head resting on her stomach. He gave a sheepish grin as their eyes met. 

"Get off of me!" she yelped, wriggling out from under him. He pushed himself back up on his feet and steadied himself in the doorway. 

"Aw, come on, Joanna,  you know the kid didn't mean it," JP said, throwing an arm around Joaquin's shoulder. "Anyway, you two still haven't been properly introduced. C'mere."

Joanna rose to her feet and brushed herself off. She looked up at him again with her eyes narrowed. He was much taller when he stood up straight. JP could hardly reach up to his shoulders at his full height. 

"Joaquin, this is our feature writer and reporter, Joanna Martin," JP said with a flourish. "She's our longest-serving reporter so far. How long has it been now, Joanna?"

"Two and a half years," she said, putting her hands on her hips. "Mind letting me out? I need to make some copies."

JP and Joaquin backed away from the door as she approached them. She could feel the intern's eyes boring into her as she passed. 

Can this kid even talk? He's really starting to creep me out. 

As if on cue, the copy machine began beeping and flashing its warning lights as soon as Joanna approached it.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Paper jam in drawer three. What else is new?" she mumbled to herself as she knelt down to check it. "This thing is possessed, I swear."

"Talking to the office machinery again, eh?" JP boomed from above her. "You've been working too hard, Joanna. Maybe it's time you took a couple days off?"

She blew a strand of hair off her face and looked up at him. "Not with the way things are now, I can't."     

"Aw, come on. How bad can it be?" he asked. She rolled her eyes as she scanned the nearly empty office.

"Look around you, JP. Do you see anybody else in here? I may be the feature writer, but my title might as well be 'chief cook and bottle washer' for all I do around this place."

He took a quick glance around and shrugged. "I guess you've got a point."

Save for Joanna's office and JP's desk, the Daily Quidnunc seemed practically deserted. Joaquin hung back in the doorway where he'd been left, his hands firmly lodged in his pockets.

"Anything I can do to help out?" JP asked.

"Well, you could give our resident Casanova the boot, for a start," she said.

Johnny Hostile. Mr. Sexual Harassment himself. He'd scared off more secretaries and female interns over the years than Joanna could remember. Johnny had never exactly been JP's golden boy, but they'd forged an uneasy truce over the years. He'd spew his venom onto the printed page to make money for the paper, and in exchange, JP would let him alone. It didn't always work out in favor for both sides, of course. But when Johnny's name alone was enough to sell hundreds of papers, there was little room for argument.

"Um..." JP said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Let's not be too hasty there. Maybe we could start by...training Joaquin to help you out?" 

"The intern? He just started! How much help could he possibly be?" she asked as she glanced towards Joaquin. He still hadn't budged from the doorway. "JP, I highly doubt some smart-alecky college kid is gonna be able to lighten my workload, especially a goofball like that one. He hasn't even said a word to me!"     

"Calm down, calm down!" JP said, raising his hands in the air. "You gotta give the kid a little credit. He's already graduated, for one thing."

"From where, Clown College?!" 

"Joanna!"

"Alright, alright, I guess I'll give him a chance," she said as she shuffled her papers together. JP smiled and clapped her on the back.

"Atta girl!"

She made a hesitant beeline towards her office. Joaquin smiled and looked her right in the eye.

"Okay, kiddo. Looks like you're stuck with me," she said. "First things first. Any questions?"

She felt a shiver go down her spine when he gave her a toothy grin.

"Great!" he said, clapping his hands together. "There are so many things I've been dying to ask you!"

"Sure, fire away," she said, edging back into her desk chair."Have you ever been abducted by aliens?" 

"Excuse me?" 

"I mean, have you ever had a close encounter with extraterrestrials?

"I don't think I can answer that with a straight face."

"Okay, never mind the aliens. Ever seen Elvis?"    

"Hoo boy." 

"No, no. no, wait! Have you ever - "

Never mind, I take it all back. This kid CAN talk...

Within two years, Joaquin had been promoted to junior reporter. Despite this, he and Joanna still had to share an office.

It was now the end of the quarter, and she had yet to come up with a story. In between filling in for a columnist who had taken a permanent vacation, and replying to letters from people who had obviously failed to read the disclaimer on the front page for some reason, she just hadn't the time. She knew she couldn't expect much help from Joaquin.

"Feet off the desk, please," she swiped at him as his sneakers just brushed the keyboard. "Aren't you supposed to be working?"

