Story so far, including this chapter, as a downloadable PDF: Right Click to download
“I was an angry young man, you see. Childhood abuse left and right. My mom had more stepfathers than I can remember the names of and most of them liked to talk with their hands.
“So by the time I was sixteen I had what you’d call anger issues. I lashed out a lot, I hurt people, I was an all around unpleasant person to be around. Not only did I never back down from a fight, I sought them out. I spent so much time in the hospital the nurses joked about naming a wing after me.
“Violence was the only friend I had. Hate and anger my only comfort.
“Then my mother died and that kind of snapped me out of this destructive cycle. Gave me something else to focus on. Gave me a little brother to take care of, lest he enter the system. That was not a fate I was prepared to let Jamie suffer. But I couldn’t be his legal guardian if I was spending half my time either hospitalized or in jail for assault.
“So, almost overnight, grief and responsibility accomplished what no amount of ass whipping could, they turned me away from anger, hate, and violence.
“But in the twenty years since, I’ve always thought of myself as a violent guy. A cruel man. A person who was one wrong comment away from beating another man to near death. Someone who solved his problems with violence first and last. Someone with hate and anger as his only, cold, companions.
“It wasn’t anything I thought about ‘out loud’ so to speak, it was just something I knew down to my core. It was a fact of life. Water is wet, the sky is blue, I’m an angry, hateful, violent man. It was just a grim reality.
“And then I found the mouse in my bathtub. I’d killed many mice in my teenage years. We were poor and they were everywhere, so it was nothing for me to crush one’s fragile little skull under my boot. I even enjoyed it a little. So when I found the mouse trapped in my bathtub a couple months ago, his fate was sealed. Poor bastard must have been walking along the edge, trying to get from one counter over to the other counter. Must have smelled something attractive over there, maybe Stacy’s strawberry shampoo, I dunno. But he slipped, fell into the bathtub, and couldn’t scramble his way back out.
“Thus his fate was sealed.
“Except that as I stared down at this frightened, pathetic little rodent ... I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t kill it. There was absolutely no desire to hurt it. I was shocked. Here I was a violent man who’d done far worse to people and animals ... but now I couldn’t even harm disgusting disease filled vermin that’d violated the second most intimate part of your house, with your bed being the most.
“But I couldn’t talk myself into it. So I scooped him up into a bucket, carried him the two blocks down to the nearest restaurant, and tossed him bucket and all into its dumpster.
“The incident wouldn’t leave my mind.
“I couldn’t kill a mouse. More, I had no desire to kill it. That changed everything about how I thought about myself. I’d changed these past twenty years, somehow without realizing it. I was no longer the violent, hate filled, angry monster I spent my teenage years being.
“Then last week I walked in on my girlfriend Stacy having sex with my best friend Anthony.
“I expected to be furious. The old me would have been. The old me would have been shaking with rage. And violent, of course. But I’d satisfied myself that I was no longer violent. So what shocked me this time was that I felt no anger or hate towards either of them. The whole ten minutes I spent packing my bags while Stacy cried and pleaded with me to talk it out and Anthony begged me blame him and not her I don’t think my heartrate went above 70.
“I was calm, peaceful even. Don’t get me wrong, I was hurt, devastated. And I’ve been severely depressed ever since. But I never got angry. You’d have to have known me back when I was a teenager to appreciate how shocking that was for me.
“It made me realize it’d been years since I’d raised my voice in anger. And I couldn’t remember the last time I hated someone. Truly hated their guts.
“This was unreal to me. Somehow, someway, over the past twenty years everything I thought I knew about myself, everything I believed, had changed. I’m a different person. A better person.
“And I’m not sure how it happened. Or exactly when.”
Jackson finally stopped talking and finished his beer.
Raisin produced a twenty from his wallet and held it up to attract their waitress. “Two more drinks.” He said when she rushed over. Then he regarded Jackson warmly. “Isn’t it obvious? You said it yourself, grief and responsibility. They changed your heart. For the better in this case.”
“But how could I not know?”
“How could you know? Until you faced such a situation, how could you?”
Jackson regarded Raisin, one of his oldest friends, warmly. “So you haven’t noticed a change in me recently? You think I’ve been like this for a long time?”
