Maternal Heart - an ArmasTermin short story in its entirety!

[ArmasTermin]

That's right, I'm posting this entire story, right off. No updates, no need to beg for more, none of my muse's whims dictating how long it takes. It's all right here. Keep in mind it's still fairly rough and the ending feels very rushed to me. I'm open to suggestions. Oh and please suspend your disbelief right... wait... almost, now!


Chapter 1
It was an unusually cold evening, late September on the southern tip of Florida. The coastline seemed to stretch in every direction, and in reality it did in all but North. I continued along the boardwalk the same way I had the night before, and the one previous, but the water looked more sinister than usual. No moon to speak of, just a skim of a marine layer thrown out over the coast. Blackened everything where city lights didn't reach. I straightened my tie and zipped my jacket up to just under the knot. Footsteps echoed, but only my own. Late that Sunday it seemed like everyone had better things to do than walk aimlessly. Aimlessly? No, that's not right. Without purpose. I had an aim, just no heart to get there. A crash came from an alley, perhaps to my side, or a bit ahead, or maybe ten steps behind, but either way I patted down my right coat pocket to feel the reassuring weight of the little revolver. I took another few steps and crossed the boardwalk to an alley, peered around the corner. There were only the outlines of the alley, fading off into a black void. It was one of those things an outside person would question. Unless you were in my position, you would say: why not just keep going?

It's a cat on the trash can, or some drunk stumbling on a stack of wooden pallets used and left by a little market. Just keep walking, mind your own damn business. Go home, have a beer, watch Conan, drift off before Jimmy Falon. But I flipped my cell phone open and pointed its iluminating screen into the alley. Thought it was a big rat or something, but I don't know how. It was clearly a young woman's rear end sticking out from behind a trash can. She was wearing some kind of flowy brown skirt not very suited for groping around in a dark alley.

"Hello?" I said, hard-pressed to come up with a smarter thing to say in the situation. "What are you doing" might have had the same effect, but either way she ignored me. I entered the alley, keeping on the side opposite her, slowly approaching. I'll admit I was a little off-put by the whole situation.

"Hello?" I said again. This time she turned and looked at me, squinting a bit at the light from the phone. I was surprised at how clean her face was, and as much of her dress as I could see. She was even wearing makeup, however little. Very round face and big, wondering eyes, but very tired. I made her out to be about my age, but she looked nineteen, maybe younger. She went back to rooting through the trash, taking care to avoid the icky stuff, but being more thorough than my dentist.

"Sorry," she said, "I'm a little busy."

I stooped down behind her and looked over her shoulder, raising my phone up and a little closer to put some light out for her.

"What are you doing?"

She flipped through the pages of a discarded newspaper and tossed it aside, making a rat squeak and dive for cover inside a McDonalds' cup.
"Looking for my wish," she said, as if saying the sky is blue, silly. The most obvious thing in the world.

"Your wish?" I said, an eyebrow cocked. I tapped a button on my phone so the light brightened again. The woman tossed a phone book down and uttered a short grunt of frustration.

"It's not here!"

I stood and looked up and down the alley, pocketed my phone.

"Listen this isn't the safest place in the city, not this late. You should really look for whatever it is you're trying to find in the morning."

The woman just sighed, still on her knees on the cold cement.

"Let me get you a cup of coffee or something, you look pretty tired."

She stood, slowly, stiffly, a hard movement for her. But once she was up she let out a breath like she'd wanted to stand for a while.

"I haven't slept, in three days, I think."

"Days? Why not?"

"I told you, I need to find my wish."

The sky is blue, silly. I scratched my head a little, literally and figuratively.

"You should go home and sleep," I said.

"I can't, home is in Jacksonville."

"Well how did you get here?"

"Walked," she said.

I frowned at that. I hadn't pictured her as a nut before, or at least not as a hobo. But I was starting to wonder.

"You walked from Jacksonville, and you haven't slept in days."

She just nodded. I couldn't see it very well in the darkness, but my eyes were starting to adjust again.

"Well I..." I rubbed the back of my neck, as the hair on it was starting to raise. I wasn't afraid, it was just strange. Like the one grape in the bunch that's just kind of shriveled and sour. The one board of the fence that always gets broken somehow, when all the others are fine. The bird that hits the glass, then does it again, too stupid to correct itself.

"Maybe I can put you up in my appartment for the night. You look..."

It was hard to make out, but I could see her eyes had closed. She tipped worward a bit and they opened, and she corrected herself before stumbling.

"Did you hear me?"

The woman yawned into her hand and rubbed her eyes.

"You said I said I walked from Jacksonville and haven't slept in days."

"You just fell asleep now, actually."

"What?"

"Just now you... never mind. Listen, maybe you can sleep in my appartment for the night. You're dozing off mid-conversation."

She narrowed her eyes at me, as if I were the one saying strange things.

"I don't know."

"Or I can find you a hotel, it doesn't matter to me. But you look like you're about to drop into a coma. And this isn't a good place to do it. My appartment's just a couple blocks away."

She looked down where she'd been before.

"But my wish," she said.

"It'll be there tomorrow."

She frowned, or maybe I just imagined it. It was very dark. But I know she nodded lightly and looked towards the boardwalk.

"Okay. Where is your appartment?"

I walked with her to the end of the alley and we came out onto the boardwalk. City lights illuminated her better than my phone had. She was aroud twenty-three years old, deceptively youthful appearance pushed away a bit with the different light. Her hair was a darker red-orange, but not dyed, or at least not obviously. Her eyes were a gray-stippled green, more jade than emerald. They were of more flat color than I would have imagined, but still with a little gleam from a streetlight.

"What... is your name?" the woman said.

"Oh right. I'm Chase."

She attempted a smile and offered a tired hand and said, "Stephanie. Nice to meet you."

Despite all the obvious questions I could have asked, I said mostly nothing as we walked the couple blocks to my appartment. It was a quiet place. Couldn't see the beach, so rent was cheaper. Doesn't matter to me, long as I can smell it and taste the smidgen of it that sinks into the sugar cubes that go in my morning coffee. The three flights of stairs we took seemed to take Stephanie a great effort. I took her hand on the third, for what little good it did. Looked both ways and down the ladder before turning in the single key on the keyring. Stephanie was starting to doze off again so I flipped on a small table light and directed her to my bed.

"Sure this is okay?" she said, flattening the sheets with her palm.

"Yeah, don't worry about it."

But she was out of her shoes and between the sheets before I'd finished the sentence. Trusting, I guess you could call it, to sleep in a complete stranger's bed. Or foolish. Or balls-out stupid. Then again, this is the woman that told me she'd walked from Jacksonville, hadn't slept in three days, and was trying to find her wish. I threw a blanket on the couch and an extra pillow. Took off my jacket, shoes, and slid my tie out from under my collar. There was more to think about than most nights, but I fell alseep comparably quick.

* * *
I woke up thinking I was a teenager again, for the house hadn't smelled like an IHOP since it was my mom's house. Stephanie came quickly into view smiling with a well-stacked french toast dish--powdered sugar, whipped cream, and even a strawberry cut into the shape of a simplistic crown.

"Good morning!"

I sat up on the couch and rubbed my eyes a bit.

"Um, good morning. You didn't need to... I mean I didn't even know I had strawberries." I took the plate and dug in with fewer manners than I should have. But it was my first real breakfast in, what, four years?

"You didn't, or powdered sugar. Or bread. I had to run to the store. You really need to take better care of yourself."

I ate half of the strawberry crown and Stephanie just watched. Had to assume she'd already eaten by the plate in the sink with scuffs of whipped cream near the middle.

"You really didn't have to do this."

Stephanie smiled and shook her head.

"That's silly, of course I did. Last night I might have fallen asleep in that alley, and who knows what could have happened!"

"Yeah, like I said, it's pretty dangerous at ni--"

"--I mean what if I'd fallen asleep and my hair landed in some fast food joint's, stash of half-used ketchup packets!"

I nodded slowly.

"Okay, yeah, I guess that could have happened."

"I really appreciate you letting me stay here last night, though. I just wanted to do something to thank you."

"No thanks needed, but the breakfast is amazing--did the power go out last night?"

Stephanie cocked her head to the side a bit.

"I don't think so, no. Why?"

"So the time is right? Damn it, I slept in. I'm late for work already!"

I tied on my shoes and didn't know what Stephanie was jogging off toward my room for until she came back with a tie. It was plain black with a subtle pinstripe pattern in slanted, horizontal lines.

"This one okay?"

"Yeah," I said, making the loops and tugs to secure it under my collar. "Not really fancy, but it's actually my favorite. Good friend gave it to me a long time ago. Was my first tie."

I finished the last few bites of french toast in haste and pulled on the jacket by my feet.

"Sorry to run off, but I really have to leave. Stay as long as you want, just lock the door if you leave."

"Okay," she said, all I gave her time to say as I jogged out and down the steps. I usually walk to work, or take a bus if it's raining. But I decided to splurge on a cab. I waved a twenty at the driver to "step on it!" but he just looked at me oddly and I sat back and waited for him to take his sweet time to get me to Sunburst Tactical LLC. If the name makes the business sound important, it is. It's a major small-arms developement and research company for the United States Military. The higher the floor you're on, the more important you are. I'm on floor five of twenty, just high enough to feel useful without getting a big head. Couldn't help but think of Stephanie on the ride.

Too bad I never got to ask her about her wish, I thought as the cabbie stopped in front of the building. I paid the fare and jogged across to the double-doors, smiling my sorry-I'm-late smile to the security up front, and the receptionist down the short hall. She had me signed in for the day and I clipped my badge on before taking the elevator to the fifth floor. Onboard I straightened my tie and tucked my shirt in a bit more neatly. My watch was gone, laid on the little stand by the couch, but I checked my hair in the shiny pannel of buttons by the door. It was a bit lopsided, and although it needed a trim it hadn't started to get long. Business casual, well-cut when I got around to it.

As soon as the elevator doors opened, he was standing there. I say "he" as if you already know who I'm talking about. "He" is my boss, Leonard Barclay. The fact that he was smoking in the building showed his status. He stood before a maze of rather spacious cubicles with a look of disdain.

"Mr. Robin, you're late. Again."

"Yeah, sorry sir. Won't happen again."

He shook his head.

"Sure it will. Maybe in a month or a year. But not tomorrow. I know that because you're going to have today off and get a good night's rest tonight and come in early tomorrow. So head on home."

