My eyes are transfixed by the rhythmic pulse of the red blinking light. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off.
It calls out to me, signaling me to press the button. Daring me. Taunting me. But I can’t. Not yet.
The weight on my chest stills my breath and my hand.
I narrow my eyes at the porker rooting through a box of graham crackers on my kitchen floor. Today, your reign of terror comes to an end.
The potbelly pig chomps down on another package of crackers. I crouch, inching past the cupboard door that hangs lopsidedly from busted hinges, victim
Toby toddles from his spot at the foot of my bed and starts licking my three-day old stubble. His sloppy kisses don’t tickle my skin. They’re are not cold, wet, or grainy. I can smell his minty breath—must’ve stolen a mint out of one of my pockets again—but, I can’t feel the warmth
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The front door slams and jolts me from slumber. I uncurl and raise my head. What mortal dares to awaken me?
Ah. It’s my Human, Tricia. She takes off her wet rainboots in the entryway and hangs up her jacket.
“Hello, Mr. Fluffers!” She says in the annoyingly high voice reserved for me and me only.
“You got the chicken?” Tommy asked, strutting across the outfield grass wearing nothing but boxer shorts.
“Gosh sakes, Spitfield,” I whispered. “Keep it down, will ya?”
“You found one, though?”
“Deli’s closed.”
Tommy raised upturned palms toward the moon. “You had one job, Luis. You buy rotisserie chicken. I bring the jam and jellies. And Roger…”
“Can I help you, young man?”
Her calm voice surprised me. I’d expected her to scream.
Inhaling sharply, I waved my revolver to the right. “Hands on your head. Move in front of the counter. Now!”
The middle-aged cashier ducked to the side, her hands behind her head.
“Another raid has been reported, Your Majesty. We lost the Orion.”
I nodded, narrowing my eyes and bracing my feet against the floor’s slight rocking motion. Hopefully I looked as calm as I needed to.
“Sunken or captured?”
“Captured, sire.”
“Thank you, general. Dismissed.”
Through the mist, a faint glow hung over the water. I shifted my hydro-scooter into neutral and flicked the light off. The glow wasn’t Samuel’s spotlight. Besides, hadn’t he mentioned that the constables’ fuel allowance had been cut?
My scooter bobbed in the waves, a bit of salt spray dampening my boots.
Crossing my arms, I scowl at his gravestone. It’s a struggle to keep this aria of screams and sobs inside the icy wind of my mind instead of releasing it into the icy wind around me. He’d only seen me cry once; I’m not going to cry now.
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March 1st
Dear Jenna,
I’m deeply saddened that you’ve blocked me on every messaging app, so I’m writing you an old-fashioned letter. Speaking of which, I think old-fashioned is a good thing. It carries traditional values and all that stuff. Don’t be upset because I called you old-fashioned. Let’s go on a second date.
Eddie fidgeted in his chair, pen poised over the dotted line. Once he signed the paperwork, he’d have nothing left to distract him from the young woman on the other side of the desk.
Which meant a conversation would happen.
Why oh why had he let their mutual friend talk him into testing this new love potion?
Monday morning, four elderly but spry women sat in a corner booth at the local café, their hands cupped around steaming mugs of aromatic coffee. Tracksuits and Nikes identified them as aiming for quality of life. Mobile phones, lined up on the table, identified them as connected to the pulse of the world.
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