Listen ...A Chaunce of Riches

A CHAUNCE OF RICHES
by Chelle Cordero
Available in Print and All Ebook Formats

PROLOGUE

He was sitting in the large den feigning patience while waiting for his new assignment to show up. The room was expensively and garishly decorated and Ben wondered about the owner who lived here. As far as he was concerned, the room was merely a boastful display of riches that screamed, “I think I’m better than you” to all who entered. Ben knew by the address his employer had given him that he was going to be spending some time in the wealthier section of town, but he still had to curb his cynicism when a butler answered the door. People with money had always bugged him ever since he was just a little kid looking, and looking, at all the rich kids’ toys.

He thumbed his way through the file he was carrying again. Even though Ben had already read about the case multiple times, it gave him something to do while he waited for the widow of the late Julian Chaunce to make an appearance. He was growing more disgusted by the minute and he silently fumed that she was so inconsiderate of another person’s time. But then, as far as Ben was concerned, people with money always thought they were the only thing that mattered anyway.

Chaunce had been a very successful tycoon and was renowned in the publishing world. The trade magazine that had started his company, Chaunce Publications, was still out there and very much alive in the roofing industry. He had sold it years ago and used the tremendous profits to establish new magazines that were all equally successful. Even the security agency Ben worked for had a Chaunce publication delivered to their main office every month. The magazines had called him a self-made man but Ben was convinced that he must have help from somewhere.

Only in his fifties, Chaunce had died suddenly while using a treadmill at a private gym. He left a wife and son and loads of business rivals behind. Now someone was sending threatening notes to the company and the house. Flipping through the folder, Ben frowned and shook his head. The family had tried to keep themselves isolated from the public, probably in an attempt to protect themselves from the same kind of journalists their own publications paid on staff. While there was an occasional headshot of Julian Chaunce, Ben had seen no pictures of the family. He was expecting to see a bland middle-age woman when the door finally opened.

“I am so sorry to keep you waiting. My son was having a bit of a crisis...”

She stopped short as Ben stood up from his chair and turned to face her.

After seeing him her face drained of color. Other than that, he could only think how young she still looked in her light blue slacks and the tailored striped man’s shirt she was wearing. Her hips were a little wider, a little womanlier, but she was still as lithe as she ever was. His gaze traveled up to her face. It had been years since he had seen those eyes staring back at him.

“Sam?” His lips felt parched as he managed to say her name.

Listen ...Forces of Nature

FORCES OF NATURE
by Marilyn Celeste Morris
Available in Print and All Ebook Formats

It was going to be a two-shoe day.

Howard the Weatherman woke with what he referred to as That Certain Dread and a bad taste in his mouth, to boot. The birthday party for his youngest granddaughter the previous evening was the cause, even though it was just ice cream and cake and no booze, befitting his solid Southern Baptist background.

The feeling lingered on the fringes of consciousness until he was fully awake.

Glancing over at his sleeping wife of forty years, he considered waking her and telling her about his dream. No, he would prepare for work first, and let Neva sleep a while longer.

He eased out of bed and padded into the adjoining bathroom. He allowed the shower head to spray stinging hot water over his face and body, all the while he was reciting his usual morning prayers: “Father, I thank thee for this day that thou hast made. I will rejoice and be thankful in it.”

He continued with his intercessory prayers for his family and friends, and for the nation as a whole. “And so I beseech thee, Dear Lord, heed my prayers. I pray in the name of my savior, Jesus Christ.” Normally, his prayers would have ended at this point with a heart-felt “Amen”, but this morning he added softly, “And Lord, if it be thy will, spare us the agony of this day, and keep us safe from harm. Amen.”

Neva was up and in the kitchen when Howard stepped out of the shower. Wrapping his robe around him and combing his thinning hair, he walked down the hallway past the empty kids’ bedrooms and into the kitchen.

“Morning,” Neva said, setting a cup of coffee at his usual place. “Sleep well?”

