Brief Interludes Page 2

  Unbridled Love

  December 21, 2212

  Fire crackled and crawled over the accumulation of wood at the base of Solange’s feet. One log fed the next as flames ignited in a frenzy, encircling her. With hands bound behind her back, the slightest movement caused the coarse rope fibers to cut deep into her wrists. Solange stared at the flames roaring about her feet and screamed. Tears dripped on dry lips and tasted salty as they settled on her tongue when she opened her mouth to yell.

  “Why do you do this?” Solange shouted through the roar. “The firestorms gave us these gifts—gifts that could help you. Your fear of us will only result in your own demise.”

  Solange cursed silently, wishing the firestorms had never happened—but they had. Over two hundred years ago, the earth had changed when a multitude of monstrous electrical storms and swarms of multiple tornadoes pummeled the earth, destroying almost everything, killing billions of people. Many took shelter underground, others above ground in caves. Those above ground who survived developed capabilities never before possible for human beings. Those gifts, as her people referred to them, became genetic and were passed down from generation to generation, laying dormant in some but active in others. Thus, a new race was created, feared and forced into hiding, living secretly among humankind.

  Broderick, a normal man and city councilman of great prominence among the townspeople discovered Roland’s extraordinary talents and set out to destroy him. Solange knew him to be a simple-minded man, full of hate and jealousy. Killing her was his only way to capture Roland.

  How could Roland allow this to happen? He had promised, promised to be back before Broderick was able to gather enough men to find and capture her. He made a vow from his heart and the core of his soul with his last breath of spoken love—he would return before hysteria took charge, but he had to leave—to secure their passage to safety.

  Roland, left with two choices—destroy the town or flee—decided that he and Solange must leave. His heart—too pure, too loving of nature—never allowed him to destroy towns with anything but guilt and remorse. Solange closed her burning eyes as the smoke rose, choking her.

  The unbearable torture weakened her and, fighting hard to keep her faith, she prayed. Not for herself, for Roland—her love so great for her mate, she feared not for her own death—that he would recognize the trap Broderick set for him. She was the mate of a Taiman King, an elemental with powers beyond anyone’s imagination. She herself possessed a small gift of telepathy but only with Roland. Roland …

  Damn it, where are you, for Zola’s sake? Hurry, Roland.

  Solange looked to the sky for a sign. She'd need a torrential downpour to cover this blazing hellhole of a town where Roland persuaded her to settle with him for the rest of their days. Instead, she would die here like the witches in the fables Poppy once read aloud to her during her childhood.

  “Zola will curse you. Zola will curse you all…,” she sobbed, her chin lowering to her chest in defeat, knowing her cries would never be heard over the roar of the blaze.

  The air thickened. Peeking through strands of smoke-filled brown curls, Solange could no longer see her captors. The wind that would have cooled the stagnant air became fuel for the fire. Its swift movements swirled over each log with blazes of blue and orange vortices, each peaking, then curling, hugging close before spurting out again. The fire danced close, licking the bottom of her sandals. As her feet burned, she screamed in agony.

  Lumbering sounds of horses' hooves and snorts drummed in her ears. Men shouted, whistling and hooting as they rode around the fire, as though their vociferations would help feed the flames. Solange heard the roar of thunder. Was it merely thunder or was it Roland?

  Birds shrieked and headed toward the trees. Rain streamed down in curtains—much like water falling from the side of a mountain—dousing the flames. Steam rose, almost scorching her face. Struggling to see through the murk, she spotted Roland astride his great black mare, Tank, her pony, Misty, trotting alongside. Both glistened with rainwater.

  Roland charged into the clearing, his dark reddish hair swaying with the wind, sword high and swirling through the air. Silver gleamed and sparked as metal struck metal. Then for several heart-stopping moments, Solange's breath caught in her throat as a huge net came down over Roland and Tank, the dreaded trap she had feared successful, with her as the bait.

  Tank snorted and twirled with confusion and Roland patted his side with strokes of confidence. As he controlled the rain, he commanded the energy around him, hoisting the net in the air, and swinging it over Solange's captors before bringing it down and around several of the men on horses.

