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https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-mackenzie-herrst-every-hundred-years/

Mackenzie Herrst Every Hundred Years To My wounderfull family and amazing friends your the best. Prologue I looked in her eyes and remembered all the time we had spent together and the times we laughed the love the hate then, she pulled the trigger, there was a loud bang, then nothing. Then a wave of came over me a scream pierced the silence, only after I collapsed to the ground did I realize that the scream was my own. I shut my moth to silence the scream, I touched my chest were I had been hit the pain throbbing through me and I knew it would end soon, then i saw nothing i knew my eyes were open because i blinked and opened them again, but everything was red, Blood Red, then I began to feel light as a feather, i began floating away, the pain gone and so was all the red everything was now Wight it was amazing then i saw something walking towards me, it was a person, a man, he had Wight tightly fitted clothing on, and on his back these amazing things, pure Wight, feathery, they were magnificent they spread wide and amazing and then he folded the magnificent wings to his back, and spoke... The only ones... ~Alex~ (5’3, Blond hair, choppy medium length, skinny and confident, but full of deep dark secrets.) “Order up!” the rough familiar voice of Michael chimed as he set a platter of his world famous food in the order window ledge still stemming, just waiting for pick up. His food always smelled great and having to work in a small dinner just full of all the aromas it was like torture in itself, but I don't mind I’m not the type of person to eat out much. “Mk thanks Michael you’re the best.” I told Michael in my usual cheerful tone, I swept fluently past the order window grabbed the platter and brushed by tables four and five and set the 3 platters down in front of Mr. and Mrs. Weber an elderly couple and their granddaughter, Anna. “Here you go Mr. and Mrs. Weber, hi Anna.” I told the three of them. I used to work up at the nursing home that they live at, and I see them every Sunday for breakfast with their granddaughter, Anna, she has always been a sweet girl and I loved taking care of her grandparents before I got framed for stealing Advil, and then they fired me. “Thank you Alex you’ve always been so sweet we are terrible sorry about the incident with the Advil from Jinee,” Mrs. Weber’s frail voice so familiar she said in an apologetic tone, then she lowered her voice ”Personally we don’t believe for a second that it was you.” She winked her wrinkled eye at me. “Thank you I’m glad someone believes me.” I said with a smile and brushed my bangs off my face. I turned and walked back to the order window picking up the next order for table six. Ding the bell hanging frailly to the ceiling above the door so it would ring when the door swung open. I turned to see two men I had never seen in the dinner before; she went over to seat them at table 1 that had just become vacant. They were both tall but one was still taller than the other and it felt like they were the only ones in the dinner, the shorter of the two was good looking had a buzz cut, long arms and legs but I couldn’t tell much else about him he was wearing baggy clothes. The taller one was a beautiful, he had blue eyes like the sea that could go on forever and never find the end it was impossible to describe just how beautiful they were, he chocolate colored hair in a bowl cut, he wore a weight hoody, jeans, and a DC hat. When he noticed I was looking at him he turned toward me an smiled a bright weight smile, ashamed I dropped my gaze and got the menus from beneath the podium, I peeked through my eyelashes and he was still smiling but he had turned to his friend. Pull it together Alex, I looked at them squared my shoulders and said… “Hello, my name is Alex; I will be your waitress today.” At least I remembered that much of what I was supposed to say. “Hello, Alex.” The taller one said with a smile. “Right this way to your table, please.” I said waving my hand towards the corner where table one stood and the three old chairs that always sat almost always empty. When we reached the table, I had them sit down I set the menus in front of them. “All right what can I get you two to drink?” I asked them. “I’ll take a Dr. Pepper, thanks.” The taller of the two said. “Make it two.” The shorter one said with a halfhearted smile. I came around the corner to the soda fountains, I grabbed two glasses off the rack were they had been placed just a few minutes ago with a few water droplets still clinging to them. I filled them with 4 ice cubes each and added soda, then Jamey did the last thing I had expected. “Hey I’m taking table 1 so I’ll just take those.” She said walking up hands out stretched for the glasses of soda in my hands, Jamey had always been so shy never out spoke never did anything wrong and here she was trying to steal the table of hot guys from me! This wasn’t like Jamey at all. “No, that’s ok I’ve got it, thanks anyway.” I told her turning to deliver the sodas looking down at myself as I walked I looked great for someone who had been working in a dinner all day. When I reached the table the taller one looked up and smiled at me, his smile was beautiful it made me lose my breath every time, the shorter one quickly followed his friends example, I set down the two glasses and said “All right, two Dr. Peppers and a side of smiles” all three of us laughed at my joke they knew what I was talking about. “Hey I’m Mason, Kurt here calls me Mas though because-” he stopped mid-sentence and looked straight at me “you don’t care do you?” he said looking down and then peeking through his lashes. “No I mean Yes I mean I don’t mind.” I said feeling my cheeks getting warmer and even pinker. “Ok well he calls me Mas because of how often I get pepper sprayed and pepper spray is also called-” he began and I interrupted. “Mas, oh” I laughed at the stupid joke that I still didn’t really get. “I get it” I lied. “Yeah.” Mason said then took a swallow of his soda. “We were both just out at a party one night-” Kurt began then Mason interrupted. “Do want to sit down” Mason asked waving to the empty seat next to him. “Sure just let me go talk to Jamey” I said pointing over my shoulder not knowing if she was really there. I turned and walked up to Jamey sure enough she was right around the corner spying on us. “Jamey cover me on tables four, eight, seven, and one, please, Thanks” I said grabbing myself a soda and walking back over to the table sitting down and settling in. “Ok so we were at a party one night and we were all messing around in the front yard of a friend’s house when a girl came walking by, we had a contest of who could freak her out first I went first nothing Mas went up to her grabbed her shoulders turned her around and went ‘BOO’ and she Pepper Sprayed him” they both cracked up I finally got the name joke and started laughing with them. Mason leaned back in his chair and stretched when we had finished laughing and then he took in a deep breath and then took another drink of his soda. “So what are you doing this weekend?” Mason asked when he had set down his glass again. “Well Friday I have work, then Saturday I have to go to the jeweler my ring is in and I have to go grocery shopping in the morning, and Sunday I have to open up the dinner.” I told him thinking about what I really did need to do this weekend. “Okay would you like to come to this party with us Saturday night?” Mason asked eyeing me carefully. “Um what time does it start and end?” I asked curious to know then Jamey came over to take their orders all too excited to serve this table she was smiling really big right up till the moment when she saw that I was sitting with them, she instantly put two and two together and she looked a little peeved that I had asked her to cover tables for me while I sat and talked with the two hot guys from table one. “Hello I’m Jamey and I’m filling in for your waitress she is being lazy, so what can I get you two to eat?” she asked Mason and Kurt totally ignoring me. “Actually I’m eating too you can just put it down as my one meal here today” I told her and she looked furious but she took a deep breath and put on a halfhearted smile just for the boys. “Ok so what can I get you three?” she said a little frustrated, gritting her teeth. “Um I’ll have the French toast” Mason said looking over the menu quickly and then folding it once more and handing it to her, she took it brushing his hand you could tell she was happy about that. “I will too.” Kurt told her folding his menu and handing it to her also. “Make it three French toasts.” I told Jamey, she glared at me quickly then snatched the menu from me and stormed off to the kitchen to place the orders I wouldn’t be surprised if she spit in my food. “Where were we? Oh right the party is from 7-10 Saturday night.” Mason continued our previous conversation about the party before Jamey had come over to flirt with my game. “Okay think I can make it but where is it?” I asked unsure. “Grand Rapids. Why?” Mason asked though I wish he hadn’t for I dreaded that questioned every time people wondered why it mattered where the event would be taking place. “Well I don’t have a car so I walk and I can’t walk that far sorry.” I told him solemnly. “Oh don’t worry about it, we’ll pick you up.” Kurt told me relieving my fears. "Oh okay, thanks" i said taking another sip of soda. A new Reles ~Saturday 6:07pm~ “No don’t leave not yet please.” I begged him he was about to get up off the couch and leave and I couldn’t let him not yet I still needed something from him…a kiss one kiss…my first… “Why not?” he looked down at me laying on the couch I fell over when he got up and I was now sitting up on my elbow reaching the other hand out to grab his hand and lightly pull on it so he would sit back down. He leaned toward me we closed our eyes and leaned… My eyes shot open and my alarm clock on my night stand swam into focus it was light outside and the clock said I had 45 minutes to get ready for the party. I leaped out of bed ran down the thin hall of my apartment and turned left into my bathroom and turned on the shower hot and ran back down the hall to my bedroom grabbed my towel. I ran back down the hall to the bathroom, once there I quickly closed the door and undressed and jumped in the hot water. After my shower I looked at the time and yanked a brush through my hair and blow dried it. When I finished blow drying my hair I curled it and pulled it back into a ponytail. I rushed down the hall to my closet, I flung the doors open and found my yellow and pink two peace bathing suit and grabbed my cover up and some shorts and flip flops I through it all on and ran back to the bathroom swept on some eyeliner, mascara, eye shadow, and lip gloss, when my phone rang, I flung my make up back into the drawer and ran to catch it the caller id said it was Mason. “Hey there.” I answered the phone putting it to my ear. “Hey we are running late, we’ll be there in five” mason answered me. “Perfect I am running late too” I told him not so embarrassed now. “See you in a few” “k, bye.” I hung up and set the phone down and ran down the hall to my room grabbed my sweet shirt and my purse when I reached my room again there was a man in the corner leaning against the wall casually, he was about my height probably a little taller, light brown hair some dirty blond mixed in, bleached from the sun, eyes green and beautiful but withheld many secrets. He stepped towards me now and I saw all his features. “JORDAN!” I ran up to him and leaped into his arms thronging my arms around his neck, my legs raped tightly around his waist in a vice. He put his arms around my waist not letting me fall. “Oh Jordan your home you’ve been gone forever!” I said burying my face in his shoulder tears flowing now Jordan was my Best Friend in the whole world but he had left 3 years ago he had left so he could fly under the radar, see Jordan’s a drug dealer and he is best with the most dangerous type of drug there is…Angle Dust…it makes one person almost invisible and inhuman strength and speed, it also causes dilutions. “Yes I’m home and this time I am here to stay.” He said with a smile. “You are that’s great Jordan!” I finally had him back and he being here to stay was even better. Then my cell phone rang from my back pocket. Jordan moved one hand so he could keep me up then used the other to fish in my pocket for my phone then I realized it was probably Mason and he would see that and it just wasn’t a good thing. He found it I tried to get it but he had already read the caller ID. Mason. “Who is Mason?” he asked watching me carefully. “Oh a new friend” I told him reaching for the phone so I could answer it. “Hello?” I asked into the phone breathless I hadn’t realized I had been holding my breath until I clicked the little green button that said talk. “Hey we are waiting down stairs do you need more time we can wait?” he asked you could tell he was a little worried he had probable been waiting for a few minutes. “Um I’ll be down in two minutes I have to finish up.” I said shutting the phone. Jordan looked at me curiously. “Am I keeping you?” he asked raising one eye brow. “Yes. I mean no I mean I have two minutes.” I said shoving my phone in my back pocket, and then clung to him tighter. “Ok well I’ll do a summary of what has been going on with me.” He said look at me in his arms, “well I left, I met some new people specifically this girl named CeCe, she’s very pretty, smart, my girlfriend, talented, and more.” He said the word girlfriend hoping I wouldn’t notice. “You have a Girlfriend that’s…great I’m very happy for you, J.” I said solemnly. “I know you hate it you are in love with me you hate this but you try moving on but you can’t because you know you’re never going to find anyone as good as me.” He said staring at me like I was a crown jewel like there was nothing more beautiful, more precious than I. He was right I then quoted him on something he told me long ago. “Like an open book so easy to read, not easy to please.” Then he said it my favorite line he would always say. “You’re like an open book so easy to read, not easy to please.” "I love you too now i really do need to go will you come lock the door on my way out? And then you can climb down the fire escape." i said as i walked down the hall towards the front door. He caught my arm and turned me around to face him. He looked at me with appreciative eyes. "I love you Alex." he said then leaned in and kissed my forehead, i was dazed for a minute, then i regained composure and turned to walk out the door, i called over my shoulder a quick good bye and then i was gone, i never looked back. New faces I bounced down the stairs of my apartment building, seeing Kurt and Mason and there was someone else, a girl, her back was to me so i could see her hair it flowed down her back, in beautiful curls of auburn, then she turned as mason pointed towards me and said something looking at her admiring her beauty once she turned all the way to me i saw that she had beautiful cobalt blue eyes that were simple amazing, her lips were full but still small, her eyelashes were flared out and gorgeous, her makeup was not heavy so much as it was dark. "Hey guys what’s up?" i said reaching them i looked at Mason now peeking to my right at the girl, Mason noticed. "This is my beautiful girlfriend Sydnee." he waved to his left at the girl putting one arm around her shoulder, she smiled up at him automatically putting her arm around his waist, then she turned to me and smiled and reached out her hand for me to shake. "Hi I’m Sydnee, feel free to call me Syd." she said as i reached out and grasped her hand smiling too. "Hi I’m Alex and I’ll-" i stopped mid-sentence almost resisting my Waitress introduction that the boss had drilled into all of us the first day on the job, “sorry i do that sometimes." mason and Kurt laughed and so did i we got why i did it, but Sydnee didn't understand she looked at us like we were a few sandwiches short of a picnic basket. "Am i missing something?" she asked looking at all of us. "No not really sweetie you see Alex is a waitress too." oh hey maybe Sydnee is a Waitress to. "Oh i see she was going to say her intro, it's okay i do that sometimes too." Sydnee laughed "You know me and Kurt met Alex the same way I met you." "Really? Oh how weird." Sydnee said looking around at the circle of people around her, then back to Mason. "Well let’s not stand here like we are stupid there’s a party out there to go to." Mason announced, and we all whooped and hollered in unison. We all piled into Masons Red 2010 Chevrolet Avalanche, mason and Sydnee in front holding hands, me and Kurt in back, i sat being Sydnee, and Kurt behind Mason. Our drive to Grand Rapids was long but me and Sydnee giggled and gossiped through the whole thing, while Mason and Kurt talked sports and hunting. When we got to the party it was Amazing twinkly lights, and paper lanterns were strung up between posts, a juice/food bar under a little cabana, the DJ was blasting my favorite song My Hearts a Stereo by Maroon 5 the sun would be setting in an hour it was amazing. I grabbed Kurt’s hand. "Dance with me?" I shouted over the music, he smiled at me wide and we ran over to the dance floor. Me and Kurt had been dancing for an hour when all the sudden the music changed a slow song. "This song is from Mason Angora, to all you couples out there <3." i had been looking at the DJ when all the sudden Kurt took me in his arms and spun us in a circle then we went into a more steady beat to the music back and forth, 1-2-3 1-2-3 , I chanted in my head. "You know I've been meaning to ask you something." he said he peeked through his lashes at me. "Oh and what is that?" I asked as he turned us in another full circle. "If you would like to be my girlfriend?" he said, he blushed then presenter a simple silver ring, a silver band with a little design on it, and a circle on top and in the center of the circle was a small jewel, a sapphire, my birth stone, it was gorgeous. "It’s a promise ring, a promise that you’ll keep my heart safe , warm and will love it forever, i know you will." "Kurt, i don’t know what to say." I took the ring from him and slipped it on my right hand. Thank you i had been waiting for a moment such as this dating masons best friend would mean I would be around Mason more and I could be close to Sydnee too. "How about Yes ." "Yes!" then i through my arms around his neck, then in a flurry of light I saw myself in Jordan’s arms in my bedroom like this just earlier today then i opened my eyes and i was dancing with Kurt again. The Supprise ~Later That Night~ Kurt and I had finally decided that we should stop dancing so we took a break we walked through he sand holding hands over to were Mason a Sydnee were siting. "Hey guys what’s up?" Kurt and I said in unison, we all laughed when they said "Not much how bout you guys?" in unison too. "Oh hey I'll be right back make sure you listen Sydnee." He said jumping up and running then disappearing into the crowd. "Okay?!" Sydnee shouted after him half question half not. We all laughed again. "Save our seats Kurt and I are going to grab some Food." I said standing up and going to the food stand Kurt in tow. "Sure." i heard her faintly over the blaring music. When we got back from getting food there was a tap on the mike, and the music paused and Mason’s voice came through on the mike "May i have your attention every one I have an Announcement to make, Sydnee Bogard, I love you, and i promise to love you like it’s the last time for the rest of my life, if.. You’ll just marry me." Mason sure did have an announcement to make I sneered to myself. "Sydnee are you out there?!" Mason called looking through the crowd then i looked behind me were Sydnee was siting, she sat there resting her face on her hand but not lazily she had a frozen shocked look on her face, I nudged her she came back from her lifeless pose she stood up. "YES!!!" she screamed and I sighed. she ran up to the DJ stand were Mason stood, rushing by the crowd, and into his arm, he was still holding the mike and it was close to her face when she whispered to him. "Yes, I love you too." she blushed when she realized that she had been over the speakers, then Mason presented a ring I couldn’t see from back here were I sat at the table. we spent the rest of our night there Kurt and i in the sand on the beach Me sprawled in his lap drifting in and out of sleep, Mason and Sydnee to our left, Sydnee doing the same as I, This night was quiet the surprise. Thes Times... ~Sydnee~ Finally after drifting in and out for hours I felt the black consume me. A bright Wight light shown through the dark, then it faded away becoming a pale day there was a little girl in a light blue sun dress and her red hair pulled into curls around her face, and a little boy in blue jeans and a red T-shirt he had brown hair long but still short, they were under a weeping willow that was by a pond, they were talking, then i remembered that was me and Mason as kids. I walked closer to them, little Mason got up and walked straight to the very edge of the pond and looked down at one of the coy fish in the pond, little me walked up behind him and wrapped my little arms around his waist put my chin on his shoulder and looked into the pond at the coy fish to. As i stood there watching them I realized that this was the day that I realized I was in love with Mason. Little Mason turned his body around and little me dropped her arms Mason bent over a little to reach my face and he kissed me on the cheek. "Sydnee would you do me the honor of becoming my girlfriend?" little Mason said, Mason always talked like that when he asked me about love, he was always sweet to me. "I will do you that honor." little me said with a smile then the smile faded I closed my eyes and lead in and kissed him on the lips and then went back to where they had been laying before an laid down again, Mason quickly composed himself once more and went and laid beside me again. All the sudden the pail light turned black and then the pond the weeping willow the grass blowing in the trees little Mason and me were gone, someone was whispering in my ear, "Sydnee it's time to go you need to wake up." it was Mason, I half opened my eyes and I saw the ocean it span out in front of me going for miles dark blue almost black in the night. "Ok i need to talk to Alex anyway." I said half conscious. "Ok well let’s go home and you can talk to her there, ok?" Mason said. "What were you dreaming about you had a smile on your face the whole time you were sleeping?" "I was dreaming about the day you asked me to be your girlfriend, remember?" I asked him turning my head in his lap to look up at him. "By the weeping willow? And the pond? When we were about 8 years old?" Mason asked looking down at me fondly. "Yes, that exactly." I said looking up at him. "Well I would love to stay here and reminisce with you but we need to get home." Mason said starting to stand up, I get up to we all start to walk back to the truck me and Alex climb in the back and Mason and Kurt close our doors for us, and then climb in the front. "Alex?" I asked in the near blackness the only light was coming from the dash board, which wasn't much. "Yeah?" she answered, as my eyes adjusted to the