"What, answering letters?" he asked. "Like you'd actually expect me to believe this stuff wasn't real."

"Dear concerned New Yorker," she read aloud as she typed. "Yes, indeed, there are chemicals in the sewer that are transforming flushed pets into mutants. The giant rats send their love." Joaquin nearly tumbled off the desk in a heap.

"You know, for someone who doesn't believe in this stuff, you have a pretty good sense of humor," he croaked. "The giant rats send their love.' That's priceless!"

Just then, JP walked in through the door. Unable to fit through the door frame, he stuck his nearly non-existent neck in and smiled.

"You two crazy kids coming up with ideas? I'd better hope so. Otherwise, we may have to let one of you go. Sales have been down seventy-five percent since Johnny Hostile flew the coop," he said with a chuckle, and a not-so comical chin droop. Joaquin remained fixated on him, while Joanna just sat there shuffling her papers.

"We'll be right on it, JP," she muttered. "Matter of fact I've got it all lined up with that guy who claims that his garden gnomes are secretly watching him when he's asleep."

Joaquin looked over at her once JP had managed to dislodge himself from the doorway.

"He's something else, isn't he?"

"Listen, Boy Wonder, we've got some serious work to do here. I don't have time to hear you making cracks about the one person your paycheck depends on. Move it."

Joaquin grumbled and reluctantly turned around to face his desk. Voyeuristic lawn ornaments were the last thing on his list of priorities, but money was money. Hell, he could even be the next Johnny Hostile, if he ever found out who that was.

"What's on the agenda?" he asked.

Joanna sighed and reached for her Rolodex. "Well, assuming I can get Gnome-Boy to cooperate..." she said, earning a giggle from Joaquin. "Assuming that much, we'll have to go take a look at the property, gather the facts -"

"Maybe get a few good shots of some creepy gnomes..." he trailed off with a slight smirk. "Whaddya say, huh?"

She was rubbing her temples as she rifled through the yellowed pages of the index. "I think I feel a migraine coming on...Here we go, Mr. Crosby. Had him down here as 'Kook With The Lawn Gnomes'..."

Joaquin pounded his desk.  His laugh was like a sea lion's bark.

Rolling her eyes, Joanna pulled out the dog-eared card and reached for her desk phone. She gave him her best death glare as she dialed Mr. Crosby's number and waited for him to pick up.

"He-he-hello?" he said. "Wh-who's there?"

"This is Joanna Martin, Mr. Crosby. You remember, from the Daily Quidnunc? I wanted to speak with you about your little...problem." There was an audible gasp on the other line.

"Please...not so loud. I think they're...t-tapping the phones now, t-too..." Joaquin was doing his damndest to keep from sputtering with laughter.

"Alright, Mr. Crosby. Is this a bad time for you?" she said in a whisper. Joaquin snickered as he watched her roll her eyes. 

"N-nno...I think they're...a-asleep...for now..." he said. "What did you want t-to know?"

"I don't even know where to start..."

The next day...

"It's worse than I thought," said Joanna, taking care not to slam the car door too hard.     

JP had insisted they take his car to visit Mr. Crosby. The Lincoln Town Car was at least twenty-five years old, a rust-colored behemoth of a vehicle likely to break down (in more ways than one) without warning. It had taken a great deal of begging, threatening and bribing to convince Joaquin to even get in the thing. 

"Are we there yet?" he squeaked from the floor of the backseat. Joanna carefully opened the back door to let him out.

"Yeah. You gotta see this," she said. She pointed to the ranch house before them. Most of the white paint on its front had peeled off. 

"Holy -" Joaquin was blinded by something reflecting off the house. "What the hell was that?"

"Tin foil," Joanna said

"What? Where?"

"Tin foil. Look, in the windows." She shaded her eyes just before pointing towards them.

"Damn... What do you think it's all for? Keeping the aliens out or something?" Joaquin asked.

"Get real, Mulder. That's not what we're here for. At least, not this time," Joanna let out a heavy sigh as she rolled her eyes. "Huh? What are you staring at now?"

He was hypnotized by something on top of the house.

"Whoa...Is that a security camera up there?" he said. "I know you said this guy was out to lunch, but that's just..."

"Watch it. I think it's motion-activated. Don't move a muscle unless you want to be caught on Gnome-Boy's Candid Camera." They ducked into the doorway . 