Their beers came before Raisin could answer. The younger man grinned at Jackson and swallowed half his drink in one gulp. “I think you’re asking the wrong questions, my friend.”
“What questions should I be asking?”
Raisin finished his drink and leaned forward so he could lower his voice. “You have always portrayed yourself to Stacy and Anthony as a violent man, because that is what you believed yourself to be.”
“Yeah, of course.”
“And the day you came home from lunch to catch them was the day of the week you always came home from lunch?”
“Sure, every Tuesday. ... Stacy forgot what day of the week it was.”
“Perhaps. Yes, I’m sure you’re right.”
Raisin sat there, grinning at Jackson, until he finally relented. “What are you implying?”
“I imply nothing, my friend. Merely that two people who had every reason to believe you’d react violently to discovering them were quite ... careless ... in their ‘secret’ betrayal.”
Jackson, lost in thought, said nothing.
“But I have to go. I need to revisit another friend of mine tonight and she’s due to get off her work shift within the half hour.”
“Sure.” Jackson said distantly, barely noticing when Raisin left the table.
***
Jackson had known he was going to be plastered so he’d walked to the bar. So an hour later he began the half mile trek back to his place.
A dark figure was waiting for him at the lamp post next to the sidewalk that bordered the bar parking lot, their identity shielded by the light being directly overheard so as to shroud their face in shadow.
Jackson widened his travel arc so he’d be almost out of reach of the figure when he passed it.
“Jackson?” It was a pitiful, tear filled voice.
Stacy’s voice.
Jackson stopped several feet from her, but was in too much shock to speak.
Stacy stepped out, closer to him and at such an angle that the street lamp illuminated her brutally beaten face. From the looks of it, someone had really worked her over. She was also walking with a hitch that suggested at least one broken rib.
“I know I have no right to ask you this, but I need your help.”
“Looks like you need the police’s help.” His words were harsh but his tone was mild.
As shocked and disgusted as he was, Jackson felt no anger. His heartbeat was a steady 65.
“Three of Anthony’s friends have already said they’ll swear he was with them all night. You know them, Rod, Justin, and Davis. And he used gloves so his hands are clean.”
“Boxing gloves?” Jackson wasn’t trying to be funny, but the image of Anthony lacing up boxing gloves while Stacy just sat there and waited came unbidden to his mind.
“What? No! His winter gloves! Jackson, what’s wrong with you? I know I hurt you, and I’m so sorry for that, but I thought you at least loved me!”
Raisin’s questions were ringing through Jackson’s mind much louder than her pathetic pleas.
“Stacy, just drop it. I know what you’re trying to do and it’s not going to work. I’m not the monster you thought I was. The monster I thought I was. I’m just ... not. Not anymore. So you and Anthony are wasting your time trying to provoke me.”
Jackson walked past her and headed home.
“What are you talking about?!” Stacy called out shrilly.
He kept walking.
“Jackson!”
He kept walking.
“You’re crazy! You know that?!”
Maybe. But he wasn’t wrong about what as going on. Raisin had been right.
Stacy, who hadn’t followed him, began openly and helplessly sobbing.
Jackson ignored it.
Raisin was always right.
Saturday, January 5, 2013
Friday, January 4, 2013
Chapter One: God of Undying
Story so far as a downloadable PDF: (Right click to save)
Her name was Lucy Williams and she was saving a man’s life.
“We’ve got a pulse!” Biff exclaimed.
Lucy, sweaty and exhausted, leaned back on her haunches and glared down at the old man she’d just revived. “What the HELL was he thinking, running in this weather at his age?”
Biff grinned at her. “He’s thinking this is the first time he’s had a pretty girl touch him this century.”
Good old Biff. He was a decent guy and she liked him, but he was one of those people who could make anything dirty. He was like a sex prospector who could pan down any comment, any observation, truly anything any person said until he got down to one grain of sexual insinuation which he would pull out, shine up, and display for the world to see ... whether they wanted to or not. (most often they didn’t want to)
Lucy found herself double, triple, even quadruple checking everything she said in order to sanitize it against his ability to turn it sexual ... but most often she failed because he was better at finding it than she was at eliminating it.
