Fifty Seven Days

Sam got out of the car when he saw the old man walk out onto the lawn. Though they were fitted, Sam wasn’t used to the new clothes, or maybe nerves convinced him his hands weren’t busy enough. He checked his pockets three or four times before the old man saw him. Sam smiled and was unsure if it was appropriate to hide his smile or not. The stern look on the old man’s face assured him it would be best to do away with the smile and shake hands. The old man looked at Sam’s hand for a reasonable second before shaking it. Two large men were carrying a large dresser out of the old man’s front door.

“What’s going on?” Sam asked. “Are you guys moving? I thought you loved this place.”

“Actually, we’re starting renovations on the house this weekend.”

“Looks like you’re moving a lot of stuff.”

“We’re doing the whole house, practically.”

“Nice!” Sam was unsure if he was feigning interest or not. “So Paul is going to get a bigger room?”

“Paul won’t be living with us anymore.”

“Why not?”

“He’s moving out, heading to college.”

“College? Wow! That is excellent news. I can’t believe my little brother is headed out to college. I bet he’s super smart too. He was always the genius of the family.”

“We’re all very proud of him.”

“That’s going to be an awfully big house to be living alone in… what with the renovation and everything.”

“There’s going to be a guest house out back. Down the line we’re going to start renting it out.”

“Oh?”

“It’ll be a good source of income for when your mother and I retire.”

“Any prospective renters yet?”

The old man didn’t answer. Instead he looked back at the movers.

“Hold on,” the old man said to Sam. He walked over to the movers and said something to them. Sam couldn’t hear but was sure it was some detailed direction on how they were moving furniture incorrectly. Sam chuckled to himself as he thought of it. “Sorry about that, Sam.”

“That’s all right.”

It was quiet. There was a nice breeze, like the conversation was trying to take a breath.

“You look well, son. Looks like you’ve put on some weight since the last time I saw you.”

Sam put up his arms and looked down at his body. He playfully patted his gut.

“It’s good,” the old man said, “You look healthy.”

“So are you guys finally putting in a pool too?”

“Nah, it seemed like a good idea when he had kids running around the house. It actually doesn’t do much for the property value either.”

“I remember one summer it was so hot mom decided to buy us one of those inflatable pools.”

“I thought you and Paul hated that thing.”

“Yeah, it was only about two feet deep, barely 15 feet wide. It was like a glorified bathtub. By the time that cheap hose would fill it up the water would be so hot anyway, remember?”

“Just barely,” the old man answered.

“I got a job.”

“Did you?”

“Yeah, I’m working on cars again. Not a big garage, it’s just one of those drive-thru tune up and oil change deals, you know?”

“That’s something.”

“Hey, is my mom going to be coming by soon?”

“She’s actually at your aunt’s place right now. That’s where we’ll be staying until the renovation is over.”

“Oh.”

“Something wrong? I can call her right now if you need to speak with her.”

“No, that’s okay. I was just hoping that maybe I could come over for dinner tonight.”

“Maybe some other time.”

“Right.”

Sam turned towards his car and reached into his pockets for his keys. Instead he pulled out a small metallic disc and quickly turned around. He gave it to the old man who looked at it, confused at first but the hint of a smile melted his otherwise stern face. The old man examined it closely and saw the etched equilateral triangle on one side and the number “45” on the other.

“Forty five days, eh?” the old man asked.

“Yeah. Well, technically it’s been fifty seven days but with the new job I really don’t go as regularly as I used to. I figure it’s good if I aim for nice round numbers anyway, give myself something to shoot for.”

The old man gave it back to Sam.

“Actually,” Sam refused to take it back, “I was hoping to show you guys at dinner tonight. But since that’s not happening I thought I’d just show it to you now. You can keep that since I’m hoping to get the sixtieth this weekend.”

The old man insisted on Sam taking it back. Reluctant and dejected, Sam plucked the disc from his hand.

“Here,” the old man said pulling out a business card, “You can reach me at the cell phone number. Call ahead and you can tell her over dinner tomorrow.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Sam smiled and didn’t bother hiding it. His eyes glistened as he looked at the business card as if he were trying to memorize the phone number straightaway. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his car keys.

“Son?” the old man said before Sam got in his car. “Keep it up.” And with that Sam drove back home.

A Bout with Writer's Block

I certainly hope that you, the reader, would find it in your heart to forgive me for making you wait so long in between releasing stories. You see, I’ve run into what we in the trade like to refer to as writer’s block. It’s a concept that I’m sure you’re all too aware of. Even as I commit these words to the page I haven’t the foggiest notion how to tug on that proverbial narrative thread. But to make up for my long absence, I present to you, to the best of my recollection, what has occurred during my unannounced hiatus as I battled writer’s block. What follows after this paragraph is based on true events (mostly).