"Should I ring the -WHOA!" Joaquin leaned against the door, pushing it open. He tumbled into a heap on the floor. "Watch your step." 

"Nice landing, Boy Wonder." Joanna stepped over him and looked around. "Let's get down to business."

It was almost completely dark inside the house, save for the glow of an old, flickering TV set. A squat figure sat in front of it, blocking the bottom of the screen. There were a number of old, empty pizza boxes piled up nearby. A cloud of flies buzzed in a far off corner of the room.

"Damn, what died in here?" Joaquin said, earning him a smack on the forearm. "Are you sure we're even in the right house?"

"It's at the same address Mr. Crosby gave me over the phone," said Joanna with a shrug.

"And you believed that lunatic? Sheesh, and you call me naive."

"Shh. I think I hear something."

"W-who is it? W-who's th-th-there? Are you w-with th-th-them?" a voice called out. "G-get ba-ba-back if you are! I'm armed with a b-b-bat!"

Joaquin nearly doubled over as Joanna whapped him on the back of the head.

"Is that you, Mr. Crosby? It's Joanna Martin from the Daily Quidnunc. I'm here with my... associate to discuss what we talked about on the phone yesterday," she said. "Is this a bad time?"

"N-no...You just took me by...surprise...I guess," he said. "P-please p-pardon the m-mess..."

"No worries," Joanna said, waving her hand dismissively. She shot Joaquin a warning glare over her shoulder as they headed for the center of the room. "Can you tell me how this all started?"

Crosby shuddered. "It all s-started when I b-bought the house about s-six months ago..." he began. Joanna and Joaquin picked up their notepads, eager to begin.

Crosby talked almost nonstop for a straight half hour, only needing some prompting from Joanna when he began to digress. Joaquin elbowed her when he noticed their subject was beginning to fall asleep.

"Mr. Crosby? You're drifting off again." He shuddered.   

"I haven't slept in weeks," he croaked. "They're out there... Watching... Waiting..."

"Guy's a regular fruit loop, " Joaquin whispered. Joanna elbowed him sharply in the ribs. 

"I can tell this whole ordeal has taken quite a toll on your health," she said. Crosby sat up, his eyes half-open.  

"I'm n-not always like this, you know," he said. His voice was steadier and even-paced. They both leaned in closer to hear him. "Between the stress and l-lack of sleep, I'm b-basically a wreck."

Joanna nodded, tapping her pen on her notepad. Joaquin was just trying to look serious

"Let's try to wrap this up, then," she said. "Do you have any evidence to support what you think is going on?" She turned to look Joaquin in the eye, but he was fixated on Crosby. 

"I-I...do have..the tapes," Crosby muttered. "I-I've been f-filming them since I m-moved in..."

"Guess that explains the cameras..." said Joaquin. He nodded to Joanna.

"Oh! You have security tapes? Do you think we could see them?"

Crosby stiffened. "N-no! Absolutely not. I can't allow you to do that."

"But why not? That may be the best evidence we have to support your story!" said Joaquin. Crosby stood up, fists clenched at his sides.

"It's b-bad enough I thought to g-get you people involved in the first place! Now y-you've gone t-too far!" 

"Mr. Crosby, be reasonable! We're only here to help you! All I need is to borrow those tapes for a couple days to back up your case. If you won't give them to us, there's nothing more we can do for you," Joanna said.

"I d-don't care! N-not if my life is in p-peril! If I g-give them t-to you, he'll g-get me! Now get out!"

"Who? You never mentioned your life was in danger!" Joaquin screamed.

"I'LL NEVER TELL YOU! NOW GET OUT!" 

"Okay, okay!" Joanna shrieked, nearly tripping over Joaquin. 

    "I am NOT getting back in that death trap!" Joaquin said, laying spread-eagled on the hood of the Town Car. "I would rather be strapped to the ROOF than ride in that thing again!" 

"Good idea. I'll have to keep that in mind," said Joanna. Giving a good yank on the door handle, she groaned as it creaked open. "Now get in."

He was shaking all over as she pulled him into the front seat. 

"God, I need a good, strong cup of coffee after that. What say you, Joaquin? Joaquin?"

"Diner. Down the street..." he wheezed.

 

"How can you stomach that dreck?" Joaquin asked. He gagged as he watched her stir the thick concoction with her spoon. "Yech."

"Working at this job, you get used to it after a while," she said. "Hey, don't give me that look! Spend enough time in shitty diners and you'll be willing to drink almost anything."

