At first I thought this would be easy, but then I realized it might border on painfully repetitive. After all, New Year's resolutions are made at new year, which meant all my stories would be set at the same time, and that seemed kinda lame. I tried switching up universes to give things a little variety, and I think combining Riley's birthday wish with Asia's new year's resolution was a nice touch. Possibly the best thing that came out of this week is that I finally came up with a decent end to the Carolyn-verse. That made me very, very happy. The juxtaposition of Bob's new year's resolutions when he's fresh off the end of his relationship with Carolyn to Carolyn's resolutions after she's married Bob were pretty powerful (or so I like to think), and even though this is a fractured universe, it's one that, in its fractured state, is done. I suspect that sometime down the road I'll come through and finish it off properly, like the fractured universe I started in high school. Maybe that's what I'm doomed to do - write fractured universes left and right and let them simmer before I come back to them years later.
This is precisely the sort of writing revelation that M&M is meant to inspire.
A few finishing notes on the Carolyn-verse: in my head, the story ends like this - Bob and Carolyn get married. Carolyn continues working as a lawyer, but she retires from heavy business litigation and becomes an estate planner. Bob goes back to school and gets his teaching degree and ends up teaching English at some nice school in the south, probably Tennessee because that's where Clay is working and recording still (after an unsuccessful gander at Hollywood). Dan and Joey stay up in Calgary and Dan eventually works his way up to detective. Scott gets engaged to a girl but then breaks it off when she cheats on him, and he still works as an EMT, though he continues to write music with his brothers and on his own. Thanksgiving is always at Shelley and Dinah's, and Kevin is usually invited. The boys spend Christmases with their own families, but once in a blue moon John crashes Carolyn and Bob's Christmas. Scott ends up marrying Carolyn's law school friend Melanie.
I guess, for once, this one ends happily ever after.
Sometimes John still has to shoot people to keep Bob alive.
Showing posts with label Carolyn-verse. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Carolyn-verse. Show all posts
Monday, December 28, 2009
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Big Plans
Carolyn sat on the roof and waited for fireworks to light up the sky. Ten minutes before the show was set to start, Bob scrambled up the ladder and skimmed across the tiles to sit beside her. He was armed with a thermos and two mugs.
“Hot cocoa?” He smiled at her.
“Please.”
Once the hot cocoa was poured, Bob and Carolyn leaned into each other and clutched their mugs to absorb some of the warmth.
“Aren’t the others coming?” Carolyn asked.
“Joey hates the cold, so Dan’s trying to work his silver-tongued magic,” Bob said. “Scott and Clay will be here before too long. They’re probably trying to give us privacy or something.”
Carolyn pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth and laughed. “Even after all these years, they’re still bashful about catching us kissing. They never actually caught us in flagrante delicto, you know. I don’t know what they’re so worried about.”
“I’m sure they’re just being polite,” Bob said. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “So, what are your big plans for the new year?”
To not think about the past, Carolyn thought. To be able to close my eyes and dream of something other than felled bodies and blood on my hands. To wake without a lie on my lips. She said, “To remember to answer to Mrs. Summers.”
Just as Clay and Scott made it up the ladder, Bob leaned in and kissed her.
(243 words)
“Hot cocoa?” He smiled at her.
“Please.”
Once the hot cocoa was poured, Bob and Carolyn leaned into each other and clutched their mugs to absorb some of the warmth.
“Aren’t the others coming?” Carolyn asked.
“Joey hates the cold, so Dan’s trying to work his silver-tongued magic,” Bob said. “Scott and Clay will be here before too long. They’re probably trying to give us privacy or something.”
Carolyn pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth and laughed. “Even after all these years, they’re still bashful about catching us kissing. They never actually caught us in flagrante delicto, you know. I don’t know what they’re so worried about.”
“I’m sure they’re just being polite,” Bob said. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “So, what are your big plans for the new year?”
To not think about the past, Carolyn thought. To be able to close my eyes and dream of something other than felled bodies and blood on my hands. To wake without a lie on my lips. She said, “To remember to answer to Mrs. Summers.”
Just as Clay and Scott made it up the ladder, Bob leaned in and kissed her.
(243 words)
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Not Again; Next Year Another
Not again, Scott had told himself. Not again.
But sitting beside his brother’s hospital bed, listening to the dull roar-hiss of the machines keeping him alive, made him crave the bitter-sweet shock of absinthe and sambuca all the more.
“He’ll be all right,” Joey said in a low voice.
“He’s the best out of the four of us,” Scott said. “Trained the hardest, fought the longest, made the highest belt - he only had two more ranks to go before he made black. But he always panicked in a skirmish, and --”
Joey squeezed his shoulder.
Scott fell silent.
“How long has it been?” Joey asked.
“Nine months,” Scott said. “Since I tasted even a drop. I told myself that this year I’d make it to the one year mark.”
“How was it going?”
“At the party last night I was Designated Dave and proud of it.” Scott stood up. “Here. This seat is yours. I’m going outside for a smoke.”
“You should put cigarettes down on your new year do nots,” Joey said, but he sank down into the orange plastic chair anyway. “You’re a singer.”
Scott reached into his jacket and felt for his battered pack of smokes. He still had a neat little silver hip flask, but these days more often than not it was filled with coffee or that freaky herbal tea of Clay’s that he pretended he hated.
Scott stepped out onto the small balcony and shivered in the winter air; he’d forgone his coat like a macho idiot. When the first hit of nicotine spiked in his veins, he sighed in relief. He’d given up the worse of the two vices. Next year he’d give up another.
(283 words)
But sitting beside his brother’s hospital bed, listening to the dull roar-hiss of the machines keeping him alive, made him crave the bitter-sweet shock of absinthe and sambuca all the more.
“He’ll be all right,” Joey said in a low voice.
“He’s the best out of the four of us,” Scott said. “Trained the hardest, fought the longest, made the highest belt - he only had two more ranks to go before he made black. But he always panicked in a skirmish, and --”
Joey squeezed his shoulder.
Scott fell silent.
“How long has it been?” Joey asked.
“Nine months,” Scott said. “Since I tasted even a drop. I told myself that this year I’d make it to the one year mark.”
“How was it going?”
“At the party last night I was Designated Dave and proud of it.” Scott stood up. “Here. This seat is yours. I’m going outside for a smoke.”
“You should put cigarettes down on your new year do nots,” Joey said, but he sank down into the orange plastic chair anyway. “You’re a singer.”
Scott reached into his jacket and felt for his battered pack of smokes. He still had a neat little silver hip flask, but these days more often than not it was filled with coffee or that freaky herbal tea of Clay’s that he pretended he hated.
Scott stepped out onto the small balcony and shivered in the winter air; he’d forgone his coat like a macho idiot. When the first hit of nicotine spiked in his veins, he sighed in relief. He’d given up the worse of the two vices. Next year he’d give up another.
(283 words)
Monday, December 21, 2009
I Will Not
This year, Bob told himself, I will not think of her.
He lay in his hospital bed and stared at the IV where it hung beside its bed. Through the plastic and translucent liquid, the world beyond was concave, as if he were looking through a fishbowl. Idly, he wondered if this was what it really looked like for fish or if they constantly suffered from double vision because their eyes were on either side of their head.