So she’d taken to either ignoring it or subtly changing the subject. But the whole thing got exhausting fast.
“I’m twenty-six, asshole. I’ll ‘girl’ you!”
That worked to change the topic to the subject of age, which chaffed Biff because while he was older than her, he had less seniority. It bothered him, so she used it to get out of awkward conversations with him.
They continued bickering as they loaded him into the ambulance and all the way to the hospital.
By the time the paperwork was finished, their shift was up.
“Wanna catch a drink with the guys?” Biff wanted to know.
Despite Biff’s irritating obsession with sex, this actually wasn’t him coming on to her. They’d had a frank talk their first day or working as partners and Biff made it clear he never dated or slept with women he worked alongside with. Lives were at stake here, after all. This was a big reason that, despite her constant irritated with the man, she liked him.
“All I want to do is go home and curl up with Cold Case.”
Biff grimaced. “That’s a stupid TV show.”
Lucy thought about explaining that it was, in fact, the latest Harry Dresden novel, but didn’t bother. He was more of a Jack Reacher type anyway. So instead, she waved her partner off and started for her car.
A young looking black man was lounging on the hood of her Crown Victoria.
“What did I tell you about sitting on my car, Raisin?”
Raisin grinned at her, his perfect white teeth reflecting the street lamp ten feet behind her. “You’re an attractive lady. Long blonde hair, slightly above average height, maybe ten pounds overweight.”
“Yeah, I have a mirror, thanks.” Lucy snapped.
“Not my point, my dear.”
“Then what the Hell is your point?”
“The Doomsday Killer struck again. Another tall, average build, lady with long blonde hair.”
“I watch the news, thanks.” That was a lie, strictly speaking. Lucy couldn’t stand the local news. But the Doomsday Killer was all anybody was talking about in the break room so she was up to speed.
“So have you reconsidered my offer to provide you with protection?” Raisin asked.
“Raisin, I have a better chance of having a heart attack in line at Golden Corral than I do at running into the Doomsday Killer. Oh, and speaking of Golden Corral, if you ever call me overweight again I’ll KICK YOUR ASS.”
“My most humble apologies, my dear.”
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t make me regret saving your life last year.” As Lucy said this she swung behind the wheel of her car and fired up the engine.
For a second, as her headlights whipped past Raisin, he looked like an old man ... no ... an ancient man. A tiny, twisted male crone with a missing eye, no hair, and a thick red plastic tablet gripped tightly in two gnarled, twisted hands. At the same time, she heard what was unmistakably his voice in her head.
We’re not just talking about this ship! We’re talking about everything, everywhere!
The image was so strong that Lucy actually hit the breaks and shot her head to her side to look at Raisin again.
But he was just Raisin. Young, handsome, well dressed Raisin.
Upon seeing her stop to look at him, Raisin grinned and waved.
Lucy, unsettled, waved back before driving on.
***
Her brother Simon wasn’t home when she got there, but that was no surprise. It was a Friday night. Simon and his boyfriend always caught a movie every Friday night, like clockwork. Lucy didn’t imagine there could possibly be 52 theater ticket price worthy movies coming out each year, but Simon always said it was more about just “getting the Hell out of the house” than anything else.
She could relate to that.
Monster was home though. Monster was a 130 pound Golden Retrieve/German Shepherd mix, though Lucy always joked that he also had some elephant mixed in there as well because very little of that weight was fat. He was just a BIG dog. And gorgeous with the Golden Retriever colors over German Shepherd looks. It was an odd combination but really worked.
Lucy hadn’t so much adopted Monster two years ago as he had adopted her. He showed up in her yard as a half grown puppy, right back leg bleeding from what turned out to be several shotgun pellets. There was probably an exciting story about how THAT came about but Monster was never going to tell it. He had no collar and the vet had been pretty sure he’d never gotten any shots or seen a vet before. After a cursory internet and local coffeehouse billboard search to see if anybody was looking for him, Lucy took him in. He’d immediately made a wonderful addition to her family.
Monster, as always, waited until Lucy had her shoes off and her purse on the end table before rushing over for his opening dose of affection.