"Well, that's something to look forward to."

"Anyway, let's get down to business. What's your take on the Crosby situation?"

Joaquin scrunched up his forehead as he looked down into his milkshake. "I dunno. Guy definitely seems like he fell out of the crazy tree, but at the same time, I kinda want to believe him. He seemed genuinely scared when we asked about the security tapes. That has to mean something, right?" 

"Get real, Joaquin. The guy hasn't had a good night's sleep in a while and his mind's playing tricks on him."

"Aw, come on! There's gotta be something weird out there keeping him up at night. Guy's got too many bats in the belfry to be just your run-of-the-mill insomniac."  

"I know one thing. Without those tapes, we've got nothing."

"Chances Are" (2006)

It was nearly dawn when they began to draw blood. An hour later the sedatives would set in, the body slowly becoming heavy and still. It was the same routine day in and day out, without fail. Even still, their numbers continued to dwindle.

It was by no means an accommodating pen, only about nine feet square, with a bed and basin provided. The walls were made of soundproof glass to block out the screams of those soon to give birth, perhaps even right on the hard concrete floor of their cells. Those who did were the lucky ones.

She sank into the cot as though it were quicksand, hoping they would pass her by this time around. The young nurse was due in the room any minute now, now with the needles. Look at the chart, mark off the dosage. Decide it was time and off you would go. Simple as that. Most of the others were too drugged out of their minds to notice anything going on. 

Following fertilization, there would be no further procedures done on the unborn child. Like spun glass, the product of the whole delicate operation was not to be handled until finished. Once born, the child became public property, available to anyone at the highest offer. Childless couples paid dearly for what they could not create themselves. This statement, of course, was kept out of the donor contract. 

She'd been seduced by the Perfect Child Campaign long ago, their images of happy, smiling infants with their families plastering nearly every wall of the city. Of course, it was done anonymously, and the real mothers would never see their newborns again -- but it was for the cause of a greater good, she'd been told.

The pamphlets were left in nearly every doctor's waiting room in town, leaving anxious young women with uncertain futures to wonder: "The Perfect Child...is modest, intelligent, and above all, a model citizen. Never again will you see a delinquent festering in the streets, decreasing the value of everything around him. Nor will you ever hear tales of parents neglecting their children -- those unfit for candidacy have been humanely put down. Only those with slightly below average intelligence are deemed fit for Parenthood. Sterilized, but properly able to care for a child financially and emotionally, they provide a loving home and low expectations so as not to make the child feel intellectually rushed. Studies have proven that students who are pushed too far academically early on in life are more likely to burn out and fail to complete their education. With reduced pressure, they are able to cope better socially and educationally..."

The child inside her was stirring, sensing its time was near. To deliver naturally would mean slow, painful death. But that was it anyway, wasn't it? Serving a one-time purpose only to be replaced. Simple as that.

She could hear the nurse scurrying down the hallway, making up for lost time. A stretcher rolled out from two rooms ahead. The doctor followed shortly behind, his heavier footsteps hitting the floor. Laughter interspersed with the screaming.

The due dates for each birth were determined by ward. Whether slightly off by a day or an hour, the women were slowly brought to birthing rooms one by one, and the process was finished. Rooms thus emptied, repeat ad nauseam. 

The lights would be dimming shortly. Few procedures were performed at night, despite the fact that it made things so much easier. The women were calmer and less likely to act out, coupled with the extreme dose of sedatives administered in the blood. But after that last attack on a young nurse, it was too much to risk.

She waited until the footsteps grew louder as another nurse approached into the next room. The stretcher creaked under the weight of its occupant, though the hallway was oddly silent. Night was usually a quiet time around the high-security ward, but this was different. No screams, no struggles, even though she had never heard them close enough to her room. The doctor and nurse were the only ones stirring, it seemed.

"Thank God that one's over. How much longer do we have to take care of them?"

"Eight hours, unfortunately."

"Damn. Let's just give her an overdose and call it an accident."

"You really think that's allowed?"

"Of course not. But who cares? They all die off quicker than we're able to keep up, anyway."

So that's what they'd been doing. Though each of them had built up a certain tolerance to the chemical, there was only so much that could be done before the damage was irreversible. Fatal, even.

"What happens when they die, anyway?"

"Simple. You're new around here, aren't you?"

"I know enough not to care too much."