Howard paused before replying, “Fine.” There was no sense in telling her now. “You?”

“Fine, until you began tossing and turning. What was that all about, Howard?” She sat across from him and studied him over her coffee cup.

“Nothing. I don’t remember,” he evaded, knowing full well what Neva was going to say next. Why did he even try?

“It’s the dream again, isn’t it?”

He sighed, then nodded. “I knew I couldn’t keep it from you. You know me too well.”

She smiled softly.

“Honey, it’s going to be a bad one today.”

“They’re all bad, Howard. Even small tornadoes that don’t send people to the hospitals, or kill them. Property damage, schools, businesses, all suffer.”

Howard finished his coffee and shook off his wife’s gesture of handing him a plate of bacon and eggs. “I’m gonna be late if I don’t leave now. I should have the official National Weather Service information the first thing when I get to the station. Then I’ll have to butt heads with our new station manager about interrupting the regularly scheduled programs for weather bulletins.”

“It’s going to be that big?” Neva followed him into the bedroom.

“Stay close to home today, honey. I want you close to the cellar.”

Howard wouldn’t have wanted it known that he had a “fraidy hole.” Having been born and raised in southwest Oklahoma known as Tornado Alley, he had spent many hours in the safety of his parents’ cellar while monster winds roared above, snapping power lines, tossing huge trees like matchsticks. To this day, Howard could recall the pungent smells that filled the old cellar: his mother’s canned peaches and preserves, and potatoes by the tow sack full mingled with the faint odor of field mouse droppings.

Howard thought back to one particular day when he was still in high school. He had told his family early in the morning that there would be a tornado that day. His family had come to respect his gift, and they followed Howard’s calm statement of fact: “There’s gonna be a tornado sometime this afternoon.”

He had dreamed of a tornado the night before; he saw dreadful winds ripping huge trees apart, snapping power lines and shrieking its way across the land. Sometimes he woke in a sweat, panicky, while he tried to still his thumping heart and not wake his brother who shared his room. He lay quietly and reviewed the dream, feeling clammy and cold and sweaty all at the same time, until finally he would dispel the feeling – which he soon began to recognize as a certain dread – until it came time for the storm to present itself on the horizon.

Sometimes the Certain Dread came upon him minus the accompanying dream. Or, he had the dream but didn’t remember it. Even as a high school student, he would be sitting in school, gazing at the object of his affections, and scheming a way to get her off to the side in the hallway so he could talk to her. Just talk to her about anything at all except what he really wanted to say, and that was that he loved her and wanted to marry her and live with her the rest of his life, but he was afraid she would laugh at him, because he was, after all, only seventeen.

But while Howard was trying to figure out how to speak to his vision of bliss, the feeling came over him and dispelled any other emotion he may have had. It almost overwhelmed him, causing his head to spin and his heart to pound just as it did in the nightmares. He knew for sure he had to get out of school, go home and warn his family that a twister was on its way and to go to the cellar.

So strong and certain was this feeling that he got up from his seat during French class conjugating verbs, causing Mrs. Dosser to frown and ask him where he thought he was going.

“I have to go home, Mrs. Dosser,” he said simply, and as he passed Neva’s desk he whispered to her to come join him in the hallway. Astonishing both himself and Mrs. Dosser, she did just that.

As she stepped out of the classroom, he told her, “There’s a tornado coming. Don’t ask me how I know, I just know. Go home. Tell your family to get to safety. This is gonna be a real bad twister.”

“They’re all bad, Howard.” Yet she nodded, as if she had known all along about his strange gift. “The others?” She glanced back inside the classroom.

“You think they’d believe me?”

A moment’s pause, then she placed her hand on his arm. “I believe you.”

Listen ...Courage of the Heart

COURAGE OF THE HEART
by Chelle Cordero
Available in Print and All Ebook Formats

PROLOGUE

He trailed kisses down her neck while he let his hands explore the recesses of her body. Davie shuddered when he found the warmth between her thighs with his fingers.