The squeak of wheels on linoleum roused him from his contemplation, and he turned. A nurse - unfamiliar, if young and pretty - wheeled in a tray of food. She smiled brightly at him.
“Hey there, happy new year! Is your family coming to visit?”
“I think they said they’d come by for dinner,” Bob said. He pushed himself up into a sitting position and fidgeted with the blankets. If she’d been older and motherly, he might have let the nurse fluff his pillows and fuss over him, but she was young enough and pretty enough that Bob blushed, if only a little. He missed being able to hide behind his hair.
“That’ll be nice.” The nurse smiled at him and set the tray in front of him.
“Yeah,” Bob said. “Um...where’s Janice?”
“Home with her family,” the nurse said. “I’m low man on the totem pole, as it were, so I’m working the holiday. I’m Caroline, by the way.”
Bob felt his insides clench, but then he forced the sensation away. “It’s nice to meet you, Caroline.”
There. He’d done it. He’d said her name.
“You too. Enjoy your lunch!” And the nurse walked away.
Bob stared at the food for a long time, but he wasn’t hungry. He went back to looking at the IV bag.
(295 words)
He lay in his hospital bed and stared at the IV where it hung beside its bed. Through the plastic and translucent liquid, the world beyond was concave, as if he were looking through a fishbowl. Idly, he wondered if this was what it really looked like for fish or if they constantly suffered from double vision because their eyes were on either side of their head.
The squeak of wheels on linoleum roused him from his contemplation, and he turned. A nurse - unfamiliar, if young and pretty - wheeled in a tray of food. She smiled brightly at him.
“Hey there, happy new year! Is your family coming to visit?”
“I think they said they’d come by for dinner,” Bob said. He pushed himself up into a sitting position and fidgeted with the blankets. If she’d been older and motherly, he might have let the nurse fluff his pillows and fuss over him, but she was young enough and pretty enough that Bob blushed, if only a little. He missed being able to hide behind his hair.
“That’ll be nice.” The nurse smiled at him and set the tray in front of him.
“Yeah,” Bob said. “Um...where’s Janice?”
“Home with her family,” the nurse said. “I’m low man on the totem pole, as it were, so I’m working the holiday. I’m Caroline, by the way.”
Bob felt his insides clench, but then he forced the sensation away. “It’s nice to meet you, Caroline.”
There. He’d done it. He’d said her name.
“You too. Enjoy your lunch!” And the nurse walked away.
Bob stared at the food for a long time, but he wasn’t hungry. He went back to looking at the IV bag.
(295 words)
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
His Last Test
“You think you have what it takes to be a field handler?” The Colonel asked.
John inclined his head deferentially. “Yes sir.”
The Colonel shoved a manila folder at him. “Then prove it. Go get yourself a field agent.”
John opened the file and scanned the specs - an orphanage in Iran. No one would notice a girl go missing; girls were second-class commodities there. He closed the file and nodded, saluted once, then waited till he was dismissed.
John was never one to procrastinate, so he booked a flight as soon as he got back to his bunk in the barracks. He spent the entire flight over finagling out the details - forging passports and birth certificates, drafting an entire history for a non-existent child. As soon as John had made it out of basic and been shuttled into officer training, he’d learned about what was keeping the brass on its toes, the mysterious conundrum of The Carrier. He hadn’t wanted anything to do with it.
Apparently, his last test to prove his fitness as a field officer, was to throw himself in the middle of it.
The orphanage was on the poorer side of town. He’d considered trying to blend in as a local, but the sad truth was that no one would think twice of a foreign man purchasing a local child.
John spent seventy-two hours observing the children who shuffled in and out of the ramshackle building before he found a suitable one. The orphanage matrons called her Kalila. She couldn’t have been more than three years old, but John saw fierce intelligence in her bright green eyes. None of the matrons thought it at all significant that little Kalila could read.
John took another two hours to finish forging out his documents for his new daughter - Carolyn - and then he made his move.
Two days later he was a ranked field officer, and he was a father.
(323 words)
John inclined his head deferentially. “Yes sir.”
The Colonel shoved a manila folder at him. “Then prove it. Go get yourself a field agent.”
John opened the file and scanned the specs - an orphanage in Iran. No one would notice a girl go missing; girls were second-class commodities there. He closed the file and nodded, saluted once, then waited till he was dismissed.
John was never one to procrastinate, so he booked a flight as soon as he got back to his bunk in the barracks. He spent the entire flight over finagling out the details - forging passports and birth certificates, drafting an entire history for a non-existent child. As soon as John had made it out of basic and been shuttled into officer training, he’d learned about what was keeping the brass on its toes, the mysterious conundrum of The Carrier. He hadn’t wanted anything to do with it.
Apparently, his last test to prove his fitness as a field officer, was to throw himself in the middle of it.
The orphanage was on the poorer side of town. He’d considered trying to blend in as a local, but the sad truth was that no one would think twice of a foreign man purchasing a local child.
John spent seventy-two hours observing the children who shuffled in and out of the ramshackle building before he found a suitable one. The orphanage matrons called her Kalila. She couldn’t have been more than three years old, but John saw fierce intelligence in her bright green eyes. None of the matrons thought it at all significant that little Kalila could read.
John took another two hours to finish forging out his documents for his new daughter - Carolyn - and then he made his move.
Two days later he was a ranked field officer, and he was a father.
(323 words)
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Under Pressure
“You ready for these?” Kyle asked.
Bob blinked and looked up from his notes. “Pardon?”
Kyle twirled his pen; it was a nervous gesture, one Bob had seen him perform many times before, usually when he was talking to that girl Mary. “The exams. You know? I’m kinda scared. All the pressure.”
“Oh.” The exams. Pressure. College. Bob supposed he should have been frightened, but he wasn’t really planning on going to college. He didn’t think it would be socially appropriate, as Carolyn always put it, to inform Kyle that he had the money to go to college three times over without going into even a smidgeon of debt. “I guess the pressure is, er, bad.” For him, pressure was not screwing up a gig at an award show on national television.
Kyle arched one eyebrow. “You don’t seem that nervous.” He craned his neck to peer at Bob’s notes. “You must have studied pretty hard, then, huh?”
“I studied as hard as I could,” Bob said.
Mary paused by Bob’s desk. “Ready for this, rock star?”
Bob hated it when people called him that. “As ready as I can be.”
A sour expression marred Kyle’s nervous grin. “Right. I forgot who you are. After performing in front of thousands of screaming fans, a little test is probably nothing for you.”
“Depends on the type of test,” Bob said. He remembered sitting in the doctor’s office, waiting for the test results after his last round of chemotherapy.
The teacher burst into the room. “Take your seats. Test begins in ten minutes.”
Bob didn’t have the heart to tell his classmates that he could do music theory in his sleep. After all, he’d been writing songs since he was five.
(289 words)
Bob blinked and looked up from his notes. “Pardon?”
Kyle twirled his pen; it was a nervous gesture, one Bob had seen him perform many times before, usually when he was talking to that girl Mary. “The exams. You know? I’m kinda scared. All the pressure.”