I couldn't help letting a bit of my shame come through. Leonard's not a bad guy, he's just really obsessed with everything working perfectly. It's really important to him that his boss looks at him and sees a hard-working man. And I can understand that. I just wish he didn't act like such a stereotype. People like that bother me. Or maybe it's people like him that cause the stereotype. Either way I hung my head in shame and stepped back into the elevator. Would have just stayed home if I'd known this would happen. And what a waste paying that cabbie. I left the building after having a few chummy words with the secretary. She's a sweet kid that doesn't know a thing about the business, but is great at organizing and even better with people. She's the kind of girl that you wouldn't believe could have a single negative thought in her head. An optimist to the bitter end. I forgoed the cabs outside and simply walked. The day was one of those perfect, bright, sunny ones so common for the area. The reason retirees love to die here, and who wouldn't? I grew up in Nebraska, so it took a bit of getting used to after Sunburst Tactical moved me to their location here in Costa del Sol, Florida. But after a month I told myself I'd never leave. It's the place to be.

There's a large amount of the Cuban population here, sometimes I wonder if it's more than is in Cuba. That contributes to the great food, and the crime rates, but I think it's hard to find a place with good food without having high crime rates. Guess armies aren't the only things to march on their stomachs. I moved on, taking in the sun, sniffing at the ocean breezes. Screw Leonard, I have the day off. Without pay, sure, but everyone else is broke these days, why not me? Could go back, pull the old keyboard out of the closet, maybe relearn some tunes long forgotten.

It actually wasn't until I turned the key into the door and entered the appartment that I remembered about Stephanie. I saw her looking out the side window, peering through an opening in the blinds. I walked up behind her and put my hand on her shoulder.

"Enjoying the view?"

She jumped, you could say. Recoiled to the side of the window with her eyes so wide it looked like it hurt. She got her composure back and shot a glance back at the blinds. But still she wouldn't look me in the eye.

"Oh, hey, forget something?"

"Boss gave me the day off, in a manner of speaking. What's got you so wound up?"

"Oh, n-nothing," she said, a terrible liar. And I'm no expert.

"Nothing? You look like I just tasered you."

I knew she hadn't expected me back at the time, but as soon as she jumped, it was obvious to me that something else was wrong.

"Well you see... these men outside... I think they followed me here."

"What?"

She stepped aside as I lifted one of the blind sections to look out at the street below. Glanced across it, then sidewalks. Bystanders, parked cars, a dog pissing on a fire hydrant.

"What men?"

"In the gray Caddy. One wearing sunglasses, in the leather jacket. The other guy looks like a hippie."

I saw who she was talking about. Greasy-haired man, late thirties, with a cheap leather jacket sewn up with Air Force patches, most crooked. The other one, the hippie, had blond hair combed to both sides parting his face, mid-way down his chest in the front and half-way down his back. He looked young enough to be the other guy's son.

"I see them. What do you mean? Why would they follow you?"

Stephanie leaned against the wall beside the window and sort of hugged herself, putting her arms across her torso and looking at the floor.

"They... want my wish."

Chapter 2
I let the blind section drop from my index finger back into place and scratched my head.

"Yeah, I was wanting to ask you about that. You said you were looking for your wish. But what exactly did you mean by that? What's your wish?"

"You wouldn't believe me," she said. I looked over at her. The way her eyes seemed to stare through the floor, her rigid stance, I could tell whatever it was I wouldn't believe, it was real for her.

"Let me make us some coffee. Have a seat on the couch, and you can tell me about it."

She didn't look too sure, but nodded anyway and took a seat on top of the blanket I'd used the night before. The TV was tuned to the weather channel and the volume low. The forecast for the day was 77, the next day 81, then 79, 79 again, and 83. I made some of the instant stuff, cheap but decent. None of my cups match, but they're all in good shape. I put Stephanie's in a green coffee mug and my own in a pastel pink stonewear cup. She tried to smile when I handed her the mug, and again when I brought the cream and sugar, but didn't fare too well at it. She blew some steam from the surface of the dark liquid but didn't look too set on actually drinking it.

"So, if you can tell me, what's your wish?" I said, taking a seat on a footstool opposite her.

"My wish..."

She looked into the mug some more.

"Do you know about that saying, how someone with rich parents is born with a silver spoon in their mouth?"

I shrugged.

"Yeah. What about it?"

"Well you probably think it's about a wealthy family, but the saying has more to do with... fortune. Not in money, but overall. Born into fortune. I know because the saying was made about the Moran family of Ireland--my family. It has to do with a kind of... tradition... or birthright."

I cocked an eyebrow.

"What do you mean?"

Stephanie sipped at the coffee and made a face. She picked the cream from the table and poured some in, then some sugar. Tasted it again with the same face. She tossed in three more sugar cubes and another bit of creamer and tried it again with similar result.

"Don't drink coffee, do you? I might have some tea lying around. Had an English room mate a while back."

"No, that's okay. The tradition is... everyone born from the Moran family is born with a light in their mouth--like a tiny star, about the size of a pea. It's their fortune--their wish. The one born with the light can make a wish, only one, and it will come true. Then the light disappears. Some people from our family thought it started when a falling star phased into the womb of an early Moran mother from generations back. That's where the saying comes from: wishing on a star, you know?"

I couldn't help my dry, patronizing smile as she spoke. As if I were listening to a five-year-old tell me of almost catching a glimpse of Santa Claus on Christmas Eve. Stephanie must have noticed it.

"I know, I know, you don't believe me. I told you you wouldn't. Anyway the man who fathered my child ran off a while ago; sob story aside, I love my son. And he's very sick. I want to use my wish on him."

I just said, "I see."

Stephanie put the cup on the coffee table between us and sighed a resigning sigh.

"So the guys in the Cadillac want your wish?"

She nodded.

"Yeah. I don't think they don't know a lot about it; just that it's rare, unusual, and really important. I guess that's all anyone needs to want to take something..."

I sipped a bit more from my cup and put it down next to Stephanie's.

"Suppose I believe you. What do Moran people usually wish for?"

She looked genuinely hurt that I didn't believe her, and I quickly felt like a b*****d for saying it that way, but she went on anyway.

"Depends. My great, great, great grandfather just wanted a bunch of money, and he got it. My grandmother got to her deathbead, age 93, without using her wish and used it to get the most delicious piece of cake on the planet."

I chuckled a bit at that.

"Little selfish isn't it?"

She just shrugged.

"I guess."

"Are there any rules?"

"Not much I know of. It has to be in the realms of possibility, you know. I couldn't wish for your head to turn into a doffodil. And you can't wish for more wishes, it's a one shot deal. I think that's it. There's generally one wish a generation, so it's not like we can study it. And it's a deeply-held family secret. We're not even supposed to mention it outside of the family. Not like anyone would believe us..."

I stood up.

"So why tell me?"

This time I saw passion in her eyes, nothing more. Her mouth drew to a tight close, lips pursed together, eyebrows set, features rigid. It came as an absoloute, as if it would sound the same if I were tickling her, or if I were torturing her.

"I love my son."

It was then that I believed her. However absurd it had all sounded, the way she looked at me. I love my son, she'd said. She was crawling around in that alley, walked here from Jacksonville, went three days without sleeping. I couldn't help it.

"How can I help you?" I said.

This time she smiled for real, but with some sadness. She hadn't forgotten the situation or anything. She said, "Can you drive a boat?"

"A boat?"

"My wish is in the ocean now."

"The ocean? How the hell did it get there? And how do you know?"

"Wishes migrate if you don't hold onto them really tightly. But your wish is a part of you, you never truly lose it. I can find it, I just have to look."

"In the ocean."

She nodded, resolute, the mighty oak.

"Can I drive a boat? I grew up in Nebraska, didn't even know what a boat was until I was fifteen."

"You're exagerating."

"Maybe. But I don't know how to drive a boat. And I don't have a boat, or know anyone that does. Well Howard does, but..."

She looked at me with her best puppydog eyes, but I stared her down. She was starting to weaken, cuteness fading from her face. So she switched to the heavy artillery and went for her wallet. Her draw speed was amazing! And I thought women were fast with checkbooks. She flipped the wallet open to the little photo of a laughing baby boy, couldn't be more than a year old, splashing in a little dip in the sand of a beach filled with water.

I closed my eyes, resigning.

"Fine, we can stop by his house. I think he's off today."

"Yay!"

She sprung off the couch and hugged me with a grip that would make a boa constrictor flinch.

"Okay, okay! Easy! First we have to deal with the Fonz and his kid in the Caddilac outside. Let's go around the back of the building."

Didn't take anything to convince Stephanie of that. We were out the front door within five minutes, but I took some time to pack a few things into a shoulder bag before we left. We took the stairs down to the ground level and snuck around the building to watch Stephanie's personal stalkers. They looked to be arguing with each other, bickering back and forth. I didn't know what about, or care that much. The idea was just to get away, not to prove some kind of macho bullshit to Stephanie. First, she wouldn't appreciate it. Second, I never learned any macho bullshit. Should make a note of doing that. So I just hailed a cab and Stephanie and I jumped in, eager to flee the scene. It took a lot of driving around Costa del Sol for me to remember where Howard actually lives--I'd only been there once.

"So what do you know about those two, anyway?"

She looked away from the window and stopped rubbing her calf for a second. I'd forgotten how far she'd walked.

"The one's following me? They've been after me for the last week or so--as long as I've been looking for my wish. I don't know much about them. I thought I lost them when I left Jacksonville on foot, but they must have been around afterall."

"About that--why did you walk?"

"Easy: I'm flat broke. I did manage to hitchhike a few times along the way, but I spent every dime fighting my son's illness. Thought I'd exhaust everything I had before using my wish. But nothing will work, and this will. I just have to find it."

She looked back out the window and I started recognizing street names and architecture. Apartments started becoming little homes as we got farther north to the edge of the city. Howard's house was near, and I wasn't looking forward to seeing him. There's nothing about him that makes him a terrible person per se, he just has one of those grating personalities that makes it hard to stand being around him for more than a few minutes. When he got moved to the sixth floor, some were jealous, I was relieved. He's too chummy. He slaps you on the back, laughs a loud, oafish laugh, and does it too often. But if I keep bitching I'll start to sound like Holden Caufield, so I'm going to stop. Stephanie and I got out in front of his house and I paid the cabbie. We walked down the short path up to the front door and I knocked a few times.

"You know he's going to hit on you, right?" I said.

Stephanie looked over and gave a humored bit of a snort.

"I'll prepare myself."

The door whisked open with great fervor, and Howard looked out eagerly. He's a good looking man, I'll admit. A young George Clooney face and Matt Damon eyebrows, with a full head of dark hair and an I-go-to-the-gym-for-fun body.

"Hey there, Chase, who's this angel? Didn't come all the way over here to gloat, did you?"