new kind of black I could see the outline of Alex’s' figure, the truck started with a roar Alex and I both jumped, then laughed at ourselves. "I want to see your ring, may I?" I had noticed Kurt had given her one and I decided I would look at it on our way home. "Oh sure! May I see yours?" She asked excited. I handed her my ring and she handed me hers, I loved hers so simple so elegant yet still understated, I handed her the ring back, and she gave me mine, I looked at My intricate flower blooming with a small pink diamond in the center, the flower was on top of a vine of silver and leaves of silver on either side of the flower, I loved it. After a few minutes my head fell against the window and I fell asleep. June July Agust September The unwanteds... ~ September 11th~ I hadn’t slept much I was having lots of nightmares that made me restless but for some reason last night I didn’t dream at all it was just black it was odd, I usually tossed and turned all night but this morning I woke up exactly how I had fallen asleep curled up on my side, blankets pulled close to my face. “Happy Birthday, I’m going to go downstairs and make breakfast, don’t forget we are leaving at 1 so don’t take too long.” Mason had whispered in my ear this morning before I had gotten up. Today is my birthday tomorrow is Alex’s, so tonight from 11-1 we were having a beach party to celebrate we were both going to be 25 and in a month so would Mason and Kurt. “Sydnee you awake?” Mason called from the bottom of the stairs I assumed. “Yes I’m awake I’ll be down in soon I’m going to get a shower.” I called down to him as I got out of bed and grabbed my towel off the back of the bed room door, then crossing the room to go into the pent house master bathroom. “All right just don’t take too long I made bacon and eggs and I want you to eat before it gets cold.” Mason called up to me right as I closed the door behind me, I laid my towel on the side of the huge bath tub and put the cork in the drain and started to draw hot bath water I put my hand under the faucet and while the water filled the tub I undressed and pulled my way too long of hair into a messy tight bun, I waited about 2 min till the tub was ¾ s full of steaming water I climbed in, it was nice just lying there in the huge tub, there very relaxing, I brought one hand out of the water and rubbed the knots out of my neck. After I had finished relaxing my mussels I grabbed my sponge and body soap and scrubbed the stress away, I kept telling myself that it was my birthday I shouldn’t be like this I should be over joyed who doesn’t like birthdays (Me) I thought to myself sulking like a child. “Sydnee we have to leave in an hour better hurry. “ Mason called from the other side of the door. “Alright I will.” I called through the door to Mason and I stood up and pulled the plug I grabbed my big blue towel off the side of the tub I towed off then stepped out and dressed myself in my navy blue ruffle dress, I didn’t want to look at the long Wight dress bag on the back of the bathroom door that held my party dress, I slipped on some black leggings underneath my dress I put a black sash on and my black sweater on, and went down stairs to find my black leather boots or Mason witch ever came first, hopefully my boots. When I got down stairs my boots were right there at the bottom I slipped them on zipping them and went to find Mason in the kitchen I sat at the place at the table set for me with a plat of eggs and bacon, when I finished I went back up stairs and pulled my hair out of the messy bun and yanked a brush through it and then curled it, I looked at the clock, I ran out of the bathroom grabbing the Wight dress bag, my keys, a change of clothes off of the top of my dresser, and my purse off the floor at the end of my bed, and rushed down stairs. Mason opened the door for me and we rushed out together when we got down stairs to the underground car garage I through mason the keys to his Avalanche I through the dress bag, and the bag with a change of clothes for later in the back and jumped in the front. We made it to Alex and masons apartment on 83rd street in time. Mason came around to my side and opened the door for me and then grabbed the Wight dress bag and the change of clothes out of the back for me and we went to the elevator and pressed the button for floor 20 the button glowed yellow around the edges and then the doors closed and we started to go up and we watched the dial count from 1 to 20 slowly ticking by when the doors opened again we were in a short hallway that lead to one door the pent house door we walk to the door, and knocked on the door, a few seconds later Alex opened the door. “Hey guys come on in.” she said stepping to the side and waving her arm towards the beautiful living room that went to the terrace that opened to the city. “Thanks” Mason and I said together. They owned a pent house too just like Mason and I did they bought it about a week after they started dating. Theirs wasn’t as big as ours but there’s was prettier with a better view. Alex took my hand and grabbed my bags from Mason who gladly gave them up to her, and then she led me up the stairs down the hall and into a huge room then led me through another door that went into a huge bathroom there was a counter full of cosmetic supply’s and I assumed were we would be doing hair makeup and getting dressed here. ~4 hours latter~ Alex and I did have a lot of fun doing each other’s hair and makeup then it was time for the dresses, I slipped my simple Wight dress over my head and Alex zipped me. Alex slipped her dress on and you could tell she liked playing dress up or pretending to be a princess anyway it was this huge ball gown, lime green, it had a line of gems across the length of the sweetheart neck line and then streamed around under her arms then streamed down her back and flared onto the short train. We left for the beach at about 10 and were going to be there at 10:45 approximately I don’t like party’s especially when they are for me, but I had to admit I was a little excited I never got to have a boyfriend with me or a boyfriend at all. Later once we had driven the 45 minutes to the beach we were all standing in the sand staring at each other mason appreciating my gown and the dip in the halter. Text: None of the photoes in this book belong to me in any way shape or form. All rights reserved. Publication Date: July 6th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-pixy101

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-ross-mac-duncan-the-brandenburg-xx-file/

Ross Mac Duncan The Brandenburg XX File Murder & Mayhem In Boston & Berlin In 1986 Publication Date: August 25th 2009 https://www.bookrix.com/-rossmacduncan

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-faith-harper-bitter-affection/

Faith Harper, CrystalShane 101 Bitter Affection One Girl, One Gun, One Broken Heart Dedication to my readers, role models, and family. New Beginnings Chapter 1   Working in the CIA was a part of me that stuck like a piece of gum. Everytime you try to walk away it just keeps following you.   You know that one cousin that keeps asking you do you have games on your phone? Well, I don't know because I don't have a cousin. Not one that I know of.   I never knew my parents. They kicked me to the f*cking curb. Literally.   The police found me and I was soon bouncing from orphanage to orphanage until a family accepted me at the age of 6.   I shouldn't say family, it was more of a 30 year old man. He had no wife, no children, not even a house. That's a story for later.   The man wasn't the weirdest thing. It was where he drove me.   Next thing I knew, I was put in front of a punching bag with another man yelling orders at me.   " Hit the damn thing !"   " Come on you p *ssy!"   " Stop acting like a f *cking girl !"   I was only 6, so I was confused. Before I knew it, my tiny fist were punching the bag and beads of sweat were rolling down my face.   The man was still yelling orders in my ear. But I didn't pay attention to them. In my mind, I saw flashing images of how my birth parents would have looked.   Me on my father's shoulders, my mom cooking in the kitchen. All of us having smiles on our faces. That's not real.   I grew up to fast. I never had friends. Nobody to talk to. It's been my mind and I for a long time. We are inseparable.   I've learned from my time in the CIA that nothing changes. That once your somewhere, you'll never get away. I've accepted that I'm never getting away.   "It's your lucky day. Your going to high school," Paul said with a smile on his face. Oh sh*t.     New book guys ! Hope you liked this first chapter! -CrystalShane101 Chapter 2 Chapter 2   ~Don't forget to vote guys! This chapter is very long, so hang tight! Also, look for details. Enjoy my lovelies!   "Pourquoi maintenant?" I couldn't form English because of how mad I was. Well, I wasn't really mad. I was nervous.   I have never left this compound since the day they dropped me here. The only time they let me outside was to run. I've never communicated with an actually teenager or person my age ever.   "Pourquoi pas? Vous avez besoin de faire des amis autres que moi," he smirked.   I rolled my eyes at him and got up from my chair. He was sitting comfortably in his luxurious chair behind his desk. I just wanted to smack that smirk right of his face.   I huffed and paced the room. "I'm not going," I told him with my own sarcastic smile on my face. He chuckled and took a folder out of one of his drawers. Paul placed it on his desk and folded his hands on top of it.   He just continued to smile at me. That sadist.   "This case is very...interesting," he started. "I thought you would be perfect."   I was standing by the door now and I snuck a peek at the file. Evidence was   written on the top with big, red bold letters.    Maybe it would be nice to have some friends. To have someone to tell secrets to instead of the smiling sadist in front of me. I could have a boyfriend. Like in those teen movies, he would be caring, protective, sexy- NO! Snap out of it Celia. you are not supposed to be vulnerable. You aren't supposed to take sh*t for other people. You are supposed to be strong. Have a straight face all the time. Show no emotion. But I could lose my- NO! I shook out of my thoughts and looked back at the 30 year old man who thinks he is forever 21.   "I'm guessing you are interested," his smile grew making him look like  Cheshire Cat. I sighed and crossed my arms. "Come and take a seat in my lair," hesitantly, I sat back down in the chair I was sitting in just moments ago. "Good girl."   "Woof," I almost punched him in the face. Paul and I have this very rare love hate relationship. We've had that ever since I've gotten here. When nobody wanted me.   He opened the folder and turned it around, so it was facing me. "There are several girls missing. As far as we know, it's only girls missing at one high school in particular. Etson Academy."   The first picture I see is of a girl laying on a bus stop bench. She didn't have anything on except a t-shirt that was now at her stomach and she had no underwear on. She had sunglasses covering her eyes. Her face had no sign of life.  924 was written tiny on her neck just behind her ear. She was abandoned. I know how that feels. Her blonde hair had dirt and leaves in it. How long has she been there?   "Who's that?" I asked Paul in the middle of him explaining the case. He leaned over the desk and sat back down in his chair.   "Kayla Celeste. She was found 4 weeks ago," he said. "She's alive. The doctors said that she must have been there for a week. If she was there longer, she would be dead," he sat up in his chair.    "Who found her?" I curiously asked not making eye contact with him instead keep looking at the picture.   "That's what you have to find out," he was smiling now. I rolled my eyes.   "The doctors found a drug in her system. Scopolamine, also known as devil's breath," his voice was low on the last part.   "So, what are the drug's effects?" I asked, now looking at him.   "After a person takes it, they no longer have control over their actions," he stated.   "Do you know who gave her the drug or left her on that bench?" I asked.    "Nope. That's when you come in," his smirk was back. I forgot that I was on this case. Damn.   "What do I have to do?" I gave in. "Oh, the tough is finally cooperating," he said.   "Whatever," I rolled my eyes and put my feet criss-crossed on his desk. He immediately pushed my feet of his desk.   "I forgot you were raised in a barn," he joked while wiping off his desk where my feet were. I just glared at him. Of course, him being a sadist, he smiled. Again.   "You will go to Etson High and see how this drug is being passed around," he finally said. "You expect me to make friends," I laughed, "just like that," I snapped my fingers. I laughed even harder.   "Your right, you are too naive," he said. I stopped laughing. "Va au diable," I scolded him. Again, he laughed.   "You know I have been in this hell hole ever since I was six right. How am I supposed to communicate with teenagers when I've been hanging out with a wannabe one?" I couldn't help, but smirk at my joke.   "Ha ha," Paul scolded. "Just be cool, don't hurt anybody, badly," he laughed. I laughed with him. "I will try," I said honestly.   "Now, tell me. How is this exactly going to work?" I asked still confused.   "What all girls need, a makeover!" he clapped his hands twice.   Oh hell no.   Chapter 3 Chapter 3   After all of my protests, Paul still made me get a makeover. Ugh!   Why can't I just keep my dark brown hair. I would be unnoticeable, that would be perfect for the undercover mission.    "The goal is to make you look like one of the populars ," he started pushing me out of his office and shut the door behind him. He then led me to the platform that had no doors, but railings. They considered that as the elevator here.   "What's wrong with how I look?" I defensively asked him. He opened his mouth and closed and again. I gave him the 'go ahead' face, so I could hear how he was going to get out of this one.   He closed the gate to the platform and we started going down. "Your gorgeous. But, your going into a whole new world where people have to look a certain way to be considered popular," he said. I heard honesty in his voice.   "So, I'm basically gonna look like a wannabe," I glared at him. The platform hit the ground and we got off.   "Not even, we will add our on flavor to it," a smirk on his face. "Ew, please don't say 'flavor'. Ever," I pointed my finger at him.   "What? I am a cool kid," he said pulling up the collar to his black leather jacket, trying to look cool. I quickly elbowed him in the ribs and he let out a loud groan.    "I didn't even put that much power on that," I honestly told Paul with a wide smile on my face. He rolled his eyes and pulled out his phone. He swiftly typed a number on his phone as we stopped in front of the door that belonged to the man that adopted me.   I actually thank this man. He brought me to this place, and I released stress that I had been carrying for the longest time. I released my stress my first day here when I was put in front of that punching bag.    "Fatima, yea, you can set up in the basement, thanks love," he ended the call. "Another booty call eh," I said with a smirk on my face.   "Shut up," he said and walked to the stairs that led to the basement. I hurriedly followed behind him noticing that he was already heading down the stairs.   "So, what is the vision for how I am going to look?" I asked putting my hands in front if me, being dramatic.     "You'll see," he said looking at me form the corner of his eyes with a smirk on his face. I groaned.   We raced down the last flights of stairs and came up to the wide, silver, aluminum doors that opened up to the basement.   He opened the double doors and the basement that used to have algae on the walls and dirt on the floor, was now clean. I mean really clean.   The once dirty, burgundy walls were now a clean white and the floor was now mahogany wood. "Close your mouth before a fly flies in it," Paul snapped me out of my bewilderment and I noticed the tables with makeup and hair products. To my right and left, I saw new sinks and dryers attached to the walls.   "Hey Paul," a woman with tight, above the knee black skirt and a white blouse. She leaned in and Paul and her kissed each other's cheeks. "Fatima, nice to see you again," they pulled back from each other.   She looked me up and down with a thinking face. "This is her?" the woman said surprised. "Yep, this is it," Paul said and I scowled at him.   "What are you guys talking about that she needs a makeover? She is already gorgeous," she stated, "stop wasting my time." She then slapped Paul's arm.   I felt a strange feeling. My face was heating up and I felt like my face was turning red. Was this what it felt like to blush?   "Sorry to burst your bubble, but we want to go bigger than," he motioned to my face," this." I got so angry that I held his elbow and pinched one of his nerves. He quickly passed out on the clean floor that I wished was dirty to torture him.   The woman laughed so hard that she stumbled in her heels. Her long, golden, blonde hair was bouncing over her shoulders. "I love you already," she was still giggling. I couldn't help, but smile wide.   "So, how are you going to make-me-over," I said emphasizing. After she finished laughing, she came over to me and lifted one strand of my hair and looked at my facial features. She went around me and looked me up and down again. Wow, this didn't feel weird at all. Note the sarcasm.   "Ooo, I know the perfect look. The boys are going to go weak in the knees when the see you walking down the hallway," a bright smile on her face. She grabbed my arm and dragging me to a lady, that I didn't notice before, who was by the hair products. I abruptly stopped in my tracks.   She looked confused. "What's wrong," her voice was concerning. I looked back at the devil spawn that was still face down on the ground.    "What about him?" I tried to hold in a laugh, but failed. I snorted. Uh. Why did I have to ugly laugh?   Fatima snorted too. Well, at least I wasn't alone. "Oh, Perry!" she yelled and a buff guy with short brown hair came. His black shirt looked like it was about to rip from how muscular he looked.   "Can you, um, take care of that?" she asked him. We both laughed. The guy, Perry, nodded and lifted an unconscious Paul over his shoulder like he weighed nothing. We watched Perry toss Paul on the nearest couch and Paul groaned.    I learned how to hit a nerve from watching too much Zoey 101 and iCarly. I never knew it would come in handy. I internally smiled.   "Ready?" Fatima asked. I nodded my head, still nervous about what is about to come. Chapter 4 Chapter 4   After hours of waxing everything (and I mean everything if you know what I mean), manicures and pedicures, hair dyes, and clothes arrangement, my look was done.    We got her at 9 this morning and now it's 7pm. Wow, time flies by when someone is doing things for you.    An angry Paul woke up by 5 and it was the most funniest scene I have ever seen. Paul freaked  and fell off the couch to the floor with a thud. The lady doing my hair almost spilled some hair dye on me because I was laughing so hard. After all my protests, though, they still dyed my hair. I'm not saying I jumped for joy. Let's just say I had a sour face when they were styling my hair. Fatima wouldn't let me see myself yet until the 'finishing touches' are done, as she says.   But, I wasn't bored the whole time. After Paul wasn't boiling with anger towards me, he, reluctantly, gave me my first Samsung Galaxy 6, well, my first phone ever. They didn't want me to contact anyone outside of the compound. Besides, who would I talk to?   "You ready to see the new and even more improved you, Celia?" Fatima asked, excitement written all over her face. I was sitting in a black spin chair in the middle of the basement and a huge mirror was behind me.   I wasn't really excited to see my new 'look'. I'm not gonna lie, but I'm scared of how I look. And I don't get scared often. The reason why I'm scared is because I don't know if I will recognize myself. The Celia that I have grown used to over the years, will just be a picture on the wall. She will be gone. I'm afraid that this new self will not want to go back to the old, ordinary Celia. But, if II'm going to do this operation, I'll just have to get used to this 'new and improved' Celia.   "What the hell," I told her. While she was turning my chair around, I was trying to prepare myself. Breathe in, breathe out. I was soon staring at another girl in the mirror, who looked kind of like me.   My once dark brown hair was now dark red along with my eyebrows. My hazel eyes were transformed into a dark green. Something else was different on my face. My eyelashes were darker than usual.   My hand went to touch my eyelashes, but it was quickly slapped away. Fatima was now standing next to me. "NO! That's just makeup. Oh, and I have to teach you how to put makeup on," she couldn't keep the smile off her face. "This is going to be so much fun!" she said.   "Not bad," Paul said and came behind my chair. I was too busy examining my new appearance that I didn't hear Paul's question. "Celia, we have to come up with a new name," Paul said annoyed that he repeated himself like five times already.   "Oh yeah, so I wouldn't be recognized. It's not like people are going to recognize me. I haven't been outside of this compound. Ever," I angrily said. "Celia, don't be angry," he put a hand on my back.   "Sorry," I mumbled. "Any name ideas?" he asked again. I was in thinking mode now. "What about Renee Patit?" I asked him. "Cute, but I think we should use an American name instead of a French one. You have to hide your identity, remember?" he said.   Right. I should pick a girl name because of how much a tomboy I am. But, that would be offensive to the name. Eh. Who cares?   I thought back to when my parents abandoned me. They didn't leave me alone though. The police found a stuffed bunny rabbit in the basket they left me in. The police gave it back to me when they were done finding what store it came from. They did that so they can track the receipt the person who bought it.    Soon, I was in my third orphanage and was four years old. I had grown close to a girl who was my age. Jules. We became best friends. One day, she asked what was my bunny's name. I never really thought of a name for it because I didn't really care.   Later that day, she was adopted. A beautiful family took her in. She would soon have two brothers, a mother, and a father. We said our goodbyes, but neither of us could let each other go. When she was gone, I finally named my bunny. Jules. That's because Jules was the only person who I would call family.   "What about Jules?" I asked. Paul and Fatima looked at each other and nodded in agreement. "Perfect. How did you come up with that?" Paul asked.    "Just a childhood friend," I told them. "Huh. Now we just need a last name for you," he lastly said. I knew the perfect one.   "Tyler," I said. You wonder why? That was the name of Jules' father. The one who adopted her that day. Why do I know that? Let's just say I was a rugrat when I was younger. Still am now.   "Jules Tyler, I love it!" Fatima exclaimed.                                                     (above picture of Celia after makover)                                                   Celia Durand/Jules Tyler: Phoebe Tonkin                                                    Paul: Ryan Reynolds Chapter 5 Chapter 5     ~ DO NOT SKIP Hey guys! I know I haven't updated in a while, but I was getting ideas for the book. This chapter is on someone else's POV, so I hope you enjoy! Yesterday, I finished a book called 'Sink or Swim' and I loved it!! I recommend it for you guys who haven't read it. It will change your life! So, without further a do, Chapter 6 of Kill or Kiss is presented!   Beau's POV   My sister's death was a surprise to everyone. Nobody saw it coming because it was so sudden. No offense to my sister, but I saw it coming.    If she would have never been associated with those people, she would still be alive today. But, I can't blame it on her. It's my fault.    I'm her big brother and I could have done more than beating those guys up. No, I should have fucking killed them.    I thought I could protect her. I promised my dad I would protect her. I failed her, and I'm going to pay for her death.    Sitting in the second pew in the church was the closest I've ever been in a church. My twin brother was sitting next to me. When I looked over at him, I saw a tear going down his face. My face showed no emotion when they were lowering my sister in the ground. Showed no emotion when they covered up her grave. Showed no emotion when my mother was bawling like a baby in my dad's arms. Still showing no emotion as I am laying in my bed. In the dark.   I don't deserve to mourn over her. I don't deserve to cry over someone that I basically let die. I am her killer.   My door slowly opened and the hallway light filled the room. Squinting my eyes, I saw that my mom was in the doorway with her 'Best Mom Ever' apron on. It had what looked like tomato sauce on it so she must cooking.   "Honey, dinner's almost ready," her soft voice disturbed the silence. "I'll be down in a minute," my voice was gruff since I just woke up. She smiled softly and closed the door. Before it was fully closed she said something.   "I love you," she said. I was in a sitting position now. "I love you too, mum," I replied. I saw her smile again and she closed the door. My room was once again filled with darkness. When I heard her scurrying down the stairs, I got up.    But, too quickly. "Fuck!" I whisper yelled so my mum wouldn't hear me curse. I was now dizzy and stumbled over a book which magically appeared on the floor.    In an instant, I was on the floor. It sounded like a herd of horses ran in my room. "Shit!" I whisper yelled another curse.   "Beau!" my mum screeched. "Are you okay?" she yelled from downstairs.    Why am I all of a sudden clumsy?   "I'm good," I groaned. Getting up, I struggled to get to my bathroom. But, I made it.   "Be careful, honey," my mother said and I heard her put something in the sink. I turned on the light and my reflection was horrid. My blonde hair grew down to my shoulders and it was unruly. I have dark bags under my eyes even though I've slept everyday since the funeral.    I turned away from the mirror, took off my clothes, and hopped in the shower.    I just remembered that I had school on Monday. Shit.   ~I'm sorry this chapter is so short, but I'm making up for it and these next couple of chapters. Don't forget to vote and comment! Have a good day my lovelies!   Chapter 6 Chapter 6    The house was cute and coomfy. It has creme colored walls, two bedrooms and bathrooms, a kitchen with an island, and a living room that had furniture.   My room had light blue colored walls, a desk with a spinny chair, a king size bed, and my own personal bathroom.    I was now standing in my new bedroom door with my backpack slung over my shoulder. "Woah," I gasped and walked over to the bed with snow white sheets. I fell face first on the bed and groaned.   Paul dropped me off an hour ago with my new clothes Fatima is making me wear. Most of them are very girly. Yay.    Now, I have to California my new home. It's not like I'm going to miss Philedelphia, that's where my life began and ended. But, I have to give Paul credit. He was my only friend.   I'm not going to say I'm excited to be in California because I want to see my parents with a bloody nose.   They are supposed to be living in this house with me. Raising me and loving me. My dad keeping the guys away and my mom bringing them in and gossiping. No, that's not real. They don't think I'm worth thinking about, so I'm going to do the same to them. When I do think about them, I see them being shot in the head.    Dead.   I have accepted the new me. The me that can take care of herself and not depend on anyone. The violent me.   My stomach grumbled and I just remembered I didn't eat breakfast at the compound. Well, breakfast at the compound was stale bread and clumpy milk. Of course I didn't drink the milk.   I slowly got up and took my phone from my back pocket. I turned it on and the first thing I see isthe game I've been obsessing over for the past two days.   Candy Crush.   I know, I'm going to get a password soon.   After I finished the level I was on, I went to my home screen. "Now, where is the closest breakfast place?" I was still getting acclamated to the world and especially this phone.    "There you are." I tapped on the Maps app and typed in "breakfast places". Thee fiirst place that popped up was "Angie's Diner", and it was sevenn blocks away.    I got up from my comfortable bed and went downstairs. I grabbed my purse from the kitchen's island, went outside, and took out my car keys. Paul gave me a car, but not before he taught me how to drive it. Two fucking weeks of Paul yalling at me to 'hit the brakes' or 'don't you see that stop sign'. I didn't know he could get anymore annoying. Although, I drive like a pro now.    I was given a gorgeous blue Toyota and I loved it. Starting the car, I buckled my seatbelt and pressed the location of "Angie's Diner".   "Take 43rd in western to 49th in Robin and take a left," they high pitched voice directed.   Pulling out of my driveway, I checked my mirror for any cars to check if the road was clear for me to pull out. When I didn't see anyone, I followed the directions my phone gave me.   When a red light came up, I slowed down and took a second to look around. The California air was comforable, but a little cool. I was living in the forest area of California. It was beautiful, though, if I see a bear trying to be 'friends' with my car, I'm not going t promise I won't hurt it. The truth is I love animals, but that still doesn't mean they have permission to destroy my property.   BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!!!   I heard a loud horn and I noticed the green Jeep behind me was honking at me like crazy. I was so deep in my thoughts I didn't know the light turned green again.  Sitting up in my seat, I pressed on the gas pedal and continued the route to the diner.   In less than 10 minutes, I was in the half vacant parking lot of "Angie's Diner". I took my key out of the ignition and stepped out the car.   As soon as I did, the cool air hit my bare arms which immediately caused goosebumps to form. What the hell? I was just saying how the weather was comfortable, but when I looked up the sjy was turning gray. War started when the first rain drop plopped on my forehead. Then, in seconds, it started pouring.   Quickly, I to the double doors of the diner.  I pressed the button on my keys to lock my car doors and I was shivering from the cold rain.   Whistles were being thrown my way so I turned to see three guys sitting in a booth looking at me with perverted smiles on their faces. Though, their eyes weren't on my face. Looking down, I saw that my black tank top was soaking wet and my boobs were being pushed out the top of my shirt.  I walked over to their booth with my fist balled to my sides and I felt like dteam was coming out of my ears.   "Hey is your little friend over their giving you a blow job?" I asked the guy who sat in the middle. "Is that why you are smiling so hard?" I gave a tight lipped smile.   The guy looked like he was about to explode. "Listen you whore-" his nose was flaring unitl I interupted him. "I'm sorry, but that's clearly only the name you will be called when you go to prison," my smile grew wider and I moved closer to his face across the table. "I heard the men like the pretty ones," I gave them one last smile, turned around, and began walking to the counter where on of the workers were.   "We're not done here slut!" he exclaimed and I heard him and his crew get up. "Anytime bitch," I waved backwards because I wasn't facing them.   I heard one last growl from the little man and the diner's doors were opening then closing.    When that was over, I sat in one of the stools at the counter and took out my phone. I pulled up Paul's number and texted him.   At Angie's Diner and I feel like punching a wall.   While I was writing this messaage I felt a pair of eyes on me. Sending the text, I look up twice to see who was watching me.    Behind the counter was one of the workers and she had dark black hair which was in a pony tail. Her loud blue eyes were creeping me out as she watched me intently.  "Can I help you?" I asked a little annoyed and awkward as this girl kept staring at me.   "I should be asking you the same thing," she said with a little attitude, but I saw the smile she was trying to hold back.   "Whatever," I mumbled and ran my fingers through my damp hair. The color, though, was still foreign to me. I looked back down at my phone and saw Paul texted me back.   Mad already? Control your temper tiger, it's just your first day.   Rolling my eyes, I replied to his text.   Yea, yea, I'll save it for school.   Still feeling eyes on me, I, once again, looked up to see the girl staring at me. "What?!" I exclaimed getting annoyed that this girl keeps staring at me.    She put up her hands in surrender and smiled. "Are you new here? I've never seen you before. What school do you go to? I like your accent. How old are yo-" I stopped he mid-sentence.    "NONE OF YOUR DAMN BUISNESS!" I shouted at her because I was getting so irratated. "Fille taire," I mumbled running my hands through my hair again.    I couldn't give this giel my identity. Not yet, at least.   "What would you like to eat?" she asked with the same pep she had since she started talking to me. I groaned and picked up the menu that was behind the counter.    Honestly, I didn't know what I wanted. Looking through the menu, I had never tried an omlette or french toast. I can't believe I was asking her this.   "What do you suggest?" I asked bored, but faking ethusiasm.  Her face lit up and a huge smile appeared on her face.   Hey guys, I'm back! I made this chapter SUPER long because I haven't been posting like I should and I wanted to make it up to the people who have been asking for this chapter. I'm thinking about changing the book cover, but I need you guys' help! I will have ideas when I am done writing the nect chapter which is coming out soon! Hope you enjoyed this chapter, favorite it and ad it to your library! Have a great day!       Publication Date: April 20th 2017 https://www.bookrix.com/-mxbda3954b96a75

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-alexandre-dumas-pere-the-countess-of-saint-geran/

Alexandre Dumas père The Countess of Saint Geran Celebrated Crimes THE COUNTESS DE SAINT-GERAN--1639 About the end of the year 1639, a troop of horsemen arrived, towards midday, in a little village at the northern extremity of the province of Auvergne, from the direction of Paris. The country folk assembled at the noise, and found it to proceed from the provost of the mounted police and his men. The heat was excessive, the horses were bathed in sweat, the horsemen covered with dust, and the party seemed on its return from an important expedition. A man left the escort, and asked an old woman who was spinning at her door if there was not an inn in the place. The woman and her children showed him a bush hanging over a door at the end of the only street in the village, and the escort recommenced its march at a walk. There was noticed, among the mounted men, a young man of distinguished appearance and richly dressed, who appeared to be a prisoner. This discovery redoubled the curiosity of the villagers, who followed the cavalcade as far as the door of the wine-shop. The host came out, cap in hand, and the provost enquired of him with a swaggering air if his pothouse was large enough to accommodate his troop, men and horses. The host replied that he had the best wine in the country to give to the king's servants, and that it would be easy to collect in the neighbourhood litter and forage enough for their horses. The provost listened contemptuously to these fine promises, gave the necessary orders as to what was to be done, and slid off his horse, uttering an oath proceeding from heat and fatigue. The horsemen clustered round the young man: one held his stirrup, and the provost deferentially gave way to him to enter the inn first. No, more doubt could be entertained that he was a prisoner of importance, and all kinds of conjectures were made. The men maintained that he must be charged with a great crime, otherwise a young nobleman of his rank would never have been arrested; the women argued, on the contrary, that it was impossible for such a pretty youth not to be innocent. Inside the inn all was bustle: the serving-lads ran from cellar to garret; the host swore and despatched his servant-girls to the neighbours, and the hostess scolded her daughter, flattening her nose against the panes of a downstairs window to admire the handsome youth. There were two tables in the principal eating-room. The provost took possession of one, leaving the other to the soldiers, who went in turn to tether their horses under a shed in the back yard; then he pointed to a stool for the prisoner, and seated himself opposite to him, rapping the table with his thick cane. "Ouf!" he cried, with a fresh groan of weariness, "I heartily beg your pardon, marquis, for the bad wine I am giving you!" The young man smiled gaily. "The wine is all very well, monsieur provost," said he, "but I cannot conceal from you that however agreeable your company is to me, this halt is very inconvenient; I am in a hurry to get through my ridiculous situation, and I should have liked to arrive in time to stop this affair at once." The girl of the house was standing before the table with a pewter pot which she had just brought, and at these words she raised her eyes on the prisoner, with a reassured look which seemed to say, "I was sure that he was innocent." "But," continued the marquis, carrying the glass to his lips, "this wine is not so bad as you say, monsieur provost." Then turning to the girl, who was eyeing his gloves and his ruff-- "To your health, pretty child." "Then," said the provost, amazed at this free and easy air, "perhaps I shall have to beg you to excuse your sleeping quarters." "What!" exclaimed the marquis, "do we sleep here?" "My lord;" said the provost, "we have sixteen long leagues to make, our horses are done up, and so far as I am concerned I declare that I am no better than my horse." The marquis knocked on the table, and gave every indication of being greatly annoyed. The provost meanwhile puffed and blowed, stretched out his big boots, and mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. He was a portly man, with a puffy face, whom fatigue rendered singularly uncomfortable. "Marquis," said he, "although your company, which affords me the opportunity of showing you some attention, is very precious to me, you cannot doubt that I had much rather enjoy it on another footing. If it be within your power, as you say, to release yourself from the hands of justice, the sooner you do so the better I shall be pleased. But I beg you to consider the state we are in. For my part, I am unfit to keep the saddle another hour, and are you not yourself knocked up by this forced march in the great heat?" "True, so I am," said the marquis, letting his arms fall by his side. "Well, then, let us rest here, sup here, if we can, and we will start quite fit in the cool of the morning." "Agreed," replied the marquis; "but then let us pass the time in a becoming manner. I have two pistoles left, let them be given to these good fellows to drink. It is only fair that I should treat them, seeing that I am the cause of giving them so much trouble." He threw two pieces of money on the table of the soldiers, who cried in chorus, "Long live M. the marquis!" The provost rose, went to post sentinels, and then repaired to the kitchen, where he ordered the best supper that could be got. The men pulled out dice and began to drink and play. The marquis hummed an air in the middle of the room, twirled his moustache, turning on his heel and looking cautiously around; then he gently drew a purse from his trousers pocket, and as the daughter of the house was coming and going, he threw his arms round her neck as if to kiss her, and whispered, slipping ten Louis into her hand-- "The key of the front door in my room, and a quart of liquor to the sentinels, and you save my life." The girl went backwards nearly to the door, and returning with an expressive look, made an affirmative sign with her hand. The provost returned, and two hours later supper was served. He ate and drank like a man more at home at table than in the saddle. The marquis plied him with bumpers, and sleepiness, added to the fumes of a very heady wine, caused him to repeat over and over again-- "Confound it all, marquis, I can't believe you are such a blackguard as they say you are; you seem to me a jolly good sort." The marquis thought he was ready to fall under the table, and was beginning to open negotiations with the daughter of the house, when, to his great disappointment, bedtime having come, the provoking provost called his sergeant, gave him instructions in an undertone, and announced that he should have the honour of conducting M. the marquis to bed, and that he should not go to bed himself before performing this duty. In fact, he posted three of his men, with torches, escorted the prisoner to his room, and left him with many profound bows. The marquis threw himself on his bed without pulling off his boots, listening to a clock which struck nine. He heard the men come and go in the stables and in the yard. An hour later, everybody being tired, all was perfectly still. The prisoner then rose softly, and felt about on tiptoe on the chimneypiece, on the furniture, and even in his clothes, for the key which he hoped to find. He could not find it. He could not be mistaken, nevertheless, in the tender interest of the young girl, and he could not believe that she was deceiving him. The marquis's room had a window which opened upon the street, and a door which gave access to a shabby gallery which did duty for a balcony, whence a staircase ascended to the principal rooms of the house. This gallery hung over the courtyard, being as high above it as the window was from the street. The marquis had only to jump over one side or the other: he hesitated for some time, and just as he was deciding to leap into the street, at the risk of breaking his neck, two taps were struck on the door. He jumped for joy, saying to himself as he opened, "I am saved!" A kind of shadow glided into the room; the young girl trembled from head to foot, and could not say a word. The marquis reassured her with all sorts of caresses. "Ah, sir," said she, "I am dead if we are surprised." "Yes," said the marquis, "but your fortune is made if you get me out of here." "God is my witness that I would with all my soul, but I have such a bad piece of news----" She stopped, suffocated with varying emotions. The poor girl had come barefooted, for fear of making a noise, and appeared to be shivering. "What is the matter?" impatiently asked the marquis. "Before going to bed," she continued, "M. the provost has required from my father all the keys of the house, and has made him take a great oath that there are no more. My father has given him all: besides, there is a sentinel at every door; but they are very tired; I have heard them muttering and grumbling, and I have given them more wine than you told me." "They will sleep," said the marquis, nowise discouraged, "and they have already shown great respect to my rank in not nailing me up in this room." "There is a small kitchen garden," continued the girl, "on the side of the fields, fenced in only by a loose hurdle, but----" "Where is my horse?" "No doubt in the shed with the rest." "I will jump into the yard." "You will be killed." "So much the better!" "Ah monsieur marquis, what have you done?" said the young girl with grief. "Some foolish things! nothing worth mentioning; but my head and my honour are at stake. Let us lose no time; I have made up my mind." "Stay," replied the girl, grasping his arm; "at the left-hand corner of the yard there is a large heap of straw, the gallery hangs just over it--" "Bravo! I shall make less noise, and do myself less mischief." He made a step towards the door; the girl, hardly knowing what she was doing, tried to detain him; but he got loose from her and opened it. The moon was shining brightly into the yard; he heard no sound. He proceeded to the end of the wooden rail, and perceived the dungheap, which rose to a good height: the girl made the sign of the cross. The marquis listened once again, heard nothing, and mounted the rail. He was about to jump down, when by wonderful luck he heard murmurings from a deep voice. This proceeded from one of two horsemen, who were recommencing their conversation and passing between them a pint of wine. The marquis crept back to his door, holding his breath: the girl was awaiting him on the threshold. "I told you it was not yet time," said she. "Have you never a knife," said the marquis, "to cut those rascals' throats with?" "Wait, I entreat you, one hour, one hour only," murmured the young girl; "in an hour they will all be asleep." The girl's voice was so sweet, the arms which she stretched towards him were full of such gentle entreaty, that the marquis waited, and at the end of an hour it was the young girl's turn to tell him to start. The marquis for the last time pressed with his mouth those lips but lately so innocent, then he half opened the door, and heard nothing this time but dogs barking far away in an otherwise silent country. He leaned over the balustrade, and saw very plainly a soldier lying prone on the straw. "If they were to awake?" murmured the young girl in accents of anguish. "They will not take me alive, be assured," said the marquis. "Adieu, then," replied she, sobbing; "may Heaven preserve you!" He bestrode the balustrade, spread himself out upon it, and fell heavily on the dungheap. The young girl saw him run to the shed, hastily detach a horse, pass behind the stable wall, spur his horse in both flanks, tear across the kitchen garden, drive his horse against the hurdle, knock it down, clear it, and reach the highroad across the fields. The poor girl remained at the end of the gallery, fixing her eyes on the sleeping sentry, and ready to disappear at the slightest movement. The noise made by spurs on the pavement and by the horse at the end of the courtyard had half awakened him. He rose, and suspecting some surprise, ran to the shed. His horse