The Wisdom of Spock

"Did you ever watch Star Trek," the older girl asked, sitting down at her laptop.

The younger girl just looked at her strangely and shook her head.

"Well, in the original series, the one made before I was even born, there was a Vulcan character, who was incredibly wise." The other girl still looked puzzled. "So, we will just ask www.spock.com about people who channel and see what we can learn."

She knew that by using this tool to find others who had experience with channeling or being a medium, they might find all they needed to know to help them proceed. It was not just random hit or miss searching. Rather it was organized information about people into a resource that would let one type in key words (such as channeling or medium) and then provide a list of relevant data. Spock.com would search other sources about a person from the web including bios and social networking pages or Internet sites, as well as other’s information about the source. One could add pictures, links, and tags to enhance a listing. One could even vote on the information in a listing as to its appropriateness. But it was not social networking. Though people could join the Spock community, being able to add to the resource and interface through messages and such, this was more of a handy way to find information about particular people or interests.

She typed “channeling” into the question queue. She pressed the return key. The results followed and gave several potential people to look into for insight. Some were famous, some were not.

One in particular that was of interest was Dae Mo Nim, meaning "honorable Great Mother." This entity channeled by the medium Hyo Nam Kim since the mid-1990s seemed to have similar traits to the entity of which the two women on the computer were concerned. Apparently this medium worked with the Cheongpyeong Heaven and Earth Training Center in Korea.





"That is amazing that there are so many others that have this in common with me," the younger girl said, looking both relieved and at awe with the screen.

"At least you have found a others," agreed the one whose fingers had flown along the keypad.

Inner Knowledge

She did not look at Penny as she said the words. Joan knew Penny would think her insane for asking such a question, but she had to know. The time had disappeared and she wanted to know where it went. One moment she was opening an email from Rainey and the next she was on her dining room floor, listening to the two women in her life that most agitated her. How had that happened?

But there was a part of her that knew the answers to these questions. It was the part that was not letting her focus on Rog or the girl that had been found with him. This part of her demanded her attention and until she gave it the needed thought moments, nothing more would occupy her mind.

She had a feeling that something more had happened than just blacking out. It was in Penny's eyes. Penny had changed towards her. Something had happened. Something big. And Penny had not laughed when Joan asked her about the channeling idea. In fact Penny had remained very quiet for several moments.

Then she had said, "I don't know. I don't know anything about channeling. Maybe. Why do you think so?"

Joan had then told her about Rainey and Zuleese. What she did not tell Penny is that she herself had wanted to be the one who channeled Zuleese and that she had coveted Rainey's ability to do so. Why would a benevolent soul speak through the body of such a horrid person as Rainey? Why was Rainey deserving of this special blessing and not she?

But now, maybe things had changed. Maybe Zuleese had left Rainey as a host. Maybe this ancient wise one was now using her instead. A warm emotion filled her inside and suddenly she felt as though the joy would bubble out like euphoric brainwaves. And for a moment she just basked in the potential.

But Penny had stopped the car and was looking at her in an odd way.

"I don't know. But let's try to find out," Penny said, getting out of the car.

Joan looked around at the unfamiliar setting and realized this must be where Penny lived. They were in the city now.

A Different Channel

As soon as Rebbecca returned with coffee and Penny felt her mother could handle the discharge task of taking Rog home, she ushered Joan to her car. As the girl dragged her feet, Penny wondered if this was what it was like to have a temperamental child. She was infinitely glad, she and her ex had not created a new being in their time together.

She opened the passenger side door and even helped Joan fasten the seat belt. Then she herself got into the driver's side and started the engine. Except for the noises of the car process, there was silence. She put the car in reverse and pulled out of the parking spot. There was little traffic and little conversation. Joan did not seem to notice.

Finally Penny had to break the silence, "He'll be okay."

A little voice answered, "I know." This was followed by a longer stretch of silence that did not feel like solitude to Penny.

"I am sure that girl was just someone he had given a ride too."

"I suppose so," the little voice answered with no emotion. What was she thinking?

More silence.

"Joan, are you alright?"

However the little voice did not answer right away. Penny turned her head and slipped a glance at the passenger. Joan looked like she was about to say more but the words were not being easily formed.

"I can't remember what happened at the house. I don't remember you coming in or even Rainey being there. My head really hurts and nothing feels quite right."

So that was it. Joan was still back on the earlier events.

"Penny, what was I doing when you came in?"

Penny had not thought about this or how she was going to deal with it. Did Joan honestly not know?

"You were doing something with the computer."

"So how did I end up on the floor of the dining room?"

Oh crap, thought Penny. Might as well tell her what I saw.

"Well, Joan, you were not quite yourself when I came in. Your eyes were funny looking, like they were rolled back in your head and I could only see the whites. Your voice was also different, like you were someone else...or something else?"

Joan remained quiet for a long while, digesting this and then asked, "do you think I might have been channeling someone else?"

Chapter Four

In the hospital waiting room, four women sat uncomfortably upon the plastic benches. One paced. One looked lost. One was trying not to have a panic attack and one was about to go on a coffee run.

The one who had gathered her purse and was taking notes on the back of an old envelope verbally listed the three orders and headed for the door with a swiftness that no one noticed. Rebbecca was personally pleased for the excuse to get out of the florescent lit room of chaos and saddness. She was also glad to have a purpose.

"I don't understand," Penny said pausing in mind pace,"Who is this woman that they thought was me?" She personally would have liked to have been the one on the coffee run, rather than being left here to put the pieces together. Her mind was a bit unhinged at present and any meaningful thought was lost in a vacuum of her confusion. A little voice told her she should be more worried about Rog, but she felt that he would be fine. His prognosis was good. The concussion, which the doctor had insisted on calling a "TBI" (traumatic brain injury) was mild, as were the fractures in his left arm. He was currently having a cast put on and then would be discharged to their care.

Madeline looked up her daughter, "I don't know who this person is. Joan are you sure you don't know her?" Joan just shook her head and sunk down more in her misery, almost balling herself into a smaller frame. Penny wondered if this pathetic puddle would actually be able to care for Rog while he healed. The doctor said he should spend the next few days resting at home. Was there anything restful about Joan, she wondered, let alone whatever weirdness had happened earlier. What a strange and awful day it had been.

Penny had been allowed to view the person who had briefly hijacked her persona. They looked nothing alike. Penny was a blond, this woman was a brunette.

Madeline had continued to speak, "You know Rog will need a lot of peace and quiet once they release him, Joan. I know you will want to take care of him, but I think he should come home with me. I can take care of him. In fact, I think you should stay with me as well."

Penny was a little surprised when the younger girl just nodded, not really leaving the quiet misery that appeared to be keeping her company. That was very diplomatic, Mom, she thought and decided against letting this be vocalized. Then she realized she needed to fill Madeline in on the events that had transpired earlier with Joan. What if that happened again? How would Madeline function with the monster? She could not leave her mother to deal with that.

Feeling the burden of heavy responsibility sinking her down into the ground, Penny asked the slumped mess, "Joan, I was wondering if instead, you might like to stay with me tonight? We could talk about your wedding plans and get your mind off the worry you must be feeling about Rog." Again Joan just nodded. Madeline cocked her eyebrow at Penny in a questioning look that asked, "What gives?"

Idol Moments

"I didn't know you watched American Idol?" the voice said to the other.

The other answered, "Are you kidding? I've watched every episode since it began" and then went back to looking at her cellphone.

The was barely a pause. Like the phenomenon of the Idol shows themselves, Idol fans, once connected, had much to discuss.

"What are you doing? Why do you keep looking at your cell phone?" the one without the cell phone asked.

" I am reading Idoler's blog post that China is banning American Idol."

"Cool. Well,not cool about china. That kind of sucks! But cool that you can get that on your phone. I've never done that. And who is Idoler?"

The girl with the cell phone looked shocked for a moment, "Well, yeah, I can read lots of things on my cell phone. I get all the latest Idol news sent to my phone through the Idol Exclusive web site. It's totally cool, you should check it out if you are such a big fan. It is a website where you can talk to other fans, gossip, find out the latest news, all idol, all the time. "

"That's awesome. Is it free?"