Poised at my desk with my wrists elevated over the delicate keys of my aged Underwood, the ideas were all but flowing. I looked behind me at the open door to my office and called for Muse. I would not be so presumptuous as to call her mine, but she had seemed to favor me lately. Perhaps I was hers. She doesn’t have a true name so one day I referred to her simply as Muse, a moniker she seemed to find amusing. This particular day her fickle heart brought her—Well, I had no idea where she was. I still don’t. This would not be a problem if I wasn’t so near to the end of a story and was in dire need of her inspiration.

Calling once again to her, I heard the rapid approach of footsteps and immediately recognized them not as Muse’s, but as my faithful friend, Jack. When I brought him home, he was a forlorn pup. Not only was he the runt of his litter at only six feet tall, but he was also born with one head. It’s a most embarrassing malady for a Cerberus but I love him all the same. There never was a more faithful hellhound. I climbed upon his back and we rode north in search of the elusive Muse.

When we were nearly to the Northern Bay there was a shriek as if someone were being attacked. Jack leapt to action before I could direct him to do so and we found the source of the incessant screams coming from the top of a dried, bare tree. One would think that such noises could not be produced by so burly a knight. A rather large dragon was lying down at the bottom of the tree but the source of the knight’s trepidation was not the fire-breathing dragon. Just behind the dragon were the lovely and brave Lady Caitlin of Livermore and her trusted saber-toothed cat, Nesbitt.

“Do you need help there, good sir?” I yelled to the knight.

“Not at all, dear scribe,” he replied with the slightest of wavers in his voice. “You just caught me in the middle of rescuing this fair damsel in distress.”

“Do I appear to be distressed?” Lady Caitlin interjected. Her voice was a stern contrast to that of the knight’s. Nesbitt approached the tree and elicited a whimper from the knight. Nesbitt was a loyal companion as one would be to a woman who, just about a year prior, had rescued the poor cat from river demons.

“I just thought you could use—” the knight added.

“How about you do less presuming about what I could use and leave these poor dragons alone?” Lady Caitlin cared a great deal about all the creatures on her land. “This one is lucky I was nearby eradicating a troll’s nest. He’s just a baby and you were just about ready to slay him. You should be ashamed of yourself!”

“I am, princess.”

“I am no princess. Now get out of here before Nesbitt realizes she’s hungry.” And with that the knight ran down the field towards his steed in the distance never to be heard from again.

“Good morning, Lady Caitlin. And to you, Nesbitt,” I greeted them.

“Are you here to ‘rescue’ me as well?”

“You’re far more experienced with that than I could ever dream of. I’m actually in search of Muse. She hasn’t been around these parts, has she?”

“Can’t say that we’ve seen any muse let alone the one you refer to as such. But then again, I’ve been busy ridding the countryside of would-be knights in shining armor. But I will surely send word if Muse is seen around these parts! I do enjoy your sonnets, good scribe!”

“Thank you so much, Lady Caitlin. I suppose I will head back home and hope Muse will aim to do the same,” I bowed, as did Jack, and we set on our way back home.

Back at my desk, I stared blankly at the curled sheet of paper within the typewriter; its words sprawled about as if looking for a conclusion that may never come. I looked at the stack of pages that yearned to be completed with the final sheet. Words that may never come lingered in the air and there was no way for me to pluck them, no way for me to even see them without my dear friend Muse. I began to wonder if there was anything I said to have offended her or driven her away. But it was futile, for even if I had realized that that was the case there was little, if anything, that could be done about it.

Perhaps, I thought to myself, I can’t undo something said to Muse but there is a very real chance I can undo something said to me. Jack lay still under my desk as I reached down to rub his belly. I tiptoed out of the office to let him sleep and snuck into the garage. What I had in mind would only take but a few moments, maybe even fewer than a few.

It was dusty in the garage. I lifted the tarp and found my most dangerous and prized possession. You would think that operating a time machine would be like riding a bike but I can assure you that it’s a much more complicated process than pedaling. Fortunately, I was a stickler for detail and kept copious notes of operating the infernal machine. I knew the exact day I wanted to visit. I was eight years old and I had just received word that I won an award for a short story contest in which my teacher had submitted one of the first things I had ever written. That was the moment I knew I wanted to become a storyteller. I had put pen to paper and have never stopped since.