"Naw, we're not really involved. But she's a good friend of mine from my native Nebraska. I told her I'd like to show her off the coast, but wouldn't you believe there's not a single boat for rent? Everybody and their grandmother must be on the water today. Could I be a son of a b***h and ask to borrow your motorboat for the day?"

Stephanie gave him the sweetest smile, and I could tell it worked immediately. He invited us in and his wife was quick to make tea. I'll spare you the forty minutes of idle chit-chat Stephanie and I had to go through. But suffice to say Howard let us use the boat, and gave me a quick lesson on how to use the thing. Stephanie and I left Howard's home and started down the street to find a bigger one where a taxi could be hailed. The balmy, smooth skies continued and a better day couldn't be had for sailing. We wouldn't be sailing, but it would have been more appropriate. On the north-soouth running Crest Street is a florist, a barber shop, a McDonald's, a gym, and a gas station. But there wasn't a single cab to be had. Stephanie sunk back into the entrance of the gas station as I waited. She watched for Fonzie and the kid while I looked out for cabs. Traffic was tight for the hour--around elven AM, though I couldn't say for sure. Forgot to get my watch from by the couch before we left.

It was just as the cab slowed to the curb that I saw Fonzie and the kid in their Cadillac up the road, driving too slow to know where they were going. I waved Stephanie over and we hopped in, hoping they hadn't noticed us.

"To the docks, please," Stephanie said. The gray-haired man grunted something of an agreement and merged with the traffic, averaging forty along Crest Street. Stephanie and I were busy looking behind, but we'd lost sight of our persuers. Before long it became a leisurely drive back through the heart of Costa del Sol, then further south as the landscape became more rural and the price of housing went up. The cabbie brought us near the exact tip of the state and a little place called Revy Docks where absurdy-expensive waterfront homes on stilts faced a shimmering diamond ocean with a trillion facets. Never will you see such an unearthly crystal blue. And no water will ever look as good to you once your eyes have been spoiled to the Costa of Costa del Sol. Stephanie and I got out along the guardrail before the boardwalk and looked down the line of boats. Most were high-end sailing ships with women's names emblazoned on their afts, or whatever the technical term is for just above the a** of the ship. Nautical tramp stamps if you will. Howard's motorboat probably got him laughed at by the entire sailing community, but the "Credenza" as he'd called it, was new looking, clean, and seemed pretty sturdy for what it was. But "Credenza" wasn't actually written anywhere on it--or her.

Credenza is white with a few streaks of a stainless steel color running up her shape. Has two seats, a short windshield, and a canopy for those sunnier days. Stephanie stepped with some hesitance into the craft as it rocked from the ocean, but managed to get in and seated with some grace. I untied the mooring line and practically fell into the Credenza, with Stephanie steadying me and giggling at my expense.

"Are you all right?"

"Sure, sure. Let's see how well I drive my first boat."

I used the key Howard had given me, attatched to a little fob shaped like the company's logo--a sylized, black sun with "ST LLC." in bold lettering. The little motor purred to life and I eased the throttle forward, guiding the Credenza over that rippling, glassy ocean. The salt water smell overwhelmed me, and Stephanie as well, I'm sure. The ocean filled our every sense and the rumble of the motor and the texture of the water below had those seats going like massage chairs. It was too easy to forget we had a real reason to be there.

Chapter 3
We skimmed over the mild ridges in the waves in a generally southern direction for a bit over a minute before I glanced over at Stephanie to try to see what she was thinking. Her hair was blowing back almost horizontal with the water, much redder in the sunlight among the waves than it had before. She had in her eyes a deep look of focus and determination.

"So, where are we headed?"

I shifted direction a little bit both ways, trying out how the Credenza handled, then sunk back into the groove of my previous general direction.
"Just keep going. I should feel something soon. I'll know where it is, I'll just... know."

After having gone this far, I wasn't about to gripe. And I was having fun. The boat didn't grip the water like a car grips the cement of a road. It's a lot more like ice skating, I would imagine, where the boat just glides over the water. Sharp turns would just tip us over, I had to take wide berths over the water to change direction. Though most of the direction changing I did was just to get a feel for the boat, and for fun. I'd wished Stephanie hadn't been doing all of this over such a serious and important thing, so she could have had fun too. And I quickly felt bad for enjoying myself while she was in such a state. Appaently sensing that, Stephanie glanced over at me and smiled. We continued on for half an hour before I slowed our pace to a stop. The coast was just a distant skim of earth in the distance.

"Well, are you feeling anything yet?"

Stephanie shook her head and I looked out in every direction. The sun seemed to be getting more intense, beating down on us now where an hour ago it had just been a warmth thrown out over everything. I worked on releasing the soft hatch that made the Credenza into something of a convertible. When it came free and locked onto the windshield we were shielded from the blazing heat but a cool ocean breeze came through.

"Nothing yet," she said.

I opened my shoulder bag and pulled out a few energy bars, handing one to her. She took it eagerly and we ate. Five star reastaraunt, no. And it sure didn't beat the morning's French toast. But there wasn't a better view of the ocean to be had anywhere. I got the Credenza going again within a few minnutes, and we did a half-hour loop, still going generally south. And Stephanie still didn't feel anything. The next four hours proceeded to be us drifting a bit, and driving a bit, making very little actual movement or progress in any direction. Each hour I'd ask, "Anything yet?" and each time Stephanie would shake her head, or say "Nothing yet." The heat intensified as the day went on, and the breezes subsided. Pretty soon we were locked into what was basically a canvas and polypropylene oven. The heat was a living lightmare and I'd soaked my shirt in sweat before just taking the damn thing off. And I wasn't very surprised when Stephanie asked if I minded if she took her dress off. Wasn't long before we were in our underwear, melting onto the plastic of our seats, looking out over a steadily more blinding white sheet of ocean in every direction.

And that's how the next few hours went, until the sun dipped below the horizon and everything cooled off. I pulled the soft top back and latched it at the rear of the boat around seven. And at eight we were cruising again, west according to the little compass built into the Credenza's dash. The stars were coming through as the night sunk in. Costa del Sol's city lights gave the north a bit of a glow in the marine layer, and the sea had become an inky black to contrast it.

"Anything yet?" I said, for about the twelfth time.

Stephanie just looked out over the ocean with the most serene expression, head low, leaned on her hands at the starboard side. I watched for a moment, seeing her slowly get to her feet. The marine later abated for time, long enough for the half moon to sweep over and make Stephanie's teeth a hazy white in the darkness as she smiled, and her eyes gloss over.

"Look!"

I looked, indeed, and didn't see a thing. Just the sparkling of the stars and moon on the ocean. Until I knew what she was talking about. There was a distinctively different light out there. Just like what was shining down from above, but less diluted. Like a pure, concentratred form of the glow from Costa del Sol in the far distance.

"I... I think I see it. Is it that?"

She nodded, still looking out at it with perfect bliss all over her features.

"Come on, let's get it," she said.

I got back at the helm and cranked the motor to life. Brought us to full speed and made the wide turn off towards the east. We'd been maybe five hundred yards away when she spotted it. And although the light seemed to be more pure as we closed in, it didn't get any brighter. I was beginning to wonder if we'd just seen it wrong. But Stephanie was standing, hand gripping the top of the windshield and her hair blowing wildly behind her, and I wasn't about to mention any doubt. We closed in to less than twenty yards and Stephanie put her hand on mine at the throttle to slow down. We coasted the rest of the way to that pure light. I banked around it floating in the water, trying to inch in as close as I could, but it looked too far to reach and get it.

Stephanie just jumped in after it.

No warning, she just saw us get close, planted one foot on the side, and dove in for it. I sprang up from my seat and held my upper body over the side of the Credenza as she rocked. Stephanie treaded water a few feet to the light and had it, then got back to the side of the boat. I nearly fell in myself trying to grab onto her slippery hand. But I managed to hoist her back in. She coughed a little and sat against the rear wall.

"Are you crazy? We could have just fished it out somehow!"

But she wasn't listening. She was busy looking at a little glass bottle with a cork in it. She plucked it out with her fingers and held the bottle upside down over her hand. What dropped into her palm was exactly as she had described. It was about the size of a pea, perfectly round, and looked like colorless glass. The light resonating from within seemed to come from nowhere. And rather than a harsh, bright light like from a lightbulb, it was incredibly soft and mellow. It glowed into her cupped hands and lit up her face until she held it to her chest. I sat back opposide her and just watched. She gave a sigh of relief, and said, "It's back."

I waited a minute, or maybe it was five. Either way, Stephanie was perfectly content just sitting back, holding the light to her bosom as if it were her son. And that's when I thought of it.

"Can you do it now? Can you heal your son with it?"

Stephanie opened her eyes and I could see a new softness in them now, like everything was okay.

"Not here. I have to bring it to him, in Jacksonville."

"Well no sense waiting. Let's head back."

I took the Credenza around in a wide arc, heading north to the coast. And it couldn't have happened sooner with the tank running low. Stephanie got up and back to her seat, and we glided over the inky waters in high spirits as the hour grew later and the moon was covered and uncovered by the marine layer. The night could finally be appreciated, but the day's hours of tension looking for Stephanie's wish had obviously worn her out. Her eyes were half-closed and besides her hand holding the light to her chest, she let her limbs dangle without poise. We'd been sitting most of the day, but just the action of looking constantly, desperately to find that light had sapped her energy.

"We can get a train ticket to Jacksonville once we reach land, though we can stop somewhere to get you some new clothes if you'd like."

Stephanie looked down at her skirt and blouse by her feet, then back at the water, then at me.

"What do you mean?"

"Well they're probably pretty dirty by now."

"No, I mean--"

"I'm not going to have you walk back to Jacksonville."

"You've really done more than enough. I couldn't ask you to come with me."

I kept my eyes on the open sea ahead, and the coast in the distance.

"Then it's a good thing you don't have to."

I turned and smiled and she just looked at me with these incredulous eyes, as if I'd said something really strange. I guessed I'd be getting fired for not coming to work after Leonard chewed me out. And it bothered me more than it should have. How would I pay rent? How would I get another cushy job like Sunburst Tactical? Sick days are run out, no vacation time. Hopefully I'm not too proud to get on my knees for Leonard. I spent more time than I'd like to admit thinking about this, but we still had a ways to go before reaching the coast when I'd shoved the thoughts from my mind. Stephanie looked a little more at ease, even as the sea grew choppier. And I felt better knowing she felt better.