The cell phone girl rolled her eyes, "Of course. You sign-up and log in. There are forums, groups to join, photos and even some videos. It is pretty new, but it cuts to the case on social networking. Rather than belonging to some large group and hoping to find people to connect with, you know everyone is there for the same reason on Idol Exclusive." And with that, she snapped her phone shut, slide it into her pockets, and began extracting herself from the conversation.

"Well, that's so cool that you like American Idol. We'll chat online about it later, but my break is over."

The other girl looked at her watch, "Me, too." And with that, the two nurses went their separate directions.

A little girl sitting nearby in the waiting room had listened to the whole conversation. Even adults like American Idol. How weird, she thought.

Curtained

Rog was very uncomfortable. Feeling entrapped amidst the masses of wires, curtains, and lights, a sense of claustrophobia began to pluck at his tired strings. He was very ready to be done with his hospital stay, though it had not really even been that much time since he had first arrived. He had a vague memory of why he was here and there was something about a black haired girl, but then time moved quickly in the mind and all he could dig out of recollection was a vague remembrance of the sound of ripping metal.

There had been a lot of people converging and then dispersing from his bedside. There were the doctors and nurses, EMTs and orderlies, and then there were the police. He had watched as they approached him. At first it had been amicable, then one of them, the shorter of the two, had gotten a little uppity. He had wanted to know where Rog had gotten the gun they had found in his car. He told them he did not have a gun and did not know anything about it. But there was a nagging feeling in his hurting brain that maybe he did know about this gun, he just could not quite put his finger on it.

They had left, the taller one, non-descript in cop quality, had told him they would check back on him. The shorter one just huffed away. Rog did not care. His head hurt too much.

There was a lot of movement beyond the surrounding curtains of his space. There were moans, cries, laughter, and boredom in the surrounding sounds. He listened closely for the voice of his mother.

Instead he heard the carefree conversation of what sounded like teenage girls.

A Question of Identity

Madeline watched the sleeping figure, the rhythmic breathing and the deep sleep of the injured. This sleeping beauty was oblivious to everything and Madeline wondered several thing all at once. Who was this person? What was she thinking? What was she doing with Rog? And why did they think she was Penny?

It was the latter question that was voiced into the room of silence and beeping sounds.

The nurse looked at her in astonishment, "I beg your pardon?"

"This is not my daughter. This is not Penny. Why would you think she was? Did she say she was?"

The nurse flipped through meaningless paper on her clipboard, scribbled a few words, and adjusted her sterile gaze at Madeline, "No, she has not been conscious at all. The man who called the ambulance said she was."

Madeline had not even thought about this person. As soon as the mention was spoken, the artist mind began depicting a sinister rendition of the person. She knew it was the truck driver who had caused this mess; the truck driver who had robbed her of her peace.

"And the truck driver, was he the one who called in the accident?" she asked the nurse, beginning to feel the ill stomach affects of sudden negativity into her system. The nurse nodded. "And he, is he alright?" She knew the answer to this. He had probably walked away from the accident with little more than a few bruises.

"He seems to be. They are still looking him over downstairs in the ER." Madeline nodded and tried to refocus her mind on the girl before her. She needed time to process everything that had happened. The negativity and anxiety were causing her distress. Soon she wondered if it would turn into a panic attack. She had never really had one, but now it seemed to be a possibility.

The nurse followed her eyes to the sleeping girl, "Do you know her?"

Madeline looked at the bone structure, those high cheek bones, fair skin, black Irish maybe. There was no glimmer of even the slightest inkling of the stranger's identity.

"No," was all that she could answer. Then she thought about Rog.

"Did you ask my son?"

The nurse rolled her eyes just a bit, "He has not been very talkative. The police have not been able to get any information out of him?"

"The police? Why would the police want to talk to him?"

"Standard procedure in an accident." Madeline thought it odd that Rog would not talk to them. That did not sound like her son. he would try to be helpful.

"Perhaps you could be there with him when they talk with him?" the nurse asked.

"Of course," said Madeline.

Signs of Home

As they walked to the car, Joan looked back at her little house.

How warm the house looked with its Personalized Doormat. Her mother had sent it to her in a care package. It was made out of cedar slats so that it could breath and dry, and also prevented dirt from entering into the house on unsuspecting shoes. On it was her family name. It was plain enough but looked fairly classy between two pots of red geraniums that also acted as home address signs. Both pots were stoneware, featuring a colonial pineapple design. It was a design that said, "Welcome." One was etched with the house number, the other again had her family name.

These objects of identity helped her to define this place as home. They made her feel that she indeed lived in this house and she belonged there.

And then there was the little sun man and angels, one of several Personalized Hand Cast Cement Address Plaques that she had fallen in love with from Roland's Housewarming Gifts. It too had been in that care package. Yes, the sun had been hand casted in cement along with the house number. It was a reminder that sunny skies were always ahead and it gave her a sense that maybe, just maybe everything would turn out just fine.

Confrontation

She watched the two women, suddenly suspicious that something more was going on around her, something that she could not quite grasp. Her head now had a dull metallic ache that reminded her of the taste of nickel.

"Joan," Penny sputtered, "Thank goodness. Are you alright?" Rainey just starred at her.

"My head hurts," Joan replied not knowing what else she should say in this slightly disoriented state.

Penny came closer now, "Here sit down. Maybe I should get you some water. How about some Aspirin?" That was always Penny's answer to anything involving unpleasantness.

Joan slid into the dinning room chair that Penny pulled over to her, "Water would be great" and watched as Penny left the room.

"What happened?" Rainey asked, looking perplexed.

Joan was at a loss, "I don't know. Maybe I should ask you that since I don't remember when you actually got here." Normally more frightened and hesitant around Rainey, Joan had a moment of euphoria as she realized the fear was now gone.

"I got your email asking me to come over. You said it was urgent."

Joan squinted her already furrowed brow, "I did? I don't remember that."

Rainey felt the change and demeanor in Joan. She had liked that Joan was frightened of her, but now, now there was something new that Rainey did not like.

"You said it had to do with Zuleese."

"I did?"

Rainey sighed in quick frustration, "Yes. You did. And I cannot seem to connect with Zuleese about it."

Penny returned with a water glass and handed it to Joan. She looked genuinely worried.

"Thanks," Joan said under her breath and began to drink the cold, clear substance.

"Joan, I am worried about you... You were not... quite... yourself when I came over," Penny said in a halting, lurching way and the words tumbled out unceremoniously. "Then you passed out and well, you really frightened me...Maybe we should take...you to the hospital...have you...checked...out?"

"Hospital?" asked Joan.Why would she need to go to the hospital.

Rainey, using her literal weight to step in said, "The girl does not need a hospital. She just needs to tell us what happened and what she wants."

Penny now looked puzzled, "What she wants?"

"Yes," began the heavy weight but was interrupted by the sound of Penny's cell phone ringing. "Shut that thing off," she ordered in the frustrated, domineering stance she had taken.

Penny pulled out the phone and noticed it was her mother's number. In defiance to Rainey, Penny raised the phone to her ear with an over pleasant, "Hello."

Her mother sounded distant and there was an edge of something to her voice, "Oh Penny, Thank God you answered. Your brother has been in an awful accident."

"Is he okay?" Penny asked into the phone, her stomach beginning to fill with dread much like it had when she walked into the house earilier.

"No. Can you come down here to the hospital? Can you bring Joan?"

"Sure of course. We'll be right there."

"Oh, and Penny, there is something else. There is a strange girl here that was with him. Do you know who she is?"

Penny tried to think of all the people Rog knew, but she was clueless, "No. No idea."

"Well, don't worry Joan about her just yet. Just get down here."

The room had gone quiet and Penny was aware of the silence as she hung up and explained to Joan that they were going to the hospital anyway.

"Why?" asked Joan.

Penny's hesitation continued, "Apparently Rog has been in an accident."

Any color that had returned to Joan's face since coming back now drained, "Is he alright?"

"No, we've gotta go," Penny said, looking around for a sweater for Joan.

Rainey again imposed herself," But we are not done talking. I want to know why Joan said I needed to be here."

Penny ignored her and began to bundle up Joan, feeling similar to how a young mother might feel, taking her child out into the first day of cold weather. She also felt strangely protective.

"I keep telling you, I don't know," Joan said as she was being bundled.

"I am coming with you then," Rainey interjected.