  A taste of their own! Solange cheered in her mind, smiling with relief. Roland, thank Zola, you came just in time.

  Solange, are you hurt?

  I ... don't think so. His presence gave her renewed strength.

  The fire fizzled out but her hands and feet remained tied. The nerve endings in her limbs tingled from being bound so long. Roland rode toward her, pulling Misty behind him. With one swoop, he cut the ropes that bound her wrists. She forced her hands to move and untied her feet while Misty stood a few feet away. Roland threw her a sword.

  Remember to stay low on her back, my sweet. Roland rode off and attacked with vibrant tenacity.

  Roland, look out behind you! Her admonition came too late as Broderick thrust his sword into Roland's thigh.

  Roland winced as the sword twisted in his flesh. Broderick laughed, forcing the metal deeper into Roland’s leg.

  Solange came in low as Roland had taught her, sword waist high and pointed at Broderick. With all the energy she could summon, she jabbed it into the center of his back. Misty jolted from the sudden stop and Solange almost lost her balance, but held fast. Misty, heeding the commands of her mistress, stood still as Solange pulled the sword out and thrust it in again, this time straight through to Broderick’s heart.

  Roland pulled the sword from his thigh, climbed down from Tank and limped to Solange, pulling her close, leaning his forehead against hers.

  “Sorry I am late, my sweet.”

  “Apology accepted.” Wrapping her arms around the nape of his neck, Solange sighed just before Roland's lips captured hers.

  Stuck!

  My trip back east had me exhausted and the two-hour plane delay didn't help. All I wanted was a little relaxation in a warm tub.

  Shock took hold as I entered my house. I glanced around. Everything was different—nothing looked familiar. Where did this furniture come from? I placed my bags down and staggered back, leaning out the door to recheck the number hanging under the porch lamp.

  “Yep, number 55.”

  It was the right house—our house, but not our stuff. A sofa, red with overstuffed cushions, sat next to a black leather recliner—one like you might see in a shrink's office. I wondered if it felt as comfortable as it looked, but I didn't bother to sit. I stood in the middle of the room next to a square glass table and turned a complete circle. I’m sure my eyes were as wide as those of a kid lost at a circus, everything new and exciting, but at the same time strange and foreboding. The jumbo screen in the corner played some war flick I didn't recognize as it assaulted my ears with multiple sounds of gunshots, helicopters whirling, and people shouting.

  I walked through the door on the other side hoping for some familiarity when my eyes fell upon a huge etched marble globe of the world sitting in the middle of an otherwise empty room. Glistening water sprayed from the top and slithered down the sides into a sparkling pool surrounding the bottom. Steam rose, filling the air with the smell of salt.

  “What the hell? Jack? What's going on?”

  I stepped back to the living room, wondering where Jack was. This couldn’t be my house. I'd only been gone a week. It's impossible to manufacture a pool in that short amount of time, even a small one like this. Wasn't it? I needed to check out the rest of the place.

  This was crazy. Before I could move, my heart pounded in my ch
est, my lungs begged for air and I rummaged in my purse for my inhaler. I pulled it out and shook it as fast as I could, put it to my lips, and pumped. I breathed in and the cool medicine entered my esophagus and flowed into my lungs.

  I sat on the corner of that new black leather chair positioned just outside the dining room—a dining room that no longer housed my mother’s antique dining table—and looked around. What happened to all our stuff? My dog? My dog should be here. She always greets me when I come home.

  “Reecie, come here, girl. Reece? Reece!”

  Within seconds, in loped my eighty-pound golden lab. I crouched to welcome her into my arms, hugging and scratching her in all her favorite spots.

  “Oh, thank God. Reecie, girl. What's going on here? Where's Daddy?”

  “Daddy is right here. Hi, honey. Welcome home.” Jack poked his head out from the other side of the gigantic ball that sat in the center of the pool.

  “Jack, what is this? How did we get a pool?”