was no longer there; the marquis, in his haste to escape, had taken the first which came to hand, and this was the soldier's. Then the soldier gave the alarm; his comrades woke up. They ran to the prisoner's room, and found it empty. The provost came from his bed in a dazed condition. The prisoner had escaped. Then the young girl, pretending to have been roused by the noise, hindered the preparations by mislaying the saddlery, impeding the horsemen instead of helping them; nevertheless, after a quarter of an hour, all the party were galloping along the road. The provost swore like a pagan. The best horses led the way, and the sentinel, who rode the marquis's, and who had a greater interest in catching the prisoner, far outstripped his companions; he was followed by the sergeant, equally well mounted, and as the broken fence showed the line he had taken, after some minutes they were in view of him, but at a great distance. However, the marquis was losing ground; the horse he had taken was the worst in the troop, and he had pressed it as hard as it could go. Turning in the saddle, he saw the soldiers half a musket-shot off; he urged his horse more and more, tearing his sides with his spurs; but shortly the beast, completely winded, foundered; the marquis rolled with it in the dust, but when rolling over he caught hold of the holsters, which he found to contain pistols; he lay flat by the side of the horse, as if he had fainted, with a pistol at full cock in his hand. The sentinel, mounted on a valuable horse, and more than two hundred yards ahead of his serafile, came up to him. In a moment the marquis, jumping up before he had time to resist him, shot him through the head; the horseman fell, the marquis jumped up in his place without even setting foot in the stirrup, started off at a gallop, and went away like the wind, leaving fifty yards behind him the non-commissioned officer, dumbfounded with what had just passed before his eyes. The main body of the escort galloped up, thinking that he was taken; and the provost shouted till he was hoarse, "Do not kill him!" But they found only the sergeant, trying to restore life to his man, whose skull was shattered, and who lay dead on the spot. As for the marquis, he was out of sight; for, fearing a fresh pursuit, he had plunged into the cross roads, along which he rode a good hour longer at full gallop. When he felt pretty sure of having shaken the police off his track, and that their bad horses could not overtake him, he determined to slacken to recruit his horse; he was walking him along a hollow lane, when he saw a peasant approaching; he asked him the road to the Bourbonnais, and flung him a crown. The man took the crown and pointed out the road, but he seemed hardly to know what he was saying, and stared at the marquis in a strange manner. The marquis shouted to him to get out of the way; but the peasant remained planted on the roadside without stirring an inch. The marquis advanced with threatening looks, and asked how he dared to stare at him like that. "The reason is," said the peasant, "that you have----", and he pointed to his shoulder and his ruff. The marquis glanced at his dress, and saw that his coat was dabbled in blood, which, added to the disorder of his clothes and the dust with which he was covered, gave him a most suspicious aspect. "I know," said he. "I and my servant have been separated in a scuffle with some drunken Germans; it's only a tipsy spree, and whether I have got scratched, or whether in collaring one of these fellows I have drawn some of his blood, it all arises from the row. I don't think I am hurt a bit." So saying, he pretended to feel all over his body. "All the same," he continued, "I should not be sorry to have a wash; besides, I am dying with thirst and heat, and my horse is in no better case. Do you know where I can rest and refresh myself?" The peasant offered to guide him to his own house, only a few yards off. His wife and children, who were working, respectfully stood aside, and went to collect what was wanted--wine, water, fruit, and a large piece of black bread. The marquis sponged his coat, drank a glass of wine, and called the people of the house, whom he questioned in an indifferent manner. He once more informed himself of the different roads leading into the Bourbonnais province, where he was going to visit a relative; of the villages, cross roads, distances; and finally he spoke of the country, the harvest, and asked what news there was. The peasant replied, with regard to this, that it was surprising to hear of disturbances on the highway at this moment, when it was patrolled by detachments of mounted police, who had just made an important capture. "Who is that?--" asked the marquis. "Oh," said the peasant, "a nobleman who has done a lot of mischief in the country." "What! a nobleman in the hands of justice?" "Just so; and he stands a good chance of losing his head." "Do they say what he has done?" "Shocking things; horrid things; everything he shouldn't do. All the province is exasperated with him." "Do you know him?" "No, but we all have his description." As this news was not encouraging, the marquis, after a few more questions, saw to his horse, patted him, threw some more money to the peasant, and disappeared in the direction pointed out. The provost proceeded half a league farther along the road; but coming to the conclusion that pursuit was useless, he sent one of his men to headquarters, to warn all the points of exit from the province, and himself returned with his troop to the place whence he had started in the morning. The marquis had relatives in the neighbourhood, and it was quite possible that he might seek shelter with some of them. All the village ran to meet the horsemen, who were obliged to confess that they had been duped by the handsome prisoner. Different views were expressed on the event, which gave rise to much talking. The provost entered the inn, banging his fist on the furniture, and blaming everybody for the misfortune which had happened to him. The daughter of the house, at first a prey to the most grievous anxiety, had great difficulty in concealing her joy. The provost spread his papers over the table, as if to nurse his ill-temper. "The biggest rascal in the world!" he cried; "I ought to have suspected him." "What a handsome man he was!" said the hostess. "A consummate rascal! Do you know who he is? He is the Marquis de Saint-Maixent!" "The Marquis de Saint-Maixent!" all cried with horror. "Yes, the very man," replied the provost; "the Marquis de Saint-Maixent, accused, and indeed convicted, of coining and magic." "Ah!" "Convicted of incest." "O my God!" "Convicted of having strangled his wife to marry another, whose husband he had first stabbed." "Heaven help us!" All crossed themselves. "Yes, good people," continued the furious provost, "this is the nice boy who has just escaped the king's justice!" The host's daughter left the room, for she felt she was going to faint. "But," said the host, "is there no hope of catching him again?" "Not the slightest, if he has taken the road to the Bourbonnais; for I believe there are in that province noblemen belonging to his family who will not allow him to be rearrested." The fugitive was, indeed, no other than the Marquis de Saint-Maixent, accused of all the enormous crimes detailed by the provost, who by his audacious flight opened for himself an active part in the strange story which it remains to relate. It came to pass, a fortnight after these events, that a mounted gentleman rang at the wicket gate of the chateau de Saint-Geran, at the gates of Moulins. It was late, and the servants were in no hurry to open. The stranger again pulled the bell in a masterful manner, and at length perceived a man running from the bottom of the avenue. The servant peered through the wicket, and making out in the twilight a very ill-appointed traveller, with a crushed hat, dusty clothes, and no sword, asked him what he wanted, receiving a blunt reply that the stranger wished to see the Count de Saint-Geran without any further loss of time. The servant replied that this was impossible; the other got into a passion. "Who are you?" asked the man in livery. "You are a very ceremonious fellow!" cried the horseman. "Go and tell M. de Saint-Geran that his relative, the Marquis de Saint-Maixent, wishes to see him at once." The servant made humble apologies, and opened the wicket gate. He then walked before the marquis, called other servants, who came to help him to dismount, and ran to give his name in the count's apartments. The latter was about to sit down to supper when his relative was announced; he immediately went to receive the marquis, embraced him again and again, and gave him the most friendly and gracious reception possible. He wished then to take him into the dining-room to present him to all the family; but the marquis called his attention to the disorder of his dress, and begged for a few minutes' conversation. The count took him into his dressing-room, and had him dressed from head to foot in his own clothes, whilst they talked. The marquis then narrated a made-up story to M. de Saint-Geran relative to the accusation brought against him. This greatly impressed his relative, and gave him a secure footing in the chateau. When he had finished dressing, he followed the count, who presented him to the countess and the rest of the family. It will now be in place to state who the inmates of the chateau were, and to relate some previous occurrences to explain subsequent ones. The Marshal de Saint-Geran, of the illustrious house of Guiche, and governor of the Bourbonnais, had married, for his first wife, Anne de Tournon, by whom he had one son, Claude de la Guiche, and one daughter, who married the Marquis de Bouille. His wife dying, he married again with Suzanne des Epaules, who had also been previously married, being the widow of the Count de Longaunay, by whom she had Suzanne de Longaunay. The marshal and his wife, Suzanne des Epaules, for the mutual benefit of their children by first nuptials, determined to marry them, thus sealing their own union with a double tie. Claude de Guiche, the marshal's son, married Suzanne de Longaunay. This alliance was much to the distaste of the Marchioness de Bouille, the marshal's daughter, who found herself separated from her stepmother, and married to a man who, it was said, gave her great cause for complaint, the greatest being his threescore years and ten. The contract of marriage between Claude de la Guiche and Suzanne de Longaunay was executed at Rouen on the 17th of February 1619; but the tender age of the bridegroom, who was then but eighteen, was the cause of his taking a tour in Italy, whence he returned after two years. The marriage was a very happy one but for one circumstance--it produced no issue. The countess could not endure a barrenness which threatened the end of a great name, the extinction of a noble race. She made vows, pilgrimages; she consulted doctors and quacks; but to no purpose. The Marshal de Saint-Geran died on the 10th of December 1632, having the mortification of having seen no descending issue from the marriage of his son. The latter, now Count de Saint-Geran, succeeded his father in the government of the Bourbonnais, and was named Chevalier of the King's Orders. Meanwhile the Marchioness de Bouille quarrelled with her old husband the marquis, separated from him after a scandalous divorce, and came to live at the chateau of Saint-Geran, quite at ease as to her brother's marriage, seeing that in default of heirs all his property would revert to her. Such was the state of affairs when the Marquis de Saint-Maixent arrived at the chateau. He was young, handsome, very cunning, and very successful with women; he even made a conquest of the dowager Countess de Saint-Geran, who lived there with her children. He soon plainly saw that he might easily enter into the most intimate relations with the Marchioness de Bouille. The Marquis de Saint-Maixent's own fortune was much impaired by his extravagance and by the exactions of the law, or rather, in plain words, he had lost it all. The marchioness was heiress presumptive to the count: he calculated that she would soon lose her own husband; in any case, the life of a septuagenarian did not much trouble a man like the marquis; he could then prevail upon the marchioness to marry him, thus giving him the command of the finest fortune in the province. He set to work to pay his court to her, especially avoiding anything that could excite the slightest suspicion. It was, however, difficult to get on good terms with the marchioness without showing outsiders what was going on. But the marchioness, already prepossessed by the agreeable exterior of M. de Saint-Maixent, soon fell into his toils, and the unhappiness of her marriage, with the annoyances incidental to a scandalous case in the courts, left her powerless to resist his schemes. Nevertheless, they had but few opportunities of seeing one another alone: the countess innocently took a part in all their conversations; the count often came to take the marquis out hunting; the days passed in family pursuits. M. de Saint-Maixent had not so far had an opportunity of saying what a discreet woman ought to pretend not to hear; this intrigue, notwithstanding the marquis's impatience, dragged terribly. The countess, as has been stated, had for twenty years never ceased to hope that her prayers would procure for her the grace of bearing a son to her husband. Out of sheer weariness she had given herself up to all kinds of charlatans, who at that period were well received by people of rank. On one occasion she brought from Italy a sort of astrologer, who as nearly as possible poisoned her with a horrible nostrum, and was sent back to his own country in a hurry, thanking his stars for having escaped so cheaply. This procured Madame de Saint-Geran a severe reprimand from her confessor; and, as time went on, she gradually accustomed herself to the painful conclusion that she would die childless, and cast herself into the arms of religion. The count, whose tenderness for her never failed, yet clung to the hope of an heir, and made his Will with this in view. The marchioness's hopes had become certainties, and M. de Saint-Maixent, perfectly tranquil on this head, thought only of forwarding his suit with Madame-de Bouille, when, at the end of the month of November 1640, the Count de Saint-Geran was obliged to repair to Paris in great haste on pressing duty. The countess, who could not bear to be separated from her husband, took the family advice as to accompanying him. The marquis, delighted at an opportunity which left him almost alone in the chateau with Madame de Bouille, painted the journey to Paris in the most attractive colours, and said all he could to decide her to go. The marchioness, for her part, worked very quietly to the same end; it was more than was needed. It was settled that the countess should go with M. de Saint-Geran. She soon made her preparations, and a few days later they set off on the journey together. The marquis had no fears about declaring his passion; the conquest of Madame de Bouille gave him no trouble; he affected the most violent love, and she responded in the same terms. All their time was spent in excursions and walks from which the servants were excluded; the lovers, always together, passed whole days in some retired part of the park, or shut up in their apartments. It was impossible for these circumstances not to cause gossip among an army of servants, against whom they had to keep incessantly on their guard; and this naturally happened. The marchioness soon found herself obliged to make confidantes of the sisters Quinet, her maids; she had no difficulty in gaining their support, for the girls were greatly attached to her. This was the first step of shame for Madame de Bouille, and the first step of corruption for herself and her paramour, who soon found themselves entangled in the blackest of plots. Moreover, there was at the chateau de Saint-Geran a tall, spare, yellow, stupid man, just intelligent enough to perform, if not to conceive, a bad action, who was placed in authority over the domestics; he was a common peasant whom the old marshal had deigned to notice, and whom the count had by degrees promoted to the service of major-domo on account of his long service in the house, and because he had seen him there since he himself was a child; he would not take him away as body servant, fearing that his notions of service would not do for Paris, and left him to the superintendence of the household. The marquis had a quiet talk with this man, took his measure, warped his mind as he wished, gave him some money, and acquired him body and soul. These different agents undertook to stop the chatter of the servants' hall, and thenceforward the lovers could enjoy free intercourse. One evening, as the Marquis de Saint-Maixent was at supper in company with the marchioness, a loud knocking was heard at the gate of the chateau, to which they paid no great attention. This was followed by the appearance of a courier who had come post haste from Paris; he entered the courtyard with a letter from the Count de Saint-Geran for M. the marquis; he was announced and introduced, followed by nearly all the household. The marquis asked the meaning of all this, and dismissed all the following with a wave of the hand; but the courier explained that M. the count desired that the letter in his hands should be read before everyone. The marquis opened it without replying, glanced over it, and read it out loud without the slightest alteration: the count announced to his good relations and to all his household that the countess had indicated positive symptoms of pregnancy; that hardly had she arrived in Paris when she suffered from fainting fits, nausea, retching, that she bore with joy these premonitory indications, which were no longer a matter of doubt to the physicians, nor to anyone; that for his part he was overwhelmed with joy at this event, which was the crowning stroke to all his wishes; that he desired the chateau to share his satisfaction by indulging in all kinds of gaieties; and that so far as other matters were concerned they could remain as they were till the return of himself and the countess, which the letter would precede only a few days, as he was going to transport her in a litter for greater safety. Then followed the specification of certain sums of money to be distributed among the servants. The servants uttered cries of joy; the marquis and marchioness exchanged a look, but a very troublous one; they, however, restrained themselves so far as to simulate a great satisfaction, and the marquis brought himself to congratulate the servants on their attachment to their master and mistress. After this they were left alone, looking very serious, while crackers exploded and violins resounded under the windows. For some time they preserved silence, the first thought which occurred to both being that the count and countess had allowed themselves to be deceived by trifling symptoms, that people had wished to flatter their hopes, that it was impossible for a constitution to change so suddenly after twenty years, and that it was a case of simulative pregnancy. This opinion gaining strength in their minds made them somewhat calmer. The next day they took a walk side by side in a solitary path in the park and discussed the chances of their situation. M. de Saint-Maixent brought before the marchioness the enormous injury which this event would bring them. He then said that even supposing the news to be true, there were many rocks ahead to be weathered before the succession could be pronounced secure. "The child may die," he said at last. And he uttered some sinister expressions on the slight damage caused by the loss of a puny creature without mind, interest, or consequence; nothing, he said, but a bit of ill-organised matter, which only came into the world to ruin so considerable a person as the marchioness. "But what is the use of tormenting ourselves?" he went on impatiently; "the countess is not pregnant, nor can she be." A gardener working near them overheard this part of the conversation, but as they walked away from him he could not hear any more. A few days later, some outriders, sent before him by the count, entered the chateau, saying that their master and mistress were close at hand. In fact, they were promptly followed by brakes and travelling-carriages, and at length the countess's litter was descried, which M. de Saint-Geran, on horse back, had never lost sight of during the journey. It was a triumphal reception: all the peasants had left their work, and filled the air with shouts of welcome; the servants ran to meet their mistress; the ancient retainers wept for joy at seeing the count so happy and in the hope that his noble qualities might be perpetuated in his heir. The marquis and Madame de Bouille did their best to tune up to the pitch of this hilarity. The dowager countess, who had arrived at the chateau the same day, unable to convince herself as to this news, had the pleasure of satisfying herself respecting it. The count and countess were much beloved in the Bourbonnais province; this event caused therein a general satisfaction, particularly in the numerous houses attached to them by consanguinity. Within a few days of their return, more than twenty ladies of quality flocked to visit them in great haste, to show the great interest they took in this pregnancy. All these ladies, on one occasion or another, convinced themselves as to its genuineness, and many of them, carrying the subject still further, in a joking manner which pleased the countess, dubbed themselves prophetesses, and predicted the birth of a boy. The usual symptoms incidental to the situation left no room for doubt: the country physicians were all agreed. The count kept one of these physicians in the chateau for two months, and spoke to the Marquis of Saint-Maixent of his intention of procuring a good mid-wife, on the same terms. Finally, the dowager countess, who was to be sponsor, ordered at a great expense a magnificent store of baby linen, which she desired to present at the birth. The marchioness devoured her rage, and among the persons who went beside themselves with joy not one remarked the disappointment which overspread her soul. Every day she saw the marquis, who did all he could to increase her regret, and incessantly stirred up her ill-humour by repeating that the count and countess were triumphing over her misfortune, and insinuating that they were importing a supposititious child to disinherit her. As usual both in private and political affairs, he began by corrupting the marchioness's religious views, to pervert her into crime. The marquis was one of those libertines so rare at that time, a period less unhappy than is generally believed, who made science dependent upon atheism. It is remarkable that great criminals of this epoch, Sainte-Croix for instance, and Exili, the gloomy poisoner, were the first unbelievers, and that they preceded the learned of the following age both in philosophy and in the exclusive study of physical science, in which they included that of poisons. Passion, interest, hatred fought the marquis's battles in the heart of Madame de Bouille; she readily lent herself to everything that M. de Saint-Maixent wished. The Marquis de Saint-Maixent