I knew that if I could convince my younger self of what’s to come, then I can avoid the having to seek out Muse each time I wanted to complete a story. However, my younger self had something else in mind. I didn’t speak much. The words I used were never spoken, only written. Words of poets and novelists who were long gone before I had even been born were stacked neatly around my tiny bed. The picture books I never learned to let go of were always under my pillow. They were stories that I knew I could depend on when sleepless nights were aggressively sleepless. And then there were the comic books. There were first editions and collections that lined the shelves. Clothes were foregone to make more room for books that I would never have time read. The bound stories, paperback and hardback, surrounded the younger me like a shell that I used to protect myself from the harsh reality of adulthood.

There was no way I could convince my younger self that writing wasn’t worth it. While I basked in the warm light of nostalgia, I was dejected that I was stuck with a story in need of a resolution. And that’s where this story ends. Perhaps by the time your eyes meet these words, I will have found an ending to my novel. Who knows? Maybe Muse found it in her heart to lend me a hand one last time. But until then, I apologize, once again, for boring you with the banality of my life in the absence of writing.

The Last Visit

“Daddy?” Kayla yelled into the receiver.

“Yes, baby?”

“Can you hear me?” She took the receiver off her ear and droned into it like a microphone.

“I can hear you just fine, baby,” Jake said, laughing.

“Kayla, sweetheart, don’t put that on your mouth,” Mandy said as she pulled the receiver away from her daughter’s mouth.

“When are you coming back home?” Kayla asked.

“Soon, baby. Real soon,” Jake answered with a lump in his throat tugging at the receiver’s cord hoping it would distract him from shedding a single tear.

“Junior made you something, daddy,” Kayla said. “But he’s not here. He’s sick so he’s with Grammy and Papa.”

“That’s ok, sweetheart. How are you? Are you doing good at school?” Jake asked, twisting the cord between his fingers.

“Um,” Kayla hesitated. She was distracted by the sound of footsteps behind her. “Yeah I like school.”

“You do? You didn’t get that me from me, I can tell you that. But your mama’s real smart. You make a lot of friends there?”

“Yeah. I have a lot of friends. Mommy says that it’s ok if I can go to Johnny’s birthday party. Is that true? I can go, daddy?”

“Of course you can, baby. If your mom says it’s ok then it’s ok with me.”

“Daddy?”

“Yes, baby?” Jake was smiling now. He knew by the tone of his daughter’s voice what she was going to say next. It was always the same and it killed him every time she said it.

“I don’t know what else to talk about.”

“That’s ok, baby,” Jake reassured Kayla. “How about you give the phone to your mama?”

Kayla lifted the receiver over her head to her mother who took it and told the young girl to stay still.

“What is it, Jake?”

“I miss you.”

“You say that every time.”

“I know but,” Jake was never good with words especially when they mattered. “I told Kayla I might be coming home soon.”

“Do you know that for sure? Because you know what happened when you promised her you’d be coming home and you never did. If you saw her face when we told her that you weren’t coming home—Just don’t make promises like that; not to her.”

“That’ wasn’t my fault and you know it,” Jake said, “I told you--”

“It’s never your fault.”

“Look,” Jake said, “I don’t want to fight. I hate it when we fight. But I’m trying my best to be home soon. But you don’t know what it’s like here.”

“Junior is starting to look more like you every day,” Mandy mentioned.

“So he’s a handsome boy, is he?”

“I hope you do come home soon.”

“That means a lot coming from you,” Jake played with the cord again, “It really does.”

“It’d be good for the kids to see their daddy in person before they get too old.”

“Do you think they’ll forget about me?”

“I don’t hate you enough to let your own children forget you. It’s just better with you physically with them is all I’m saying.”

“I’m trying to get home as soon as I can. I’m doing my best, I swear.”

“I know you are. I could always tell when you’re serious about something.”

“I’m serious,” Jake answered. “I’m coming home. And once I get there I’m staying there. I can take care of Kayla. I can take care of Junior. I can take care of—”

“I’m with someone else.”

Jake wasn’t sure he had heard Mandy correctly.

“We only started going out about a month ago,” Mandy continued, “I don’t even know if it’s going to go anywhere to be honest. It’s just… It’s just—”

“No,” Jake said letting go of the cord. “Don’t worry about it. I get it. I get lonely too. I totally understand. I mean I’d be lying if I said I didn’t expect—Look, I still intend on coming home and taking care of my children. You understand that, right? You can go on with your life and I’ll start a new one on my own but I want to be part of Kayla and Junior’s life.”

“Yeah,” Mandy answered.

“Mommy,” Kayla said tugging on her mother’s skirt.

“Oh, I guess it’s time to go, Jake,” Mandy said. She picked up Kayla and put the receiver to her ear and said, “Say goodbye to daddy.”

“Bye daddy!” Kayla said smiling to both her parents. She leaned over and kissed her hand pressing her hand against the glass. Jake kissed his hand and pressed it against the glass. Kayla loved seeing how small her hand was compared to her daddy’s. “I can’t wait to see you again!”