It was as she was petting her dog that Lucy got the unmistakable feeling that the two of them weren’t alone in this house. But that was impossible. Monster wasn’t ironically named, he didn’t play well with strangers. Exactly four people were allowed past the threshold without a whole lot of noise and tears.
Lucy brushed past her dog and stepped into the living room.
Raisin was lounging on her sofa, legs stretched out and hands folded under her neck. He flashed his trademark smile at her.
“You saw me, didn’t you? The real me?”
“W-what?” Lucy sputtered. Monster was standing to her right, wagging his tail enthusiastically and looking from this uninvited guest to Lucy and back again. She’d never seen him allow anybody in this house without permission, a fact that was even more disconcerting than Raisin knowing where she lived and getting in here past her locks and alarm system.
“I thought as much.”
Raisin sat up and faced her, his face getting serious for the first time since she’d met him while saving his life.
“This means you’re ready.”
“What?” She asked again.
“And that means you’re their next target.”
Her name was Lucy Williams and she was saving a man’s life.
“We’ve got a pulse!” Biff exclaimed.
Lucy, sweaty and exhausted, leaned back on her haunches and glared down at the old man she’d just revived. “What the HELL was he thinking, running in this weather at his age?”
Biff grinned at her. “He’s thinking this is the first time he’s had a pretty girl touch him this century.”
Good old Biff. He was a decent guy and she liked him, but he was one of those people who could make anything dirty. He was like a sex prospector who could pan down any comment, any observation, truly anything any person said until he got down to one grain of sexual insinuation which he would pull out, shine up, and display for the world to see ... whether they wanted to or not. (most often they didn’t want to)
Lucy found herself double, triple, even quadruple checking everything she said in order to sanitize it against his ability to turn it sexual ... but most often she failed because he was better at finding it than she was at eliminating it.
So she’d taken to either ignoring it or subtly changing the subject. But the whole thing got exhausting fast.
“I’m twenty-six, asshole. I’ll ‘girl’ you!”
That worked to change the topic to the subject of age, which chaffed Biff because while he was older than her, he had less seniority. It bothered him, so she used it to get out of awkward conversations with him.
They continued bickering as they loaded him into the ambulance and all the way to the hospital.
By the time the paperwork was finished, their shift was up.
“Wanna catch a drink with the guys?” Biff wanted to know.
Despite Biff’s irritating obsession with sex, this actually wasn’t him coming on to her. They’d had a frank talk their first day or working as partners and Biff made it clear he never dated or slept with women he worked alongside with. Lives were at stake here, after all. This was a big reason that, despite her constant irritated with the man, she liked him.
“All I want to do is go home and curl up with Cold Case.”
Biff grimaced. “That’s a stupid TV show.”
Lucy thought about explaining that it was, in fact, the latest Harry Dresden novel, but didn’t bother. He was more of a Jack Reacher type anyway. So instead, she waved her partner off and started for her car.
A young looking black man was lounging on the hood of her Crown Victoria.
“What did I tell you about sitting on my car, Raisin?”
Raisin grinned at her, his perfect white teeth reflecting the street lamp ten feet behind her. “You’re an attractive lady. Long blonde hair, slightly above average height, maybe ten pounds overweight.”
“Yeah, I have a mirror, thanks.” Lucy snapped.
“Not my point, my dear.”
“Then what the Hell is your point?”
“The Doomsday Killer struck again. Another tall, average build, lady with long blonde hair.”
“I watch the news, thanks.” That was a lie, strictly speaking. Lucy couldn’t stand the local news. But the Doomsday Killer was all anybody was talking about in the break room so she was up to speed.
“So have you reconsidered my offer to provide you with protection?” Raisin asked.
“Raisin, I have a better chance of having a heart attack in line at Golden Corral than I do at running into the Doomsday Killer. Oh, and speaking of Golden Corral, if you ever call me overweight again I’ll KICK YOUR ASS.”
“My most humble apologies, my dear.”
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t make me regret saving your life last year.” As Lucy said this she swung behind the wheel of her car and fired up the engine.
For a second, as her headlights whipped past Raisin, he looked like an old man ... no ... an ancient man. A tiny, twisted male crone with a missing eye, no hair, and a thick red plastic tablet gripped tightly in two gnarled, twisted hands. At the same time, she heard what was unmistakably his voice in her head.