“Oh.” The exams. Pressure. College. Bob supposed he should have been frightened, but he wasn’t really planning on going to college. He didn’t think it would be socially appropriate, as Carolyn always put it, to inform Kyle that he had the money to go to college three times over without going into even a smidgeon of debt. “I guess the pressure is, er, bad.” For him, pressure was not screwing up a gig at an award show on national television.
Kyle arched one eyebrow. “You don’t seem that nervous.” He craned his neck to peer at Bob’s notes. “You must have studied pretty hard, then, huh?”
“I studied as hard as I could,” Bob said.
Mary paused by Bob’s desk. “Ready for this, rock star?”
Bob hated it when people called him that. “As ready as I can be.”
A sour expression marred Kyle’s nervous grin. “Right. I forgot who you are. After performing in front of thousands of screaming fans, a little test is probably nothing for you.”
“Depends on the type of test,” Bob said. He remembered sitting in the doctor’s office, waiting for the test results after his last round of chemotherapy.
The teacher burst into the room. “Take your seats. Test begins in ten minutes.”
Bob didn’t have the heart to tell his classmates that he could do music theory in his sleep. After all, he’d been writing songs since he was five.
(289 words)
Twice the Test
Dan didn’t like this one bit. Being crammed into one of these tiny desks for three hours straight, a test administrator hovering the entire time. She’d sent the three of them to the farthest corners of the room from each other, casting them suspicious glances as if somehow being triplets gave them some shared psychic edge over the other students. Dan hadn’t appreciated being stared at while he stood in the doorway anyway, and even now, as he stared anxiously at a quadratic equation, he could feel the weight of multiple gazes on him, wondering.
Kevin had thought it would be a good idea to make sure all four of them were back in Calgary in time to take their final exams with the other high school students. A good learning experience, he’d said when he announced it on the bus that last night in Switzerland. Dan didn’t think that being left in a room with at least half a dozen potentially psychotic fangirls was a learning experience as much as it was a test of the triplets’ survival skills.
Scott was in a separate room with other kids in his grade. Dan missed the days when it was just the four of them scattered throughout the bus, trying to figure out how to write comfortably while their mother hovered in the background, her kitchen timer ticking ominously as it marked the time down toward the boys’ mutual doom.
The test administrator called a half hour warning.
Dan sighed and skipped to the next question; hopefully he’d have time to come back to a few at the end.
For the first time in a long time, Dan wished he’d always been like one of the other students, anonymous and faceless in a crowd. Until then, every exam would be twice the test - first the math, then the fitting in.
Dan wondered how he’d ever thought that listening to thousands of girls screaming his name every night was normal.
(328 words)
Kevin had thought it would be a good idea to make sure all four of them were back in Calgary in time to take their final exams with the other high school students. A good learning experience, he’d said when he announced it on the bus that last night in Switzerland. Dan didn’t think that being left in a room with at least half a dozen potentially psychotic fangirls was a learning experience as much as it was a test of the triplets’ survival skills.
Scott was in a separate room with other kids in his grade. Dan missed the days when it was just the four of them scattered throughout the bus, trying to figure out how to write comfortably while their mother hovered in the background, her kitchen timer ticking ominously as it marked the time down toward the boys’ mutual doom.
The test administrator called a half hour warning.
Dan sighed and skipped to the next question; hopefully he’d have time to come back to a few at the end.
For the first time in a long time, Dan wished he’d always been like one of the other students, anonymous and faceless in a crowd. Until then, every exam would be twice the test - first the math, then the fitting in.
Dan wondered how he’d ever thought that listening to thousands of girls screaming his name every night was normal.
(328 words)
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Happy Anniversary
“...What is this?” Carolyn asked.
Bob nudged her shoulder playfully. “Surely even you remember the archaic notion of the mix tape.”
It was, indeed, an old-fashioned cassette. Bob had written on the label, in his girly cursive, ‘Anniversary Mix #1’. Carolyn turned it over in her hands, ran her fingertips over the familiar contours and corners of the tape. She smiled.
“Wherever did you find it?”
“I’ll admit, I had to call around to some of my friends down at the studio, but I did it. I know you love your cranky old car and it still has a tape player, but in the event that it doesn’t work, I have this.” Bob plopped an old boom box down on the kitchen table.
Carolyn laughed. “Wow. And if we weren’t celebrating our first anniversary, I’m guessing you’d stand outside my window and hold that over your head, mix tape going at full blast?”
Bob pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “You better believe it.” He nudged the boom box toward her. “Go ahead - give it a try.”
Carolyn reached out and pressed a button cautiously, and the tape deck popped open. She slid the tape in, had to pause and turn it around, and then she pressed ‘play’.
Music flooded the speakers, familiar voices. Carolyn’s eyes lit up.
“I haven’t heard this song in years! You sounded like chipmunks.”
Bob shrugged. “We were kids. But this song reminds me of you.”
Carolyn leaned back against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her.
“I love it,” she said.
“I love you.” Bob kissed her on the cheek. “Happy anniversary.”
(274 words)
Bob nudged her shoulder playfully. “Surely even you remember the archaic notion of the mix tape.”
It was, indeed, an old-fashioned cassette. Bob had written on the label, in his girly cursive, ‘Anniversary Mix #1’. Carolyn turned it over in her hands, ran her fingertips over the familiar contours and corners of the tape. She smiled.
“Wherever did you find it?”
“I’ll admit, I had to call around to some of my friends down at the studio, but I did it. I know you love your cranky old car and it still has a tape player, but in the event that it doesn’t work, I have this.” Bob plopped an old boom box down on the kitchen table.
Carolyn laughed. “Wow. And if we weren’t celebrating our first anniversary, I’m guessing you’d stand outside my window and hold that over your head, mix tape going at full blast?”
Bob pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “You better believe it.” He nudged the boom box toward her. “Go ahead - give it a try.”
Carolyn reached out and pressed a button cautiously, and the tape deck popped open. She slid the tape in, had to pause and turn it around, and then she pressed ‘play’.
Music flooded the speakers, familiar voices. Carolyn’s eyes lit up.
“I haven’t heard this song in years! You sounded like chipmunks.”
Bob shrugged. “We were kids. But this song reminds me of you.”
Carolyn leaned back against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her.
“I love it,” she said.
“I love you.” Bob kissed her on the cheek. “Happy anniversary.”
(274 words)
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Sometimes, Sometimes
Dear Carolyn,
Another day, another dollar. Have I mentioned I hate high school? I keep my head down as much as I can, and having short hair helps, but some of the girls have recognized me, and I know that as soon as word gets out, some of the rugby players will have it out for me. I can see the way they look at me, betrayed and sad and a little star-struck. I’ve seen fans ask, on the internet, why my brothers and I don’t get back together.
They don’t know what betrayal is, do they? I spaced out in calculus today, wondering how much of what you told me was true. Is Carolyn even really your name? Were you really even from Nebraska? Obviously John wasn’t actually your foster-father, but...
It feels like my days pass in a haze of je m’en fiche and struggle. I just need to graduate, pass le bac, and go away. Do something. College, maybe? Who knows. I need to get out of this town, out of this life, find a place where no one will recognize me and where I’ll never hear your name.