“I love you, baby,” Jake said tugging the cord hard but trying not to show anyone. Mandy took the receiver and wanted to tug the cord too but her hands were full as she was carrying Kayla now. “I love you. And I swear this will be the last visit you make here.”

“I know,” Mandy said. On the way back to the parking lot, Kayla fell asleep in Mandy’s arms and Mandy smiled to herself knowing that that would be the last visit that her or her children would have to make.

She Smelled of Lilacs

She smelled of lilacs. Nick wasn’t sure if the scent had come from Brooke’s shampoo, perfume, her soap, or if it was just her natural scent. It was one of the last things he continued to love about his wife even after he had managed to get rid of her body without arousing any suspicion. When he arrived home the morning he had committed the deed, soon after he had rid the house of all evidence of any wrongdoing on his part, Nick scrubbed the walls and the carpets to rid the house of that fragrance. Every possible avenue that would lead investigators to Nick had been thoroughly eliminated.

One day later, patrol officers knocked on Nick’s front door responding to a noisy neighbor complaint. What they found was a mystery that they believed solved itself with the exception of one clue; a clue that they nor anyone but you, the reader, could have even called a clue. The officers in question are veteran Officer Jacobs and the rookie Officer Shepard.

“I don’t think anybody’s home,” Shepard said.

“That’s unlikely,” Jacobs responded, “The call came in less than 20 minutes ago.”

“Maybe they think we’ll go away if they keep quiet.”

“Ha, if only that were the case; the ironic thing being that that’s probably what we would have told them to do anyway.”

“I don’t want to come off sounding bored or anything,” Shepard continued as he pounded on the door again, “but is the job usually this quiet?”

“Why? Don’t tell me you’ve got an itchy trigger finger already.”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just feels like my first week has been more about wagging my finger at noisy neighbors than protecting people.”

“You’ll be fine kid. This neighborhood isn’t exactly known for its crime rate.”

Officer Shepard knocked one more time on the door and yelled out that it was the police.

“Looks like we just missed them somehow,” Jacobs commented, “Let’s go get some coffee.”

Shepard walked towards the car when he noticed a splatter of red on the wall through the window. Upon closer inspection he could just make out a hand on the floor just beyond the door that led to the study.

“Jacobs! Come here! I think there’s a body in there!”

“What are you talking about?” Jacobs ran up to the window and peeked where Shepard was pointing. “Oh, my God! Get your gun ready and let’s get this door opened.” The two officers kicked down the door, guns drawn and found that the house, other than Nick’s corpse, was empty.

“Hey, Jacobs, check this out,” Shepard said as he approached the body.

“What is it?”

“His fingers look like they’ve stiffened around the weapon. It looks like one of those letter openers.”

“I guess you can’t say your first week was totally uneventful. Hey, look at this on the desk.”

“Looks like a note.”

“Suicide note. And what looks like some sort of confession,” Jacobs added. Shepard looked over his partner’s shoulder and read the note to himself.

“Jesus… Killed his wife in cold blood and ended up killing himself out of guilt.”

“That’s what it looks like. Gruesome way to go though. I’ve never even heard of stabbing yourself to death except maybe in samurai movies. I’ll go call it in.”

“No, let me. Please. I need the fresh air anyway.”

Shepard rushed outside and nearly threw up into the hedges but instead took a few deep breaths before alerting dispatch of the corpse they had found.

“You okay, rookie?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. But I don’t think I’ll be transferring to homicide anytime soon.”

“I worked homicide a few years back. You never get used to it. There are a couple of things that were a little off though.”

“Like what?”

“The neighbors complained about the noise. I could have sworn it was just a domestic abuse call. And did you see the state of that office?”

“He was pretty messy.”

“Looked more like there was a struggle.”

“Maybe he stuck that letter opener in his chest and realized too late that he didn’t have to. I mean he did have a note and everything. Unless we don’t find the body, all the pieces seem to fit.”

“Maybe. Then there was the smell.”

“Yeah, I thought that too. I mean, I knew corpses would wreak but this one seemed different.”

“’Different’ is definitely the right word.”

The detectives from the homicide division arrived a few minutes later followed shortly by the ambulance to take away Nick’s lifeless corpse. While rookie Officer Shepard patted himself on the back for spotting the corpse on what would be a memorable first week at work, veteran Officer Jacobs finally got himself that cup of coffee. Jacobs sat in the passenger seat of the patrol car spending the rest of the day thinking about the peculiarities of that crime scene. He wondered why a man committing suicide would have to put up such a physical struggle to keep from killing himself and where such a strong scent of lilacs had come from.