We’re not just talking about this ship! We’re talking about everything, everywhere!
The image was so strong that Lucy actually hit the breaks and shot her head to her side to look at Raisin again.
But he was just Raisin. Young, handsome, well dressed Raisin.
Upon seeing her stop to look at him, Raisin grinned and waved.
Lucy, unsettled, waved back before driving on.
***
Her brother Simon wasn’t home when she got there, but that was no surprise. It was a Friday night. Simon and his boyfriend always caught a movie every Friday night, like clockwork. Lucy didn’t imagine there could possibly be 52 theater ticket price worthy movies coming out each year, but Simon always said it was more about just “getting the Hell out of the house” than anything else.
She could relate to that.
Monster was home though. Monster was a 130 pound Golden Retrieve/German Shepherd mix, though Lucy always joked that he also had some elephant mixed in there as well because very little of that weight was fat. He was just a BIG dog. And gorgeous with the Golden Retriever colors over German Shepherd looks. It was an odd combination but really worked.
Lucy hadn’t so much adopted Monster two years ago as he had adopted her. He showed up in her yard as a half grown puppy, right back leg bleeding from what turned out to be several shotgun pellets. There was probably an exciting story about how THAT came about but Monster was never going to tell it. He had no collar and the vet had been pretty sure he’d never gotten any shots or seen a vet before. After a cursory internet and local coffeehouse billboard search to see if anybody was looking for him, Lucy took him in. He’d immediately made a wonderful addition to her family.
Monster, as always, waited until Lucy had her shoes off and her purse on the end table before rushing over for his opening dose of affection.
It was as she was petting her dog that Lucy got the unmistakable feeling that the two of them weren’t alone in this house. But that was impossible. Monster wasn’t ironically named, he didn’t play well with strangers. Exactly four people were allowed past the threshold without a whole lot of noise and tears.
Lucy brushed past her dog and stepped into the living room.
Raisin was lounging on her sofa, legs stretched out and hands folded under her neck. He flashed his trademark smile at her.
“You saw me, didn’t you? The real me?”
“W-what?” Lucy sputtered. Monster was standing to her right, wagging his tail enthusiastically and looking from this uninvited guest to Lucy and back again. She’d never seen him allow anybody in this house without permission, a fact that was even more disconcerting than Raisin knowing where she lived and getting in here past her locks and alarm system.
“I thought as much.”
Raisin sat up and faced her, his face getting serious for the first time since she’d met him while saving his life.
“This means you’re ready.”
“What?” She asked again.
“And that means you’re their next target.”
Prelude: God of Chaos
“So where are we going?”
“What’s going on, Mike?”
Mike didn’t look over at Fran, he was focusing on keeping his hands under control. A shaking hand would be a bad tipoff. “What do you mean?”
Fran’s voice was light, carefree as always. “You never ask where we’re going when we take off on one of these adventures. You ... ‘like the mystery of it.’ But today you’ve already asked three times.”
Mike kept his voice light, but Raisin’s voice was ringing in his ear.
They’ll use someone you know. Someone you trust.
“I’m just excited.” He said.
Someone you’ll never see coming.
“I’ve never seen you this excited for a trip, and you’ve got me excited now.” He added.
The person, the ... doppelganger ... will be almost perfect. There will be no real way to trip them up.
“Well, let’s just let the mystery be for a little while longer, okay?” Fran’s voice was light and playful.
You’ll just feel it in your gut when you’re around them. You’ll feel that this person is wrong.
“Sounds good, honey.” Mike said lightly.
This person you love and trust completely, has been fundamentally changed in some horrible way.
Fran smiled over at him. It was her smile.
The only problem is, by the time this feeling has convinced you to act, it’ll be too late.
She was exactly the same as always. Looked the same, acted the same, Hell, even smelled the same. Her voice was the same. The things she used her voice to utter were the same.
But Mike’s gut was screaming at him. Screaming for him to open the door despite their current 55 MPH speed and take his chances rolling around on the pavement rather than spend one more second around this ... this ... woman.
“What are you doing, Mike?” Fran’s voice was still light and tingly, just like the day she proposed to him. Yes, she asked him for his hand in marriage. It was how Fran was.