"Am I hurting you?" He was concerned. Even though he had made it a habit not to get involved with any of his partners, she had made him pause. There was something special about this girl; there was something about her that had stayed in his mind ever since their first meeting.

"No…oh, Adam, that feels so good." Davie kissed him back as she felt her response spiraling toward the unknown. "Adam…Adam…" Her breath caught.

"What Sweetheart?" It was easy to see how excited she had become and it felt good to know that he had that effect on her.

"Adam…" She felt very timid. "I've never felt like this before."

"I'm glad." He thought of how good it was going to feel when he entered her. "I'm so very glad."

"Adam…teach me…"

He mated their lips and wrestled his tongue with hers. "What do you want me to teach you?" He smiled against her neck.

"Teach me how to…ooh…" She arched her back and pressed herself into his palm. "How to make it good for you."

Oh lord, so sweet, he thought as he took a delicate nub into his mouth. "How could it not be good for me? You are so beautiful…"

Davie felt another shudder run through her. "But, I don't know…Adam, I," She inhaled sharply as she felt his fingers probing inside her. "Adam…I've never…"

For the first time, Adam remained motionless. "Never…what?"

"I've…never been with a man before." She sensed his withdrawal before he actually pulled away.

Adam's brow was furrowed, "What are you saying, Davie?"

The icy chill that Davie felt left her feeling embarrassed to be lying naked in bed with this man. She pulled the bedsheet over her exposed breasts. "I've never been with a man…before"

He sat upright in bed seemingly unaware that he was just as naked as she was. "Are you telling me that you're a virgin?"

Davie sat up clutching the bed linens tightly to her body. "Yes."

"Damnation!" Adam got up from the bed angrily. "You couldn't have told me that before?"

Her eyes welled with tears. "I didn't know we were going to wind up in your bed…"

They had gone out to dinner, again, and a walk in the park. His kisses turned into an invitation back to his apartment. She wasn't naïve, she knew that they might…get closer, but she was so spellbound by him…

"Dammit Davie! I have never taken a virgin before and I certainly don't intend to start with you!"

She watched incredulously as he pulled a pair of jeans on. "I'm sorry…I…" Suddenly Davie felt angry. " If you thought that I thought it was going to be some kind of commitment, you don't need to worry. I got carried away…don't worry, it won't happen again." She stood taking the bedsheet with her to cover herself. "If you don't mind giving me some privacy, I'll get dressed."

Her anger made him feel contrite and he responded in much gentler tones. "I'll take you home as soon as you're ready."

"Don't bother! I'll manage on my own." She stared at the bedroom door pointedly, but he didn't budge. "Fine!" Davie dropped the linen to the floor and picked up her clothing.

Earlier, Adam's body had felt as cold as if he had been blasted with icy water, but as he got another glimpse of her astonishingly beautiful naked body again, he was happy he had donned his pants to hide his reaction.

"I…I'm sorry", he turned his back to her. "I…I just can't be…the first…"

"What?!"

"I'm sorry…" He left the room.

Listen ...Observations of an Earth Mage

OBSERVATIONS OF AN EARTH MAGE
by Smoky Trudeau
Available in Print and All Ebook Formats

Prologue: I Am Nature

The patch of earth between the side walkway and my house was a riot of color: deep purple, red, yellow, white, and pink, each shade more brilliant, more beautiful, than the one next to it. After months of ice and snow, of being cooped up inside the house except on the rare occasion when I was allowed to venture outside, bundled up so tightly against the wind and the cold I could barely move, it was spring, and the tulips were in bloom.

I wandered down the path and into the back yard. The fragrance hit me first: apple blossoms, perfuming the air so sweetly I could follow my nose around the corner of the house to the tree hidden behind the garage. I giggled. It sounded like the tree was singing. Thousands of bumblebees flitted from fragrant blossom to fragrant blossom, gathering nectar, spreading pollen.