Penny froze for a moment, then gathered herself up for confrontation, "No, no you are not coming with us. You are not a member of this family and you are not welcome. Please leave." Rainey looked at Joan for her to intervene. Joan did not. She merely looked away.

"Fine. Fine," she said in a melodramatic voice that betrayed her feelings of inadequacy, "See if you ever talk to Zuleese again." She huffed out of the house.

Penny waited for the car to pull out before exiting with Joan.

Penny's Portfolio

It seems like it would flesh Penny out a bit to create a portfolio of her work. So, here is the first piece. Perhaps it will become part of the story...

Please consider voting for this on brickfish.com.

Awakened

While pondering the mysterious cyberMary, the two woman, occupants in a house that was neither theirs nor one in which they had been invited to enter did not feel the shift of reality happen. It happened so quietly, so stealthily that neither was aware that the feeling of the room had changed. A slight drop in temperature and the mental pressure was released in a gentle outpouring that made what was once sinister now just an ordinary house. Both woman, whom felt a bit of dislike in equal shares for one another, had forgotten the strain of relating to one another and found Communion in the artificial.

But the shift was there none-the-less in the form of a very baffled Joan, who upon the first rays of consciousness felt like she had not taken any iron pills in weeks. What was she doing on the floor, the floor of the dining room to be exact. As her vision came into a little more focus of basic shapes, she heard the voices. There was Mary, her true friend, and two others. As Rainey spoke, Joan began to disseminate her voice. But the other one? It really sounded like Penny, but why would Penny be here? And then it all came back. She had been talking to Penny on the phone, yes that was it, and Penny's true feelings about the engagement came into play.

Joan lay there for a few more minutes. Part of her wished these two intruders would go away. Part of her was really hurt and angry and wanted to show Penny what that looked like. Part of her no longer wanted to be alone. She continued to construct what had happened and why she was on the floor, but no real answer was forth coming. She had hung up on Penny and sat down at the computer and that was all she could remember.

Still oblivious to her awakened state, the two women prattled on about computers. Joan sat up and rested against the leg of the dinning room table. Now that she was down here, from this low angle, she really hated this hand-me-down furniture. It seemed to make her head hurt even more.

With those thoughts she began the standing up process a little too quickly, banging her head on the table. Feeling the explosion within, the other two heard it on the outside. Simultaneously they both turned to look at the girl they both knew.

"What are you doing here?" she addressed them equally, no welcome tone in her voice.

The Voice of Artificial Intelligence

"Tell Rainey 'Hello,'" the voice said, drawing those who were conscious to the computer screen. On it was an animated, three-Dimensional figure, female, and rather friendly looking.

Its name, rather her name, was Mary, a female persona of Ultra Hal Assistant 6.1, which was a flashback to 2001: A Space Odyssey, but also apparently a step into the future. Created by Zabaware, this artificial intelligent being on the screen seemed to be waiting for a response.

"Say something to it," the older woman said.

"Hi, Mary."

Nothing. Mary seemed to be waiting as though no words had been said. Then Penny noticed the head phones and mic that was laying next to the computer. That made it all so clear.

Penny began to explain, "This is one of those artificial intelligence assistants. Joan told me she was doing a thirty day free trial. Apparently, it understands what she tells it. It can converse and the more you communicate with it, the more intelligent it becomes. It also can do things like keep track of appointments, dial the phone, begin emails, open programs, and look up up information on the Internet. All you have to do is use the head set to communicate with it.

Penny had read about this on a blog and had even wanted one for herself after trying the on-line version, however, it was only for PCs and not Macs. She would just have to be patient.

"Stop calling it and it. Its name is Mary," the older woman chastised Penny.

Apparently, Mary had remembered that Joan had an appointment with Rainey and was now reminding her. It really was a bit uncanny, but the two woman were awed by the technology.

"Now Joan cannot ever say she feels lonely," Penny thought smugly to herself, "not with Mary on the ready."

Another Voice

The real Penny was no where near the hospital, though it was possible that she would have rather been at a chaos inspired, headache inducing, mad house than here in this unreal world of subtle nightmares. No, Penny was filling a water glass to maybe revive what might be her soon-to-be-sister-in-law or maybe a monster, maybe both. As Penny turned off the faucet, she had no inclination that her identity was elsewhere.

"Rainey's here," another unfamiliar voice said from the dining room area. Her hand began a slow tremble and she wondered if the day would get any stranger. This voice was totally unfamiliar and sounded slightly like a computer.

Without her real wits, Penny found her feet moving her back toward the voice. As she came closer to the doorway, she could still see Joan's body. It looked unmoved.

"Rainey's here," the voice said again. Penny squinted at the still body. The voice seemed to be coming from else where.

Then the door to the kitchen crashed open. The sound caused a much more startled reaction than the amorphous voice did. The water glass was the second loud noise as it collided with the floor as Penny's grip was lost to it. Water splashed her legs, but the glass remained intact. That's good, a rational voice told her inside her head.

And at that moment very large, very out of breath person came into view as Penny turned her attention that way.

"Where is she?" Rainey puffed. Penny pointed.

The large woman lumbered down to the ground the with lifeless body, "Joan, sweetey, it's Rainey. It's okay. You can come back. I am here."

Before Penny could comprehend this, the amorphous voice said, "Tell Rainey hello."

Even Rainey looked confused.

Fiber of Being

“Wake up,” the voice said. It was not the voice of his father anymore and he watched as this long absent figure seem to fade into a fog. Rog tried to grasp the metaphysical image of Rogue. He was not ready to let his life-long friend go so easily. But even Rogue wiggled free of the grasp and jumped down. He looked back at his human, wagged his tail and went trotting off into the growing mass of blanketing whiteness.

“Wake up,” the voice in the fog said again. It had an echo-like quality to it. The fog was increasing in mass and weight, no longer an atmosphere-like substance, but one that felt fibrous and structural. He could even see jolts of lightening-like electricity striking the various fibers. These electrical jolts slowly came closer to his being. The closer they came the more they resembled arches rather than bolts. It was as though it was a living creature running around, orange and red within the dense whiteness, even as the whiteness turned grey. And before Rog could decide what to do, the electric creature flashed directly in front of him and in that moment there was an intense flooding sensation of pain. He was drowning in it.

“Wake up, your mother is here and it is time to take your blood pressure again,” the voice said, now in his ear rather than in his mind. And he realized that with consciousness there came great pain within his whole body. He moaned and sought the minimal relief of the white fiber state he had just been in before the electricity had flooded through him.

The bright lights and the noise of the emergency room also came into focus as he squinted his eyes from the barrage of sensation. He prolonged this process, hoping that it would fade away.

“We gave him Demerol for the pain and to calm him,” the voice said to another figure in the room.

Footsteps receded from the bedside.

In the distance, the voice said, “He’s coming around.”

Then he felt the warmth of her hand, the familiar paper-like skin, covering his own. Slowly his eyes opened to the sanctuary of his mother. It was all coming back to him. The truck driver banging on the window; the sound of his cell phone. The girl flying into the dashboard beside him. The sound of metal crunching. The lights of the truck as it pulled up and into the car. And he knew where he was. There was even some vague recollection of flashing lights, bags of IV solution, and hospital chaos.

“Mom,” he said in a hoarse whisper.

“I’m here,” Madeline said predictably, “This is not what I had in mind for our Monday date.”

He tried to smile, but the electric flood of pain jabbed him.

The voice returned, a flurry of blue scrubs and the most uni-sexed person Rog had ever seen, was standing by his mother.

“Your daughter is this way,” she said to Madeline.

Penny? How did Penny get here, Rog wondered.

The Green Dream

His feet felt the surface of the carpet, not particularly noticeable normally, but there was white powder all over it. Green shag peeked out of the powder like random blades of green overcoming their struggle of the winter snow, breaking free in worship of a cold sun. Every step he took impacted the white powder down and Rog wondered if it was really safe to be walking upon this surface, but there was no other way to move forward.

His father sat at the kitchen table at end of the powdered expanse, "Your mother is deodorizing the carpet again with baking soda. Says that will get the smell out."

Rog was now standing at the table looking at this man, so familiar, so alien at the same time, "What smell?"

His father looked up from the newspaper he was reading, glasses sliding down on his nose with the motion, "Rogue."