Mike looked down at his hand, which had of its own volition found the door handle. His other hand was stroking his seatbelt. “Wow, you’re jumpy today.” Mike surprised himself at how light his voice was.
The only problem is, by the time this feeling has convinced you to act, it’ll be too late.
“Take your hand off the door handle, Mike.” She said.
Mike released his seatbelt while his other hand gripped the door handle harder. In response Fran sped up their little Ford Torus.
“We’re up to 70, Mike. And this speed you’ll break every bone in your body. You’ll scrape all the skin off your face.” She said.
Mike steeled himself to open the door and take his chances plunging out.
“We’re up to 85, Mike.” She said.
Mike stared at the harsh pavement racing past them at literally break neck speed.
The only problem is, by the time this feeling has convinced you to act, it’ll be too late.
He released his death grip on the door handle.
“Good boy.” It said.
Story 4 Cancer
I realize that cancer is a well funded cause and there are probably more deserving charities out there, but it's a personal cause for me as it claimed my mother and two of her sisters as well as trying to take my father. With those genetics on my side I have no doubt that some day it will be my fight as well. So cancer is my personal cause and always will be.
The purpose of this blog is to motivate people to donate to any officially recognized cancer charity. Each time somebody donates, in any monetary amount, I'll post a new chapter to the story "Superdrive." No donations, no new chapters. Not to suggest "Superdrive" is any great work of art that the world will be deprived of should nobody donate ... because it's just some light entertainment being produced by an unpublished author. So this is really just an excuse for people to chip in a few bucks to a worthy cause and get a couple minutes of reading in the deal.
Each donation will prompt a chapter release, at the rate of one per day, seven days per week. If three people donate in one day, the next three days are covered. If after that, nobody donates for a week, that'd mean three chapters and then nothing until somebody else donates.
Here's how this works:
1) DO NOT SEND ME ANY MONEY. Not a dime. That's not what we're looking for.
2) Find an official cancer charity, either local, national, or international. A five minute google search ought to yield something.
3) Donate to said charity, in any amount.
4) Leave a comment here detailing what specific charity you donated to and how much. I'll be keeping a running tally of how much gets donated as we move along. There's no need to prove you donated, we're working on the honor system here. It'd be a pretty crappy thing to say you donated without actually doing it, so hopefully nobody will do that.
5) If you donate a particularly large amount, and you want me to answer one question about the plot of "Superdrive" or give you a spoiler, that can be arranged. But this is the one case where I'd need some kind of proof that you donated.
Well, it's just this simple! So let's get this going and see if anything actually comes out of it. As long as people donate I'll keep this up. When "Superdrive" finishes, I'd start up a new story.
The purpose of this blog is to motivate people to donate to any officially recognized cancer charity. Each time somebody donates, in any monetary amount, I'll post a new chapter to the story "Superdrive." No donations, no new chapters. Not to suggest "Superdrive" is any great work of art that the world will be deprived of should nobody donate ... because it's just some light entertainment being produced by an unpublished author. So this is really just an excuse for people to chip in a few bucks to a worthy cause and get a couple minutes of reading in the deal.
Each donation will prompt a chapter release, at the rate of one per day, seven days per week. If three people donate in one day, the next three days are covered. If after that, nobody donates for a week, that'd mean three chapters and then nothing until somebody else donates.
Here's how this works:
1) DO NOT SEND ME ANY MONEY. Not a dime. That's not what we're looking for.
2) Find an official cancer charity, either local, national, or international. A five minute google search ought to yield something.
3) Donate to said charity, in any amount.
4) Leave a comment here detailing what specific charity you donated to and how much. I'll be keeping a running tally of how much gets donated as we move along. There's no need to prove you donated, we're working on the honor system here. It'd be a pretty crappy thing to say you donated without actually doing it, so hopefully nobody will do that.
5) If you donate a particularly large amount, and you want me to answer one question about the plot of "Superdrive" or give you a spoiler, that can be arranged. But this is the one case where I'd need some kind of proof that you donated.
Well, it's just this simple! So let's get this going and see if anything actually comes out of it. As long as people donate I'll keep this up. When "Superdrive" finishes, I'd start up a new story.
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