had a confidential servant, cunning, insolent, resourceful, whom he had brought from his estates, a servant well suited to such a master, whom he sent on errands frequently into the neighbourhood of Saint-Geran. One evening, as the marquis was about to go to bed, this man, returning from one of his expeditions, entered his room, where he remained for a long time, telling him that he had at length found what he wanted, and giving him a small piece of paper which contained several names of places and persons. Next morning, at daybreak, the marquis caused two of his horses to be saddled, pretended that he was summoned home on pressing business, foresaw that he should be absent for three or four days, made his excuses to the count, and set off at full gallop, followed by his servant. They slept that night at an inn on the road to Auvergne, to put off the scent any persons who might recognise them; then, following cross-country roads, they arrived after two days at a large hamlet, which they had seemed to have passed far to their left. In this hamlet was a woman who practised the avocation of midwife, and was known as such in the neighbourhood, but who had, it was said, mysterious and infamous secrets for those who paid her well. Further, she drew a good income from the influence which her art gave her over credulous people. It was all in her line to cure the king's evil, compound philtres and love potions; she was useful in a variety of ways to girls who could afford to pay her; she was a lovers' go-between, and even practised sorcery for country folk. She played her cards so well, that the only persons privy to her misdeeds were unfortunate creatures who had as strong an interest as herself in keeping them profoundly secret; and as her terms were very high, she lived comfortably enough in a house her own property, and entirely alone, for greater security. In a general way, she was considered skilful in her ostensible profession, and was held in estimation by many persons of rank. This woman's name was Louise Goillard. Alone one evening after curfew, she heard a loud knocking at the door of her house. Accustomed to receive visits at all hours, she took her lamp without hesitation, and opened the door. An armed man, apparently much agitated, entered the room. Louise Goillard, in a great fright, fell into a chair; this man was the Marquis de Saint-Maixent. "Calm yourself, good woman," said the stranger, panting and stammering; "be calm, I beg; for it is I, not you, who have any cause for emotion. I am not a brigand, and far from your having anything to fear, it is I, on the contrary, who am come to beg for your assistance." He threw his cloak into a corner, unbuckled his waistbelt, and laid aside his sword. Then falling into a chair, he said-- "First of all, let me rest a little." The marquis wore a travelling-dress; but although he had not stated his name, Louise Goillard saw at a glance that he was a very different person from what she had thought, and that, on the contrary, he was some fine gentleman who had come on his love affairs. "I beg you to excuse," said she, "a fear which is insulting to you. You came in so hurriedly that I had not time to see whom I was talking to. My house is rather lonely; I am alone; ill-disposed people might easily take advantage of these circumstances to plunder a poor woman who has little enough to lose. The times are so bad! You seem tired. Will you inhale some essence?" "Give me only a glass of water." Louise Goillard went into the adjoining room, and returned with an ewer. The marquis affected to rinse his lips, and said-- "I come from a great distance on a most important matter. Be assured that I shall be properly grateful for your services." He felt in his pocket, and pulled out a purse, which he rolled between his fingers. "In the first place; you must swear to the greatest secrecy." "There is no need of that with us," said Louise Goillard; "that is the first condition of our craft." "I must have more express guarantees, and your oath that you will reveal to no one in the world what I am going to confide to you." "I give you my word, then, since you demand it; but I repeat that this is superfluous; you do not know me." "Consider that this is a most serious matter, that I am as it were placing my head in your hands, and that I would lose my life a thousand times rather than see this mystery unravelled." "Consider also," bluntly replied the midwife, "that we ourselves are primarily interested in all the secrets entrusted to us; that an indiscretion would destroy all confidence in us, and that there are even cases----You may speak." When the marquis had reassured her as to himself by this preface, he continued: "I know that you are a very able woman." "I could indeed wish to be one, to serve you." "That you have pushed the study of your art to its utmost limits." "I fear they have been flattering your humble servant." "And that your studies have enabled you to predict the future." "That is all nonsense." "It is true; I have been told so." "You have been imposed upon." "What is the use of denying it and refusing to do me a service?" Louise Goillard defended herself long: she could not understand a man of this quality believing in fortune-telling, which she practised only with low-class people and rich farmers; but the marquis appeared so earnest that she knew not what to think. "Listen," said he, "it is no use dissembling with me, I know all. Be easy; we are playing a game in which you are laying one against a thousand; moreover, here is something on account to compensate you for the trouble I am giving." He laid a pile of gold on the table. The matron weakly owned that she had sometimes attempted astrological combinations which were not always fortunate, and that she had been only induced to do so by the fascination of the phenomena of science. The secret of her guilty practices was drawn from her at the very outset of her defence. "That being so," replied the marquis, "you must be already aware of the situation in which I find myself; you must know that, hurried away by a blind and ardent passion, I have betrayed the confidence of an old lady and violated the laws of hospitality by seducing her daughter in her own house; that matters have come to a crisis, and that this noble damsel, whom I love to distraction, being pregnant, is on the point of losing her life and honour by the discovery of her fault, which is mine." The matron replied that nothing could be ascertained about a person except from private questions; and to further impose upon the marquis, she fetched a kind of box marked with figures and strange emblems. Opening this, and putting together certain figures which it contained, she declared that what the marquis had told her was true, and that his situation was a most melancholy one. She added, in order to frighten him, that he was threatened by still more serious misfortunes than those which had already overtaken him, but that it was easy to anticipate and obviate these mischances by new consultations. "Madame," replied the marquis, "I fear only one thing in the world, the dishonour of the woman I love. Is there no method of remedying the usual embarrassment of a birth?" "I know of none," said the matron. "The young lady has succeeded in concealing her condition; it would be easy for her confinement to take place privately." "She has already risked her life; and I cannot consent to be mixed up in this affair, for fear of the consequences." "Could not, for instance," said the marquis, "a confinement be effected without pain?" "I don't know about that, but this I do know, that I shall take very good care not to practise any method contrary to the laws of nature." "You are deceiving me: you are acquainted with this method, you have already practised it upon a certain person whom I could name to you." "Who has dared to calumniate me thus? I operate only after the decision of the Faculty. God forbid that I should be stoned by all the physicians, and perhaps expelled from France!" "Will you then let me die of despair? If I were capable of making a bad use of your secrets, I could have done so long ago, for I know them. In Heaven's name, do not dissimulate any longer, and tell me how it is possible to stifle the pangs of labour. Do you want more gold? Here it is." And he threw more Louis on the table. "Stay," said the matron: "there is perhaps a method which I think I have discovered, and which I have never employed, but I believe it efficacious." "But if you have never employed it, it may be dangerous, and risk the life of the lady whom I love." "When I say never, I mean that I have tried it once, and most successfully. Be at your ease." "Ah!" cried the marquis, "you have earned my everlasting gratitude! But," continued he, "if we could anticipate the confinement itself, and remove from henceforth the symptoms of pregnancy?" "Oh, sir, that is a great crime you speak of!" "Alas!" continued the marquis, as if speaking to himself in a fit of intense grief; "I had rather lose a dear child, the pledge of our love, than bring into the world an unhappy creature which might possibly cause its mother's death." "I pray you, sir, let no more be said on the subject; it is a horrible crime even to think of such a thing." "But what is to be done? Is it better to destroy two persons and perhaps kill a whole family with despair? Oh, madame, I entreat you, extricate us from this extremity!" The marquis buried his face in his hands, and sobbed as though he were weeping copiously. "Your despair grievously affects me," said the matron; "but consider that for a woman of my calling it is a capital offence." "What are you talking about? Do not our mystery, our safety, and our credit come in first? "They can never get at you till after the death and dishonour of all that is dear to me in the world." "I might then, perhaps. But in this case you must insure me against legal complications, fines, and procure me a safe exit from the kingdom." "Ah! that is my affair. Take my whole fortune! Take my life!" And he threw the whole purse on the table. "In this case, and solely to extricate you from the extreme danger in which I see you placed, I consent to give you a decoction, and certain instructions, which will instantly relieve the lady from her burden. She must use the greatest precaution, and study to carry out exactly what I am about to tell you. My God! only such desperate occasions as this one could induce me to---- Here----" She took a flask from the bottom of a cupboard, and continued-- "Here is a liquor which never fails." "Oh, madame, you save my honour, which is dearer to me than life! But this is not enough: tell me what use I am to make of this liquor, and in what doses I am to administer it." "The patient," replied the midwife, "must take one spoonful the first day; the second day two; the third----" "You will obey me to the minutest particular?" "I swear it." "Let us start, then." She asked but for time to pack a little linen, put things in order, then fastened her doors, and left the house with the marquis. A quarter of an hour later they were galloping through the night, without her knowing where the marquis was taking her. The marquis reappeared three days later at the chateau, finding the count's family as he had left them--that is to say, intoxicated with hope, and counting the weeks, days, and hours before the accouchement of the countess. He excused his hurried departure on the ground of the importance of the business which had summoned him away; and speaking of his journey at table, he related a story current in the country whence he came, of a surprising event which he had all but witnessed. It was the case of a lady of quality who suddenly found herself in the most dangerous pangs of labour. All the skill of the physicians who had been summoned proved futile; the lady was at the point of death; at last, in sheer despair, they summoned a midwife of great repute among the peasantry, but whose practice did not include the gentry. From the first treatment of this woman, who appeared modest and diffident to a degree, the pains ceased as if by enchantment; the patient fell into an indefinable calm languor, and after some hours was delivered of a beautiful infant; but after this was attacked by a violent fever which brought her to death's door. They then again had recourse to the doctors, notwithstanding the opposition of the master of the house, who had confidence in the matron. The doctors' treatment only made matters worse. In this extremity they again called in the midwife, and at the end of three weeks the lady was miraculously restored to life, thus, added the marquis, establishing the reputation of the matron, who had sprung into such vogue in the town where she lived and the neighbouring country that nothing else was talked about. This story made a great impression on the company, on account of the condition of the countess; the dowager added that it was very wrong to ridicule these humble country experts, who often through observation and experience discovered secrets which proud doctors were unable to unravel with all their studies. Hereupon the count cried out that this midwife must be sent for, as she was just the kind of woman they wanted. After this other matters were talked about, the marquis changing the conversation; he had gained his point in quietly introducing the thin end of the wedge of his design. After dinner, the company walked on the terrace. The countess dowager not being able to walk much on account of her advanced age, the countess and Madame de Bouille took chairs beside her. The count walked up and down with M. de Saint-Maixent. The marquis naturally asked how things had been going on during his absence, and if Madame de Saint-Geran had suffered any inconvenience, for her pregnancy had become the most important affair in the household, and hardly anything else was talked about. "By the way," said the count, "you were speaking just now of a very skilful midwife; would it not be a good step to summon her?" "I think," replied the marquis, "that it would be an excellent selection, for I do not suppose there is one in this neighbourhood to compare to her." "I have a great mind to send for her at once, and to keep her about the countess, whose constitution she will be all the better acquainted with if she studies it beforehand. Do you know where I can send for her?" "Faith," said the marquis, "she lives in a village, but I don't know which." "But at least you know her name?" "I can hardly remember it. Louise Boyard, I think, or Polliard, one or the other." "How! have you not even retained the name?" "I heard the story, that's all. Who the deuce can keep a name in his head which he hears in such a chance fashion?" "But did the condition of the countess never occur to you?" "It was so far away that I did not suppose you would send such a distance. I thought you were already provided." "How can we set about to find her?" "If that is all, I have a servant who knows people in that part of the country, and who knows how to go about things: if you like, he shall go in quest of her." "If I like? This very moment." The same evening the servant started on his errand with the count's instructions, not forgetting those of his master. He went at full speed. It may readily be supposed that he had not far to seek the woman he was to bring back with him; but he purposely kept away for three days, and at the end of this time Louise Goillard was installed in the chateau. She was a woman of plain and severe exterior, who at once inspired confidence in everyone. The plots of the marquis and Madame de Bouille thus throve with most baneful success; but an accident happened which threatened to nullify them, and, by causing a great disaster, to prevent a crime. The countess, passing into her apartments, caught her foot in a carpet, and fell heavily on the floor. At the cries of a footman all the household was astir. The countess was carried to bed; the most intense alarm prevailed; but no bad consequences followed this accident, which produced only a further succession of visits from the neighbouring gentry. This happened about the end of the seventh month. At length the moment of accouchement came. Everything had long before been arranged for the delivery, and nothing remained to be done. The marquis had employed all this time in strengthening Madame de Bouille against her scruples. He often saw Louise Goillard in private, and gave her his instructions; but he perceived that the corruption of Baulieu, the house steward, was an essential factor. Baulieu was already half gained over by the interviews of the year preceding; a large sum of ready money and many promises did the rest. This wretch was not ashamed to join a plot against a master to whom he owed everything. The marchioness for her part, and always under the instigation of M. de Saint-Maixent, secured matters all round by bringing into the abominable plot the Quinet girls, her maids; so that there was nothing but treason and conspiracy against this worthy family among their upper servants, usually styled confidential. Thus, having prepared matters, the conspirators awaited the event. On the 16th of August the Countess de Saint-Geran was overtaken by the pangs of labour in the chapel of the chateau, where she was hearing mass. They carried her to her room before mass was over, her women ran around her, and the countess dowager with her own hands arranged on her head a cap of the pattern worn by ladies about to be confined--a cap which is not usually removed till some time later. The pains recurred with terrible intensity. The count wept at his wife's cries. Many persons were present. The dowager's two daughters by her second marriage, one of whom, then sixteen years of age, afterwards married the Duke de Ventadour and was a party to the lawsuit, wished to be present at this accouchement, which was to perpetuate by a new scion an illustrious race near extinction. There were also Dame Saligny, sister of the late Marshal Saint-Geran, the Marquis de Saint-Maixent, and the Marchioness de Bouille. Everything seemed to favour the projects of these last two persons, who took an interest in the event of a very different character from that generally felt. As the pains produced no result, and the accouchement was of the most difficult nature, while the countess was near the last extremity, expresses were sent to all the neighbouring parishes to offer prayers for the mother and the child; the Holy Sacrament was elevated in the churches at Moulins. The midwife attended to everything herself. She maintained that the countess would be more comfortable if her slightest desires were instantly complied with. The countess herself never spoke a word, only interrupting the gloomy silence by heart-rending cries. All at once, Madame de Boulle, who affected to be bustling about, pointed out that the presence of so many persons was what hindered the countess's accouchement, and, assuming an air of authority justified by fictitious tenderness, said that everyone must retire, leaving the patient in the hands of the persons who were absolutely necessary to her, and that, to remove any possible objections, the countess dowager her mother must set the example. The opportunity was made use of to remove the count from this harrowing spectacle, and everyone followed the countess dowager. Even the countess's own maids were not allowed to remain, being sent on errands which kept them out of the way. This further reason was given, that the eldest being scarcely fifteen, they were too young to be present on such an occasion. The only persons remaining by the bedside were the Marchioness de Bouille, the midwife, and the two Quinet girls; the countess was thus in the hands of her most cruel enemies. It was seven o'clock in the evening; the labours continued; the elder Quinet girl held the patient by the hand to soothe her. The count and the dowager sent incessantly to know the news. They were told that everything was going on well, and that shortly their wishes would be accomplished; but none of the servants were allowed to enter the room. Three hours later, the midwife declared that the countess could not hold out any longer unless she got some rest. She made her swallow a liquor which was introduced into her mouth by spoonfuls. The countess fell into so deep a sleep that she seemed to be dead. The younger Quinet girl thought for a moment that they had killed her, and wept in a corner of the room, till Madame de Bouille reassured her. During this frightful night a shadowy figure prowled in the corridors, silently patrolled the rooms, and came now and then to the door of the bedroom, where he conferred in a low tone with the midwife and the Marchioness de Bouille. This was the Marquis de Saint-Maixent, who gave his orders, encouraged his people, watched over every point of his plot, himself a prey to the agonies of nervousness which accompany the preparations for a great crime. The dowager countess, owing to her great age, had been compelled to take some rest. The count sat up, worn out with fatigue, in a downstairs room hard by that in which they were compassing the ruin of all most dear to him in the world. The countess, in her profound lethargy, gave birth, without being aware of it, to a boy, who thus fell on his entry into the world into the hands of his enemies, his mother powerless to defend him by her cries and tears. The door was half opened, and a man who was waiting outside brought in; this was the major-domo Baulieu. The midwife, pretending to afford the first necessary cares to the child, had taken it into a corner. Baulieu watched her movements, and springing upon her, pinioned her arms. The wretched woman dug her nails into the child's head. He snatched it from her, but the poor infant for long bore the marks of her claws. Possibly the Marchioness de Bouille could not nerve herself to the commission of so great a crime; but it seems more probable that the steward prevented the destruction of the child under the orders of M. de Saint-Maixent. The theory is that the marquis, mistrustful of the promise made him by Madame de Bouille to marry him after the death of her husband, desired to keep the child to oblige her to keep her word, under threats of getting him acknowledged, if she proved faithless to him. No other adequate reason can be conjectured to determine a man of his character to take such great care of his victim. Baulieu swaddled the child immediately, put it in a basket, hid it under his cloak, and went with his prey to find the marquis; they conferred together for some time, after which the house steward passed by a postern gate into the moat, thence to a terrace by which he reached a bridge leading into the park. This park had twelve gates, and he had the keys of all. He mounted a blood horse which he had left waiting behind a wall, and started off at full gallop. The same day he passed through the village of Escherolles, a league distant from Saint-Geran, where he stopped at the house of a nurse, wife of a glove-maker named Claude. This peasant woman gave her breast to the child; but the steward, not daring to stay in a village so near Saint-Geran, crossed the river Allier at the port de la Chaise, and calling at the house of a man named Boucaud, the good wife suckled the child for the second time; he then continued his journey in the direction of Auvergne. The heat was excessive, his