Unfazed by the bees, I climbed up onto the picnic table beneath the tree, then into the tree itself. This was one of my favorite spots to sit. It was especially pleasant on this day, barefoot for the first time in months, hidden from sight by the riot of flowers and bumblebees.

I sat quietly in the branches among the flowers and the bees, smelling the blossoms, listening to the tree hum, just being. Someone called my name; I did not respond. I was the tree. I was the bee. I was not who they were looking for.

The soft white blossoms each were punctuated with the bright black and yellow stripes of the bumblebees. The hum of their wings was in perfect pitch, one single note, one ohmmmmmm. I hummed too, adjusting the hum up, then down, until I too matched their pitch. I was the bee. The bee was me. We hummed in the tree, the bees and me.

I closed my eyes and felt for the pulse of the tree in the trunk beneath my fingertips, for surely this tree had a heart that beat like mine. The trunk warmed beneath my gentle touch as my branch swayed in the easy spring breeze. It felt like the tree was breathing. I matched the rhythm of my own breath to that of the tree. I was the tree. The tree was me. We breathed and swayed, the tree, the bees, and me.

That was the moment that defined my place in the natural world. The moment I understood that I, a human being, was not above the other creatures of Creation. Not better than the bees and the birds and the bears. Not superior to the snakes and the snails and the swallows. I was Nature. Nature was me.

Thus began my life as an earth mage. Not someone who performs magic—I’ll leave that job to Mother Nature—but rather, someone who sees the natural world as a magical place, full of wonder and miracles. I was three years old.

Fifty years have passed, and every time I set foot outside my door, I am still as awestruck as that three-year-old girl sitting in the apple tree. Whether I’m giving myself a dirt manicure by planting tomatoes and marigolds in my garden, walking my dog around the neighborhood, or standing on the peak of an ancient mountain, the magic of creation never fails to enchant me.

Welcome to my world, as told through stories and poems I’ve written and published in various magazines and on my blog. Come hike the trails of our national parks and take a stroll along an ocean beach. See the magic in a tiny dragonfly, a humble hermit crab, and the spectacular waterfalls of Yosemite.

Be enchanted. Be an earth mage. Come.

Listen ...Falling for Autumn

FALLING FOR AUTUMN by Sandy Nicks
Available in Print and All Ebook Formats

Chapter One

Desperation can do strange things to one’s psyche.

Autumn glanced at her notes. Three job interviews all on the same day? Surely, I’m beyond desperate. I’m insane.

She’d spent the past few weeks unpacking her belongings and adjusting to her new residence. It was lonely settling into the new place without Trevor. Yes, Rutgers University was only a forty-five minute drive from where she lived, but it still felt like she was forty-five hundred miles away from her son. She glanced at his picture on the refrigerator and smiled. She was so proud of her only child. He was her whole world. Unfortunately, that world had been reduced to weekends and school breaks now that he was nineteen, living on campus and no longer under his mother’s watchful eye.

And where was she now? Searching classifieds. She shook her head. Fortunately, despite her lack of work experience, obtaining an interview wasn’t as difficult as she’d imagined. Then again, it wasn’t like she was applying for top level management positions. These were entry level. No experience required. Computer knowledge helpful, but not necessary.

What else could she expect? She wasn’t coming out of the starting gate as a new college graduate. She’d been a homemaker for the past twenty years. It was like she’d been playing a role on a television show that had been abruptly canceled, and now she was being forced to audition for parts she’d never performed before.

She tapped her finger on the table. She had never expected to be single again at thirty-nine years old. She’d always thought her life with Kevin would last a lifetime. She even had imagined that once Trevor had gone off to college, she and Kevin would spend mornings sipping coffee, afternoons browsing book stores, and nights making love.

Of course the bastard would get the chance to do all those things, because he’d already found someone else.

When Kevin had told her he wanted a divorce, she’d felt blindsided. Yes, she had noticed things beginning to change between them, but nothing she thought was life altering. Yet here she was, a year later, removed from her beloved home and sitting in the small kitchen of her new townhouse. Alone.