  He stood and sloshed his way over to me. “It's not exactly a pool, Angela, it's a spa.”

  “A spa with a huge globe in the center.” I pointed toward the monstrosity.

  “It's a cool waterfall to give it an extra feeling of luxury.”

  “Luxury? Since when do we have money for luxury? I just busted my ass all week at some damn technology convention, a convention you should have been at,” I said, poking my finger at his bare chest. “We need to make connections and grow our business—where were you, by the way? We don't have enough money to make it through the month and you do this?”

  I took another pump on my inhaler and waited for some explanation from my husband, who I assumed must have been conked over the head with a stupidity enhancer, if there was such a thing. At this point, I was sure there must be.

  “Angela, relax, will you? You're getting yourself all worked up. Come on, take off your clothes. Let's soak a while.” I stood, gaping at him as he slid his shorts down and stepped out of them, pushing them aside with his foot. He stood naked in front of me, his clever fingers unbuttoning my blouse while he nibbled my neck under my ear lobe. Oh, he knew exactly how to get to me. It had been a long lonely week and my sexual energy screamed for release. So, I let him undress me.

  Reece ambled toward the corner and slumped down, knowing it would be a while before she got any attention.

  “Are you going to tell me how you managed all this?” I asked between pants and breathless kisses.

  Jack smiled that cocky grin only he could pull off and touched my lips with his finger while brushing a stray hair away. “You look beautiful tonight, Angela, I missed you.”

  He was stalling and I tapped my bare foot on the new cold Italian marble floor—that wasn’t there when I left home last Sunday—next to the new pool … spa … whatever the fuck it was. I wanted answers not compliments.

  “Jack, how did all this stuff get here?”

  “Okay.” He sighed and leaned back with arms outstretched over the sides of the small pool. “Sit with me,” he said, doing a come-hither motion with his finger. I shrugged and plopped down on the marble edge of the lagoon that now graced my dining room, trying not to get the rest of my clothes wet—those that Jack never finished removing, that is.

  “You're not going to believe me.”

  “Try me.”

  “Tuesday, I think it was ... yeah. Tuesday I took a walk along the river; you know the place where that old phone booth is?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, the light was on, so I opened the door to see if there was a switch to turn it off.”

  “You are forever conserving energy.”

  “Yeah … that’d be me, Mr. Energy Saver. But anyway, there was a lottery ticket on the floor.”

  “You won the lottery?” Now my heart raced again and I started to get up to jump, do a happy dance, something.

  “No,” Jack said, tugging me back down beside him.

  “Well then, what?”

  “Angela, let me finish.”

  “Okay.” My patience was tapped out and I really wanted a drink.

  “I picked up the lottery ticket,” Jack continued, “and bumped my head on the old phone hanging on the wall as I stood up. I must have passed out. When I came to, I was in a small-enclosed room, decorated with red velvet. I mean everything was red velvet,” he said, drawing out the “everything” like it was a four-syllable word, “the couch, the drapes, and the carpet.”

  That's my husband, always noticing the décor. I swear he should have been an interior decorator. I smiled, thinking he was joking. “Jack you're such a pansy.”

  “Stop.”

  Something in his voice made the hairs on the back of my neck rise and I stiffened as I noticed a tear escape from the corner or his left eye.

  “Okay, Jack, what's really going on?”

  “I'm getting to that. Please, Angela, let me finish without you judging me.”

  “Okay. I’m sorry. Go ahead.”

  “As I was saying, I was in this weird velvet room. A little man appeared, dressed in strange clothes, also red velvet, and told me he needed my help.”

  “Come on, you're making this up.” I started to laugh but Jack wasn’t laughing.

  “No. I thought I was dreaming, but he assured me I wasn't. He said if I would say these three little words; ‘you are free,’ he would give me anything I wanted.”

  “Yeah, right. Jack, can’t you ever be serious?”

  “I am serious and … well, of course, I didn't believe him, but I said, ‘Okay, I'll play. Let's see. I'd like new furniture for my wife, she'd like that; and for me, hmmm . . . how about the world's ocean at my feet?’ Then I looked at him and said, ‘“You are free.”’