Until then, homework calls.
Sometimes I still miss life on the road.
Bob closed his journal and shoved it into his bass drum, screwed the head back into place, and then headed downstairs to dinner.
Sometimes, in his dreams, Carolyn wrote back.
Another day, another dollar. Have I mentioned I hate high school? I keep my head down as much as I can, and having short hair helps, but some of the girls have recognized me, and I know that as soon as word gets out, some of the rugby players will have it out for me. I can see the way they look at me, betrayed and sad and a little star-struck. I’ve seen fans ask, on the internet, why my brothers and I don’t get back together.
They don’t know what betrayal is, do they? I spaced out in calculus today, wondering how much of what you told me was true. Is Carolyn even really your name? Were you really even from Nebraska? Obviously John wasn’t actually your foster-father, but...
It feels like my days pass in a haze of je m’en fiche and struggle. I just need to graduate, pass le bac, and go away. Do something. College, maybe? Who knows. I need to get out of this town, out of this life, find a place where no one will recognize me and where I’ll never hear your name.
Until then, homework calls.
Sometimes I still miss life on the road.
Bob closed his journal and shoved it into his bass drum, screwed the head back into place, and then headed downstairs to dinner.
Sometimes, in his dreams, Carolyn wrote back.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow
Lessons learned from yesterday: when there are fans in the foyer of the hotel, chances are they have located the service elevator, and singing your own songs at the top of your lungs on the way back from the restaurant isn’t the best way to stay incognito. It is also common courtesy to not trip your brother in the hopes that the fans catch him first.
Things to be remembered from today: Just because Dad says you’re old enough to do something doesn’t mean you should rush out and do it. Also, holding Scott’s hair back while he pukes after drinking too many beers might be legitimate grounds for demanding that he cut his hair already.
Hopes for tomorrow: Whatever is eating away at Bobby should be gone by then. He’s been moody and broody, and he won’t tell his other half what’s going on. Intervention via phone call from Mom is definitely an option. Or get Carolyn to beat it out of him.
ETA: Apparently Bob was all bent out of shape about Carolyn. He kissed her.
Why do I feel like he stabbed me in the chest?
(189 words)
Things to be remembered from today: Just because Dad says you’re old enough to do something doesn’t mean you should rush out and do it. Also, holding Scott’s hair back while he pukes after drinking too many beers might be legitimate grounds for demanding that he cut his hair already.
Hopes for tomorrow: Whatever is eating away at Bobby should be gone by then. He’s been moody and broody, and he won’t tell his other half what’s going on. Intervention via phone call from Mom is definitely an option. Or get Carolyn to beat it out of him.
ETA: Apparently Bob was all bent out of shape about Carolyn. He kissed her.
Why do I feel like he stabbed me in the chest?
(189 words)
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Living This Way
Scott stared down at the diary open on his knee, at the fragments of sentences he’d scribbled while drunk. What had he been trying to say? He scooped up his guitar and tested a few chords, then squinted down at his journal some more.
He paused, scooped up a pencil, and drew line breaks between some of the sentences and phrases.
Then, alone on the cold empty floor of his house, he began to sing.
“Wake me up and I'm tired again.
A good night’s sleep is around the bend.
I know in your arms is the only place I'll be disarmed.
I smoke to much so I'm trying to quit.
It's so hard, with no one to quit with,
Back on track with an insecure wrath.
How do I keep on living this and
Why do I keep on living this way?
I look in my diary almost every day,
See how bad life's been
And how much better things could be.
I can't face the truth ‘cause then I'd be facing you.
How do I keep on living this and
Why do I keep on living this way?”
Scott considered the diary some more, then reached out and grabbed a nearby bottle of vodka by the neck. He unscrewed the cap with his teeth, spat it aside, and then took a long pull.
After a few deep breaths, Scott picked up his guitar and tried the song again. It had sounded, oddly enough, better when he was sober. That was a good sign. He reached out and turned on the cheap little recorder he’d bought.
Once the song was done, he turned the page in his diary and considered his writing some more.
(285 words - lyrics from Kissing & Bleeding by Scott, Clint, and Bob Moffatt)
He paused, scooped up a pencil, and drew line breaks between some of the sentences and phrases.
Then, alone on the cold empty floor of his house, he began to sing.
“Wake me up and I'm tired again.
A good night’s sleep is around the bend.
I know in your arms is the only place I'll be disarmed.
I smoke to much so I'm trying to quit.
It's so hard, with no one to quit with,
Back on track with an insecure wrath.
How do I keep on living this and
Why do I keep on living this way?
I look in my diary almost every day,
See how bad life's been
And how much better things could be.
I can't face the truth ‘cause then I'd be facing you.
How do I keep on living this and
Why do I keep on living this way?”
Scott considered the diary some more, then reached out and grabbed a nearby bottle of vodka by the neck. He unscrewed the cap with his teeth, spat it aside, and then took a long pull.
After a few deep breaths, Scott picked up his guitar and tried the song again. It had sounded, oddly enough, better when he was sober. That was a good sign. He reached out and turned on the cheap little recorder he’d bought.
Once the song was done, he turned the page in his diary and considered his writing some more.
(285 words - lyrics from Kissing & Bleeding by Scott, Clint, and Bob Moffatt)
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Carrier Log
Carolyn and John didn’t keep anything from each other. They didn’t have heart-to-heart father-daughter chats or anything of the like. Carolyn kept a journal, a discreet black, leather-bound thing that gave off enough journal vibes to keep the boys away from it.
It wasn’t a journal in the strictest sense - Carolyn didn’t record her dreams or hopes. Like everything in her life, her journal was all about The Carrier.
8/17: attempted infiltration, south side stage door. Intercepted. Eliminated. Janitors called 22:45.
8/18: all secure. Carrier down with flu. Chicken noodle soup administered.
8/21: attempted retrieval, two blocks southeast of venue. Intercepted. Eliminated. Janitors called 19:04.
8/24: contact attempted by civilian female (read: fan). Interception by Agent Simon. Security reestablished at perimeter of hotel.
8/25: Orphaneer surveillance detected at mile marker 55 on I-80 eastbound. Countersurveillance established. Estimated time of strike unknown. Agent Simon dispatched to make undercover contact at gas station at mile marker 183.
8/26: attempted retrieval at hotel. Intercepted. Eliminated. Janitors called 05:15.
8/27: he kissed me.
8/28: attempted sedation via breakfast. Carrier grumpy and hungry. Orphaneer as yet undetected. Security at venue double-checked. 19:27 Orphaneer attempted retrieval. Intercepted. Wounded but not eliminated. Agent Simon on follow-up.
8/29: 03:32 Orphaneer eliminated. Janitors called 03:37. Bed-check revealed no disturbances with Carrier and siblings. (21:47 Clay kissed me. Trouble???)
9/1: all secure. (Robbie and Clay in a fight and not speaking. Potential for security breach due to angry carelessness?)
9/2: all secure. (Robbie and Clay still not speaking. Dan and Scott are catching on.)
9/3: all secure. (Robbie and Clay made up. Dan and Scott have figured things out. Need to keep Frank and Shelley out of the loop.)