horse was done up, the child seemed uneasy. A carrier's cart passed him going to Riom; it was owned by a certain Paul Boithion of the town of Aigueperce, a common carrier on the road. Baulieu went alongside to put the child in the cart, which he entered himself, carrying the infant on his knees. The horse followed, fastened by the bridle to the back of the cart. In the conversation which he held with this man, Baulieu said that he should not take so much care of the child did it not belong to the most noble house in the Bourbonnais. They reached the village of Che at midday. The mistress of the house where he put up, who was nursing an infant, consented to give some of her milk to the child. The poor creature was covered with blood; she warmed some water, stripped off its swaddling linen, washed it from head to foot, and swathed it up again more neatly. The carrier then took them to Riom. When they got there, Baulieu got rid of him by giving a false meeting-place for their departure; left in the direction of the abbey of Lavoine, and reached the village of Descoutoux, in the mountains, between Lavoine and Thiers. The Marchioness de Bouille had a chateau there where she occasionally spent some time. The child was nursed at Descoutoux by Gabrielle Moini, who was paid a month in advance; but she only kept it a week or so, because they refused to tell her the father and mother and to refer her to a place where she might send reports of her charge. This woman having made these reasons public, no nurse could be found to take charge of the child, which was removed from the village of Descoutoux. The persons who removed it took the highroad to Burgundy, crossing a densely wooded country, and here they lost their way. The above particulars were subsequently proved by the nurses, the carrier, and others who made legal depositions. They are stated at length here, as they proved very important in the great lawsuit. The compilers of the case, into which we search for information, have however omitted to tell us how the absence of the major-domo was accounted for at the castle; probably the far-sighted marquis had got an excuse ready. The countess's state of drowsiness continued till daybreak. She woke bathed in blood, completely exhausted, but yet with a sensation of comfort which convinced her that she had been delivered from her burden. Her first words were about her child; she wished to see it, kiss it; she asked where it was. The midwife coolly told her, whilst the girls who were by were filled with amazement at her audacity, that she had not been confined at all. The countess maintained the contrary, and as she grew very excited, the midwife strove to calm her, assuring her that in any case her delivery could not be long protracted, and that, judging from all the indications of the night, she would give birth to a boy. This promise comforted the count and the countess dowager, but failed to satisfy the countess, who insisted that a child had been born. The same day a scullery-maid met a woman going to the water's edge in the castle moat, with a parcel in her arms. She recognised the midwife, and asked what she was carrying and where she was going so early. The latter replied that she was very inquisitive, and that it was nothing at all; but the girl, laughingly pretending to be angry at this answer, pulled open one of the ends of the parcel before the midwife had time to stop her, and exposed to view some linen soaked in blood. "Madame has been confined, then?" she said to the matron. "No," replied she briskly, "she has not." The girl was unconvinced, and said, "How do you mean that she has not, when madame the marchioness, who was there, says she has?" The matron in great confusion replied, "She must have a very long tongue, if she said so." The girl's evidence was later found most important. The countess's uneasiness made her worse the next day. She implored with sighs and tears at least to be told what had become of her child, steadily maintaining that she was not mistaken when she assured them that she had given birth to one. The midwife with great effrontery told her that the new moon was unfavourable to childbirth, and that she must wait for the wane, when it would be easier as matters were already prepared. Invalids' fancies do not obtain much credence; still, the persistence of the countess would have convinced everyone in the long run, had not the dowager said that she remembered at the end of the ninth month of one of her own pregnancies she had all the premonitory symptoms of lying in, but they proved false, and in fact the accouchement took place three months later. This piece of news inspired great confidence. The marquis and Madame de Bouille did all in their power to confirm it, but the countess obstinately refused to listen to it, and her passionate transports of grief gave rise to the greatest anxiety. The midwife, who knew not how to gain time, and was losing all hope in face of the countess's persistence, was almost frightened out of her wits; she entered into medical details, and finally said that some violent exercise must be taken to induce labour. The countess, still unconvinced, refused to obey this order; but the count, the dowager, and all the family entreated her so earnestly that she gave way. They put her in a close carriage, and drove her a whole day over ploughed fields, by the roughest and hardest roads. She was so shaken that she lost the power of breathing; it required all the strength of her constitution to support this barbarous treatment in the delicate condition of a lady so recently confined. They put her to bed again after this cruel drive, and seeing that nobody took her view, she threw herself into the arms of Providence, and consoled herself by religion; the midwife administered violent remedies to deprive her of milk; she got over all these attempts to murder her, and slowly got better. Time, which heals the deepest affliction, gradually soothed that of the countess; her grief nevertheless burst out periodically on the slightest cause; but eventually it died out, till the following events rekindled it. There had been in Paris a fencing-master who used to boast that he had a brother in the service of a great house. This fencing-master had married a certain Marie Pigoreau, daughter of an actor. He had recently died in poor circumstances, leaving her a widow with two children. This woman Pigoreau did not enjoy the best of characters, and no one knew how she made a living, when all at once, after some short absences from home and visit from a man who came in the evening, his face muffled in his cloak, she launched out into a more expensive style of living; the neighbours saw in her house costly clothes, fine swaddling-clothes, and at last it became known that she was nursing a strange child. About the same time it also transpired that she had a deposit of two thousand livres in the hands of a grocer in the quarter, named Raguenet; some days later, as the child's baptism had doubtless been put off for fear of betraying his origin, Pigoreau had him christened at St. Jean en Greve. She did not invite any of the neighbours to the function, and gave parents' names of her own choosing at the church. For godfather she selected the parish sexton, named Paul Marmiou, who gave the child the name of Bernard. La Pigoreau remained in a confessional during the ceremony, and gave the man ten sou. The godmother was Jeanne Chevalier, a poor woman of the parish. The entry in the register was as follows:-- "On the seventh day of March one thousand six hundred and forty-two was baptized Bernard, son of... and... his godfather being Paul Marmiou, day labourer and servant of this parish, and his godmother Jeanne Chevalier, widow of Pierre Thibou." A few days afterwards la Pigoreau put out the child to nurse in the village of Torcy en Brie, with a woman who had been her godmother, whose husband was called Paillard. She gave out that it was a child of quality which had been entrusted to her, and that she should not hesitate, if such a thing were necessary, to save its life by the loss of one of her own children. The nurse did not keep it long, because she fell ill; la Pigoreau went to fetch the child away, lamenting this accident, and further saying that she regretted it all the more, as the nurse would have earned enough to make her comfortable for the rest of her life. She put the infant out again in the same village, with the widow of a peasant named Marc Peguin. The monthly wage was regularly paid, and the child brought up as one of rank. La Pigoreau further told the woman that it was the son of a great nobleman, and would later make the fortunes of those who served him. An elderly man, whom the people supposed to be the child's father, but who Pigoreau assured them was her brother-in-law, often came to see him. When the child was eighteen months old, la Pigoreau took him away and weaned him. Of the two by her husband the elder was called Antoine, the second would have been called Henri if he had lived; but he was born on the 9th of August 1639, after the death of his father, who was killed in June of the same year, and died shortly after his birth. La Pigoreau thought fit to give the name and condition of this second son to the stranger, and thus bury for ever the secret of his birth. With this end in view, she left the quarter where she lived, and removed to conceal herself in another parish where she was not known. The child was brought up under the name and style of Henri, second son of la Pigoreau, till he was two and a half years of age; but at this time, whether she was not engaged to keep it any longer, or whether she had spent the two thousand livres deposited with the grocer Raguenet, and could get no more from the principals, she determined to get rid of it. Her gossips used to tell this woman that she cared but little for her eldest son, because she was very confident of the second one making his fortune, and that if she were obliged to give up one of them, she had better keep the younger, who was a beautiful boy. To this she would reply that the matter did not depend upon her; that the boy's godfather was an uncle in good circumstances, who would not charge himself with any other child. She often mentioned this uncle, her brother-in-law, she said, who was major-domo in a great house. One morning, the hall porter at the hotel de Saint-Geran came to Baulieu and told him that a woman carrying a child was asking for him at the wicket gate; this Baulieu was, in fact, the brother of the fencing master, and godfather to Pigoreau's second son. It is now supposed that he was the unknown person who had placed the child of quality with her, and who used to go and see him at his nurse's. La Pigoreau gave him a long account of her situation. The major-domo took the child with some emotion, and told la Pigoreau to wait his answer a short distance off, in a place which he pointed out. Baulieu's wife made a great outcry at the first proposal of an increase of family; but he succeeded in pacifying her by pointing out the necessities of his sister-in-law, and how easy and inexpensive it was to do this good work in such a house as the count's. He went to his master and mistress to ask permission to bring up this child in their hotel; a kind of feeling entered into the charge he was undertaking which in some measure lessened the weight on his conscience. The count and countess at first opposed this project; telling him that having already five children he ought not to burden himself with any more, but he petitioned so earnestly that he obtained what he wanted. The countess wished to see it, and as she was about to start for Moulins she ordered it to be put in her women's coach; when it was shown her, she cried out, "What a lovely child!" The boy was fair, with large blue eyes and very regular features. She gave him a hundred caresses, which the child returned very prettily. She at once took a great fancy to him, and said to Baulieu, "I shall not put him in my women's coach; I shall put him in my own." After they arrived at the chateau of Saint-Geran, her affection for Henri, the name retained by the child, increased day by day. She often contemplated him with sadness, then embraced him with tenderness, and kept him long on her bosom. The count shared this affection for the supposed nephew of Baulieu, who was adopted, so to speak, and brought up like a child of quality. The Marquis de Saint-Maixent and Madame de Bouille had not married, although the old Marquis de Bouille had long been dead. It appeared that they had given up this scheme. The marchioness no doubt felt scruples about it, and the marquis was deterred from marriage by his profligate habits. It is moreover supposed that other engagements and heavy bribes compensated the loss he derived from the marchioness's breach of faith. He was a man about town at that period, and was making love to the demoiselle Jacqueline de la Garde; he had succeeded in gaining her affections, and brought matters to such a point that she no longer refused her favours except on the grounds of her pregnancy and the danger of an indiscretion. The marquis then offered to introduce to her a matron who could deliver women without the pangs of labour, and who had a very successful practice. The same Jacqueline de la Garde further gave evidence at the trial that M. de Saint-Maixent had often boasted, as of a scientific intrigue, of having spirited away the son of a governor of a province and grandson of a marshal of France; that he spoke of the Marchioness de Bouille, said that he had made her rich, and that it was to him she owed her great wealth; and further, that one day having taken her to a pretty country seat which belonged to him, she praised its beauty, saying "c'etait un beau lieu"; he replied by a pun on a man's name, saying that he knew another Baulieu who had enabled him to make a fortune of five hundred thousand crowns. He also said to Jadelon, sieur de la Barbesange, when posting with him from Paris, that the Countess de Saint-Geran had been delivered of a son who was in his power. The marquis had not seen Madame de Bouille for a long time; a common danger reunited them. They had both learned with terror the presence of Henri at the hotel de Saint-Geran. They consulted about this; the marquis undertook to cut the danger short. However, he dared put in practice nothing overtly against the child, a matter still more difficult just then, inasmuch as some particulars of his discreditable adventures had leaked out, and the Saint-Geran family received him more than coldly. Baulieu, who witnessed every day the tenderness of the count and countess for the boy Henri, had been a hundred times on the point of giving himself up and confessing everything. He was torn to pieces with remorse. Remarks escaped him which he thought he might make without ulterior consequences; seeing the lapse of time, but they were noted and commented on. Sometimes he would say that he held in his hand the life and honour of Madame the Marchioness de Bouille; sometimes that the count and countess had more reasons than they knew of for loving Henri. One day he put a case of conscience to a confessor, thus: "Whether a man who had been concerned in the abduction of a child could not satisfy his conscience by restoring him to his father and mother without telling them who he was?" What answer the confessor made is not known, but apparently it was not what the major-domo wanted. He replied to a magistrate of Moulins, who congratulated him on having a nephew whom his masters overburdened with kind treatment, that they ought to love him, since he was nearly related to them. These remarks were noticed by others than those principally concerned. One day a wine merchant came to propose to Baulieu the purchase of a pipe of Spanish wine, of which he gave him a sample bottle; in the evening he was taken violently ill. They carried him to bed, where he writhed, uttering horrible cries. One sole thought possessed him when his sufferings left him a lucid interval, and in his agony he repeated over and over again that he wished to implore pardon from the count and countess for a great injury which he had done them. The people round about him told him that was a trifle, and that he ought not to let it embitter his last moments, but he begged so piteously that he got them to promise that they should be sent for. The count thought it was some trifling irregularity, some misappropriation in the house accounts; and fearing to hasten the death of the sufferer by the shame of the confession of a fault, he sent word that he heartily forgave him, that he might die tranquil, and refused to see him. Baulieu expired, taking his secret with him. This happened in 1648. The child was then seven years old. His charming manners grew with his age, and the count and countess felt their love for him increase. They caused him to be taught dancing and fencing, put him into breeches and hose, and a page's suit of their livery, in which capacity he served them. The marquis turned his attack to this quarter. He was doubtless preparing some plot as criminal as the preceding, when justice overtook him for some other great crimes of which he had been guilty. He was arrested one day in the street when conversing with one of the Saint-Geran footmen, and taken to the Conciergerie of the Palace of Justice. Whether owing to these occurrences, or to grounds for suspicion before mentioned, certain reports spread in the Bourbonnais embodying some of the real facts; portions of them reached the ears of the count and countess, but they had only the effect of renewing their grief without furnishing a clue to the truth. Meanwhile, the count went to take the waters at Vichy. The countess and Madame de Bouille followed him, and there they chanced to encounter Louise Goillard, the midwife. This woman renewed her acquaintance with the house, and in particular often visited the Marchioness de Bouille. One day the countess, unexpectedly entering the marchioness's room, found them both conversing in an undertone. They stopped talking immediately, and appeared disconcerted. The countess noticed this without attaching any importance to it, and asked the subject of their conversation. "Oh, nothing," said the marchioness. "But what is it?" insisted the countess, seeing that she blushed. The marchioness, no longer able to evade the question, and feeling her difficulties increase, replied-- "Dame Louise is praising my brother for bearing no ill-will to her." "Why?" said the countess, turning to the midwife,--"why should you fear any ill-will on the part of my husband?" "I was afraid," said Louise Goillard awkwardly, "that he might have taken a dislike to me on account of all that happened when you expected to be confined." The obscurity of these words and embarrassment of the two women produced a lively effect upon the countess; but she controlled herself and let the subject drop. Her agitation, however, did not escape the notice of the marchioness, who the next day had horses put to her coach and retired to her estate of Lavoine. This clumsy proceeding strengthened suspicion. The first determination of the countess was to arrest Louise Goillard; but she saw that in so serious a matter every step must be taken with precaution. She consulted the count and the countess dowager. They quietly summoned the midwife, to question her without any preliminaries. She prevaricated and contradicted herself over and over again; moreover, her state of terror alone sufficed to convict her of a crime. They handed her over to the law, and the Count de Saint-Geran filed an information before the vice-seneschal of Moulins. The midwife underwent a first interrogatory. She confessed the truth of the accouchement, but she added that the countess had given birth to a still-born daughter, which she had buried under a stone near the step of the barn in the back yard. The judge, accompanied by a physician and a surgeon, repaired to the place, where he found neither stone, nor foetus, nor any indications of an interment. They searched unsuccessfully in other places. When the dowager countess heard this statement, she demanded that this horrible woman should be put on her trial. The civil lieutenant, in the absence of the criminal lieutenant, commenced the proceedings. In a second interrogation, Louise Goillard positively declared that the countess had never been confined; In a third, that she had been delivered of a mole; In a fourth, that she had been confined of a male infant, which Baulieu had carried away in a basket; And in a fifth, in which she answered from the dock, she maintained that her evidence of the countess's accouchement had been extorted from her by violence. She made no charges against either Madame de Bouille or the Marquis de Saint Maixent. On the other hand, no sooner was she under lock and key than she despatched her son Guillemin to the marchioness to inform her that she was arrested. The marchioness recognised how threatening things were, and was in a state of consternation; she immediately sent the sieur de la Foresterie, her steward, to the lieutenant-general, her counsel, a mortal enemy of the count, that he might advise her in this conjuncture, and suggest a means for helping the matron without appearing openly in the matter. The lieutenant's advice was to quash the proceedings and obtain an injunction against the continuance of the preliminaries to the action. The marchioness spent a large sum of money, and obtained this injunction; but it was immediately reversed, and the bar to the suit removed. La Foresterie was then ordered to pass to Riom, where the sisters Quinet lived, and to bribe them heavily to secrecy. The elder one, on leaving the marchioness's service, had shaken her fist in her face, feeling secure with the secrets in her knowledge, and told her that she would repent having dismissed her and her sister, and that she would make a clean breast of the whole affair, even were she to be hung first. These girls then sent word that they wished to enter her service again; that the countess had promised them handsome terms if they would speak; and that they had even been questioned in her name by a Capuchin superior, but that they said nothing, in order to give time to prepare an answer for them. The marchioness found herself obliged to take back the girls; she kept the younger, and married the elder to Delisle, her house steward. But la Foresterie, finding himself in this network of intrigue, grew disgusted at serving such a mistress, and left her house. The marchioness told him on his departure that if he were so indiscreet as to repeat a word of what he had learned from the Quinet girls, she would punish him with a hundred poniard stabs from her major-domo Delisle. Having thus fortified her position, she thought herself secure against any hostile steps; but it happened that a certain prudent Berger, gentleman and page to the Marquis de Saint-Maixent, who enjoyed his master's confidence and went to see him in the Conciergerie, where he was imprisoned, threw some strange light on this affair. His master had narrated to him all the particulars of the accouchement of the countess and of the abduction of the child. "I am astonished, my lord," replied the page, "that having so many dangerous affairs on hand; you did not relieve your conscience of this one." "I intend," replied the marquis, "to restore