She looked around the kitchen. It wasn’t big but it had new oak cabinets and the counters were done in a beige swirl. The previous owner had recently installed tan ceramic tile on the floor and the diagonal pattern cast an illusion, making the room appear larger than it really was.

She then glanced into the living room. It was long but not very wide. Her furniture set had to be broken up. The couch, coffee table and entertainment center fit fine, but the oversized chair and ottoman had to be placed in Trevor’s room—also known as the finished basement.

She frowned. Ok, so the new place wasn’t a house, but at least she owned it. Her initial fear was that she’d be forced to rent an apartment, but thankfully she’d made enough money from the sale of her old house to be able to put down a large amount on this one. The new mortgage actually turned out to be less than what renting a house would have cost.

She picked up her notepad. It was so easy being married and having Kevin take care of the taxes, car insurance and monthly living expenses. If I don’t find a job soon, how the hell am I going to make it on my own?

She eyed the notes again. The first interview was with Edith’s Bra Boutique. The specialty bra and panty store was in need of a combination cashier and stock person. The second was for We Have Scents- a faux designer perfume store in need of the same. Sterling Advertising was the last one of the day. They needed a personal assistant.

Oh the choices—bras, perfume or kissing ass.

She turned her attention to the sliding glass doors that led to the little deck off her kitchen. A light rain fell from the gray skies, and the drizzle wasn’t expected to end until evening. She watched the droplets slide down the glass and her thoughts drifted back to the day the divorce was finalized. The day she went back to being Autumn Winters. Now that Trevor was nineteen, she’d decided to drop her married name of O’Reilly. What was the point of continuing to be someone she wasn’t? Although she wasn’t fond of her maiden name due to the cruel jokes she’d endured as a child, the choice to change it gave her power and a sense of liberation. If Kevin no longer wanted her, why should she go through the rest of her life carrying his name?

She breathed a heavy sigh. How she wished that she could just curl up on the couch with a good book. Rainy days made her feel that way, but that couldn’t happen today. She’d promised her mother she would volunteer at the animal shelter to walk the dogs.

Buddy, her yellow lab, nudged his head against her leg, jarring her from her thoughts. “I’m sure you’ll be on the couch or my bed all day,” she teased.

He wagged his tail in response.

She gathered her notes for the interviews and set them on the counter. Today she would walk dogs in sweatpants and a raincoat. Tomorrow, she’d be wowing potential employers in a business suit.

Except…I don’t own a business suit!

She slapped her forehead. She glanced at the clock on the microwave. She had roughly twenty-four hours before the start of the interview marathon. She had casual separates and dresses for weddings and funerals, but definitely no suits. Over the years, while she was at home raising Trevor, she’d lived in jeans. Driving from one sports meet to another didn’t call for a power suit. It called for power bars and gallons of coffee.

Panic set in and grew with each beat of her heart. Clothes that screamed they came from a former decade would surely lessen her chances of securing a job. She hurried into the living room and grabbed her sneakers. The quicker she finished her volunteer duties, the sooner she could get to the mall and take care of this fashion crisis.

A loud knock, followed by Buddy’s barking, interrupted her thoughts and she hurried to the door. “Who is it?” she asked.

“It’s me.”

She opened the door. “Hi, Mom.”

Daisy’s blue eyes sparkled as she stepped over the threshold. “I’d like you to meet Julia. You know, she volunteers at the shelter with me.”

Autumn extended her hand to the older lady who followed her mother into the house. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Mom talks about you all the time.”

Julia gave Buddy a pat before shaking Autumn’s hand. “Likewise, dear.”

“Honey,” Daisy began, “We’re here to do a quick cleansing since you refused when you first moved in.”