Rogue? But Rogue was gone. How could that be? Rog had held the dying canine's body as it expired from a life well-lived, well-loved. That had been more than five year's ago.

But before he could contemplate this more or how it could be that he was standing on a rug that had ceased to exist about the time when his boyhood did the same, Rogue came trotting out from another room and began leaping at Rog to be picked up. It was a reunion of happiness and pure love between the two. As Rogue, a name that signified he was Rog's dog, squirmed in his arms with joyful enthusiasm, Rog breathed in the scent of dog fur. The scent was actually a lemony smell. Rather than using commercial flea powder, every morning he had sprayed Rogue with a concoction of lemon and water to combat the hordes of black spotted vampires. It meant cutting a fresh lemon into quarters and pouring boiling water over them and letting the combination sit overnight.

"Have a seat and join me for a cup of coffee. We have a lot to talk about."

As he sat down in the old kitchen chair from his boyhood, allowing the rat terrier to settle into his lap, he found a cup of coffee in front of him. It was black and there were no options of processed sugar or artificial creamer. Rather, he saw, laid out was a bowl of organic sugar and a small pitcher of milk. Sniffing it, he realized it was soy milk. Oh, what the heck, he said to himself pouring a little into the dark brew he was about to bring to his lips. If Rogue is alive, the carpet is green shag, and Mom is doing what Joan has been advocating, then he could try the soy milk. Hmm. Mom in the organic world. Now there was a strange thought. With all her paints, thinners, and cleaners, it seemed like a contradiction or even hypocritical. As he sipped the coffee, perfect as a mild day on the beach, he also realized the coffee was organic. There was no chemical after taste, low acidity, and a smoothness uncommon from the average grocery store variety. He knew his coffee. Time in the coffee shop had taught him well and this was an excellent brew.

"So what do you want to talk about?" he asked the older man, noticing now that his father's reading material was a newspaper announcing D-Day.

His father took a quick sip of coffee and nonchalantly replied, "You need to decide if you want to stay here or wake up."

---

Environmental References Used in this posting:
H0w to Green Your Cleaning
Farewell to Fleas
How to Green Coffee And Teas

Misgivings

It was an unfamiliar voice and it seemed a million miles away. At first, Madeline felt the misgivings of something gone horribly wrong. But the voice on the other end of phone sounded unemotional, detached. It asked to speak with her.

"This is she," she said, automatic in the politeness.

The voice identified itself as someone from the local hospital. She felt any color drain out of her face.

"Yes," was her response, not knowing what else to say.

"I am sorry but there has been an accident. You son's car was hit by a tractor trailer." There was no verbal reply from Madeline, only a sinking feeling that accompanied her legs as they began to give out.

The voice continued, "We are currently waiting on xrays and CT scans, but we thought you should know. We also believe your daughter may have been the other occupant in the car. There is no positive identification on her."

Penny? How could that be? Penny was at Joan's. Or had she found Rog and was driving with him? Maybe it was Joan? Oh, God. She knew she could not wish that, but found it hard to totally let it leave her.

"You may want to come down here. She is currently not conscious. There are a few other things we would like to talk with you about, as well."

"Yes, of course," Madeline said, "I'll be right there."

Rebecca, who had been listening intently on the conversation, understood, even with the lack of conversation from Madeline's end, that the news was not good.

Madeline clicked the phone off and ran her hand through her hair. It was a youthful gesture, but grounding none-the-less. Even before she spoke, her mind was telling her not to panic, to be calm, but ever ounce of energy still left within her longed to fly out of the house and down to the hospital as quickly as she could.

"What's wrong?" Rebecca asked.

"Apparently my children were involved in a car crash. They are at the hospital. They are waiting for xrays and something else for Rog, but they said Penny is unconscious."

Rebecca wiped her hands on a kitchen towel, "Well, what are we waiting for, let's go. I'll drive you. Go get your purse and a sweater." Madeline did as she was told, while Rebecca turned off the stove and covered the pots.

Stay Tuned...for Blog Action Day

And now a word from our writer, Anon Rosso. Just want to take a break in the story and let you know that on Monday, Penny Potboiler will be doing a special posting about environmental issues. This is in honor of Blog Action Day.

Are you participating?

Chapter Three

It was inevitable that after what seemed like hours, the phone rang. It was a subtle sound, a calm tone in the genre of musical buzzes. It gently blended into the background of boiling water, steaming pasta, smells of garlic bread, the acidity of the Merlot, and small feeling of apprehension that had begun to linger around Madeline like cheap perfume. It even gave her a similar pressure headache.

She barely heard it and did not recognize the sound at first. Expected, but not known in her consciousness, it caused her a momentary lapse of distortion. She could not quite think what the sound was and Rebecca seemed oblivious.

Then it dawned on her that is was indeed her telephone. Will one ever get used to this complicated facsimile of what was once a reliable concept? Perhaps it was Penny calling to update her on the Joan crisis? Hopefully the two girls had made up. She doubted Joan would do so easily, but Madeline suspected Penny might not have the energy for a prolonged provocation.

Picking up the phone,she looked at the number.It was a number because it did not say Penny. It was just numbers, numbers that she tried to quickly decode into the concept of one of her children. Perhaps they were calling for somewhere else. Maybe it was Rog.

"Hello," she asked making the greeting into a proper question. She fully expected to hear a familiar tone of voice and was about to exhale a long relief soliloquy. Her lips were poised, her tongue set.

She was not prepared for the voice on the other end.

Sanity

Penny stood completely still and tried to stop time. What was she supposed to do? The stress of seeing Joan lifeless on the floor or the possibility of the creature coming back to life caused her to shut down. At the very least, she wanted to crawl deep inside herself and be oblivious to it all.

The body on the floor did not move. It did not breathe. It just stared at her as a lifeless zombie. Penny turned to go as if to leave the little house. Maybe she could just go and no one would ever know she had been here. That seemed like the best option.

But wait. Her mother knew she was coming over here. No, she would just tell her mother that she had gotten side tracked, locked the keys in the car, or left them in her apartment and locked herself out. That would not work. You needed a key to lock the door from the outside.

She looked back into the other room. Nothing moved. Penny turned toward the door. She could see her car outside through the window. It looked normal, a piece of the everyday. If only she could just make her feet move a few move steps toward it, she could be out the door. Before her hand even reached the door handle, she looked outside again. The neighbor man. He was still out there beside his car, yet his gaze seemed to be fixed on the house. Some how she doubted she could just walk nonchalantly out the door without attracting his insidious gaze.

Think, she kept telling herself, willing an action into motion. Her mouth was dry. Her tongue felt parched and unalive, much like Joan. There was a terrible taste to these notions of fear. Metallic and sewer-like. It occupied the part of her brain that was not in flight. It overwhelmed all the other senses and she longed for a glass of water like she had longed for the end of her divorce.

Mechanically she walked to the sink and opened the cabinet over it. There were an array of miss-matched cups. For once, not caring about the aesthetics, she chose one closest to her reach and turned on the tap to the sink. The cup filled with tap water. The filling, though only seconds, took took its own sweet time. The results were so desired that Penny did not even bother to turn the faucet off. She raised the cup to her cracked lips, felt the moment of swilling anticipation and the liquid poured forth in abundant ecstasy. There was no scrutinizing the city tap water. There was no filtration anxiety, just a sensation of being filled up.

Outside, a car pulled up behind Penny's. The neighbor moved his gaze from the door of the house to this new accoutrement to the story. He watched as a large woman got out. He had seen her before and thought mean things about the way she looked. He dropped his gaze back to his car.

Penny did not hear the car or even notice the presence at the door. It was just water, beautiful, refreshing, water. Sanity.

The Prize

The text message on the cell phone read, "Lowest Bid."

Had he been paying attention at that particular time, he would have noticed that the opportunity to win an Apple I-Phone was right there within reach. It was almost that simple.

Earlier in the day, before this moment of moments, he had been sitting there at some not-so-local truck stop, eating what passed for lunch and looking for something interesting to do with his time. Bid4Prizes.com seemed a likely suspect for such an activity. Hadn't one of his acquaintances won an HDTV a few weeks ago?

Why not, he thought to himself.