this child to his father: I have been ordered to do so by a Capuchin to whom I confessed having carried off from the midst of the family, without their knowing it, a grandson of a marshal of France and son of a governor of a province." The marquis had at that time permission to go out from prison occasionally on his parole. This will not surprise anyone acquainted with the ideas which prevailed at that period on the honour of a nobleman, even the greatest criminal. The marquis, profiting by this facility, took the page to see a child of about seven years of age, fair and with a beautiful countenance. "Page," said he, "look well at this child, so that you may know him again when I shall send you to inquire about him." He then informed him that this was the Count de Saint-Geran's son whom he had carried away. Information of these matters coming to the ears of justice, decisive proofs were hoped for; but this happened just when other criminal informations were lodged against the marquis, which left him helpless to prevent the exposure of his crimes. Police officers were despatched in all haste to the Conciergerie; they were stopped by the gaolers, who told them that the marquis, feeling ill, was engaged with a priest who was administering the sacraments to him. As they insisted on seeing him, the warders approached the cell: the priest came out, crying that persons must be sought to whom the sick man had a secret to reveal; that he was in a desperate state, and said he had just poisoned himself; all entered the cell. M. de Saint-Maixent was writhing on a pallet, in a pitiable condition, sometimes shrieking like a wild beast, sometimes stammering disconnected words. All that the officers could hear was-- "Monsieur le Comte... call... the Countess... de Saint-Geran ...let them come...." The officers earnestly begged him to try to be more explicit. The marquis had another fit; when he opened his eyes, he said-- "Send for the countess... let them forgive me... I wish to tell them everything." The police officers asked him to speak; one even told him that the count was there. The marquis feebly murmured-- "I am going to tell you----" Then he gave a loud cry and fell back dead. It thus seemed as if fate took pains to close every mouth from which the truth might escape. Still, this avowal of a deathbed revelation to be made to the Count de Saint-Geran and the deposition of the priest who had administered the last sacraments formed a strong link in the chain of evidence. The judge of first instruction, collecting all the information he had got, made a report the weight of which was overwhelming. The carters, the nurse, the domestic servants, all gave accounts consistent with each other; the route and the various adventures of the child were plainly detailed, from its birth till its arrival at the village of Descoutoux. Justice, thus tracing crime to its sources, had no option but to issue a warrant for the arrest of the Marchioness de Bouille; but it seems probable that it was not served owing to the strenuous efforts of the Count de Saint-Geran, who could not bring himself to ruin his sister, seeing that her dishonour would have been reflected on him. The marchioness hid her remorse in solitude, and appeared again no more. She died shortly after, carrying the weight of her secret till she drew her last breath. The judge of Moulins at length pronounced sentence on the midwife, whom he declared arraigned and convicted of having suppressed the child born to the countess; for which he condemned her to be tortured and then hanged. The matron lodged an appeal against this sentence, and the case was referred to the Conciergerie. No sooner had the count and countess seen the successive proofs of the procedure, than tenderness and natural feelings accomplished the rest. They no longer doubted that their page was their son; they stripped him at once of his livery and gave him his rank and prerogatives, under the title of the Count de la Palice. Meanwhile, a private person named Sequeville informed the countess that he had made a very important discovery; that a child had been baptized in 1642 at St. Jean-en-Greve, and that a woman named Marie Pigoreau had taken a leading part in the affair. Thereupon inquiries were made, and it was discovered that this child had been nursed in the village of Torcy. The count obtained a warrant which enabled him to get evidence before the judge of Torcy; nothing was left undone to elicit the whole truth; he also obtained a warrant through which he obtained more information, and published a monitory. The elder of the Quinet girls on this told the Marquis de Canillac that the count was searching at a distance for things very near him. The truth shone out with great lustre through these new facts which gushed from all this fresh information. The child, exhibited in the presence of a legal commissary to the nurses and witnesses of Torcy, was identified, as much by the scars left by the midwife's nails on his head, as by his fair hair and blue eyes. This ineffaceable vestige of the woman's cruelty was the principal proof; the witnesses testified that la Pigoreau, when she visited this child with a man who appeared to be of condition, always asserted that he was the son of a great nobleman who had been entrusted to her care, and that she hoped he would make her fortune and that of those who had reared him. The child's godfather, Paul Marmiou, a common labourer; the grocer Raguenet, who had charge of the two thousand livres; the servant of la Pigoreau, who had heard her say that the count was obliged to take this child; the witnesses who proved that la Pigoreau had told them that the child was too well born to wear a page's livery, all furnished convincing proofs; but others were forthcoming. It was at la Pigoreau's that the Marquis de Saint-Maixent, living then at the hotel de Saint-Geran, went to see the child, kept in her house as if it were hers. Prudent Berger, the marquis's page, perfectly well remembered la Pigoreau, and also the child, whom he had seen at her house and whose history the marquis had related to him. Finally, many other witnesses heard in the course of the case, both before the three chambers of nobles, clergy, and the tiers etat, and before the judges of Torcy, Cusset, and other local magistrates, made the facts so clear and conclusive in favour of the legitimacy of the young count, that it was impossible to avoid impeaching the guilty parties. The count ordered the summons in person of la Pigoreau, who had not been compromised in the original preliminary proceedings. This drastic measure threw the intriguing woman on her beam ends, but she strove hard to right herself. The widowed Duchess de Ventadour, daughter by her mother's second marriage of the Countess dowager of Saint-Geran, and half-sister of the count, and the Countess de Lude, daughter of the Marchioness de Bouille, from whom the young count carried away the Saint-Geran inheritance, were very warm in the matter, and spoke of disputing the judgment. La Pigoreau went to see them, and joined in concert with them. Then commenced this famous lawsuit, which long occupied all France, and is parallel in some respects, but not in the time occupied in the hearing, to the case heard by Solomon, in which one child was claimed by two mothers. The Marquis de Saint-Maixent and Madame de Bouille being dead, were naturally no parties to the suit, which was fought against the Saint-Geran family by la Pigoreau and Mesdames du Lude and de Ventadour. These ladies no doubt acted in good faith, at first at any rate, in refusing to believe the crime; for if they had originally known the truth it is incredible that they could have fought the case so long and so obstinately. They first of all went to the aid of the midwife, who had fallen sick in prison; they then consulted together, and resolved as follows: That the accused should appeal against criminal proceedings; That la Pigoreau should lodge a civil petition against the judgments which ordered her arrest and the confronting of witnesses; That they should appeal against the abuse of obtaining and publishing monitories, and lodge an interpleader against the sentence of the judge of first instruction, who had condemned the matron to capital punishment; And that finally, to carry the war into the enemy's camp, la Pigoreau should impugn the maternity of the countess, claiming the child as her own; and that the ladies should depose that the countess's accouchement was an imposture invented to cause it to be supposed that she had given birth to a child. For more safety and apparent absence of collusion, Mesdames du Lude and de Ventadour pretended to have no communication with la Pigoreau. About this time the midwife died in prison, from an illness which vexation and remorse had aggravated. After her death, her son Guillemin confessed that she had often told him that the countess had given birth to a son whom Baulieu had carried off, and that the child entrusted to Baulieu at the chateau Saint-Geran was the same as the one recovered; the youth added that he had concealed this fact so long as it might injure his mother, and he further stated that the ladies de Ventadour and du Lude had helped her in prison with money and advice--another strong piece of presumptive evidence. The petitions of the accused and the interpleadings of Mesdames du Lude and de Ventadour were discussed in seven hearings, before three courts convened. The suit proceeded with all the languor and chicanery of the period. After long and specious arguments, the attorney general Bijnon gave his decision in favour of the Count and Countess of Saint-Geran, concluding thus:-- "The court rejects the civil appeal of la Pigoreau; and all the opposition and appeals of the appellants and the defendants; condemns them to fine and in costs; and seeing that the charges against la Pigoreau were of a serious nature, and that a personal summons had been decreed against her, orders her committal, recommending her to the indulgence of the court." By a judgment given in a sitting at the Tournelle by M. de Mesmes, on the 18th of August 1657, the appellant ladies' and the defendants' opposition was rejected with fine and costs. La Pigoreau was forbidden to leave the city and suburbs of Paris under penalty of summary conviction. The judgment in the case followed the rejection of the appeal. This reverse at first extinguished the litigation of Mesdames du Lude and de Ventadour, but it soon revived more briskly than ever. These ladies, who had taken la Pigoreau in their coach to all the hearings, prompted her, in order to procrastinate, to file a fresh petition, in which she demanded the confrontment of all the witnesses to the pregnancy, and the confinement. On hearing this petition, the court gave on the 28th of August 1658 a decree ordering the confrontment, but on condition that for three days previously la Pigoreau should deliver herself a prisoner in the Conciergerie. This judgment, the consequences of which greatly alarmed la Pigoreau, produced such an effect upon her that, after having weighed the interest she had in the suit, which she would lose by flight, against the danger to her life if she ventured her person into the hands of justice, she abandoned her false plea of maternity, and took refuge abroad. This last circumstance was a heavy blow to Mesdames du Lude and de Ventadour; but they were not at the end of their resources and their obstinacy. Contempt of court being decreed against la Pigoreau, and the case being got up against the other defendants, the Count de Saint-Geran left for the Bourbonnais, to put in execution the order to confront the witnesses. Scarcely had he arrived in the province when he was obliged to interrupt his work to receive the king and the queen mother, who were returning from Lyons and passing through Moulins. He presented the Count de la Palice to their Majesties as his son; they received him as such. But during the visit of the king and queen the Count de Saint-Geran fell ill, over fatigued, no doubt, by the trouble he had taken to give them a suitable reception, over and above the worry of his own affairs. During his illness, which only lasted a week, he made in his will a new acknowledgment of his son, naming his executors M. de Barriere, intendant of the province, and the sieur Vialet, treasurer of France, desiring them to bring the lawsuit to an end. His last words were for his wife and child; his only regret that he had not been able to terminate this affair. He died on the 31st of January 1659. The maternal tenderness of the countess did not need stimulating by the injunctions of her husband, and she took up the suit with energy. The ladies de Ventadour and du Lude obtained by default letters of administration as heiresses without liability, which were granted out of the Chatelet. At the same time they appealed against the judgment of the lieutenant-general of the Bourbonnais, giving the tutelage of the young count to the countess his mother, and his guardianship to sieur de Bompre. The countess, on her side, interpleaded an appeal against the granting of letters of administration without liability, and did all in her power to bring back the case to the Tournelle. The other ladies carried their appeal to the high court, pleading that they were not parties to the lawsuit in the Tournelle. It would serve no purpose to follow the obscure labyrinth of legal procedure of that period, and to recite all the marches and countermarches which legal subtlety suggested to the litigants. At the end of three years, on the 9th of April 1661, the countess obtained a judgment by which the king in person-- "Assuming to his own decision the civil suit pending at the Tournelle, as well as the appeals pled by both parties, and the last petition of Mesdames du Lude and de Ventadour, sends back the whole case to the three assembled chambers of the States General, to be by them decided on its merits either jointly or separately, as they may deem fit." The countess thus returned to her first battlefield. Legal science produced an immense quantity of manuscript, barristers and attorneys greatly distinguishing themselves in their calling. After an interminable hearing, and pleadings longer and more complicated than ever, which however did not bamboozle the court, judgment was pronounced in conformity with the summing up of the attorney-general, thus-- "That passing over the petition of Mesdames Marie de la Guiche and Eleonore de Bouille, on the grounds," etc. etc.; "Evidence taken," etc.; "Appeals, judgments annulled," etc.; "With regard to the petition of the late Claude de la Guiche and Suzanne de Longaunay, dated 12th August 1658," "Ordered, "That the rule be made absolute; "Which being done, Bernard de la Guiche is pronounced, maintained, and declared the lawfully born and legitimate son of Claude de la Guiche and Suzanne de Longaunay; in possession and enjoyment of the name and arms of the house of Guiche, and of all the goods left by Claude de la Guiche, his father; and Marie de la Guiche and Eleonore de Bouille are interdicted from interfering with him; "The petitions of Eleonore de Bouille and Marie de la Guiche, dated 4th June 1664, 4th August 1665, 6th January, 10th February, 12th March, 15th April, and 2nd June, 1666, are dismissed with costs; "Declared, "That the defaults against la Pigoreau are confirmed; and that she, arraigned and convicted of the offences imputed to her, is condemned to be hung and strangled at a gallows erected in the Place de Greve in this city, if taken and apprehended; otherwise, in effigy at a gallows erected in the Place de Greve aforesaid; that all her property subject to confiscation is seized and confiscated from whomsoever may be in possession of it; on which property and other not subject to confiscation, is levied a fine of eight hundred Paris livres, to be paid to the King, and applied to the maintenance of prisoners in the Conciergerie of the Palace of justice, and to the costs." Possibly a more obstinate legal contest was never waged, on both sides, but especially by those who lost it. The countess, who played the part of the true mother in the Bible, had the case so much to heart that she often told the judges, when pleading her cause, that if her son were not recognised as such, she would marry him, and convey all her property to him. The young Count de la Palice became Count de Saint-Geran through the death of his father, married, in 1667, Claude Francoise Madeleine de Farignies, only daughter of Francois de Monfreville and of Marguerite Jourdain de Carbone de Canisi. He had only one daughter, born in 1688, who became a nun. He died at the age of fifty-five years, and thus this illustrious family became extinct. Publication Date: May 27th 2010 https://www.bookrix.com/-bx.dumas

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Abby Moran Geraldo Chapter 1 Yesterday I witnessed the unspeakable. A young child was murdered under the bridge and his body was left to float upon the water. The child was not even six years old. The man got away and I was left just standing there; I was too stunned to move or speak. The man left a knife but he wore gloves so it was of no use for fingerprinting. No one understood how dangerous this act was; I did. Nobody believed me when I told them that the father would seek revenge for his offspring. Nor did they believe me when I told them he would go insane in time. Of course they didn’t know his father like I did because his father was my brother.Now you’d think I’d be devastated at the murder of my nephew but honestly I didn’t know him all that well. I had only met him as a baby and I hadn’t visited since his birth. Still something inside tugged at my heart hard and that was I’d never know him as a man. What kind of man would he become? Nobody would know now because of a man that is unknown for the time being. I knew I wanted revenge just like his father but at the same time it was almost like peeking into a strangers death and that just isn't how I'd like things to be. I guess it is my own fault for not visiting more but Mike wouldn’t want me at his house anyway. I’d probably be too loud for his wife. “Mike, I know how you feel but you have to believe me….you don’t need this kind of revenge.” His pocket knife was outspread and he was tilting it in his palms. “How would you even know? You have no kids, so you don’t understand.” It was true I didn’t start a family yet but it doesn’t mean that I didn’t understand enough to know he was hurt. I didn’t know what to tell him at this point. I already tried to comfort him and he wouldn’t accept it, I tried to calm him but he wouldn’t. All I know about my nephew was that his name was Geraldo and he was not even six yet. I didn’t really know him; I just knew his basic biography. So Mike had some good points but I’m more stubborn than him and I just don’t care if I didn’t know the kid. I know my brother and I’d do anything in my power to help him. He seemed to be alone while I was talking to him but after a while I heard his wife moan from the bedroom. She always has some sort of headache or migraine and I know it’s harsh to say but it gets really annoying. I know sometimes she just says she has one so I’ll leave because I already know I’m a loud mouth and can’t keep quiet to save my life. Her name is Mae. I don’t know why she married my brother because she stays in bed all the time except to make supper and doesn’t really pay much attention to him and his problems. I guess in a way I’m his second wife because I listen to him but I don’t know how he’d feel about me saying that. “Jim, I don’t know what I’m gonna do without my little boy. He was such a great son and I just know he’d have liked you.” I just smiled and held him. “Well I know you were a great father to him.” He sniffled and looked at me. “How can you tell?” I sighed and held him tighter “Because a good parent will always sob at the death of their child.” I felt a hot tear roll down my cheek but I wiped it away before Mike saw. “I know I didn’t know him that long but I want you to know that I’m grieving too. You are never alone.” More tears rolled down but there were too many to wipe away so I just let them fall off my chin and onto Mike. He turned so he could fully hug me and it took us a long time to let go. Tears fell and I heard both of our hearts beating really fast. Deep down both of us knew that Mike needed his revenge and he’d get it sooner or later. Mae got out of bed moaning “What’s all the ruckus?" She looked down at us impatiently tapping her foot. “Show some sympathy, Geraldo was murdered.” I don’t know where I got the courage to say that to her but somehow the words just came out. “Who’s Geraldo?” she asked still half asleep. “Your son.” She is annoying and I could just tell she had a few drinks, especially when I looked down and she was holding a bottle of vodka. “I don’t have a son named Geraldo!” she took a big gulp and stumbled over to the kitchen counter where she threw up in the sink. “Are you drunk?” Mike asked. Mae turned and tried to hide the vodka behind her back. “Oh of course not Mikey. I am just a little woozy.” Mikey. A sure fire way to tell she’d been drinking. She calls him Michael or Mike and that’s it. That’s just one thing Mike doesn’t get so he just believes her and that really pisses me off about their marriage. She lies and he just thinks she’d never lie to him and believes it. “Excuse me for I minute Mae, Mike can I talk to you?” “What is going on?” “Mae is lying to you; can’t you tell she’s drinking again?” “My wife wouldn’t lie to me….it’s part of our vows.” “C’mon Mike, she didn’t even recognize the name of her own son.” “Well…..” “And she’s stumbling, throwing up, what more proof do you want?” “I guess your right Jim but what am I supposed to do? I can’t live alone right now.” “I’m not sure right now but we’ll think of something I promise.” Mike got back out to wife and cleaned the sink of her vomit and helped her back into bed. He took the vodka out of her hand and threw it away. I already knew he had a plan and it was in motion. Chapter 2 After my visit with Mike I drove home. I live pretty far away from him usually but I’m renting a place so that I’m closer if he needs me. I searched through my pockets for my keys when I stumbled across an index card I hadn’t noticed was in there before. So naturally, I opened it up and read the contents inside. Dear Jim, I’m killing Mae tonight. You were right I don’t need to put up with that broad’s lies. Sincerely, Mike I thought about this for a moment. I could let him kill her and then she’d be gone for good but then of course Mike would be on death row for killing someone on purpose. I couldn’t let that happen so I drove back to Mike’s house just in time to watch the knife stab through Mae’s heart. “Mike! What are you doing?!” Mike sat on the ground. “I killed her Jim.” I just stood there in the doorway. Then I went to Mae’s body and checked for a pulse but I didn’t get a single beat. I couldn’t believe it; he killed Mae. There wasn’t a thing I could do. Of course I decided to hide Mike from this catastrophe at my real house. It’s out in the forest where no one else goes. There is a pond full of fish to eat and a well for water. It was the only place I could think of for the time being. To be honest, I was more concerned about how insane Mike really was at this point. I mean he just killed his wife so did that