Listen ...Hostage Heart

HOSTAGE HEART by Chelle Cordero
Available in Print and All Ebook Formats

Prologue

Deanna had a heavy feeling as she headed to work. Maybe it was just those extra bills that had come due. She had been sending a large portion of her paycheck back home to her folks ever since she came to the city. There really wasn’t that much paycheck to go around. She hadn’t been prepared for that assessment the landlord passed on to his tenants for the boiler repair. There just wasn’t any place else where she could cut spending. She already walked to and from work, never went out and spent money with her friends, and she even bought day old breads and produce rather than fresh. She counted her blessings on a daily basis that she had a job and a roof over her head, no matter how meager, but she found herself bordering on frustration every time she balanced her checkbook.

She made up her mind, today she was going to ask Rob if there was any way he could raise her salary a bit. She was willing to take on extra work; she just needed to be able to keep sending money home. The hurricanes had pretty much devastated parts of Louisiana over the last few years. The resulting tornadoes hit surrounding areas and wiped her folks out. There was no way they were able to rebuild their home and the business. She graduated high school out of a makeshift building before the last round of storms hit. Her original plans were to remain at home for a while and maybe find a job down there. Her parents had always figured she could come into the shop with them but there was no more shop to generate money. Deanna decided to go someplace where she could earn some money to send home to them. Deanna made the move to New York City and had been trying to build a life for nearly a year. A trailer sat on the site near where Deanna remembered her favorite tire swing ever since Katrina and Rita ravaged the area. Her parents didn’t complain. There was no way she wanted to let them know how tight things were for her. She let them believe that money was rolling in or they never would have accepted the money she sent back home.

Clutching her purse tightly to her side, Deanna entered the bank. She was supposed to get some smaller bills for the register this morning on her way into work. She didn’t like walking around with so much money, but Rob insisted that he trusted her to take care of things. Deanna wasn’t naïve; she knew that her neighborhood wasn’t exactly the most crime free in the city. She worried about the responsibility of carrying that much money. If she lost it, there was no way at all that she’d be able to replace it. There never had been any temptation to take what didn’t belong to her but she did allow herself a brief fantasy during the night that the wad of bills in her purse was really hers.

She stepped in line with about half a dozen other customers. She stood behind a very broad shouldered man in a suit and she had to stand on tip-toe to try to look around him to see how fast the line wasn’t moving. He turned towards her and smiled as he adjusted his glasses. His brown wavy hair and bronze complexion stood out against his light brown suit. The ends of his hair brushed his collar. Deanna smiled back politely while hoping she wouldn’t encourage him into a conversation. He was very attractive and she kept looking towards him when he wasn’t looking at her. Under other circumstances, she wouldn’t have minded trying to engage him in a conversation. But as it was, she needed to be at work soon and she couldn’t forget the money she was carrying. He kept checking his watch and she wondered if he was late for some important business meeting. Deanna checked her own watch and hoped she could make it to the store in time to open the doors on schedule.

Finally the gentleman in front of her was the next in line. Suddenly there was a shout and a scream. Deanna turned and saw two men –and there a third–with stocking-covered faces waving very large and frightening handguns.

“Everybody get down! And keep your faces to the floor.”

All of the bank’s customers obeyed immediately. When Deanna raised her head to watch what was happening, the man who had been standing in front of her gently pushed her back down.

“Do as they say,” he cautiously whispered to her from his own position on the floor.

She could see the feet of the frightened tellers as they were ushered toward the front of the counter to join the rest of the customers. One poor young man was stopped and dragged back behind the counter to empty the cash drawers into a sack. Deanna heard muffled sobbing around her.

One of the masked robbers was moving through the mass of people on the floor demanding wallets, purses and jewelry. Perhaps foolishly, Deanna decided she wasn’t going to give up the store money without some kind of protest. She also slid her grandmother’s birthstone ruby ring off of her hand and slipped it down her bra front for protection.

“Open your purse.”

“No.” He grabbed for it and she wouldn’t let it go.

“Damn it, it’s not worth dying for.” The man spoke to her again in a harsh whisper. She saw that he was eagerly handing over his own wallet.

The purse was wrested from her hand. “No. Give it back!”

He heard the gentle twang in her voice and was intrigued by it. “Don’t be an idiot!” he grumbled under his breath.