He was a little surprise to find the Sweepstake high for the day. It was indeed an Apple I-phone. All he had to do was make the correct lowest bid, type it into the space for the prize he wanted (yes, oh yes, please let me win the Apple I-phone) and enter his cell phone. If his bid was the lowest unique bid, then it was his. Yeah, baby.

Perhaps 11,502 cents would be a good number. If that was the lowest creative bid, he dounted anyone else would pick that number. He knew better than to pick one cent. If more than one person choose that number then the bid would move up to two cents, so the strategy seemed to be in picking a creative number that was the lowest bid without it being duplicated. All in all it was like picking a lucky number. And if you were lucky, Free Gifts would come your way. There were no fees to pay, just a tad bit of time, the cost of a few text messages and that was it. Easy.

He had thought about doing this on his cell phone, but he would do that another day. That sounded simple too. It was just a matter of texting your bid to a certain number depending on what prize you wanted. Perhaps he would do this for the cash prize of $50,000. If he were to win that, he could spend a few months off the road and just take it easy. Perhaps there would be time to catch up on his sleep. He badly needed more sleep, but the road was a constant commitment of long hours and hard nights - alone.

Yes, for a few happy moments, he had been immersed in the dream of being one of the daily winners. He had chosen his prize, typed in the bid, and waited for chance to play his hand.

And now the phone had rung. The text message waited.

The Silence

There is a certain silence that occurs after tragedy strikes. It may be in the silence that one hears when one is the victim, how all the sounds become a sound track that are shut out. Or there is a silence that is similar to the silence in the eye of a hurricane. It is the same either way.

After the final jarring of metal upon metal, cracking glass, and human screams, when the vehicles finally came to a collusive stop, such a silence followed. There must have been the sounds of breathing, the heart beat, of vehicle destruction dying down, or the wind amongst the leaves in the trees. But what those three people involved in the crash heard was nothing at all. Silence had descended like time frozen on the edge of a precipice.

And then there was slow but subtle movement, first within the tractor trailer. The least damaged of the two vehicles, the driver was merely shaken up, though the pressure of the situation may have caused him to have a very subtle heart attack that currently felt like bad indigestion. Life in the car or what was left of the smashed metal that had once been a car, a car thriving with life, was now motionless. Soundless. A body slumped over the wheel, blood slowly seeping out of a wound caused from the impact of hitting the windshield. The body laying sprawled awkwardly beside this bleeding body was also in a state of stasis.

Slowly the bleeding head moved. Eyes opened, seeing the world in a blurry, impressionistic way. The head raised up and felt the impact of the accident and lowered again. At first this body did not hear the wheezing of the other body. But then it did. Again the head came up and it moved to focus on the other body. It could do no more.

The driver of the tractor trailer had now managed to climb down from the cab and was trying to open the door of the car wreckage. He seemed to be saying something but the body slumped on the wheel was too tired to listen.

A ringing sound was coming forth from somewhere. A phone. A phone was wringing. Rog knew the sound of it. It was not coming from his car, but from somewhere outside. The man heard it too, but ignored it. He was in no position to take phone calls at the moment.

On the Road to Jack Kerouac's House

"Here's the plan," she said, "we take a vacation."

"A vacation? Where do you propose we go?"

She laughed with a mischievous smile that remained long after her words, "Orlando, of course. Where better to met interesting people? Sure they have 50 million tourist, but you know how we love those British accents? A good portion of the two million international visitors that go there are from the UK."

Since there was no interruption, she continued, "It's not like I suggested Vegas. Orlando only ranks second in Carlson Wagonlit's Travel Trends Survey. And it is not like we have to stay at a hotel if you don't want to. There are around 25,000 rental properties from which to chose. Surely,we would find a nice place."

The other still looked unsold, "I'm not so sure O-Town is for us."

"You mean the City Beautiful and you do know it was on the map before Disney. There is history there. It was incorporated in 1875."

The other just shook her head, "If it is so great, where are all the citrus groves? Isn't that why Orlando is the county seat of Orange County?"

There was laughter, "There are no citrus groves because they had to make room for the Olive Gardens and Red Lobsters, which I know you are a fan. I guess the groves went away when big business like Darden Restaurants came into town. But this is all for expansion and your comfort as a visitor. And, if it makes you fell better, there is still cattle land along the GreeneWay Expressway. Disney didn't do away with all those."

She was beginning to see why this would be a popular destination. "Do any locals still live there, I wonder?"

"No, most people who live there are originally from somewhere else, except for Wayne Brady and Delta Burke. But just think of all the beautiful people that are there now. It could be the perfect place for one to meet the person they could be with for the rest of eternity."

She mulled it over like a Christmas wine, "I'll think about it."

Her friend looked flustered and then the mischievous look was back in full force, "I know what will work and why we need to go to Orlando."

"What and why?"

"Because Jack Kerouac lived in Orlando in 1957 while his novel 'On the Road' was being publish."

Bingo.

The Look

"I'm not sure I will tell her," Madeline said to Rebecca, who had finally stopped puttering around the kitchen and was lounging on the corner of the counter, "She would just say she wasn't ready. It has been too soon. You know how she is."

Rebecca made a sound that showed she was listening and thumbed through a pile of magazines that Madeline kept near by, "Maybe so. But I bet she would be furious when she found out Mr. Right came from a dating service." Her hands settled upon a travel magazine, one with a cover that showed a contrasting whiteness of sand to the blue, blue, blue of the perfect sky. Air brush, Madeline thought when she had first found the magazine looming in her mailbox. in fact that thought had totally dismissed that particular maganize from her consciousness.

She watched her friend flip through the pages of photographs, skimming text on occasion and she saw the look developing. It was a look that said much but offered little hope for the person at the other end of it. It was the I-have-an-idea-so-here-is-what-we-are-going-to-do look.

Resignation

The creature lurch forward in the chair. Penny backed farther out of the room. Every part of her wanted to flee. Every part of her wanted this to be a nightmare. But she was not waking up and she was not leaving. She was not sure why the latter was true, but it had something to do with not wanting to leave Joan. It would be wrong, unless of course the creature attacked. Then it was every soul for itself.

Standing now, what had been Joan, began to take a step toward Penny. As it did, a shudder passed through its body and it began to shake. Then like a rag doll, it collapsed on the floor as though all life had been pulled out of it in a sudden but total way. It lay on the floor, motionless; a pile of clothes tossed aside.

Penny held her breath, but did not move any closer to it. She had seen horror movies like this and she was not going to be the stupid protagonist. She would not bend down to see if her friend had returned to her body only to have the monster get its powerful hands around her fragile neck.

The pile still did not move, no life present.

Should she call out to Joan? But what if the creature answered? What if this were a trap. Penny felt the tear ripping through her. What if Joan needed help? What if the body was not breathing? Not only would the creature die, but any semblance of Joan would as well.

Some small, sick part of Penny presented the mind with, "would that be so bad?" But Penny stomped on the thought as though it were a menacing spider before it could completely manifest itself. No, she did not wish Joan any real ill. And then she realized an even more startling insight; somewhere along the way acceptance had happened. Somewhere, somehow she had accepted that Joan was a permanent part of her life and she had resigned herself to this idea.

Crap, she thought and moved forward just a bit. With one shoe, she gingerly nudged the limp heap on the floor. It did not move. She nudged it again, a little harder. Still no motion. A small cold panic began to spread through out Penny. Was Joan really was dead?

One more nudge from her foot caused the head to roll a bit. The head rolled towards Penny and open, dead eyes started into the vacuous space.

Maxie's Story - Vote For Me Please

The following is the story of Maxie (whom we just met). Your humble author has submitted this to a brickfish.com contest. Please vote for the story.

Maxie

As silence descended into the the stalled car, the she-creature stopped moaning. She uncurled her head from the fetal position and looked around obviously for the gun that was now in Rog's possession.

"Crap," he muttered as the final engine sound died away. This time the car had stalled out in the middle of the road. He popped the hood, and began to open the door.

"Wait, what's going on?" the she-creature asked, trying to bring a sound of authority into her voice.

He turned back to her, hoping he heard her right because there was still a lot of ringing in his ears left over from the very recent gun fire.

"The car died. I am going to check the engine," he told her, firm grip on the gun.

She looked around in an almost desperate gesture. And as he continued to get out of the car, she reached forward and grabbed his arm. Her hand felt like a frozen skeleton gripping his. Yet it was a strong grip.