9/4: attempted retrieval 23:02. Intercepted. Eliminated. (Good thing I was up late watching movies with the boys.) Janitors called 23:17. Reported to Agent Simon for medic check. Limited mobility in lower left quadrant, bruised ribs, sprained wrist. Agent Simon on high alert until healed.
9/5: all secure. (Robbie brought me hot chocolate so I would feel better after I “fell down the stairs” at the hotel.)
(376 words)
It wasn’t a journal in the strictest sense - Carolyn didn’t record her dreams or hopes. Like everything in her life, her journal was all about The Carrier.
8/17: attempted infiltration, south side stage door. Intercepted. Eliminated. Janitors called 22:45.
8/18: all secure. Carrier down with flu. Chicken noodle soup administered.
8/21: attempted retrieval, two blocks southeast of venue. Intercepted. Eliminated. Janitors called 19:04.
8/24: contact attempted by civilian female (read: fan). Interception by Agent Simon. Security reestablished at perimeter of hotel.
8/25: Orphaneer surveillance detected at mile marker 55 on I-80 eastbound. Countersurveillance established. Estimated time of strike unknown. Agent Simon dispatched to make undercover contact at gas station at mile marker 183.
8/26: attempted retrieval at hotel. Intercepted. Eliminated. Janitors called 05:15.
8/27: he kissed me.
8/28: attempted sedation via breakfast. Carrier grumpy and hungry. Orphaneer as yet undetected. Security at venue double-checked. 19:27 Orphaneer attempted retrieval. Intercepted. Wounded but not eliminated. Agent Simon on follow-up.
8/29: 03:32 Orphaneer eliminated. Janitors called 03:37. Bed-check revealed no disturbances with Carrier and siblings. (21:47 Clay kissed me. Trouble???)
9/1: all secure. (Robbie and Clay in a fight and not speaking. Potential for security breach due to angry carelessness?)
9/2: all secure. (Robbie and Clay still not speaking. Dan and Scott are catching on.)
9/3: all secure. (Robbie and Clay made up. Dan and Scott have figured things out. Need to keep Frank and Shelley out of the loop.)
9/4: attempted retrieval 23:02. Intercepted. Eliminated. (Good thing I was up late watching movies with the boys.) Janitors called 23:17. Reported to Agent Simon for medic check. Limited mobility in lower left quadrant, bruised ribs, sprained wrist. Agent Simon on high alert until healed.
9/5: all secure. (Robbie brought me hot chocolate so I would feel better after I “fell down the stairs” at the hotel.)
(376 words)
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Skeletons of their Music
Kevin found it behind the desk in his sons' old bedroom, a battered spiral-bound notebook full of scribbled lyrics, chord progressions, production notes, and doodles. It was a songbook, the heart and soul of almost ten years of songwriting. Kevin sat down and paged through the smatterings of lyrics, tracing the handwriting and knowing instinctively whose hand had written what.
He’d lost his sons somewhere along the way, and all he had left was skeletons of their music.
Kevin settled back against Scott’s old bedstead and read.
Antifreeze and aeroplanes
Killing you and killing me
Tell you what? We can fly away
She makes me touch the sky
She makes me cry
Stole my heart and made me bleed
I don’t mind when she goes
Bang Bang Boom
I open my eyes and see her face
But I want one more night
in California, one more night with you
She’s all right, but
She’s a hangover I can’t get over
I call up her machine just to hear her voice
Call the doctor - she’s in my head
Every town I pass, your name’s on the road sign
Your voice is on the wind
Tell me if I make it back there again you’ll let me in
Carolyn
You keep moving, you’re tired of the places you call “there”
You are the girl of my dreams
All alone in my room wishing that you were here
I’m going down in flames
I’ll never be the same
No hard feelings
You left me breathing
How does it feel?
I don’t want you to want me
Tonight I’ll hold you tight
but I won’t come back again
I mean
I’ll be there for you
Isn’t it funny how time seems to slip away so fast?
If life is so short
I’m going to love you endlessly
But I won’t forget
Love isn’t always going to find me
Misery is when I touch you and
You can’t feel me
When I look in your eyes
Can you see me?
I look good with my heart in my throat
I’m perilously here and
She is gone
I’d say you were a supermodel, so
Tell me why do these walls
Lead me to a place
Where I can’t think about your face
Without missing you
So raise a glass to a love long past
This one’s for you
Every drink you down you taste reluctantly
Free yourself, be yourself, or lie my pretty
Venus butterfly
I’m walking behind while
They’re banging on every door
Hoping you’re alive
What were they looking for?
When you touch me it’s like
Nothing I have ever known, but
I’ve seen you looking at him
Who do you love?
We can take our time
Take it on
Take it all in till it’s all gone
In the moonlight you’re
Wide-eyed and lovely
I want to be wild at heart but
Without you my world
came
undone
Maybe it’s wrong to have fun
(493 words)
He’d lost his sons somewhere along the way, and all he had left was skeletons of their music.
Kevin settled back against Scott’s old bedstead and read.
Antifreeze and aeroplanes
Killing you and killing me
Tell you what? We can fly away
She makes me touch the sky
She makes me cry
Stole my heart and made me bleed
I don’t mind when she goes
Bang Bang Boom
I open my eyes and see her face
But I want one more night
in California, one more night with you
She’s all right, but
She’s a hangover I can’t get over
I call up her machine just to hear her voice
Call the doctor - she’s in my head
Every town I pass, your name’s on the road sign
Your voice is on the wind
Tell me if I make it back there again you’ll let me in
Carolyn
You keep moving, you’re tired of the places you call “there”
You are the girl of my dreams
All alone in my room wishing that you were here
I’m going down in flames
I’ll never be the same
No hard feelings
You left me breathing
How does it feel?
I don’t want you to want me
Tonight I’ll hold you tight
but I won’t come back again
I mean
I’ll be there for you
Isn’t it funny how time seems to slip away so fast?
If life is so short
I’m going to love you endlessly
But I won’t forget
Love isn’t always going to find me
Misery is when I touch you and
You can’t feel me
When I look in your eyes
Can you see me?
I look good with my heart in my throat
I’m perilously here and
She is gone
I’d say you were a supermodel, so
Tell me why do these walls
Lead me to a place
Where I can’t think about your face
Without missing you
So raise a glass to a love long past
This one’s for you
Every drink you down you taste reluctantly
Free yourself, be yourself, or lie my pretty
Venus butterfly
I’m walking behind while
They’re banging on every door
Hoping you’re alive
What were they looking for?
When you touch me it’s like
Nothing I have ever known, but
I’ve seen you looking at him
Who do you love?
We can take our time
Take it on
Take it all in till it’s all gone
In the moonlight you’re
Wide-eyed and lovely
I want to be wild at heart but
Without you my world
undone
Maybe it’s wrong to have fun
(493 words)
Monday, November 30, 2009
To My Brothers
Dear Scott, Clay, and Bob,
I know you’re reading this (dirty traitors) so I will dispense with pretenses and get straight to the heart of things.