Deanna raised her head and her voice in anger. “Will you just be quiet! Ow!” She felt her head being yanked backwards by the hair and she found herself staring at the stocking face of one of the robbers.

“Stand up!” She was forced to her feet. “You want to fight?” A gun was pressed against her ribcage. “I’ll give you something to fight about.” He started to push her towards one of the office doors.

“Where are you taking me?” Sudden terror seized her. She tried to break away but found his grip on her was too strong. “Please. I’m sorry...” Her imagination ran wild with horrible possibilities. Tears began to sting her cheeks.

“Well gee, I got me Scarlett O’Hara, boys.” The bank robber laughed as he announced his find to his cohorts.

“Let her go.” The man from the front of the line made a meek plea for her safety.

“Mind your frigging business!”

Deanna continued to struggle and finally broke free. The robber lunged for her. Faster than she was aware, the suited customer was standing and pushed her protectively behind him. He blocked the robber and they scuffled. She stepped backward and was terrified to see the robber gain the advantage and hold the gun to the man’s temple. One arm wound its way around the would-be rescuer’s neck and he was quickly subdued.

She stood trembling. “Oh Gosh, I’m sorry...”

No one else wanted to take a risk. Everyone obeyed the robbers’ demands. The young teller finished filling the bag, customer pockets were emptied of valuables. The gun was still being held on the attractive stranger.

“Get back down on the floor!” The robber commanded Deanna to lie down on the floor.

She was shaking with fear and with guilt. “Please let him go.”

“Lie down!”

She hesitated briefly and then did as she was told.

“Now everyone just remain where you are. Count slowly to three-hundred. If I hear any police sirens or see any cop cars, I will kill this man.” The robbers began to back out of the bank with one of them dragging the struggling man with him.

Deanna couldn’t let them just take the man with them, not after he had risked himself to save her. She looked up and saw a large ceramic demonstration piggy bank on the counter; as soon as she saw the robber look away, she jumped to her feet and grabbed it. She ran after the robber holding the hostage and struck him in the back of the head.

The robber stumbled. “Run!” She screamed at the stranger. He stared at her in disbelief. “Run!” Finally he made a hasty retreat to the street.

Before Deanna could get safely back into the bank, she found herself being grabbed again and this time the gun was held to her head.

“You little bitch.” The robber’s voice was raspy. “You’re coming with us instead, then.” He dragged her pleading out the doors and threw her into a van just outside on the street.

Another one of the assailants grabbed her to tie and gag her as the vehicle made a hasty retreat. About a block later, the van made a quick stop and Deanna was surprised to see the suited customer step into the van.

He looked at her in anger. “You couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you?”

Listen ...Circles in the Water

CIRCLES IN THE WATER
by Robert Hays
Available in Print and All Ebook Formats

Pleasure is oft a visitant; but pain

Clings cruelly to us.

--John Keats

Chapter One

The line where the wall and ceiling met was indistinct, the two planes appearing to brush together haphazardly and merge into a geometric illusion that tilted first one way and then another, so that the room seemed to rock and sway like the deck of a ship on the open sea. Broder tried hard to get his bearings. He strained to focus his eyes on a point up and out, through the medical paraphernalia that hung over his bed like a tangle of gleaming metal and plastic vines, searching for some familiar sight.

Powerful effigies hammered at his brain and demanded recognition. He struggled to block them, to push them aside and throw up a protective barrier against further intrusion, but they were too strong. In his mind's eye he saw Donnie Shand and Ray-Gene and Colletta, and he felt a confusing mix of euphoria and remorse. Donnie Shand and Ray-Gene were the only close friends he'd ever had. He wanted to hate them for what they did to Colletta, but how could he, when he was the one most at fault? Ray-Gene was gone now and he never expected to see Donnie Shand again, but Colletta had come back into his life, as if by magic, and things could never be the same.

She had materialized from nowhere: "Hey, Jimmie. I heard you had a hard landing. How ya' doin'?"