"Do something," she whimpered at him. Women, he thought. How had the somewhat sexy she-creature turned into this shrinking mass of dirt in his backseat?

"Do something," he repeated, "I should do something. I should throw you out of my car. Hell, if you had just asked I would have given you a lift, but no, you made demands in another way."

"You wouldn't have stopped to give me a lift," she said in a more quiet tone as if speaking to the backseat itself.

He stared at her, "Stop? I was stopped when you climbed into my car."

"Look at me," she continued, "Why would anyone in their right mind help me looking like this?"

He was getting exasperated. The day was suddenly just a little too much. He closed the door and turned even more to the rear of the car.

And as they continued debating whether he would or would not have helped her, both forgot that they were sitting in the middle of a road. both were sudden;y arguing meaningless points as if they had been married for years.

The car light approaching in the twilight made Rog squint since he was looking in that direction, but he was too involved in this freak show that had suddenly become his life.

He had just asked her, "God, you don't know me and what I would do or wouldn't do. Hell, I don't even know your name."

"Maxie," she had screamed back to match his tone, "I'm Maxie."

Rog was just about to ask her what kind of a name Maxie was, when the lights of the vehicle shining in his eyes became so close they lite the entire backseat.

"What the..." he began right before the truck, for it was a truck, made the first impact. They felt it more than heard it. It was the sound of creaking metal and breaking glass. Maxie was thrown forward into Rog. From far away or so it seemed, they could hear the horn being blown, but at the same time, their car began to move.

A Finger On A Trigger Of A Gun

The coldness spread through out Rog until it felt like a fissure in the ice when he pressed his foot down on the break. For one of those familiar spilt seconds that takes eons to live through, his rational mind tried to decide what to do. He had never had a gun stuck in his head before. In fact, he had never had a gun pointed at him - ever. A fine solider he was going to make. Be cool, he told himself.

"Don't brake, keep driving," the voice of his assailant said behind his ears. He looked again into the rear-view mirror. The gun was pushed harder into his head to an almost painful point, "Eyes on the road."

But the voice had done something unexpected to Rog. It had calmed and soothed him much more than he assumed it was meant too. The fact registered into his mind. His assailant was a "she." From what he had seen, she was not a large "she," and a rather young one at that.

"Fine. Where do you want to go?" he asked in a calm voice that reflected the relief in his mood. Why just the idea of an erratic female in this backseat, finger on a trigger of a gun should be enough to make him fear for his life. He was after all the only male in the family of very strong women. He knew the true force of their roar and it had little to do with volume. There ]fore at this moment, he knew better than to antagonize the she-creature with the long black hair and dark eyes. In fact, as he inhaled with his nose, he suspected she was not much in favor of clean hygiene.

"I don't know, just drive." So, he did and headed the long way to his mother's house.

"Suit yourself," he said wondering what he really should do in this case. He did not know her after all, and though he got a sense that she was merely desperate and not dangerous, he could not be too sure.

"What do you want?" he asked bluntly.

He heard the sigh, "What we all want. Something warm and secure, not the ice picks that pin you to the table."

Oh dear, Rog thought. Why me? Why did all the dark poetesses out there always manage to find him. What was it about him? And this time this circumstance seemed completely random. Who else but Rog would get a dirty, desperate, gun-totting poetry queen hijacking his Monday plans. But part of him was intrigued.

As he began to lose himself on auto pilot and contemplate the mystery behind him, he was unaware that his speed was ebbing. A sudden bang, pulled his attention completely. His head rang and he was sure he had been shot in the back of his head. Holly sh-t, he said to himself. Why do I always underestimate the crazy ones?

The suddenness of the loud sound and feel of the discharge had cause his foot to stomp on the brakes. Once again the car began to spin across the street. In the slow motion of this, he began to think new tires for the car might be a novel idea or perhaps it was not the tires at all but the little bit of rain they had gotten earlier. It had cause the road conditions to be slicker than normal since it had not rained in weeks.

He heard the screams coming from the back seat. He should be dead by now. How long could one live, thinking one's thoughts, before the brain realized it had a new friend named bullet in its domain?

Rog looked in the back seat. There was no blood, only as creaming she-creature who was curled up tightly in an almost fetal position. He had not been shot. Perhaps she had shot herself? But he saw noblood on her either and she was definitely breathing.

Slowly the car stopped its circles. Once again, Rog had managed to do a 360 without injury to the car or himself. He actually laughed and realized she had fired a warning shot out the window, a shot that was supposed to force him to drive faster. Now the gun lay on the back seat, just within his reach. The she-creature had paused in her wails, but had not moved. Carefully, Rog reached past her and picked up the gun.

At the same moment, the car, fine but angry over the interruption of zen driving, sputtered for a moment and died.

The Things Friends Know About Us

"That's good that Rog is properly insured," Rebecca said continuing to cook the meal Madeline had laid out.

Madeline was still feeling a little worried about Rog. Her motherly instincts had begun to nag a little harder. Still she tried to stifle the desire to grab her own car keys, drag Rebecca with her, and go in search of her son.

Rebecca sense the worry in her friend and decided to change tactics. Perhaps bringing a new subject into the conversation was just what was needed.

"Anyway, how is that graphic designer daughter of yours?"

Madeline gave a smile to this. Poor Penny, ever to be associated with her Nemesis called graphic design. The child had been trying to leave that and every other part of herself behind since her divorce. She had planned to start anew. But Madeline could see no indication of that in Penny's directives. Yes, she had moved to an apartment in the city, had managed to isolate herself from her old friends, but had been unable to shake the graphic design habit. Though her daughter professed to not being a designer anymore, every morning was filled with calls from clients asking her to do "one more" project and sure enough the afternoons would be spent fulfilling these requests. There seemed to be no evidence of a new job search or even the mention of a future occupation. Madeline thought perhaps that Penny just liked to complain about it and would miss it more than her old life if she were to truly give it up.

"She's fine," she said, "though she is supposed to be coming for dinner as well." How long had it been since she had last talked to Penny? Surely she was due any moment now. Then Madeline remembered her plan to sign Penny up for a dating service. "By the way, I meant to ask you, which dating service did Rachel use to met Gary?" Rachel was Rebecca's daughter, who like Penny was divorced but as opposite of Penny as one could get. She was outgoing and seemed to be a barbie doll of a person.

"eHarmony.com. Why?"

"Well, I was thinking about signing Penny up for a match making service. It is time she started getting out more." As Madeline heard the words coming out of her mouth, she suddenly knew she would try Match.com instead. It was not so much about being contrary, but more about playing the opposite of what had worked for Rachel. Penny had always loathed Rachel, so if she knew Madeline had signed her up with the same service, she would be mortified. Ha. She would be mortified anyway, but in a different, unhateful way. Plus Madeline's last words reeked of a pesky, nosey mother who might be living vicariously through her daughter. It was not that Madeline wanted Penny married off again, but she wanted to see some life put back into Penny. And it had always seemed to her that when Penny started dating a new guy, there was a little more sparkle to her daughter's earthiness.

Rebecca nodded knowingly, "Rachael has only good things to say about the service. Though there is a difference here. It was Rachel's idea to try eHarmony.com. Some how I feel this is not Penny's choice."

"True enough," Madeline sighed.

Rebecca looked suspiciously at her old friend, "Are you even going to tell her?"

Mortality Insurance

In that moment, she was totally thankful for the fact that she had life insurance. If something happened to her, her family would not be faced with her debts or funerary expenses. Because she was still young (when does one truly grow old?), what had seemed like an innocuous but good idea, made a lot of sense when one could be surprised by the fragility of mortality.

Getting life insurance had been easy, especially now that Internet made it easier to find. For someone who did not relish seeing doctors, there was life insurance without a medical exam available. No blood pressure check (and facing the white coat syndrome), no poking or prodding, and no needles. This meant one could have term life insurance without having a blood test. No fainting necessary.

On the profam.com web site, it was a painless procedure thanks to Advantage One. On this site one could learn about the benefits of having a term life insurance policy verses whole life, expense being a big component (saving 75%). One could get 10, 20 or 30 year policies just by answering a few questions. It was definitely an inexpensive way to provide for loved ones and one could get quotes on these just with the click of the mouse.