When we reached the docks I reattatched the line. Stephanie and I put our sticky clothes back on and walked up to the boardwalk, scanning the ocean behind and the path ahead. I pulled out my cell phone out to check the time--just before eight. Any clothing stores would be closed, and I sure as hell didn't want to take a train all the way to the top of the state in those damn clothes. Felt like the day's sweat had absorbed into every single fiber, dried out, then reconstituted in the damp air to add a skim of sludge to the fabric. Couldn't change at home, wouldn't be fair to Stephanie. Then she pointed at a laundramat.

"Hm?"

"We can wash our clothes."

"That would take at least an hour."

She ran a finger down the short sleeve of her blouse.

"But I'm sticky, and these clothes were already dirty."

I shrugged and we went in. The place was pretty empty and plain. White walls, linoleuim floors, with washers and driers along the sides and rows more in the middle. There were plastic seats all around, and two televisions, one set to sports and one to the news. I think I was more uncomfortable disrobing than Stephanie, but none of the three or four people inside seemed to care. For twenty minutes we sat in the blue seats, watching televisions and counting the squares on the floor and ceiling. Some blues music played on the radio somewhere, then rock, then pop, but I didn't recognise any of it by name. Stephanie got up to move our stuff into the drier, and I caught some teenager in the corner listening to headphones looking at her bottom as she bent over.

I also caught myself looking at her bottom as she bent over.

We sat for another twenty minutes, playing twenty questions. Stephanie's answers were platypus, anvil, Robert Duvall, baseball, Chex Mix, and Star Wars. Mine were drum set, shoes, Angela Lansbury, Mickey Rourke, cheesecake, and hedgehog. Goes to show how exciting the whole thing was. But when our clothes finished we pulled them out, all fresh and clean and still hot. After dressing we walked out to the cool Floridian air in high spirits, but I quickly got this sudden pain in my eye. It seemed as though I'd walked into a gun barrel pointing at my face. The hippie was holding it, and Fonzie glared at me beside him with his sunglasses off.

 

[ArmasTermin]

Chapter 4
I inched my head back, so to get the gun barrel out of my eye. But the hippie pushed it forward to match.

"Who's this a*****e, anyway?" the hippie said, flicking his vision over to Fonzie.

"Beats me. Hey a*****e, who are you?"

I just kind of stood there, still as stone. Stephanie had backed a foot away as soon as she saw the two of them, but didn't look to be in the mood for running, or tackling the hippie.

"Who are you?" Fonzie said.

"Ch-chase Robin."

Fonzie nodded.

"Guess we have to take him with us. C'mon, Moran. Let's go."

The hippie pulled the gun back, keeping it at about waist level, trained between us. He stayed behind us and the Fonze led, and we had no choice but to walk down the sidewalks to wherever he felt like walking. I kept thinking, why doesn't someone see the gun? Why doesn't someone call the police? Or do anything?

"Hurry up, Chase Robin," the hippie said behind me. I felt the barrel of the pistol poking into my right kidney. He didn't seem to care as much about forcing Stephanie, or maybe he knew she would just go. We walked along for a few minutes, me getting poked every now and then, but without incident. I saw the gray Caddy in a parking lot ahead and wasn't surprised when Stephanie and I were ushered inside. Fonzie took the wheel, and I was forced into the front passenger seat. The hippie sat right behind me and Stephanie to his side. As soon as the doors were closed and locked, the hippie fixed a glare on Stephanie and pointed the gun at her face.

"Where is it?" he said, his face twisting into a snarl but his voice even but forceful.

"What?" she said.

"You know what. Don't ******** with us. Where's the gem?"

Stephanie looked down the barrel of the large handgun with no emotion in her face. I don't know a lot about firearms in general, despite working for a small-arms research and development company, but I recognized the one he had. Because my father and I hunted with one like it in the backwoods of Nebraska, in days long gone. It is called a Thompson Center "Encore". It's primarily a hunting pistol available in a variety of calibers and barrel lengths that holds a single round of ammunition and opens at the breech to load, tipping open like a top-break shotgun. The markings I read on the side of the hippie's said the caliber was .308 Winchester, a popular rifle cartridge, and the barrel looked to be about ten inches long. And since a .308 bullet is commonly used to bring down wild game like deer anywhere between one and six hundred yards, it could surely make a mess of either of us.

Fonzie turned around in his seat and looked Stephanie dead in the eyes.

"Look, Moran. We were paid a lot of money to get that gem from you. We were told you were looking for it. And you're going to give it to us, or we'll have to bring you to our employer. And our employer will get it from you. Trust me on that."

Stephanie sat back in her seat and absently stared forward, as if seeing through everything in front of her.

"I don't have it. I haven't found it yet."

The hippie drew his eyebrows together and gave a harsh look to the Fonz.

"She hasn't found it? What the ********/> "What do you mean you haven't found it?"

"Your boss said I was looking for it. Well I was. But I haven't found it yet."

The hippie practically stood in the car, shoving his left hand back behind Stephanie's head and planting it on the window while he jammed the gun barrel under her chin. His face was an inch from hers when he sneered his next sentence.

"Well where is it!"

She looked through him, you could say. Just like she had the front seat a minute ago.

"You wouldn't believe me unless you knew what this gem is. And you don't."

"Where is it?" Fonzie said, putting a hand up for the hippie to back off.

She was silent.

"Tell me where it is."

Still said nothing. The hippie cocked the gun and put it closer. This time Stephanie looked at him, closed her eyes, and sighed.

"I saw you outside the laundramat. Hid it under one of the driers to come get it later. But I guess it's not worth my life."

The hippie looked between her, the Fonz, and me.

"Z'at true?" he said to me. I looked at Stephanie to try to read her mind, of course I couldn't. But she caught my eyes in a certain way and nodded just a little.

"Y-yes... it's true."

The hippie looked between us, then slowly lowered the hammer on the pistol and struck the butt of it against my seat.

"********! Chuck, take the gun, I'm gonna go look."

The hippie handed the gun off to the Fon--Chuck--and got out of the car, muttering to himself and swearing a lot. A few moments passed in silence and I looked hard at Stephanie. We didn't talk, but we knew what each other was thinking in a way. It was something like this:

"Dammit Stephanie, you know there's no space between those driers and the floor. They're flush with the linoleum. You still have it."

"Yeah."

"So what happens when the hippie finds that out, comes over here pissed off, and shoots me in the face to show you he's serious?"

"I'm thinking."

Stephanie said out loud, "Who hired you? What's he want with my... gem?"

"Not my place," Chuck said. "Minding your own business--that's how you stay alive doing what we do."

Chuck yawned a great big yawn and, I couldn't belive it, had his eyes closed! For two full seconds. My breath caught in my throat and my whole body seemed to be running with little pulses of electricity, and practically moved on its own. I'd had my hand in my coat pocket the last few minutes, grip around my revolver. Had my thumb over the hammer to keep it from snagging on the fabric, and pulled it free. I used my empty hand to hold the hippie's Encore pistol into my seat and pointed my revolver in his face.

He'd quit yawning, that's for sure. Just stared at me for so long I was sure the hippie would come back and ******** everything up.

"Let go," I said. Slowly Chuck's grip loostned on the Encore until it'd released from his palm and I held it by the barrel.

"Stephanie, get out," I said. She did as fast as a rabbit on speed, ran around to the other side and opened my door. I kept my revolver pointed on Chuck's midsection, backing out until my feet were on the pavement.

"Put the keys on the seat."

Chuck didn't blink once through the whole ordeal. Inched his hand to the ignition and pulled the keys free, then dropped them onto the passenger seat like I'd said. I looped the pinky of the hand holding the hippie's Encore through the ring and backed away, keeping the revolver trained on Chuck's torso. Stephanie stayed right behind me. And twenty feet away we turned and ran like hell. Some two blocks away we stopped to stoop over and pant like dogs. I unloaded the Encore pistol and the streetlights glimmered on the unit of hollow-point boat-tail style ammunition between my fingers. I put the .308 cartridge in my pocket, dropping the gun itself in the trash. Maybe not the best plan, but it was too big to hold onto. I threw Chuck's keys in with it and Stephanie stared me down.

"You had a gun this whole time and you waited that long to do anything!"

But I was leaning against the brick wall of some inner-city apartments still breathing hard. My fingers shook and twitched, my pulse ran so hard I could feel it everywhere. A lingering heat and a spark of electricity radiated from my belly, like a smoldering transformer with a few sparks popping off to my limbs. That left-over adrenaline. And fear, oh hell yes, fear. Oh ******** yes, fear.

Stephanie sighed and wiped her hair out of her face.

"Hey, are you okay?"

I didn't answer for a while, and only did because the expression on Stephanie's face continued to shade over in worry.

"Yeah... fine..."

"This time you're the one that looks like you got tasered."

I just nodded a little, still leaning. That brick wall was all that kept me up. And the conflicting exhaustion and boundless energy felt heavy enough to topple that whole building. I put everything I had into standing straight, hiding how wobbly my legs were. I gripped Stephanie's hand in mine way too tightly and marched down the sidewalk, my face set into something showing the grim determination I felt. But if I could tell how clammy my hands were, I'm sure Stephanie could. She took her wish from her pocket just long enough to look at it. And I'll admit it was comforting to see. The train station was far up the road and we quickened our pace. Maybe Chuck and the hippie will kill each other. Or cut their losses and give up. Sure. Sure Chase. That'll happen.

Sure.

Chapter 5
We walked up the road without gunfire. Without loud engines in the distance catching our ears. The traffic was there--always was--but without malice. There was no hatred among the city for us, not along that road. For all we knew, Chuck and the hippie were calling someone for a spare key. Maybe they went to a late lunch. Or were just swearing a lot, being unproductive as we walked. The sidewalk was empty ahead, and all the businesses along it that hadn't already turned off their lights were doing so then. The scent of the ocean was covered over somewhat by that of exhaust, electric currents running through wires, and concrete dust. But it couldn't be totally blanketed--not ever. Cool breezes ran between the buildings, reminding us that it was almost winter.

"I'm cold," Stephanie said. I looked over at her, then back at the way ahead.

"Yeah, me too."

We continued in silence for another minute.

"Aren't you going to offer me your coat?"

I looked down at it and then over at her again.

"Why would I do that? I'm cold too!"

"But I'm a girl! It's the rule."

"The rule? What about women's empowerment, equality, 'We Can Do It!', all that bullshit?"

Stephanie took her hand from mine and popped me in the shoulder, continuing the walk with her arms at her sides. In another minutes' time the train station was in full view, just up the road. I stopped.

"Stephanie, what if I hadn't had the gun? Or if that guy hadn't yawned. Or wha--"

"We would have figured something out," she said, kept on walking. I jogged a few steps to catch up and we approached the terminal. Warmly glowing flourescent lights flooded the space just off the wide windows, and people went to and fro. A busy night for the station. I walked in with Stephanie right behind and the destination headings and time expectations flashed on a monitor over the front desk. The pretty blonde in the Coastal Sun Railway uniform--God if everything in this city isn't named after the sun--ushered us forward with her smile.