The pure and sweet Carolina accent, the soft, almost timid whisper. Even in his languid, drug-induced stupor he'd known it was her. Suddenly he was fifteen again and in love, stretched serenely in the grass under the delicate canopy of a chinaberry tree in Colletta's back yard on a balmy spring night in Conway. Overhead, a pale-shining moon seemed adrift in an endless starlit sky. Donnie Shand and Ray-Gene surely must be somewhere nearby.

But this was all wrong. He was supposed to be on his way to Iraq. That was the mission he'd trained hard for, readying himself to jump from an airplane in the black of night and join in a swift strike against the enemy. Any enemy. Broder was a good soldier who didn't ask questions, he just followed orders. Orders were what made the Army a safe haven—no decisions to make, always somebody to tell you what to do and when to do it, just don't screw up too big or too often and you've got it made. Life as a paratrooper suited him well. Life as a paratrooper was the only life he wanted.

And then the once-in-a-thousand-jumps training accident spoiled everything. A sudden wind shift that turned his chute upside down a hundred feet above the ground, the oppressive weight of full combat gear, the thudding impact that left him battered and broken. It was a minor incident by Airborne standards, they said. Sure it was. His right leg was splintered almost beyond repair.

How long had he been here? Two days …two weeks? He'd had too many surgeries and too much morphine, living in a shadow world, in and out of consciousness, barely aware of his surroundings.

What he slowly came to recognize as a human voice intruded on the silence, emanating from an invisible-faced image at the foot of his bed, a silhouette backlit by the dim glow of a fixture on the wall: "Are you Broder?"

"Yes. I'm Broder."

"I'm Lieutenant Colonel Hewlett," the image said. "How are we tonight, Sergeant Broder?"

"I'm doing okay, sir." He would take the image at its word; if the image said it was a colonel, he would speak to it as a colonel.

"Do you know what day it is?" the image was asking.

"Maybe Wednesday, sir?"

"It's Sunday. Do you know what year it is?"

"Yes, sir. It's 2003."

"Do you know where you are?"

"Sir, I think I'm in the hospital."

"Do you know which hospital?"

"I guess I'm still at Fort Bragg, sir. I don't remember being moved."

"Yes, you're still at Fort Bragg. You've not been moved. Do you recall what got you here?"

"Sir, I had a bad jump."

"That's what I'm here to talk to you about, sergeant. That bad jump. How much of it do you remember?"

"I think it just went wrong all at once, at the last second. There was nothing I could do. Am I in trouble, sir?"

The silhouette had taken more complete form. Broder could make out the likeness of a face, but it was unfamiliar, a face he didn't recall having seen before. The face spoke with authority, the way a colonel would speak. "Of course not," the face said. "Accidents happen. Nobody's blaming you. We always investigate training injuries."

"I understand," Broder told the face, "but I don't know how much I can help. I don't think I handled it very well, sir."

"There will be time enough to sort all that out, sergeant. I'll come back in a couple of days, after you've had time to get your head cleared up a little. And you'll be talking to Captain Oates, the safety officer. Meanwhile, get some sleep. You got a nasty break in that leg and that's all you need to worry about for now."

"Sir . . ."

"Yes, sergeant?"

"When will I be able to jump again?"

"All in good time, sergeant. For now let's just worry about getting you back on your feet. Okay?"

"Okay, sir."

The image disappeared and Broder sank back into his hazy dream world. His mind conjured the exquisite pleasures of the jump. He imagined the familiar sensations spawned by the torturous velocity of a fall through empty space and the buoyancy of floating above the earth, and granted his senses free reign to revel uninhibited in the breathtaking rush of cold air and the paradoxical noise of the wind and silence of nothingness. This was the world in which he found peace. It was a calming world, solitary, inhabited by no strange-faced images who talked like colonels and free of disturbing effigies from his past.

When he woke the next day, Broder would not remember speaking with Colonel Hewlett, but he would remember that Colletta had been there and that memory would bring pain.