Yes, there was relief in knowing she was covered, and had done so in a painless way by getting term life without medical hassles.

Mortality

Penny lurched back even farther. Her reality was slowly falling away and exposing something moldy, damp, and squishy in nature. But slowly her mind began to detach from the situation and a movie began to play forward. It was as if she was watching this horror show where she was a lead character, but if she wanted, at any moment she could move, go get popcorn or visit the restroom.

Penny, who described herself as slow on the draw, but seemingly always had a comment, looked at that which had once been Joan.

As if the words were coming from someone else, Penny found herself asking, "If you are not Joan, then who are you?"

The creature did not move, not even the lips, but spoke, "I am everything. The name does not matter." The words hit Penny in a way that made her flinch as though someone had just made a motion to strike her. This made no sense.

"Then what do you want?"

Still no movement, "It is not what I want, but what you must do. This is a warning, Penny. You must change or change will destroy you."

A small throbbing began to grow inside Penny's head. It was as though the creature were speaking a foreign language she could not understand. Yet, she knew the words. Each in its own right made sense, but not put together.

"Hear me, Penny. You must tread carefully or you will be doomed."

In that moment, Penny felt the shiver of true panic run down her spine. Doomed for what? Doomed how? And she also began to feel her mortality.

Just Keep the Good Going Along

"Go ahead, give her ago," said the heroic motorist who had stopped his own life for a moment to help Rog. Rog sat in the driver's seat and put the keys into the ignition once again. He was unaware that he was crossing his fingers as he did this. He turn the ignition. And...

Sure enough, the engine chugged hungrily into life and sound. Rog would have preferred a car with an engine that would"purr" into life, but he was grateful he even had his own wheels. Since the jumper cable idea had worked, he now found himself extremely generous. There was much to be thankful for on this twilighted evening. The warmth of something gone well melted away any cold certainty that he was doomed.

Keeping the car running (just in case), he climbed out of the driver seat and went around the raised hood. The man was already undoing the cables.

"Thanks, man. You are a total life saver," Rog's words were filled with sincerity.

"Glad I could help," he answered while putting the cables back into the trunk of his own car.

Rog watched and followed the man much like a happy puppy.

"Hey, I have a few dollars, let me pay you for your time," he said wondering if this was the correct etiquette for such situations. He had never been stranded and rescued before. Usually he was the one doing the rescuing or so it seemed to his young mind.

The man laughed, "No, son. Just keep the good going along." With that, he got into his car, carefully pulled back onto the street and drove out of Rog's life.

Just keep the good going along. That was different sort of statement, but Rog rather liked it. It seemed like "Pay it forward" or some such philosophy, but even more positive. Pay it forward could go in two different directions and one seemed like a very bumpy road. Joan would tell him this was all semantics, and he would again wonder how she could have some new age-like leanings and miss what seemed to be the crucial ones.

Again he sat in the driver's seat, closed the door and fastened his seat belt securely. As he thought thoughts about telling his mother why he was late, his little mishap with the car, and oh yeah, that he was about to enlist in the military, his body went through the motions of putting his vehicle in motion. The foot gently depressed the gas after his right hand put the car in drive. Why would he need to tell his mother about the car, he wondered. There was no harm done. Perhaps he would let this go unaccounted. His left hand flipped the turn signal and he checked the road. No on-coming cars. He was good to go. No, no need to tell his mother. The car glided forward onto the road.

And all was fine.

For a moment, he seemed to be back on track again. There was a faint rustling sound. Was that in his car? Checking the rear view mirror, he saw nothing out of the normal. There was the back window and all that lay beyond it. It was probably just an old fast food bag settling on the back floor.

He was not sure then if he heard something or caught the quick movement in the mirror first. Before he looked for sure though, he took a deep breath in in an attempt to keep himself and the car more steady. No need to do stupid things because one's mind had begun playing tricks. He looked again into the rear view mirror expecting to see window and past road. Instead, his eyes met two other eyes, and in that quick moment, his mind registered that there was a stranger sitting in his back seat. He was not alone. Frantically his mind tried to comprehend this. Did he know this person? He must, why else would someone else be in the back of his car.

Then he felt something shoved against the back of his head and he knew it was a gun. The warmth of generosity he had felt seconds earlier flooded coldly away.

Madeline's Marital Status

We interrupt this story to ask for your input. In expanding our characterization of Madeline, our family matriarch, we want to know your opinion on her relationship with Penny and Rog's father. As he is not really mentioned as a current character, does that mean Madeline is a widow, a divorcee, or never married? Please help us decide by answering this week's poll or commenting here.

The Insurance Question

“Does he have good insurance?”

“Of course he has good insurance,” the boy’s mother replied. Perhaps 'boy' was not the correct term, but neither was ‘man.’ Being 18 left him in a nebulous circumstance between the two terms. He was old enough to join the military to defend the country and he could vote, but he could not indulge in alcohol. Knowing what she paid for his car insurance actually made her glad of this last fact. Teenage drivers were considered risky enough without the added liability of alcohol.

She felt fortunate that she had discovered Advantage Auto Quotes while perusing the Internet in hopes of finding information out about decreasing the cost for his auto insurance, as well as her own since she was entering her own tenuous years of seniorhood, when her own insurance rates would no doubt increase. This company offered several good ideas for keeping insurance rates down and mentioned that they occasionally worked with AARP for better senior deals. She had followed their advice and bought her son a pre-used vehicle rather than the new sporty car he would have preferred. She had checked the coverage for sports cars and even without having age infractions; it was more than she desired to pay, though she knew this company offered reasonable rates for such luxuries. Her generosity did have its limits, even with her own child.

Using the company’s tips for maintaining a decent driving record, and instilling these ideas within her son when she agreed to help him with his car insurance (call it a graduation gift), she had been lucky so far. She was able to get better car insurance rates. It had never occurred to her that she would have needed a company that included all sorts of auto insurance policies, but her she was, an older woman with a teenage son. Call if fortuitous or just good thinking, but she had found a resource to make this part of life a little easier.

And so she described this Internet find to her friend.

Rebecca's Thoughts on Rog's Where-abouts

Madeline leaned against the counter as she watched Rebbecca pilfer through all her dinner preparations.

"I am sure Rog will be here at any moment. He probably had other plans for this afternoon and just forgot to tell me," she said hoping her voice sounded more confident that she actually felt.

The pot of hot water for the pasta had begun to boil.

Rebbecca turned the burner down, but began the boil on the conversation, "That's very unlike Rog, isn't it? He is very conscientious about you. Perhaps his car has broken down?"

The Absense of Joan

The scream had been her own, only now Penny’s throat felt dry and scratchy, as if her vocal cords had grown taunt with decades of uselessness. Even her lungs felt has though they were being constricted, and Penny recognized the panic attack beginning to manifest itself. But was it a panic attack when there was something truly worth panicking about, sitting before one in all its horror?

Her heartbeat its rhythm in her eardrums and reality began to appear in slow motion. Each second was an eternity. Penny had heard this happened when one was in true crisis. How odd, her analytic mind thought rationally while her body acted on pure survival instinct. That same part of her mind also wondered if reality had slowed down to allow more time for a survival plan.

What was once Joan, a slightly spoiled and irritating fiancé of her younger brother, was now something out of Penny’s worst nightmares, a sightless fiend whose skin no longer fit upon the bone structure of the body. The smile it wore was garish. The rational part of Penny’s mind was also not above speculating that perhaps this creature before her was indeed the real Joan. Had she not been fighting true terror, she might have at least smiled at this idea.

Penny found herself, step-by-step, slow foot motion to next slow foot motion, backing away, retreating upon the footsteps she had taken to get to this moment. The form before her did not move, just stared, sightlessly at her.

When Penny reached the doorway, the strength of the structure helped support her. She found herself speaking with rusty vocal cords, “Joan. Joan what happened? Joan are you alright?”

Seemingly with no movements of the lips, what had been Joan replied with a voice filled with bile and other dark things, “Joan’s not here right now.”