Scott was off key during the second chorus of Crazy tonight. Ordinarily that’s not a problem, but while I was helping Bob set up his drums someone - I suspect Clay - spoke to the sound engineer and had him remix my monitor so Scott’s voice was the loudest. Clay was a little off his game tonight, but then he started flirting with some girl in the first row and things might have been going well - until the forty-year-old woman behind the teenage girl thought Clay was flirting with her and --
Well, Clay has good reflexes. He ducked.
Which meant poor Bob ended up with some strange woman’s bra hanging from his crash cymbal. Luckily for Bob, he could hide his embarrassingly bright blush behind his pretty long hair.
We’re professionals, though, and none of us laughed.
Until we made it off stage.
Even Carolyn laughed. Apparently Dad had asked her to skip onto stage between songs and rescue the bra - none of the guys on crew wanted to go near it - but she was laughing too hard to be of any use.
Bob really, really needs to cut his hair.
Or at least clean it out of the drain in the shower after he’s done, because I don’t much appreciate getting his hair wound around my toe while I’m showering first thing in the morning.
From now on, when we get two rooms, I am so rooming with Clay. Let the long-haired monsters share the shower.
Adieu,
Dan
(276 words)
I know you’re reading this (dirty traitors) so I will dispense with pretenses and get straight to the heart of things.
Scott was off key during the second chorus of Crazy tonight. Ordinarily that’s not a problem, but while I was helping Bob set up his drums someone - I suspect Clay - spoke to the sound engineer and had him remix my monitor so Scott’s voice was the loudest. Clay was a little off his game tonight, but then he started flirting with some girl in the first row and things might have been going well - until the forty-year-old woman behind the teenage girl thought Clay was flirting with her and --
Well, Clay has good reflexes. He ducked.
Which meant poor Bob ended up with some strange woman’s bra hanging from his crash cymbal. Luckily for Bob, he could hide his embarrassingly bright blush behind his pretty long hair.
We’re professionals, though, and none of us laughed.
Until we made it off stage.
Even Carolyn laughed. Apparently Dad had asked her to skip onto stage between songs and rescue the bra - none of the guys on crew wanted to go near it - but she was laughing too hard to be of any use.
Bob really, really needs to cut his hair.
Or at least clean it out of the drain in the shower after he’s done, because I don’t much appreciate getting his hair wound around my toe while I’m showering first thing in the morning.
From now on, when we get two rooms, I am so rooming with Clay. Let the long-haired monsters share the shower.
Adieu,
Dan
(276 words)
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Hard On Yourself
(continued from this post)
“Why would you want to kill me?” Bob asked quietly. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer, but the words just spilled from his lips.
Carolyn shook her head. “No. No - I never wanted to kill you. Ever.” She hiccuped softly. “But - Command had orders. For if - if they ever took you, I was supposed to make sure they couldn’t...use you.”
Bob closed his eyes, swallowed hard. “I see. Would it have been quick and painless?”
“For you,” Carolyn said. “For me it would have lasted forever.” She buried her face against his neck, and she was trembling. “I’m so, so sorry, Robbie. I fell in love with you and I’m not sure I could’ve done what I was supposed to, and then, when they took you, they would have tortured you, and you would have been in pain. For hours. Because I loved you and couldn’t do it and --”
Bob hushed her gently, wrapped his arms around her and held her. “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” he said. Relief curled through his limbs, echoed by the warmth of her body against his. He swallowed hard. All these years he’d done his best to hate her, forget her, and she’d tortured herself with the knowledge that loving him was failing him. Who were these people in command, that they’d do this to a girl? Because she’d been just a girl when she’d started on the road with them.
He could still hear her words, some of the last words she’d said to him all those years ago.
“I picked up a gun when I was six years old, first killed a man when I was ten. I learned seven languages and how to withstand torture, just so I could keep you alive.”
“Carolyn,” he said, “I love you.”
“I love you too, Robbie.” Carolyn pulled back. “Now c’mon - we have to get out of here.”
She reached into her jacket and drew out a handgun.
Bob blinked, then stood up, offered her a hand. “Let’s go.”
(340 words)
“Why would you want to kill me?” Bob asked quietly. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer, but the words just spilled from his lips.
Carolyn shook her head. “No. No - I never wanted to kill you. Ever.” She hiccuped softly. “But - Command had orders. For if - if they ever took you, I was supposed to make sure they couldn’t...use you.”
Bob closed his eyes, swallowed hard. “I see. Would it have been quick and painless?”
“For you,” Carolyn said. “For me it would have lasted forever.” She buried her face against his neck, and she was trembling. “I’m so, so sorry, Robbie. I fell in love with you and I’m not sure I could’ve done what I was supposed to, and then, when they took you, they would have tortured you, and you would have been in pain. For hours. Because I loved you and couldn’t do it and --”
Bob hushed her gently, wrapped his arms around her and held her. “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” he said. Relief curled through his limbs, echoed by the warmth of her body against his. He swallowed hard. All these years he’d done his best to hate her, forget her, and she’d tortured herself with the knowledge that loving him was failing him. Who were these people in command, that they’d do this to a girl? Because she’d been just a girl when she’d started on the road with them.
He could still hear her words, some of the last words she’d said to him all those years ago.
“I picked up a gun when I was six years old, first killed a man when I was ten. I learned seven languages and how to withstand torture, just so I could keep you alive.”
“Carolyn,” he said, “I love you.”
“I love you too, Robbie.” Carolyn pulled back. “Now c’mon - we have to get out of here.”
She reached into her jacket and drew out a handgun.
Bob blinked, then stood up, offered her a hand. “Let’s go.”
(340 words)
Friday, October 30, 2009
What's To Love?
“That’s pretty harsh,” Melanie said. She and Carolyn stood on the front porch and peered through the open door to where Clay was roundly dressing down his younger brother for running out on him while they were both still supposed to be teaching school.
Bob had his head bowed and kept nodding apologetically. After a while, Clay ran out of steam, and then he stepped forward, pulled Bob into a hug.
“So,” Melanie said, “all those times I was being a crazy fangirl, you thought I was creepy obsessed, huh?”
“No.” Carolyn smiled at her friend. “Not at all. You love them just as much as I do.”
“Yeah, but you grew up with them. You love them because you know them. I love them because --”
“Because they’re talented and attractive and nice guys,” Carolyn said. “Same as me.”
Melanie floundered for a moment. “Yeah, but -- you got to kiss one of them.”
“Two, actually,” Carolyn said absently.
Melanie’s eyes went wide. “What?”
“Clay fell out of love with me a long time ago,” Carolyn said.
“What makes you say that?” Melanie asked. She peered at Carolyn and saw that Carolyn’s gaze was distant; she was lost in memory.
“He saw who and what I really am, and he couldn’t deal.”
“And Bob could?”
“I think, by then, Robbie just didn’t care.”
Melanie nudged Carolyn’s shoulder with hers. “It couldn’t have been that bad. After all, you’re just a crazy prodigy law student. What’s not to love about brains and good looks?”
Carolyn said, almost too softly for Melanie to hear, “What’s to love about lies and bloodstained hands?”
Bob crossed the den and opened the screen door. He was still blushing faintly, but he was smiling.
“Clay’s done being all big brother on me. Sorry to kick you out of your own place, Carolyn.”