"Good evenening. May I set you two up with a destination?"

Stephanie said, "When's the next train for Jacksonville?"

The girl glanced down at a monitor in front of her and then back up.

"It will be just fifteen minutes now."

"Okay," I said, "how much are the tickets?"

"Standard is twenty-seven dollars, luxury is fifty-four. Luxury includes a larger, more comfortable private booth. It's also in the front cars, so you technically get there faster than everyone else."

Stephanie smirked at that.

"I think we'll take the standard."

The girl nodded and I handed her my card. She slid it through a machine, punched some numbers, and had two tickets printing from the little wheel-shaped machine at her side.

"Here you are, and enjoy the trip. The train will arrive shortly. Right through here."

Stephanie and I walked to the side of the front desk, taking the door the girl had motioned for. It had us back outside, under a stainless steel awning spanning half a football field in both directions, held up by thick beams. Four sets of tracks are lined up parallel to each other, showing the terminal to be a small one. But it was all we needed, and more than enough to give us some security from our persuers. The wind blew through, hard and cold and smelling of that ocean. Stale, vaporized salt blew through my hair with it, replacing some of that sticky sweat soaked in so deeply from earlier. Stephanie looked completely at ease, features relaxed, just a little sleepiness showing through. I hadn't had time to feel tired yet, but I knew I would as soon as I sunk into those train seats. And no sooner did I entertain the thought than did the faraway motor vibrate the ground beneath our feet. Phantom lightbeams skimmed the mist in the air, skating over the steely surfaces like they were on as sure of a track as the train itself. The headlights brightened as they neared, and the horizontal, sectioned tower slowed to a halt before us. The doors creaked open on four cars, letting out just a few sparse crowds with luggage in tow. A family, some businessmen, and a man that looked like he'd been wearing the same clothes for a year and a half.

Stephanie and I stepped into the seventh cart as it came into alignment with the terminal floor. Was more modern than I expected, but most trains I've seen have been in movies about boy wizards, so I'm in no place to make comparisons. Their was plenty of stainless steel and aluminum among the interior, but benches were sectioned off with partitions, and padded very nicely. Each partision held a bench on each side of a little stainless table, with a window just over it. Stephanie and I sat opposite each other in the closest section and watched ther terminal slowly fade off into the distance. The ticker over the door to the next car read out in red neon the destinations and times. Jacksonville, ETA: 6HRS 18MNS.

Stephanie and I finally got our sighs of relief. Costa del Sol, and all our problems in it, were behind us. Stephanie took out her wish and looked at it for just a minute, just to make sure she still had it. The lights dimmed in the car and I tossed my jacket across to Stephanie, then proceeded to put my shoulder bag under my head, sprawling out as much as I could along the seat.

"G'night," I said.

"Good night," Stephanie said right back. We fell asleep almost instantly among the dull rumble of the engine and the tiny creaks of metal as the joints between cars took the turns.

* * *
I woke up at a little after five AM, according to my watch, and the ticker over thedoor read Jacksonville, ETA: 0HRS 21MNS. Scenery rolled by outside the windows, covered in a dim orange glow by the rising son. And Stephanie was still sleeping with my rolled-up jacket being her pillow. I put my shoulder bag on the table and leaned back against the seat, twiddling my thumbs in my lap. As the light poked in from outside, Kelly Clarkson's Break Away started playing low on the mounted speakers. I couldn't help but sing along, low under my breath.

"I'll spread my wings and I'll learn how to fly, I'll do what it takes 'till I touch the sky."

And to my great embarassment, Stephanie continued from her place on the seat.

"And I'll make a wish, take a chance, make a change, and break away."

She poked her head above the level of the table and gigled at my expense. I flushed, indignanat, and closed my yap.

"Ha ha, don't worry, I won't tell anyone. Are we almost there?"

I just thumbed to the ticker, said, "Fifteen minutes."

Stephanie yawned and put my jacket across the table. Then she took her wish from shoe (this girl really needed pockets) and held it in her palms for a minute, looking down on it as if it were her child.

"Can I hold it?" I said. She thought for a second, but nodded. I cupped my hands like the had and gently set it into the opening. The wish felt like both hard glass and some kind of semi-malleable epoxy. But when I squeezed it a bit with my fingers, it didn't give.

"Neat, huh?" she said, like I was looking at a new purse, or a fancy pair of shoes, not her one wish.

"So this thing was in your mouth when you were born. Far out..."

Over the speaker system, a man's voice announced, "Arriving in Jacksonville in about five minutes." I gave Stephanie her wish back and she returned it to her shoe, then shuffled it around on her foot to try to make it comfortable.

"You need to find a better place for that," I said, putting the strap of my shoulder bag over my head. I checked my phone and the battery was getting low, and my neck was a bit stiff from sleeping weird. But the light coming from outside was comforting. And within five minutes the train was slowing to a halt. I would say grinding, but the modern, high-tech brakes made it a pretty clean stop.

"All right," Stephanie said, "let's go!"

She hopped down from the edge of the padded bench and was out the door before I stood. I jogged out to catch up and found the train station to be about the same as Costa del Sol's, just three times bigger. People milled about like it was an airport. I really had no idea this many people took trains. Stephanie pulled me along through crowds until we went out the glass double-doors at the front of the station and were met with the early morning city traffic. And what a city it was! Buildings stretched to blot the sky out from view unless you stared straight up. The sea spray odor was completely gone, layered over by miles and great, steel towers. Where Costa del Sol has a few stubby ones, it seemed like Jacksonville has as many skyscrapers as people, although I realize that's a great exageration. But even with all the space, I felt a little claustraphobic--boxed in by it all. Must be my roots in Nowhereville, Nebraska. Stephanie ran out to the street, lookinng up and down for early morning cabs. She spotted one and actually hiked up her skirt a little, getting the driver's attention real quick. I laughed all the way into the cab.

"To Harman's Children's Hospital, please," Stephanie said.

The man flicked a glance at her in the rearview mirror.

"Sure thing, lady."

We took the scenic route, or maybe it was the quick way. I don't know the city, so I can't say. But for ten minutes we drove around as the sun's light asdcended. Traffic was easy, streets open. Just a few early-morning commuters in the cabbie's way. He got us to the hospital and I paid the fare. Stephanie jumped out faster than she had from Chuck's Cadillac, and I followed her into the hospital. It was a hospital as any other. White walls, sterile scent in he air. But a little more light-hearted, with large posters of wild animals adorning the walls. Stephanie jogged towards the front desk, but slowed as she saw a man arguing with the woman behind it.

"Listen, I don't know who you think you are," the man said, "but I want to see him. He's my son dammit!"

Stephanie's face twisted into something of a scowl when she shoved the man aside, then turned his shoulder for him to look at her.

"Actually, Borris, he's my son. He stopped being your son when you went to ******** D.C."

I thought I'd keep my distance. So this is the deadbeat ex-boyfriend. He was a decent-looking guy, but hadn't shaved in a few days. He wore a dress shirt and tie like mine, but his shirt was untucked in a few places, and the tie knot was loose. Has a little, well-healed scar over his left eyebrow.

"What are you doing here, Stephanie?"

"Was about to ask you the same thing."

Stephanie glared at the receptionist.

"I hope you weren't thinking of letting this b*****d in to see my son."

The lady put her hands up, shaking her head.

"No ma'am, without being legally married he has no rights to se--"

"--good. Borris, get the hell out of here."

The receptionist and I exchanged glances of concern, and of some confusion. But I'm sure the lady had seen this scene play out a few dozen times before. We both let them argue for a minute.

"Um," the receptionist said. Stephanie and Borris ignored her.

"Please, um."

Still nothing.

"Sir, please."

"What?" they yelled at the poor lady in unison.

"Sir, I have to ask you to leave. I can't let you see the boy, and you're causing a commotion."

A police officer had been approaching before, and now he fixed a hard stare on Borris.

"I'd listen to the lady, if I were you," he said. Borris stared back, but didn't have anything to back it up.

"Fine then, ******** you, I'm leaving."

We watched Borris storm out and the officer appologized for him, then went back to his spot near the elevator. The receptionist took a breath and looked calmly upon Stephanie.

"Okay, now that that's over, what can I help you with?"

Stephanie and I got closer to the desk and she did all the talking. I was, after all, just an observer to this whole business.

"Yes, I want to see my son. Aiden Moran. He's in room B13 on the second floor, right?"

"May I see some identification first?"

"Sure," she said, and produced her little wallet. The lady nodded and typed into her computer. A look of disappointment came to her face and she avoided Stephanie's gaze for a minute.

"Wait," Stephanie said, her face going white, fingers trembling. "It didn't... get worse did it. Or did he... my son is... Aiden is alive, isn't he?"

"Oh yes, ma'am!" the lady said, putting her hands up again. "He's okay, he's okay. It's not that, it's just..."

"What? What is it?"

"It looks like he was transferred to a different hospital."

"Well who the hell said anyone could do that? When did it happen?"
"About six hours ago."

I looked over at Stephanie and raised an eyebrow. She just turned back to the lady and put her fists on the desk.

"Okay, fine. Which hospital was he moved to?"

"Um..."

The lady looked at the monitor for a long time, reading it for a long time. Then she closed her eyes for a moment and faced Stephanie, folding her hands on the desk.

"I'm... not allowed to tell you."

Stephanie just about exploded then. Her entire body shook with some mixture of hatred and fear. Her gray-green eyes burned with this malice I can't even describe. Every muscle in her body tensed, her breath caught in her throat. And I thought I could even feel her radiating mad heat from a foot away. Her next words were so stern and uncompromising--and frightening!--the lady behind the desk actually scooted back an inch or so without realising it.

"You tell me where the ******** they put my son right now."

"I-I-I-I can't! I'm locked out from the location! The system won't even tell me!"

"Tell me where my son is!"

Stephanie started crawling onto the desk, trying to get her head around to the monitor. The lady behind the desk scooted back in her chair up to the wall and the cop started walking over again. I was thinking about holding her back, but I wanted her to know. Plus I still need both of my testicles. Stephanie looked all around the screen. What caught her eyes was "Current location: Witheld."

She stared at it until the cop reached us.

"Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to leave as well."

Still she stared at that screen. It looked like she'd had her soul ripped out of her body.

"Ma'am?"

Stephanie just walked around the desk and toward the door, shambling like a zombie. The receptionist spotted something on the desk and held it out towards her.

"Wait, Miss Moran!"