"Once the IV's in, heart starts beating faster and faster as the contractions speed up. By the time the kid's out, she's had a severe heart attack and by then it's too late to save her. Body gets cremated; kid gets shipped off to a loving home, end of story."

"Nice way of putting it."

It was a known fact that the medical staff cared little about the mothers' fates. There was little use for any intelligent woman outside of passing on her ideal traits to the next generation. Anything above one-forty was considered danger-level; high IQs were more capable of breaking out of the center than others. She'd tested at least one-sixty on the mandatory test given before she was put into service as a vessel. If she'd lied about her results, she could have faced execution right there on the spot before even being prepped for in-vitro.

Their footsteps drew even closer. By now, the occupant of the next room over was dead, same as she soon would be if she didn't take action. Arching her back to move as quickly as possible, she craned her neck towards the door. They'd be coming any time now.

The nurse's high-pitched laughter rang out in the hallway. Under the fading light, she could just barely make out the whiteness of their uniforms, glaring obscenely as her eyesight began to fail. Almost as if on cue, the tranquilizer was taking effect. They were getting closer. 

Summoning what little strength she had left, she tossed herself onto the floor. The stretcher rolled into the room just as she managed to crawl under the bed.

"Did we already take care of this one?"

"They're supposed to be in order. I don't think so."

Spying the white ankle only a few feet away, she reached out and grabbed it. With a shriek, the nurse came toppling down.

"What the hell?!" 

The doctor ran through the doorway, sidestepping his fallen assistant.

She sunk her teeth into the nurse's ankle, albeit slowly, so as not to draw blood. 

"Do you really want to do this?" the nurse whimpered, looking under the bed. 

Growling, then a loosening of the grip. She backed away as the mother recoiled, her arms drawn to the height of her abdomen. The infant was stirring again; it was nearly her time. With a final shudder, she let go.

He returned moments later. Tracing a path under the bed, he could hear her growling. The nurse jumped to her feet. He put his arm around her shoulders, and they quickly exited the room.

By the time they managed to get the other side  of the ward, it was nearly too late. He had locked the door to the room, and in a rage, she had thrown herself against the glass.

It couldn't wait until morning. Though the nurse sat there shivering, watching nervously through the glass, he wasn't convinced. The mother lay under the bed, her head lolling around. Unrestrained, she was more of a danger to herself, but what did it matter? She'd be dead soon, anyway.

"Do you really know what you're getting into? You could get yourself killed..."

She shuddered, the coffee mug placed down on the table. He tapped on the glass.

"Don't you see? Over time, this experiment will lead to the number of super-intelligent children born that will exceed that of their averagely intelligent parents? Every bit of damage the human race has done to itself will slowly be reversed. We can't afford to let her die. The child she has would be worth too much on the market to pass up. She was tested as what, one-eighty? Sure, they may look all the same when they're on the verge, but think of the possibilities. It's worth the risk."

"Did you see the way she was thrashing? No child could survive that. Chances are, even if it does live, it wouldn't survive the night."

"That makes it even better. Any infant that strong would be worth ten of me any day."

The ward had nearly been emptied by the time they returned. She was asleep, the sedative finally taking its effect. Though it had been dulling her sensory perception the entire time, it was only at this moment she'd finally succumbed. It took the both of them to pull her out from under the bed, and a third had to be called over to get her onto the stretcher. Moments later, she was strapped to the bed.

"There now, isn't that better?"

Sticking the IV into her arm, he nodded to the nurse to lift her feet into the stirrups. Her eyes half-open, she stared up at the ceiling, expecting death to come swiftly.

"She's stable, Doctor. Forty milliunits per minute and rising."

Her heart was beating incredibly fast now. Her temple were throbbing as she strained to keep focused, the two of them standing over her. Barely able to struggle, she looked straight up at the ceiling. 

There was no epidural. The nurse watched steadily as she began contraction.

"Dilation should begin any time now."

Within minutes, the woman's body was wracked with pain. Her head thrown back, chest heaving, she screamed. Straps fastened around her wrists, she undulated wildly in the middle of the bed. 

Finally, the nurse reeled back as she reached her hands towards the birth canal. Pounding against the table, she saw as the infant crowned and slowly reached forward.

"It's a boy."

The mother gave one final push to expel the umbilical cord and was still. 

He threw his mask down. She swabbed his forehead as the body was taken away, the child taken off to the side.

"Mark time, twenty-three hours, fifty-seven minutes."