Help Arrives

The latch clicked and the hood bounced slightly upwards, indicating it was ready to be raised. As Rog got out of the car and headed to release the catch on the hood to finish raising it, he absently pushed up his sleeves, Instinctively, this was a sign that concentration or hard work would soon follow. Rog was not quite sure what he would do. He knew little about cars, but he could make a good show of it to the passing traffic. Perhaps a kindly person would stop and offer assistance or at least offer the use of a personal cell phone. As he lifted the hood and fixed it open, he accessed that indeed the motor was still in the car. All looked complicated, but as it should, he though. Perhaps he should check the oil. His father always seemed to check the oil level in everyone's car. He was rather obsessive about it. Maybe that was where Penny got some of her quirks.

Yes, he could find the dipstick, but what to wipe it on? He checked his pockets, but all he could come up with was a brochure for a jewelry store. That would have to do. There was something apropos about using the paper from the weary journey of the morning to help him move forward at this time.

As he slowly drew out the dipstick, traffic slacked off. It was as though everyone on the road knew he might need assistance, so they avoided driving by. He wiped off the dipstick oblivious to the pending doom of being a stranded motorist.

The breeze ruffled through his hair, startling him slightly. It had felt like cold fingers brushing the hair out of his eyes. He realized he was getting cold or perhaps just a little more nervous.

The sudden honking of a passing car, almost caused him to jump up and hit his head on the hood, but he was able to laugh at this paranoid reaction. He began to wonder if it would be better to just start walking and abandon the car, but that did not feel right.

Finally, when he was about to lose all hope of help, it appeared that a car was slowing down just a bit in front of him. As he watched it crawl towards him, out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a dark shape run behind his car. Before he could walk around to the back of his car to see, the car that had been approaching reached him. It was an older car and an older man who rolled the window down and asked if he needed any assistance.

"Maybe," Rog replied, "Can't seem to get her started again."

"Maybe you just need a jump. Do you have cables?" the man asked.

"No, I don't think so."

"Well, I do. Give me a second and I'll see what we can do," the driver said as he began to back up his ancient vehicle and parked facing Rog's car. Rog was so intent in watching the man connect the cables from car to car, and so full of hope that this would work, that he did not see the dark figured that climbed in the backseat of his ride.


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No Turn-over

Slowly Rog collected himself, grounding himself, feet upon a slowly spinning earth. He breathed in the slightly cool air of the twilight, breathing out a silent prayer of thanks that he was alive and the car was not damaged. Stretching his lanky body, perhaps best described as sinewy, he began to feel revived, a little more like himself, the him before the diamond escapade of disappointment. Life was moving forward, one mile after another and he had a plan, a plan that would sustain him until he figured out the whole Joan and marriage thing. Perhaps a few years in the military, gambling that this life was not expendable, would bring some maturity to his desire to do the right thing. Best not to travel this road anymore tonight.

He opened the car door, climbed into the driver seat and made a few adjustments to the rear view mirror. The familiarity of buckling the seat belt felt comforting and secure. He closed the door and inserted his key into the ignition. It slid in smoothly, just as it always had. He turned it away from him as he had hundreds of times since he had bought the car. It clicked familiarly, but the engine did not catch. He tried again. Nothing.

Without realizing it, Rog took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. He pushed the gas peddle in a few times and then the brake peddle. He turned the ignition again. Nothing. No familiar sound of a start, just the sound of incoming traffic.

Inside his mind, he swore for a moment, and wished again that he had not been so insistent in remaining phone gadget-free.

Little was he aware that his movements were being followed and recorded.

The Other Side of the Door

Madeline held out hope that perhaps the knock at the door was Rog, but that would be a sign that something was wrong. Rog never knocked. He either unlocked the door with his own key or found the front door open. Being closer to the countryside than the suburban sprawl where he lived, this area was still fairly crime free and doors remained unlocked during the sunlit hours. It seemed a little soon for Penny to be arriving. The thought crossed her mind that it could possibly be Joan, since the girl was not answering Penny’s efforts at phone calling.

Trepidation began to play havoc with the cords of Madeline’s nerves. Not one prone to thoughts of hysteria, she was normally unfazed by much, but the change in Rog’s rituals were disturbing to her. It was unlike him not to call ahead and let her know that he would not be keeping their weekly date.

Carefully she looked out the window that faced her driveway. No unfamiliar or familiar car. Nothing, yet just as she supposed the knock had been her subconscious mind’s doing, it sounded again. Before crossing to the entryway of the house, she stood back and examined the figure behind the door, murky from the gaze-like curtains hanging over the door’s window. Before squinting at it more, she looked over at the corner of the hallway, behind where the door would open. Her shotgun lay in waiting, fully loaded, without a safety. She knew that this might be cause for alarm among many, but she had no little children running around, only grown ones, who had chipped in and bought her the gun a few years ago, along with training from the local fraternal order of the police.

Madeline squinted at the figure before her. It was decidedly female. No, it was not Penny, but it was familiar.

“Madeline, dear, it’s Rebecca. Are you there?” the voice on the other side said. Madeline let out a small sigh of relief and hurried to the door. It was not locked and opened to the friendly presence of Rebecca, who walked in unceremoniously and headed for the kitchen. In her hands she carried a towel wrapped parcel.

“Sorry to intrude upon your time with Rog, but I know how he loves my home-baked bread. Since Jamey is visiting, I made an extra loaf.”

Madeline followed behind her, but before she could speak her greetings, Rebecca continued, “Oh Maddy, where is Rog? I thought he would be in here?”

So Madeline, rather than speaking the greeting she had prepared, said, “He’s not here. Hasn’t showed up yet. But that was very sweet of you to make him bread. He should be here soon, I hope.”

Rebecca, ever one to be inspired by the normalness of a kitchen and its inhabitants, flitted about looking at the dinner preparations. She seemed pleased that her sauce was about to be utilized.

As she made herself at home, she asked, “So what has detained your son from your raspberry tarts?”

Joan Has a Visitor

The computer, the one sitting on the dining room table, longing for a desk of its own rather than the protrusion of being continually out of place, was humming loudly thanks to its internal fans that spoke of much being done to keep it busy. Penny could not see from her vantage point what was on the screen as Joan's body took up the space of the monitor. Joan seemed completely absorbed in whatever she was typing, typing at what seemed an insane pace. Penny paused before intruding, waiting for a break in the typing. It did not come. On and on Joan's fingers taped across the keyboard. No hesitation, no pause. Just deliberate typing, a rhythm almost.

Penny watched for a another few moments. Joan's spine was completely erect. Penny could not remember if Joan had always had such posture. Somehow, it seemed out of place. It was like watching a very mechanical robot, devoid of human gesture, doing a repetitive job.

"Hello," Penny said more to the room than anything, while knocking lightly on the wall. No response. The same rhythm.

Clack, clack, clack, clackety clack.
Clack, clack, clack, clackety clack.
Clack, clack, clack, clackety clack.
Clack, clack, clack, clackety clack.
Clack, clack, clack, clackety clack.

Joan did not even flinch at the sound, not even a minimal break in concentration for there was no break.

Clack, clack, clack, clackety clack.
Clack, clack, clack, clackety clack.
Clack, clack, clack, clackety clack.

Enough, though Penny. This is nuts. So, she walked closure to the figure typing away. Still no response.

Clack, clack, clack, clackety clack.
Clack, clack, clack, clackety clack.

Penny could not decide if she was becoming frayed by this odd behavior, genuinely creepy in its precision of rhythm. Step by step, each a little more hesitant that the last, Penny came to a stop directly behind Joan. Were her thoughts beginning to take on the rhythm of the typing? She was now close enough to see the computer monitor, but it did her no good. She could not read it. It was in a combination of hexi-decimal coding and Greek, or it may as well have been. Had Joan learned a new coding language? Penny had no idea the younger girl was interested in such things.

As Penny leaned down to get a better look, her arm brushed against Joan.

"Sorry," Penny said faintly, suddenly aware that the typing had stopped. How slowly time suddenly moved. Each tick of a second was loudly punctuated as if this was a tragedy unfolding. The figure still sat rigidly facing the computer. Then slowly, as though its neck would creak, it turned its head sideways toward Penny.

Penny was not aware that she had started to hold her breath. All she knew was that somehow, she was in a different consciousness than her real world, and she really was ready to wake up. As the figure turned its head, slowly rotating its eyes to meet hers, Penny heard the scream, and even heard the lack of air that made it gurgle to a stop.

She stumbled backwards, gasping, seeing the blue lips of death grin at her, and the eyes deplete of color or pupil that gazed into her own.