It was a letter with Stephanie's name handwritten across the front in black ink, but she didn't turn. I took the letter and said I'd bring it to her, then followed her out to the sidewalk. She sat down at the edge of the circular drive in front of the hospital entrance, and cried into her hands. I thought about doing something to console her, but she didn't look like she wanted anyone near. So I just sat, looking at nothing in particular. After a good five minutes she wiped her eyes on her skirt and fixed them on me.

"Any ideas? How do we find him?"

For a second I just looked at her, incredulous. The sadness was all gone, with only red puffy eyes remaining to show she had shed a single tear.

"Um, the lady at the desk said this was for you."

She took the letter in her hands and tapped the left edge so the letter settled on the other side. Then she tore open the left side and picked out the folded sheet. She read it aloud to me.

"Dear Miss Moran, your child is safely residing in one of the hundreds of hospitals located in the great state of Florida. This location will be kept from you until I have your wish. I'm guessing you plan to use it to cure his illness. I'm sorry, but that won't happen. You may keep the wish, but as you know he will die within the month. Or you may give me your wish and spend the rest of his precious short life with him. Those are your options. I will call your home at seven PM. Signed C.V."

Chapter 6
It was an interesting situation. And for a sudden, seeing the choice, I wonder if I would have thought the same way that Stephanie did. She'd known her son for, what, a year or so? I hadn't asked how old he was, but from the picture I'd seen, he couldn't have been more than two. She had her wish, and she could get pretty much anything she wanted. To go through so much for her son was admirable, but to be honest, she barely knows the kid! I guess I'm desensitized in this modern day when the value of life is so low. But if she used the wish, the kid could just fall out of his high chair the next week and die, and what would she have gained? I understand how far she went for the wish, but I wouldn't have been entirely surprised if she just went back to her apartment and tried to pull her life out of the debt she'd fallen to by paying out the nose to fight her son's illness.

"Stephanie," I said, being as slow and tactful as I could, "you know... I wouldn't look down on you or anything. If you were to... well you know."
She looked over at me and folded up the letter, still seated on the curb.

"What?"

"Well if you just. What if you just didn't answer the phone when it rang? If you know what I mean."

She smiled a sad smile, if that's the right way to describe it.

"I know, Chase. I just don't want to do that. But it means a lot to me that you'd come forward to say that. Some people might have ignored that that option was even there. I haven't known Aiden for very long, but I love him. If you ever get a kid, you'll know what I mean."

She tapped me in the shoulder with her fist again and smiled.

"I'm a good mom, okay? Now are you going to help me find him or not?"

I stood and stretched, so glad she hadn't yelled at me for saying it. The time was a little after seven AM, so we had twelve full hours to work before we would even get the call from that C.V. I took a few minutes to ring Sunburst Tactical after putting together the best excuse I could come up with. If anyone asks, I was hit by a car as I left the building the day before, when Howard told me to leave. It wasn't too serious, just a fractured tibia and bad ankle sprain, but enough to keep me off the job for at least a week, doctor's orders. Since I told it to the secretary, she embelished a lot of anguish into it, and made it sound really bad.

"Wanna get something to eat while we think about this? I know a great breakfast joint in the city."

"Sure. Say I noticed you're not still going on about the whole, 'You know you don't have to keep doing this. I appreciate the help but you can go home.' stuff."

She just shrugged.

"Well I figured if you're still here after we got out of that Cadillac and took the train, you wouldn't have any reason to leave until this is over."
"Yep. Just so we're clear."

We took a walk, then a cab. The day opened up as the sun rose, and the city looked even bigger. People started milling about a lot more, going to work or breakfast. Schoolbuses ran their routes, as did mailmen. The noises of people boomed through the 800-some square miles of city (thanks Wikipedia!) and the place felt very alive. The breakfast place Stephanie mentioned was one of those hole-in-the wall type places called Morning Watch, hidden among the dime-a-dozen fast food chains. If I hadn't known it was there, I probably wouldn't have even known it was there.

"So I guess you don't know who C.V. is?" I said after the lady behind the counter simply pointed us into the dining area and said to sit where we want.

"No."

"He must know a lot about the Moran family. Probably hired Chuck and the hippie to get the 'gem'."

"And when it didn't work, he thought he'd use Aiden for ransom."

Stephanie nodded along as she spoke the sentence, and then took some sips of water.

"But who can even arrange for something like that?" she said.

I mentally shrugged.

"Can anyone but you use your wish?"

"No. I'm the only one."

"What if you died? Would your kid inherit yours?"

"If I didn't use mine, it would just vanish."

The lady that had been behind the counter came by and asked for her order. Stephanie, knowing the place, just asked for the number three breakfast. I just gave an I'll-have-what-she's-having and took a sip from my water glass. The lady walked off and Stephanie looked out the window. Morning Watch, as it was called, was about halfway underground. The entrance was at the bottom of a set of steps carved at the edge of the sidewalk. A medeival-style wooden door served as the entrance, and the interior was all unfinished burnt-looking bricks. There were windows at the ground level of the sidewalk outside, letting Stephanie and I look at peoples' shoes as they passed. And there were some very fasionable shoes going down that sidewalk! Or maybe everyone always wears nice shoes, and I never notice until it's the only thing I can look at. The world can be that way.

"Anyone that knows about my wish, should know the way it works. They should know they couldn't use it but me."

"Maybe they want to experiment on it. Or force you to use it for them."

She shook her head.

"They couldn't force me. I have to genuinely want to happen whatever I wish for. If I don't want it, even subconsciously, it won't happen."

"Well either way, it'd take a powerful person to be able to lock your child's information from you. Maybe he has a connection with Child Protective Services, or works with them. Or a government official."

Stephanie cupped her head in her hands as if trying to block the world out of her ears and gave out a short grunt of frustration.

"Argh, this is supposed to be a secret!"

I drank more water and folded my hands on the table--worn, thick wood held by cast-iron nails. The lady behind the counter brought by our food. The number three breakfast turned out to be a manage of scrambled eggs, hash browns, toast, bacon, grits, and a roll split in two with what looked like home-made jelly. Stephanie and I finished our plates inside of three minutes, leaving only tiny remnants behind. Neither of us had eaten since those energy bars on the Credenza the day before, so it was hardly a surprise. Any other day that breakfast would have been good, but that day it may as well have been five-star cuisine.

"Well I want a shower," Stehanie said.

"Me too. Mind if we stop by someplace for me to get some new clothes?"

"Sure. There's a Brooks Brothers on 14th Street."

"Brooks Brothers? If we end up in another motorboat in the baking sun or running from Chuck and the hippie, I think I'll avoid the fancier stuff. Where's Wal Mart?"

The short version is, we went to Wal Mart. I scanned the clothing options the store had to offer, with Stephanie shooting down some of my earlier choices. The khakis didn't go right with my skin tone, the black shirt had a spot on it (I never did see that spot) and was apparently too snug around the torso. She had me settle on a faded pink dress shirt and a pair of gray, pleated pants. The tie she picked had horizontal stripes alternating black, white, and pink. I thought it was a bit iffy, but she said it looked great, so I just went with it. Within another fifteen minutes we were at her apartment near the northern edge of Jacksonville. She let me in, saying the standard "excuse the mess". I was figuring she was just being a woman in saying that, and that the place would be spotless. But in fact is was very cluttered. Not unclean, just with everything everywhere. The furniture was fairly modern, with lots of gray, black, and white, glass surfaces, and stainless steel. Curves were elegant, and everything streamlined. Like a torpedo. But there was paperwork among many surfaces. The computer came to life as Stephanie walked by and nudged the mouse. Apparently she hadn't bothered to shut it off before heading south.

"Just toss that bag anywhere, doesn't matter."

I didn't know if she meant the Wal Mart bag holding my old clothes or my shoulder bag, but either way I laid them on the couch. Stephanie poked her head out from behind the side of the dividing wall seperating the kitchenette from the living room area.

"I'm going to have a shower, so just make yourself at home."

I okayed and she disappeared behind the wall. Shortly after the water started running, I paced around the apartment to do a bit of snooping. Not invasion-of-privacy snooping, just walking around looking at stuff; it only felt like snooping. There were a lot of little baby toys, and tiny spoons covered in rubber among the dishes. Aiden would have been too young for that, but I guess Stephanie was just prepared, looking forward to using them. The collection of CDs by the computer gravitated toward 90s pop/rock music, classic rock, and only four or five albums from the last nine years. There was a lot of gathered mail strewn about from Harman's Children's Hospital, and an Allied Health Partners. I got bored of snooping after a few minutes and opened the sliding glass door to step out onto the balcony. There's only a few feet of space until the wrought-iron fence, but the view from the sixth floor gives a nice look out into the city. Cars go by between that maze of buildings, and you see how big the world is somehow. I looked out for a while, at least until Stephanie came from behind me and met me beside the rail.

"Decent view, huh?"

She'd changed to a well-fitting pair of jeans and a simple tee shirt in a baby blue color. Her hair was still damp and darkened, but lightened up quickly in the sun. We stood there at the balcony for the better part of twenty minutes. And since the call wasn't due until seven, that wasn't unreasonable. It was a perfectly sunny day with light breezes. For the rest of the afternoon, Stephanie and I just lounged around her apartment. I managed to get a shower to wash off the dried sweat of the day before. And we had a late lunch of cereal and milk. Finally we got to sitting on her couch by the phone. Six fifty-five came, and slowly grew into seven o'clock. Ten seconds after, a ringing erupted throughout the apartment. Stephanie put the call on speaker.

"Hello?"

"Miss Moran? Good to finally talk to you."

The first thing to note was: the voice was that of a woman.

"I can't say I share the sentiment," Stephanie said.

"Understandable. But I'll need you to bring your wish to 712 Market Avenue at eight o'clock."

"I can't."

"What do you mean you can't, of course you can."

"I don't have my wish yet. I literally can not do it."

"I know you have it! Or you wouldn't have come to Jacksonville!"

Stephanie flicked a glance over at me, then back at the phone.

"I didn't come to Jacksonville, I was coming through Jacksonville. I didn't catch my wish in time and it started moving north. I only knew about your letter because I tried to stop in and check on Aiden."

There was silence on the line for a few long moments.

"What do you mean? You... you really don't have it?"

"It's somewhere in Georgia, I know that much. But please give me more time! I want my son back, just don't hurt him! I'll get it, I swear I will!"

More silence, then Stephanie continued.

"Listen... I don't know what you've been told about the Moran Family, but you can't use my wish. It's impossible."

This time the return came quick and angry.