The smile she offered him could have outstripped a thousand suns. “I’m just glad you two made up.” Then she turned to her friend. “C’mon, Melanie. Want to meet half of Four Times Summer?”
(339 words)
Bob had his head bowed and kept nodding apologetically. After a while, Clay ran out of steam, and then he stepped forward, pulled Bob into a hug.
“So,” Melanie said, “all those times I was being a crazy fangirl, you thought I was creepy obsessed, huh?”
“No.” Carolyn smiled at her friend. “Not at all. You love them just as much as I do.”
“Yeah, but you grew up with them. You love them because you know them. I love them because --”
“Because they’re talented and attractive and nice guys,” Carolyn said. “Same as me.”
Melanie floundered for a moment. “Yeah, but -- you got to kiss one of them.”
“Two, actually,” Carolyn said absently.
Melanie’s eyes went wide. “What?”
“Clay fell out of love with me a long time ago,” Carolyn said.
“What makes you say that?” Melanie asked. She peered at Carolyn and saw that Carolyn’s gaze was distant; she was lost in memory.
“He saw who and what I really am, and he couldn’t deal.”
“And Bob could?”
“I think, by then, Robbie just didn’t care.”
Melanie nudged Carolyn’s shoulder with hers. “It couldn’t have been that bad. After all, you’re just a crazy prodigy law student. What’s not to love about brains and good looks?”
Carolyn said, almost too softly for Melanie to hear, “What’s to love about lies and bloodstained hands?”
Bob crossed the den and opened the screen door. He was still blushing faintly, but he was smiling.
“Clay’s done being all big brother on me. Sorry to kick you out of your own place, Carolyn.”
The smile she offered him could have outstripped a thousand suns. “I’m just glad you two made up.” Then she turned to her friend. “C’mon, Melanie. Want to meet half of Four Times Summer?”
(339 words)
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Always About Him
A fist to the ribs. Carolyn could feel the ribs breaking beneath her knuckles. She followed her victim as he staggered back, spun into a roundhouse kick that probably broke his jaw. He hit the floor like a sack of potatoes, and then Carolyn had to pause, assess.
No breathing, no voices, no footsteps within hearing distance. She spun, scanned her surroundings, listening to her victim’s weak gasps all the while. No witnesses, then.
Carolyn knelt, flipped open her switchblade. Sometimes it was just easier to make it look like a mugging. Too professional a hit and local cops started asking questions, started running into bureaucratic walls. If she made this look like a proper wet job, it would be one too many in a string of hits - the Orphaneers were getting damned persistent - and some idiot with Mulder-doggedness would come sticking his nose where it wasn’t wanted.
The Orphaneer was young, Carolyn’s age, but far less experienced. She was beyond caring at this point.
“You tried to kill Robbie, you bastard,” she whispered, and plunged the knife into him once, twice, three times. Covered his mouth with her other hand while he gasped and gurgled as blood pooled into his lungs. When she stood up, she kicked the corpse for good measure.
She was halfway back to the stage door when she realized her vision was blurry from tears and her hands were still covered in blood. Carolyn stumbled into the nearest bathroom to wash her face and hands. It took a good drubbing in ice-cold water before she looked presentable again.
John’s words ricocheted through her brain.
“This is about him, Carolyn, not you.”
The blood all over her hands was always about him.
She wanted to cry some more.
And then the shrill screams of teenage fangirls broke the sound barrier.
The show had just begun.
(311)
No breathing, no voices, no footsteps within hearing distance. She spun, scanned her surroundings, listening to her victim’s weak gasps all the while. No witnesses, then.
Carolyn knelt, flipped open her switchblade. Sometimes it was just easier to make it look like a mugging. Too professional a hit and local cops started asking questions, started running into bureaucratic walls. If she made this look like a proper wet job, it would be one too many in a string of hits - the Orphaneers were getting damned persistent - and some idiot with Mulder-doggedness would come sticking his nose where it wasn’t wanted.
The Orphaneer was young, Carolyn’s age, but far less experienced. She was beyond caring at this point.
“You tried to kill Robbie, you bastard,” she whispered, and plunged the knife into him once, twice, three times. Covered his mouth with her other hand while he gasped and gurgled as blood pooled into his lungs. When she stood up, she kicked the corpse for good measure.
She was halfway back to the stage door when she realized her vision was blurry from tears and her hands were still covered in blood. Carolyn stumbled into the nearest bathroom to wash her face and hands. It took a good drubbing in ice-cold water before she looked presentable again.
John’s words ricocheted through her brain.
“This is about him, Carolyn, not you.”
The blood all over her hands was always about him.
She wanted to cry some more.
And then the shrill screams of teenage fangirls broke the sound barrier.
The show had just begun.
(311)
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Be Careful
“Do you know what your father will do to you if he finds out about this?” Shelley demanded.
Bob ducked his head, stared down at his shoes. Carolyn met Shelley’s gaze, then looked away. Shelley saw that Carolyn was looking at John, who loomed in the corner, arms crossed over his chest, wearing a very grim expression.
Finally, Bob lifted his head. “Dad doesn’t get to have a say on - on who we date. Or even if we date.”
“And when the fans ask --”
“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell,” Bob said.
John shook his head. “Don’t bother, Shelley. They’re teenagers - they’re not seeing reason.” His gaze bored into Carolyn, but she kept her head held high. “They’re too young to understand the consequences of their actions.”
Shelley flinched, surprised by the icy fury in John’s tone. He was looking at Carolyn steadily, and something passed between them, something Shelley didn’t understand. She had the feeling that John was talking about something more than the fans finding out that one of the brothers had a girlfriend.
“Did it not occur to you that we are capable of doing a cost-benefit analysis and that we found the odds, despite the risks, weigh in our favor?” Carolyn’s voice was cutting.
John shook his head. “You’re being an idiot and you know it. There are things in this world that are bigger than you two, or have you forgotten who are you? If you think you can take them on you’re more of an arrogant fool than I thought.”
Bob realized something else was going on and cast his step-mother a look. Then he stepped in front of Carolyn. “John, it’s not as bad as you think --”
John didn’t even look at him, hurling his words right at his daughter. “You have no idea what you’re risking. What we’re all risking. What I’m risking. What he is risking.”
Bob flinched. “John --”
“This is about him, Carolyn, not you,” John said, “and you’d better remember that.”
Shelley blinked when John spun on his heel and walked away. Then she turned back to Bob and Carolyn. “Just be careful, okay?”
“Dad hasn’t caught us yet,” Bob said, “and he won’t.”
“I know,” Shelley said. “But be careful.”
Bob caught on the second time and turned bright red. Carolyn was still staring after her foster-father, looking as if she’d just been hit.
(399 words)
Bob ducked his head, stared down at his shoes. Carolyn met Shelley’s gaze, then looked away. Shelley saw that Carolyn was looking at John, who loomed in the corner, arms crossed over his chest, wearing a very grim expression.
Finally, Bob lifted his head. “Dad doesn’t get to have a say on - on who we date. Or even if we date.”
“And when the fans ask --”
“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell,” Bob said.
John shook his head. “Don’t bother, Shelley. They’re teenagers - they’re not seeing reason.” His gaze bored into Carolyn, but she kept her head held high. “They’re too young to understand the consequences of their actions.”