  Jack paused and cleared his throat. “All of a sudden, I was here. I've been here ever since. I can’t leave.”

  Sweet Innocence

  “POLICE IDENTIFY BODY FOUND IN 1954.” Jenna stared at the headline plastered across the newspaper. It might not have been so interesting had it been January of 1955. However, today’s date was August 7, 2012. The Jane Doe had gone unidentified since the body of the young woman had been found on a Saturday night in an alley near a 24-hour diner. She’d been clothed but had no identification and the cause of death? Murder.

  Jenna placed the paper down on the kitchen table. Despondent, her weary eyes burned from a continuous stream of tears since yesterday. After all these years. God Beth, I'm so sorry.

  Jenna closed her eyes as the vision played in her mind. The two of them walking across campus, their hands intertwined, never caring what anyone thought. The gentle breeze catching Beth's long black curls, swirling them around her face, Beth's beautiful smile as she tried to control them, Jenna laughing at the impossible task. Beth had the thickest, most unruly hair. I miss you, sweetie.

  I can't believe I doubted you. I should have felt something. I never wanted to believe you left so abruptly, walking out of our lives the way Russ had claimed.

  The sound of heavy footsteps thumping down the stairs jarred Jenna from her thoughts.

  “How's my girl?”

  Jenna hid her face, wiping away the remaining tear on her cheek. She jumped up to grab the coffee, bringing the glass pot to the cup in front of her husband as he sat down at the old Formica table. She filled his cup with the strong brew and turned to place the pot back on the counter. A chill swept through her bones and she tugged her blue flannel robe closed.

  “What's up?”

  “Nothing.”

  He grabbed her arm. “Jenna, I know you. What is it?”

  “I told you, Russ, nothing.” She silently swore as her deceiving eyes fell upon the headline, betraying the secret she'd kept suppressed for so many years. Russ's eyes followed hers and she realized she should have thrown the paper away.

  He picked it up and read the headline. When he finished reading, he wadded the paper in a ball and threw it in the trash. “Oh, that. Really, Jenna, you mustn't get yourself worked up this way. There
was nothing you could have done to prevent her death.”

  “I should have been with her that night.”

  “Why, so you would be dead too?”

  “If I had been with her, she wouldn't have been alone and as vulnerable.”

  “You need to stop sitting around here sulking over something you had no power over.”

  “But why did it take so many years to identify her?”

  “The police told you yesterday. Sometimes these things can't be helped. She had no prior police record for fingerprints and no known dental records.”

  “Do you think they'll find out who killed her?”

  “Doubt it.”

  “How can you be so certain?”

  “Been too many years, that's all. Let it go, Jenna.”

  “I can't.”

  She and Russ hadn't talked about Beth for years. Jenna sensed his eyes staring at her and she sighed.

  “I loved her.”

  “Yes, yes, I know. Closer than sisters. You've told me so many times before, but it makes me sick.”

  “Sick because I loved her more than I loved you? Or sick because she was a woman? Someone you could never be. You were always jealous of her.”

  “Damn it, Jenna.” He slammed his fist on the table and stood up, knocking his chair over in the process.

  Jenna flinched at his abruptness. He was angry and the vitriol building behind those dark brown eyes threatened. She'd only seen him like this once before. Fifty-three years ago, before they were married. Russ walked into Jenna's dorm room to find Jenna and Beth in bed naked and embraced in each other's arms.

  “Experimenting” was what Beth had called it. Jenna wondered. In all of her seventy-three years, she'd never loved anyone as much as she'd loved Beth. Not even Russ, her husband of fifty-one years. Oh, she loved Russ, but that flame in her heart burned so much brighter for Beth. Beth was beautiful and exciting. The love they shared had been pure and unconditional, a sweet innocence, and just like that gone. Snatched away, plucked from the veins of her heart before it had a chance to ripen, leaving nothing behind but the secrets of a broken heart.