"You let me worry about what's impossible! I'll call again at noon tomorrow. If you don't have it, that's the last you'll ever see of your son!"
The line went dead and Stephanie and I looked at each other for a moment. After a few seconds, Stephanie gave a sigh of relief.

"It's a woman--thank God."

"How's that help us?" I said.

"Chase, I went to St. Paula's School for Girls. For years I dealt with the most hardened old Cahtolic hags you could imagine. If there's anything I can handle..."

And the next part came with a devilish smile.

"It's an uptight b***h that needs to feel in control."

I stood and pulled on my jacket, then took my shoulder bag.

"It's good to hear you say that. Grab your coat, let's go."

"Go where?"

"If they were expecting us to come rushing over, they're already at the address they gave. So maybe we can catch them there and get some information about C.V."

 

[ArmasTermin]

Chapter 7
We were on the sidewalk within a single minute, and some rain had broken out. It put a wet, hazy drear over the already dimmed city streets. Although well-populated, Jacksonville doesn't have as much of a night-life as cities like Las Vegas or New York City. So although early, the place was winding down. People were going home, or getting last-minute shopping done. That made up the bulk of the fairly minimal traffic. Stephanie and I found a cab easily, and had him push the speed limit to get us near 712 Market in record time.

"If we're too late," I said halfway there, "we have nothing."

As we reached Market Avenue, I tapped the drier on the shoulder and said to slow down. He looked ahead and could see what 712 was.

"That warehouse?" he asked.

"Yeah, inch us up a little farther."

The street was deserted. At the edge of the city, with nothing but storage facilities, a city dump, and some condemned buildings. I spotted three figures exiting the warehouse and practically stood up in my seat.

"Driver, quick, switch off all the lights! Pull up to the side over here!"

I nearly tripped getting out, slamming the door as quickly and quietly as I could. I dashed across the street, taking cover behind a parked car. The three were talking, but I just couldn't hear well enough. I ran forward some more, sticking low and close to the condemned building. The lighting was bad all around, so I could get by without being too noticeable. But I still tried to make myself small, keeping excessive movements down. The rain offered great cover for the sounds of my footsteps. But as soon as I got within hearing range, one of the three got into a little black Japanese car and drove off, tail lights as red beacons against the backdrop of rain.

I was situated behind a concrete post built up by a steel bar to keep vehicles from entering the particular opening to the side of the warehouse. Before the entrance of the warehouse I could see Chuck and the hippie in raincoats. The hippie was smoking a cigarette and watching the taillights trail off in the distance.

"I'm sick of that b***h not appreciating our work," he said.

Chuck glanced his way for a moment, then went back to watching the car leave.

"That 'b***h' is our employer. And she's paying us eight grand just for what we already did. So show her some respect."

They stood there doing nothing in particular, just getting wet. The hippie smoked what he could without the rain putting out his cigarette or dampening the paper and tobacco to where it wouldn't light. Chuck pulled the hood up on the rain jacket he had over his usual leather coat.

"It's too damn wet out here. Ronnie, you want a ride home?"

I didn't wait for him to answer to get away. I ran my heart out, trying to get back to the cab without them seeing me. When I got in I could see the Cadillac hum to life and the lights switch on.

"Driver, follow that car, but stay back!"

The cabbie looked at Stephanie and I in the mirror.

"So which one of them is sleeping with which one of you's girlfriend? Or s'it the other way around?"

We couldn't help giggling at that, but the man did follow the Cadillac, and did a good job of staying just barely close enough to keep an eye on the vehicles.

"You're good at this, sir," Stephanie said.

The man raised a hand on the steering wheel partway in protest.

"Nah, I've done this a dozen times. You'd be surprised."

We followed the Cadillac for eight blocks until it stopped in a quiet little suburb at the east side of Jacksonville. The hippie--apparent real name Ronnie--got out. We were at the stop sign for the turn onto the road, but stayed there. I got out and kept my eyes on Ronnie as the Cadillac rolled off.

"Driver, keep following that car. Stephanie, you have to get his address. But don't do anything else. We'll meet at your place later."

I handed my debit card off to Stephanie so she could pay the fare, then jogged down the sidewalk to where Ronnie had been dropped off.
Stephanie said, "Be careful!" out the window as she passed me, and the cab followed Chuck out of sight.

"Just me and the hippie," I said. I patted down my pocket to feel the reassuring weight of the little revolver. I'd bought it about three years before, after a mugging. It opened my eyes to the fact that, in the situation, there are three options: call the police, give him your money, or say no. Two out of three options don't help any. But the revolver, I thought, would say no. It's a Ruger SP-101 model in stainless steel with a two inch barrel. It was loaded (and still is) with five rounds of .38 Special Federal Premium Hydra-Shok, 110-grain jacketed hollowpoints. A buck a round, but if it's my life that I'm paying for, then it's dirt cheap.

I watched Ronnie enter a little white house with well-trimmed hedges out front. It, like others along the road, had minimal land. But I knew they all had staggering monthly payments. I was starting to assume Ronnie really was seventeen years old, and that Chuck had just dropped him off at his parents' house. Which would be both hilarious and horrible at the same time. But I got closer and stooped in the bushes before working over to a window. Inside was fairly minimalist. The furniture was plain, but seemed well-made. The television in the living room looked to be a forty-inch plasma, and a Microsoft XBOX 360 sat nearby. This boy really knew how to live. He showed up walking through the living room, kicking his shoes from his feet and pulling off his damp shirt, tossing it carelessly onto the couch right in front of the window I was perched behind. The scars all across his torso made it obvious that he'd been doing shady things for some time.

It was then that I noticed the strange object in his hand I couldn't place earlier because of the darkness. It was a handgun, a large one--it was the hunting pistol he'd had earlier! I couldn't believe he'd managed to find it in the trach can. But that would explain how he'd been riding around with Chuck in the Caddy after I'd tossed their keys. Ronnie diseappeared through an opening to another part of the house and came back a minute later, sans Encore... and pants. I ducked out of sight as he plopped down on the couch and turned on the TV. Some Jimi Hendrix music started blaring from the speakers and Ronnie got up again, just long enough to take a beer from the refrigerator. Coors Light, if its of any importance. And there I sat for half an hour as Ronnie jammed out with classic rock, then fired up the 360 and played Gears of War online while finishing his beer. As I sat there, shoes sinking into saturated grass, becoming wetter by the second, I really wanted to walk in and join him.

But as the night wore on, I wasn't learning anything. I didn't know any more about C.V. Or about Ronnie's connection to the lady. If she'd given him money in person, that would be useless to me. But what if she'd mailed a check? Or if Ronnie kept reccords of his dealings with people? I would elaborate on 'dealings', but I really didn't know what the hell to classify his line of work as. Whatever it was, it netted him enough to live in a neat little house with a big TV, where I was a working man, just getting by in the not-so-big city. I started getting really stupid ideas when Ronnie dozed off to the close of David Letterman's show. And soon enough I found myself at the back window, stepping out of and then onto the tops of my shoes. I pulled my arms from my jacket and kept it draped over my shoulders, then produced an old pocketknife and began working it into the seam of the window jam. I inched the blade in until I could force the window open and slipped inside, leaving my wet jacket and shoes in the rain. I tucket my revolver into the back of my pants and the end of my tie into the space between two buttons of the shirt. And it was just me in the lion's den. Letterman went on about something funny, and an air conditioner gave off a subtle, constant roar. But I could still hear my every step. I tensed up my entire body walking through the house, not even knowing what to look for. Just paperwork of any kind might be helpful. If peoples' whole identities can be stolen from the stuff, I could sure learn about C.V., right?

I started off with nothing. The mail on the kitchen table looked recent, was addressed to Ronald West, but was just bills. Electric, phone, satellite TV. Useless to me. So I kept snooping. I had to take the long way around the living room each time, knowing that just a step in front of the TV might get him up. And sure, I had the gun and he didn't. But it's just not a situation I wanted to be in. So I tiptoed around before coming to a computer desk. I opened all the drawers, flipping through papers. Eventually I came upon a leather-bound journal-looking book with the word "Ledger" inscribed in bold across the front. I flipped it open and found pages of names and little paragraphs. What to do, who to do it for, and how much he got for it. The earliest entry was from 2001 and read: For Jacob Miles, kill neighbors dog, make look like an accident. $200.

Wow, a small-time hitman in his early teens. It was almost cute
.
I flipped a few dozen pages.

5/13/06 - Intercept Mark Vigil's mail from 5/19 to 5/23 - $400.

I flipped a few more. It seemed that for every year there were even more entries. 2008 had forty pages that ranged from jobs to steal a person's garbage to throwing a brick through a lady's window, and even a single murder that he got ten thousand dollars for. 2009 had fewer than the previous year at around twenty-eight, but many were higher-paying. It capped off to the most recent.

9/20/09 - Watch Stephanie Moran, look for any kind of clear gemstone she interacts with. Report interactions to Claudia Vasquez - $1500

9/24/09 - Follow Stephanie Moran everywhere she goes. Report interactions with gemstone to C.V. - $1500 + expenses

9/28/09 - Retreive clear gemstone from Stephanie Moran and deliver to C.V. - $8000 down, $8000 upon payment

Claudia Vasquez, I thought. I rolled the name around my head for a while. Whoever she was, she had a lot of money to throw around in order to get Stephanie's wish. She showed trust by continuing to hire Ronnie, but not so much to tell him what the 'gemstone' actually was. But I had a name, and that was something. And... and that was Ronnine moving around in the living room, wasn't it?

I shoved the papers back together as best as I could to look like they'd been before, wedging the Ledger in just right. I closed the drawer and slipped off into the shadows of the dark house. There wasn't nearly enough to hide behind, but I went with a mismatched kitchen chair piled with clean clothes as my heart beat inside my chest so loud I thought he'd hear it. Ronnie came through, oblivious. He sat at the computer chair not six feet from where I was stooped over, praying for him to just ******** go to bed already. He roused the computer from its sleep and browsed Myspace for a few minutes, checked his email, and generally just screwed around. For twenty minutes I sat there, my adrenaline somehow still going. And then he finally slinked off to his bedroom. The door closed and locked. I saw the light go on from a bar of it under the door. Then it disappeared. Five minutes later I worked up the nerve to get the hell out. Call me lazy, but I took the front door that time. I hopped on the wet grass in my socks before getting my stuff outside the window and sprinting all the way to the nearest major road with my heart still doing jumping jacks.

I honestly couldn't believe I'd done it, or even more, that I got out. I was sure he'd be watching the TV one moment, then pull a gun from somewhere, point it behind himself without even looking, and shoot me where I sat by the window. But there I was, running down Caramel Street like a damn lunatic at nine o'clock. I poured sweat by the time I found a cab.