Shelley flinched, surprised by the icy fury in John’s tone. He was looking at Carolyn steadily, and something passed between them, something Shelley didn’t understand. She had the feeling that John was talking about something more than the fans finding out that one of the brothers had a girlfriend.
“Did it not occur to you that we are capable of doing a cost-benefit analysis and that we found the odds, despite the risks, weigh in our favor?” Carolyn’s voice was cutting.
John shook his head. “You’re being an idiot and you know it. There are things in this world that are bigger than you two, or have you forgotten who are you? If you think you can take them on you’re more of an arrogant fool than I thought.”
Bob realized something else was going on and cast his step-mother a look. Then he stepped in front of Carolyn. “John, it’s not as bad as you think --”
John didn’t even look at him, hurling his words right at his daughter. “You have no idea what you’re risking. What we’re all risking. What I’m risking. What he is risking.”
Bob flinched. “John --”
“This is about him, Carolyn, not you,” John said, “and you’d better remember that.”
Shelley blinked when John spun on his heel and walked away. Then she turned back to Bob and Carolyn. “Just be careful, okay?”
“Dad hasn’t caught us yet,” Bob said, “and he won’t.”
“I know,” Shelley said. “But be careful.”
Bob caught on the second time and turned bright red. Carolyn was still staring after her foster-father, looking as if she’d just been hit.
(399 words)
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Perfectly Balanced
The voice that crackled over the intercom was several shades past displeased.
“What is the meaning of this?”
The monitor in the middle of the room hummed to life, and the lighting took a moment to fade up, but as soon as John saw the entwined silhouettes he knew what was going on. Damn Carolyn for - for what? For being human? For being a teenager?
It was grainy video, and badly shot. John’s first thought was that some rabid Four Times Summer fangirl would have given her first three children to get her hands on this footage. His second thought was that what the girl would see would break her heart. She’d see Bob and Carolyn, tucked into an alcove backstage at some random venue in some nameless foreign city, pressed up against a wall and kissing each other hungrily. Bob was still wearing his gloves, and his hair was damp with sweat where it curled at the nape of his neck - he’d just come offstage. Carolyn had one hand fisted in his t-shirt, the other buried in his hair, and her eyelashes fluttered against her cheekbone when Bob lowered his head to her throat.
“Agent Pierce was your responsibility, Agent Simon. Her job is to ensure The Carrier is secure. Not...this.”
John took a deep breath. The Generals knew they were walking a fine line when they’d decided to take on a project like Carolyn. To make her an effective agent, she had to be the perfectly balanced blend of killing machine and empathizer. Apparently she was too much of an empathizer for their tastes.
“Sir, Carolyn is ensuring The Carrier is secure. As his girlfriend, she has better access to him than ever before.” John wasn’t sure he believed his own words. “The Carrier is being protected during periods when he was usually at high-risk, such as while he’s asleep.”
“Agent Pierce’s job is to make sure the Orphaneers never get their hands on him, not to moon over him like a lovesick calf. If they take him, she must finish him. And then she will be terminated. Do your job, Agent Simon, or someone else will do it for you.”
And the intercom went dead.
(371 words)
“What is the meaning of this?”
The monitor in the middle of the room hummed to life, and the lighting took a moment to fade up, but as soon as John saw the entwined silhouettes he knew what was going on. Damn Carolyn for - for what? For being human? For being a teenager?
It was grainy video, and badly shot. John’s first thought was that some rabid Four Times Summer fangirl would have given her first three children to get her hands on this footage. His second thought was that what the girl would see would break her heart. She’d see Bob and Carolyn, tucked into an alcove backstage at some random venue in some nameless foreign city, pressed up against a wall and kissing each other hungrily. Bob was still wearing his gloves, and his hair was damp with sweat where it curled at the nape of his neck - he’d just come offstage. Carolyn had one hand fisted in his t-shirt, the other buried in his hair, and her eyelashes fluttered against her cheekbone when Bob lowered his head to her throat.
“Agent Pierce was your responsibility, Agent Simon. Her job is to ensure The Carrier is secure. Not...this.”
John took a deep breath. The Generals knew they were walking a fine line when they’d decided to take on a project like Carolyn. To make her an effective agent, she had to be the perfectly balanced blend of killing machine and empathizer. Apparently she was too much of an empathizer for their tastes.
“Sir, Carolyn is ensuring The Carrier is secure. As his girlfriend, she has better access to him than ever before.” John wasn’t sure he believed his own words. “The Carrier is being protected during periods when he was usually at high-risk, such as while he’s asleep.”
“Agent Pierce’s job is to make sure the Orphaneers never get their hands on him, not to moon over him like a lovesick calf. If they take him, she must finish him. And then she will be terminated. Do your job, Agent Simon, or someone else will do it for you.”
And the intercom went dead.
(371 words)
Monday, October 26, 2009
Kill Shot
“Do it again, Pierce.”
Carolyn took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and fired.
That voice crackled over the intercom. “With your eyes open, brat. You need to look at your target when you fire.”
Another voice broke in. “Easy, easy, she hit the bulls-eye.”
“That’s not the point,” the first voice barked. “Cadet Pierce, eyes on the target at all times, understood?”
Carolyn opened her eyes and stared at the row of targets laid out before her. Each of them was marked with specific red sections - kill shots. She’d become a sufficient marksman; now she had to learn to kill first, ask questions later.
“Again,” the voice commanded.
Carolyn closed her eyes and emptied her clip into the closest target. She could hit a heart from two hundred yards with her eyes closed, but she was tired of this. Before she could open her eyes, someone plucked the gun out of her hand, and hands clamped around her upper arms. She reacted smoothly, instinctually, sliding into the series of motions drilled into her by daily repetition, and began taking down her opponents one by one. But there were too many of them, and they were bigger than her.
When she finally managed to get herself uncuffed and the blindfold untied, she was in a four by six cement cell with only a single light. Any moment, someone would shut it off.
Then she’d have to wait until her body was desperate enough for food to make that kill shot.
(251 words)
Carolyn took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and fired.
That voice crackled over the intercom. “With your eyes open, brat. You need to look at your target when you fire.”
Another voice broke in. “Easy, easy, she hit the bulls-eye.”
“That’s not the point,” the first voice barked. “Cadet Pierce, eyes on the target at all times, understood?”
Carolyn opened her eyes and stared at the row of targets laid out before her. Each of them was marked with specific red sections - kill shots. She’d become a sufficient marksman; now she had to learn to kill first, ask questions later.
“Again,” the voice commanded.
Carolyn closed her eyes and emptied her clip into the closest target. She could hit a heart from two hundred yards with her eyes closed, but she was tired of this. Before she could open her eyes, someone plucked the gun out of her hand, and hands clamped around her upper arms. She reacted smoothly, instinctually, sliding into the series of motions drilled into her by daily repetition, and began taking down her opponents one by one. But there were too many of them, and they were bigger than her.
When she finally managed to get herself uncuffed and the blindfold untied, she was in a four by six cement cell with only a single light. Any moment, someone would shut it off.
Then she’d have to wait until her body was desperate enough for food to make that kill shot.
(251 words)
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