Chapter 8
Most of the ride I spent thinking of as strategy. Somehow there had to be a way to get Caludia Vasquez to release Aiden to Stephanie without giving up the wish. Stephanie and I just needed our own leverage. And for that, we had to know who she was. A name is great, but we needed more. My dad had been a cop in Nebraska for twenty years before retirement, so I figured I'd call him up and see if he knew how to track someone, or had any favors he could call in. It was risking a lot of time on something that might not even come through, but it was all I had. And Stephanie. I had Stephanie, and so far she'd proven to be pretty level-headed and resourceful. I paid the cab-driver with the few bills I had on hand and stepped out to the after-rain drear of the Jacksonville streets. Jogged all the way up the stairs to Stephanie's room and cocked an eyebrow at the letter stuck halfway under the door. I knelt to pick it up, immediately suspicious.

Dear Mister Robin, Stephanie was caught off-guard, snooping in one of my associate's homes. She's told us that you held onto her wish for safe keeping. You're to bring it to the following address before midnight, or she will not live to see the sunrise.

712 Market Avenue.

I smashed the paper into a ball and struck the door with my fist, probably waking up a few people on the floor. But I wasn't thinking, "Why did she go into Chuck's hous?", it was "How could he have caught her?"

I tried the doorknob to Stephannie's apartment and it was unlocked. Inside, everything had been tossed around. The contents of drawers were scattered around the floor, open books among them. Pillows had been slashed open, and every container in the refridgerator was sitting empty by the sink next to a strainer stained by a dozen liquids. They'd searched the place from top to bottom without finding the wish. And they obviously didn't find it on her, so I didn't know where the hell she had it. I patted down my pockets to check if she planted it on me without me knowing, but I had nothing other than my wallet, cell phone, pocketknife, a bent stick of gum, the Wal Mart receipt, and my revolver.

"Stephanie, what do you want me to do?" I said aloud.

Last time she gave me enough of a window of opportunity to hold up Chuck with my gun, and she didn't even know I had it. So what was she trying to get me to do now? I checked the time with my phone: 9:21 PM. I had a little under three hours. Dad couldn't come up with C.V.'s information that fast. And even if he could, I knew right where she was, and could do nothing to her. Maybe Stephanie just wanted me to show up. Maybe that would allow her to do something she couldn't otherwise.

But that was stupid. That was a cop-out. That was me being lazy and scared. Maybe I don't have to do anything, I can just show up and everything will be fine! What a bunch of dellusional bullshit. For an hour I walked back and forth in Stephanie's appartment with a combination adrenaline rush and massive headache. I'd run a thousand possibilities, but nothing clicked in my head. I guess that's why I work on the fifth floor and Howard is on the sixth. There had to be something that would click. Something I could do--anything. At eleven I had put together something. A haphazard plan that relied too much on things I oculdn't control. But it was better than just walking into the warehouse. I took a cab to Wal Mart once again to pick up a few necessary items and assembled them in the back of the cab on the way to the warehouse. I was on the right street at half an hour till, and totally out of my mind. Had to be. I tucked the revolver into the opening of my jacket's hood and took the long, solmen walk up Market Avenue. Rain picked up, but I barely noticed it. There were two cars parked by the warehouse--the Cadillac and the little Japanese car. They, too, I paid no mind. I stood in front of the main door, a rusty-looking old thing not fit to call itself a door. A door that's really gotten on in year, and let itself go. A door unappreciated.

I knocked hard and loud three times after standing there for five minutes. It opened with Ronnie in the doorway with his Encore pistol held level at me. He tipped his head up and sideways just a bit, signaling to come in. I stepped forward to enter as he ducked back inside. The metal support beams that showed were covered in rust, and unused girders were piled around the room. The only cource of light came from a few half-dead yellow bulbs hooked onto a car battery near a rectangular plastic table. There Stephanie sat with Chuck on one side, and a woman on the other, all facing us.

"You're early," she said.

Claudia Vasquez--no doubt. She wore a soft-looking cotton gown with a notable Victorian-era feel to it, but somehow very modern. The deep black of it contrasted with the tan overcoat she had draped over her shoulders, arms not in the sleeves. Her hair was black, but faded compared to the dress. And tufts of it were missing. Her skin was pale, her figure sickly, her form depleted. She was obviously losing a fight.
Ronnie walked midway between C.V. and I, his gun pointed in my vague direction. He locked eyes with Chuck, who didn't wait for a word.

"I'll search him."

Chuck got to his feet and crossed the twenty five feet between myself and the table. I kept my gaze with Stephanie as I raised my arms. Chuck patted down both pant legs, up the sides of my torso, and my arms. He was thorough, while making it obvious he didn't enjoy feeling me up.
"No weapons," he said, obviously never having seen Die Hard.

C.V. looked at me with as much of an inquiry as she could come up with, having such dead eyes.

"Do you have it?"

I looked at Stephanie, and she looked back. I opened my hand and C.V. got to her feet at once, staring over the table and the distance to the light in my hand. The little glowing orb with the radiating white light. But I don't know if she looked any more surprised than Stephanie.
C.V. slapped her hand down on the table and jabbed a bony finger across to me.

"Ronald, get it from him. Get the gem from him."

He started pacing toward me and I closed my palm.

"Send Stephanie over first. We'll make the trade then."

Ronnie's face twisted into a confused bit of a scowl.

"******** you, I have the gun. You don't make the orders. Toss it over."
"It's too fragile. You'll have to come get it."

He looked at me a long time, or maybe it just seemed like it. Because if he said no, I was done. Fortunately C.V. spoke up behind him.
"Just get it!"

Ronnie shot a glance back at her, then stepped towards me, pointing the gun off to the side a little with each step. I put my hand at about a a foot from my chest and opened it. He looked on the orb with a notable curiosity, but simply brought his free-hand forward to pluck it from my hand.

But he couldn't. It was somehow heavy for him, as if stuck. He pulled a little harder, and harder still. With a sharp tug he ripped it from my hand, and promptly said, "What the hell?"

What he held in the air was a free-handing LED bulb stuck onto a watch battery with a few fiber-optic lines glued and wraped on. They terminated at a hazy, clear marble. The fiber-optic lines had lead into my palm at the marble, covered by slightly skin-colored packaging tape that had been very resiliant.

I had the instant again, just like with Chuck in the Caddilac. I started raising my hand behind my head for the revolver, but then I went deaf, or thought I did. It followed by my immediate collapse to the floor as my left leg buckled under me and blood leaked from what was, to me, a gaping hole in my leg. But I couldn't think. There was no, "Oh my God, I've been shot!", no terror of what my failure would mean to Stephanie. I just sat up partially, looking at my leg, unbelieving. There was the distant sound of a few metal clangs, that should have been Ronnie opening his gun to remove the fired shell and inserting another cartridge. But most of what I heard was ringing. The .308 cartridge firing from such a small weapon in the encloased metal space had brought the sound waves right back in on all of us. People know gunshots are loud from simply watching movies, but it's hard to appreciate just how fantastically noisey they can be until one goes off a few feet from your ear in a giant metal box. C.V. shouted something, and so did Chuck. Stephanie called out to me, but I don't know if I would have heard her, even if my ears weren't ringing. Some of the rigning subsided, and voices came back in echoes, but I was enamored with my leg.

"Chase! Chase! Get up!"

"What the hell is this! I want the wish now!

"Chase!" she said again, Chuck holding her arm tight to keep her from coming to me.

Ronnie looked down on me like I'd just spat in his face.

"Disgusting. I'm so sick of this."

Then he pointed the Encore pistol at my chest, and fired.

Chapter 9
I woke up to horribly bright light and my leg was somehow both achining and numb at the same time. I looked down to see a paper hospital robe over myself, with a cast over my leg. The walls were those of a hospital, and again the light was much too bright. The door creaked open and I looked over to see Stephanie jog up to me, hugging me around the neck.

"Stephanie, what the hell? What happened?"

She pulled back, standing beside the bed.

"It's over."

"Over? What do you mean? What happened? Where's Chuck and Ronnie? And that Claudia Vasquez?"

She looked at me with a question in her eyes. Like she was expceting to see me do something.

"Stephanie, tell me."

In stead, she opened her purse in front of me and took my revolver from it. She handed it to me and just looked back when I gave her another questioning look. I pressed the cylinder release, opening the crane to the side to reveal the chambers. Five cartridges sat in their recesses, primers struck. I ejected them into my hand to find the bullets missing. She'd fired it empty. I looked at her and she just avoided my eyes.

"And... Aiden?"

"I used my wish."

I sat up then, which was extremey difficult. The sharp movement sent a wave of pain through my body, but I was upright, staring at her, unbelieving.

"No, no! No you didn't! You didn't use it on me! After all you did, please don't--"

"--Stop," she said, putting her hand up. There were tears in my eyes. From the pain of sitting up like that, or from what she'd said, I don't know.

"Chase, I... I made my wish that... I wished that Chase Robin would save my son's life."

I kept staing at her. And when she finally smiled I laid back in the bed, and she sat on the edge, facing me.

"They let me run to you the second time--what's his name, Ronnie?--shot you. And I found your gun in your hood. It had slipped out without them noticing it. I... well I mean... they didn't bother me... after that," she said, distant.

"Anyway, Claudia Vasquez was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer a little over a year ago, and spent every cent she had in getting hold of a cure beyond modern medicine. She didn't tell me how, but she learned a lot about my family. She believed it all, and wanted my wish more than anything. She used every resource she had, including her sister in Child Protective Services. I was actually going to give it to her at the last second, thinking she wouldn't have a choice but to let us all go when she learned it couldn't help her. But when you showed up with that glowing thing, I didn't know what the hell you were doing."

She started laughing there, but I glared at her and she stopped.

"I'm sorry. Anyway, I thought... If I used my wish that way, I had the best chance."

I looked at the ceiling and felt a little loopy from the drugs. My leg still hurt, but my chest was surprisingly intact. I lifted my head a little to again look at Stephanie.

"One last thing. I didn't have the wish, and they couldn't find it anywhere. I mean... where the hell did you put it?"

A tinge of color flushed to her cheeks and she gave me a sheepish grin.

"Well you know... I mean, let's just say women have more hiding places than men."

 

[Buki_Actual]

Your stories keep getting better and better!  

[ArmasTermin]

Sgt Buckner

Your stories keep getting better and better!

Well thank you. It's a pain to write in first person because I can only show one viewpoint, which makes it really hard to create suspense or foreshadowing.

I did mean to use that .308 cartridge Chase gets for something, but nothing ever came of it. sweatdrop

Also, how the hell is your reply above my first post...?