mean that I’m next? I pondered at this and did so intently that I almost rammed into a tree. I barely missed it. “Oh Jim I feel so great! I feel so alive!” “Mike…just…don’t say that in public.” For the rest of the ride home we were silent. Once in a while Mike would bring out how it felt to put pressure down on the knife into her body but I didn’t respond to that. I was happy to see my house and my backyard. Pollen had collected on top of my rooftop and I knew the first chore of the day already. “Mike when we get in there, you need to make yourself scarce in the guestroom, understand?” He looked at me with wonderment. He was actually happy to have the experience. I don’t know if he was truly insane or if he just liked the thrill. He did as he was told and closed the blinds and turned off the lights. I found it strange; it was like he knew the whole procedure of hiding when I didn’t tell him anything but to stay in the guestroom. “Oh Jim you never do anything right!” “Oh Jim you are always too loud!” “Jim why must you come over so much?” “If you’re going to come over so much Jim could you at least wear decent clothes?” The many voices of Mae were going through my head. Now that I think about her…..I still feel like she was a complete jerk to me and Mike. Maybe she deserved to die. I never really saw what she was like as a mother but I had a few images that came to mind. I imagined her hitting Geraldo constantly and yelling at him, but never listening to him and his problems. I could be entirely wrong, I’ve been wrong before but to be honest I’m not entirely convinced that she was all that of a good mother. My thoughts were interrupted by a loud noise coming from the guest bedroom. “Mike are you alright?” No reply. “Mike?” there still was no reply. I went to the guestroom and Mike was no longer in the room. “Great a crazy man is now on the loose.” Chapter 3 I couldn’t believe Mike was gone. I sat on his bed right onto yet another index card. I wonder if this was his signature thing to do. I was almost afraid to open it up and read it but at the same time I was afraid of where Mike was going. Maybe if he was on the kill again I could stop him in time. I took a deep breath and opened the index card slowly. Dear Jim, Please do not worry. I am fine. I am taking some time to think by my favorite lake. Did you ever notice how lovely it is there? I hope you like riddles, Jimmy. A hard one is on your way.” Sincerely, Mike What type of riddle did he mean? He knows I’m not that good at them and give up easily so it must be just for fun. I went to the lake and saw a man just sitting silently by the water. “Mike what are you thinking?” He swept his hand across the water making small waves appear. “The lake is quite beautiful don’t you think?” I just saw out of the corner of my eye his pocket knife in his pocket. I didn’t respond to his question and he didn’t ask again. “I love it here at the lake Jim. It is so beautiful but I believe it needs decoration, wouldn’t you think?” I didn’t know what to say. “Mike what is going on?” He smiled and breathed heavily. “Geraldo was killed at a lake Jimmy.” “I know.” “Of course you know. You were there.” “Mike?” “You were there to watch the knife stab through his body and you didn’t stop it!” “It happened way too quickly Mike….I didn’t know what to do.” He slid his hand through the water again. “Not that it really matters now. Does it Jimmy?” He was really scaring me now. What was he planning? “Oh wait now I remember I had said of a riddle to you, did I not?” I nodded and tried to seem happier but I was truly scared of him right now. “A man walked into a bar but never went back home. Explain this.” I didn’t understand what this had to do with anything but I played along. “Did he move away afterwards?” this wasn’t really the best guess but I hadn’t a clue. “No.” He seemed distracted in the water but at least he answered me. “I’ll let you think about it Jimmy. You only clue is that it is a simple answer. If looked upon to intensely you will never know the answer.” Okay. Nice clue Mike. This was irritating and I pondered at it for a week. Mike did his same routine every day which was to go to the lake for three hours just looking at the lake. “I give up. I really don’t know the answer.” He grinned but said nothing. “Mike…..you are really worrying me. Why don’t you come back to the house… watch some TV and just relax?” He just wasn’t talking to me. “Well if you change your mind that is exactly what I’ll be doing.” I’d never really take Mike as the nature guy but I have to admit he’s pretty calm there……a little scary but at least calm. I haven’t any clue why he gave a difficult riddle that is supposedly simple. I heard a sigh as I walked towards home and glanced only to see Mike had decided to join me. “Thanks for changing your mind.” All he did in reply was grunt. In other news, the investigation of Mae Bunsen’s mysterious murder is still under full operation. As of today, these few facts about the case can be revealed. Her son Geraldo was murdered a day before. There was a bottle of vodka in the trash and neighbors are referring her to as an alcoholic wife with no sense of direction and no purpose in life. More details will be broadcasted later in the case. Mike’s eyes were glued to my television set. I couldn’t watch this anymore. I grunted and pretended to be quite sore. “Mike, be a pal and get me some water…my feet are just killing me tonight.” He nodded and headed for the kitchen. I turned the channel to an antique roadshow and waited for Mike to return. “What happened to the news?” Mike asked and eyed me. “Well look at you! You can talk after all! The news went off for the night.” “Oh. So I guess this is good night then.” He slowly walked to the guestroom “Mike you aren’t acting right. I’m really worried about you.” He shook his head and looked at me. “I haven’t slept. I haven’t eaten much. Those things change a man.” That was all he said before he left and I heard the creaking of him getting into bed. Chapter 4 I woke up and rolled over to my other side. “Oh my… what the…..Mike! What are you doing in my bed?!” Mike grunted realizing I was waking him up. “What am I doing in your bed? You’re in mine Jim.” I started to protest but looked around the room to realize I really was in his. What happened last night? What got into me? “Oh sorry Mike, when did I come in last night?” Mike rubbed his eyes again and again. “Last night? Oh not to late….just around midnight!” I felt bad. I let Mike sleep (he was going to anyway) and I got up to start making breakfast. The crust from my eyes was stinging and I thought for just a second I might still be dreaming. Then I smelt something in the kitchen, not the normal rotten fish smell. I’d never smelt anything like it, it was the worst smell I’ve ever smelt. I am not a dog but in spite of my dignity I started smelling around for it. The lay down freezer (which I don’t use ever since I got the refrigerator) is where the awful stench was coming from. But what could possibly be in there? It’s nothing I would know about, considering that would be rotten food and booze. I patted the freezer and something moved inside it. I sighed in relief, a little critter just got caught inside and it must’ve had to do its business or something. So I went to get my cage so I could catch it and free it. I grabbed it from the living room and went back to the freezer. “It’s probably small Jim so just do it.” I told myself. Carefully I started to lift up the lid but before I could peek inside Mike jumped out of bed and stopped me. “Don’t go in there again.” He said to me sternly as he shut the lid hard. I stood there for a moment in shock, then slowly back away and made some eggs. Mike was heaving hard from all the commotion of the morning. He eventually caught his breath and sat down at the kitchen table to eat breakfast with me. I cleared my throat hoping to get a clue to why I couldn’t go in there. “So what’s in it Mike?” “It isn’t something to be concerned about.” “Well it sure has quite the smell.” “Just let it go Jim.” “How are your eggs?” “Fine.” That was the end of our morning chat. I cleaned our plates and went to bed, as soon as I woke up Mike had already left for the lake. Good god I didn’t understand that man. This whole killing his wife thing has really changed him. He’s a new man, but not the man anyone would like to see. Even I can see he is much stranger than his usual self. I still don’t understand the stench, the riddles, and the reason for blaming me so much for Geraldo’s death. I mean no I didn’t stop it but I didn’t kill him either. I don’t think, given these circumstances, I could even try to sleep with Mike still in the house, at least not well. I went to Mike’s room and picked up his notecard he leaves me. Dear Jim, I thank you for the hospitality but I have some unfinished business. No today I am not at my usual lake. Don’t try to follow me; I need to be alone for a little while. I’ll be back later at night. Please be patient and don’t wait up. Sincerely Mike Well this is confusing. What was his “unfinished business” anyway? I was hoping it wasn’t another one of his famous murders that I was going to be involved in for shielding him. Oh boy, should I follow him? I figured I should anyway. So I went into my shed to get my 9 millimeter pistol just in case. I always keep it in my wooden box I created as a kid. It’s way too big for just my 9 millimeter but it works and nobody will think that’s what it’s for. As I was daydreaming of that day making the box, I opened it to find there was no gun in my box. Mike had taken my gun with him. So against my bad gut feelings I decided to try and follow Mike without any weapon or source of protection. I revved up the engine of my car and drove off following some foot tracks Mike had made in the mud. When the footprints stopped short I was right behind Mike in an alley closest to a parking garage. I saw my gun in his hand pointed at some man in a hoodie I didn’t know. “I know you did it.” Mike had a stern voice but I could tell his hands had a slight shake to them holding the gun pointed at someone, finger on the trigger. “Look man, I didn’t do anything!” The man had his hands up and was not hiding the fact that he was terrified. His whole body was shaking and he couldn’t stop screaming everything he asked or said. “I know you did. That day by the lake? You killed my son.” The man pleaded and begged for Mike not to shoot, he swore he didn’t kill anybody. “You have the wrong guy!” I couldn’t watch this any longer, I had to stop him before he shot an innocent man. “Stop Mike!” Mike turned with an angry look in his eyes. “Jim go home. This doesn’t concern you.” “I miss him too Mike, and your my brother this does concern me.” I put my arms in the air to show innocence and slowly walked closer to him. “He didn’t deserve to die Jim!” “I know Mike, I know. We don’t even know if this guy did it or not. You might make a huge mistake.” He was silent so I continued “Just give me the gun Mike.” “No!” He stepped away from me. “You don’t understand Jim! I have to do this for Geraldo!” “Mike this man is innocent.” Mike started heavily breathing, he was running out of breath. He started to sink to the ground letting go of the gun as he did so. His other hand clutched his heart and I raced to him. “Mike!” he didn’t reply he just looked at him and gasped for air. “Mike!” His eyes started to shut and I called the ambulance for help. I knew this would blow his cover for hiding from the murder but I couldn’t let him die out here either. Chapter 5 Mike was fine but in a coma. He was admitted into the hospital as soon as he got there. I have been to the hospital everyday now and keep him up to date on the Mae Bunsen case. I told him the answer to his riddle was the man was dead and read to him old stories our father read to us as kids. They say people can hear others around them when they are in a coma so I pretended as if he were still awake. I talked about sport scores I saw, old memories and just about anything. I even bought him a get well card and as a present framed a picture of Geraldo for his hospital room. I kept talking to him and giving him cards (since nobody else knew he was here). Then I started to remember about the lay down freezer stench. I told Mike more stories and told him I had to leave early. Now with Mike in a coma at the hospital, he obviously could not stop me from opening it. I wondered what it could be all the way home. A bomb? Maybe some fireworks? An animal? To really be honest with this new Mike it could be just about anything. I got home and went straight for my crowbar to open it up. Why I thought of a crowbar? To be quite honest something inside me thought a crowbar can be used to open things or knock things out. I ended not having to use it as Mike just left it thinking I’d never go try to open it again. I took a deep breath while I opened it. I closed my eyes so I wouldn’t look until it was completely open. As I opened it more and more, the stench became more and more prominent. I opened one eye after another to find the rotting corpse of Mae Bunsen. What moved when I touched it were a swarm of maggots attacking at every piece of flesh, bone, and muscle. I couldn’t breath for a long time. I picked up my cell phone, It was Mike’s doctor, Dr. Huntington. “Jim you might want to come back to the hospital, your brother is starting to wake up. He’s at a stable stage where we think you can come and visit him.” I just listened. “Jim?” I forgot to answer. “I’m sorry for the pause, I’ll be down there as soon as I can. Thank you for calling.” I blinked my eyes realizing I just told a doctor I would go back to the hospital again. Setting my cell phone securely in my pocket, I rode back to the hospital. Mike was blinking viciously trying to wake up more and his voice was weary but he held up a conversation very well. I understood what he was saying and he understood what I was saying. “Little Drummer Boy was my favorite.” I asked him what he meant “You read to me Little Drummer Boy from when we were kids. It was my favorite.” “Mike you could hear me?” “Yes. You told me about the Mae Bunsen case, how they still haven’t gotten the killer.” “Yea bud, they haven’t.” “I hope they catch him.” “What?” “Whoever killed my wife. I hope they catch him.” I looked around the room and shut his hospital door. “Mike do you know who killed your wife?” “Of course not Jim.” “Mike……you killed Mae.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Me?” His voice was the old Mike I knew. “Yeah Mike…you killed her.” He shook his head sobbing terribly. “I can’t believe it Jim. Mae is gone and-and I killed her…….Where is Geraldo?” I couldn’t stand to see him like this but I had to tell him since he obviously hadn’t a clue. “Geraldo was murdered, Mike.” Mike shook his head more and sobbed heavily. “My whole family….dead. Except for you. Oh god Jim what am I going to do?” I shook my head. “I really don’t know. It seems your mind didn’t want to remember so when you woke up you just didn’t.” Mike gulped and I started pacing trying to figure out what else could be done. “Jim, if its true….what you say about me, I don’t want to run from the police.” I noticed he was still sobbing while he talked. “No Mike, you can’t do that. I mean I know it’s the right thing to do and all but you’ll be put on death row for sure. “Yes I will. But I’ll die knowing I turned myself in. I’ll die knowing I did what was right. I’ll die with honor. That’s all I want.” He was sniffing but wasn’t crying as hard as before. Maybe he didn’t want me to hide him in the first place….maybe he wanted to turn himself in and not hide. I admitted to myself it was kind of cowardly for him to hide anyway. “Jim I know they’ll put me to death. But you must know that I loved you as my brother. You’ve always been there for me and I will never forget that. I heard the doctors say that since I’m awake, any day now the police will come to arrest me. When that happens, I want you to have all of my things and keep them close to you. There should be a video tape and a cassette. Please listen to both of them, they have my voice on them for you to replay while you’re missing me.” I plain out sobbed because I knew this had to be the end for Mike. “Oh Mike don’t do it man! I love you too as my brother and all. I don’t know if I can live without you.” We sobbed together for a while until a doctor came in “Just checking in, I saw a door closed….is everything all right in here?” We nodded and he went to get us a box of tissues. When he came back he sat on the other side of Mike. “Folks I have some bad news. They found out that you murdered your wife…the police say they are on the way to explain to you what is going to happen and get your side of the story. They said they should be here any moment. So just try to stay calm as they ask you some standard questions.” Mike nodded and I watched the doctor walk away. “So you are really going to turn yourself in Mike?” He nodded again as a hot tear rolled down his cheek. “Yes it’s not like I have another choice anyway but yes it is something I have to do for Mae.” I gave him a hug and tried to calm him down more before the police arrived. It didn’t take long before the nurse hung up her phone and came in to tell us the police had just entered the building. I bit my fingernails and made sure one final time that Mike was going to go through with this. He said yes confidently this time which made me feel a little bit more comfortable. I heard elevator doors open and shut and then loud stomping footsteps coming closer to the door. They bellowed at the doctor in strict voices as they asked for the room number of Mike Bunsen. I saw the doctor point at our door and the policeman look at us and whipped his sunglasses off his face. I thought to myself “What did I get myself into?” Chapter 6 I started biting my nails again as I watched the policeman slowly walk into the room. The one with sunglasses had a giant stomach which he puffed out neatly as he stood. The other which I assume was his partner was very slender with not a single facial hair on his little face. His arms and hands were very tiny and as he jotted down some notes I wondered if they would one day fall off from being so tiny. I tried to ask what kind of notes he was taking but he told me it wasn’t for my concern. The bigger policeman spoke in a voice, stern but not in any way violent or harsh. “Sir under the word of the law, you have killed another person. By such as you are in a hospital condition, after you are released you are to be arrested immediately. You will have a court date on June 25th of this year. An officer will always be at your door to guard. You cannot have any visitors for while you are healing. Do you understand? Nobody goes into this room except for nurses and doctors.” Mike nodded. “Who are you?” he turned his gaze on me and I said while stuttering that I was his brother Jim and asked if I was an exception for being family. He sighed and rubbed his rubbed his forehead. “Jim he is considered a murder in the hands of the law. I’m not supposed to do this but you can stay for this particular meeting. But I can’t let you visit him.” I understood he couldn’t have the same rights as other patients being a criminal so I just nodded and let the meeting proceed. The policeman asked Mike his side of the story and Mike explained that he just found out but he wasn’t going to protest that he didn’t do it. Shocked at his answer, the policeman stared at him eyes wide. “Are you making a confession?” “Yes.” “Very courageous and honest of you, most criminals don’t confess right away.” “Well if I’m going to die, I might as well die an honest man.” The policeman got up and whispered something to his partner. “This is my partner officer Chaney. He will be guarding for tonight. Your lawyer is going to stop by tomorrow to talk to you more about the trial. Jim please come this way with me, the meeting is over so you must be escorted out.” “I just have one request, I would like to say good bye to Mike.” “Alright but make it quick.” I reached over and hugged Mike whispering in his ear. “If you’re up for one more chance at being free, join me and my plan. You ask to go to the bathroom and escape through the window. I overheard they are taking the catheter out tomorrow. I’ll be outside with my car, escape and jump in.” I let go and said “Good bye Mike.” With a wink “Good Bye Jimmy.” Did I think he would go through with my plan? Probably not, But I wanted to give him an escape plan now that he was better. The policeman escorted me right out to my car and I thanked him for letting me stay for the meeting. “Look, I know what it’s like….I got a brother too. If you want to check up on him here is my card. Just give me a call and I’ll let you know how he’s doing.” “Thanks. I’d probably have to, so I don’t have to worry myself to death.” It was a joke but he didn’t laugh and I stood there laughing at my own joke awkwardly. “Anyway thank you.” He grunted at me and I shook my head and got into my car. I wasn’t leaving I was going to stay until that policeman left so I could pull up to where the window was. He left quick so I was able to just drive up quickly. I fell asleep in my car waiting for the sun to rise of morning. I dreamt Mike decided to join me and we never were found. He was his old self that wasn’t creepy or scary. In fact, we had a thanksgiving dinner with family like the ones we had a long time ago. I woke up because I heard a window open and a man quickly climb out of it. It was Mike. Chapter 7 (What happened after Jim left in Mike's POV) The head nurse Trudy came in telling me it was time to take the catheter out. She had a cheery expression and the ponytail in her hair was bouncing as she moved around the room. I felt like someone who was a normal patient and not a criminal. To be honest, a criminal in a hospital isn’t that great because you aren’t in jail yet but you have so many restrictions you might as well be. Officer Chaney was right outside my door and he didn’t let the nurse come in without proof she was head nurse. He sure was stern but I guess that’s his job. “Alright.” “This might hurt a little.”She said as she took it out little by little. Her tiny hands in rubber gloves tugged and pulled. “Oh god!” I panicked I mean that isn’t what you want your nurse to say. “What do you mean Oh god?!” “You’re just bleeding….no need to panic sir.” I rubbed my forehead feeling lightheaded at this point. Several doctors were called in. “I’m sorry doctor, I just have been under a lot of pressure today and I wasn’t completely concentrating on this.” She tried to explain to the first doctor. “Well Mr. Bunsen I am very sorry for your predicament. I’m going to help you out here, catheters are my specialty.” I sighed a sign of relief as he carefully took it out and stopped the bleeding somehow. I thanked him and the doctors left but Chaney was still outside. He didn’t seem like the friendly type but I tried to strike a conversation with him anyway. “So Chaney, you got a family?” “Why?! You want to kill my wife?” “No, I was just wondering.” “Well, just keep your wondering to yourself.” “Okay…….nice day we are having.” He didn’t respond. “No rain, no cloud, just good ole sunshine.” Still no reply from Chaney “What does a fella’ have to do to go to the bathroom around here Chaney boy?” “Sir you will refer to me as Officer Chaney and I will have to escort you down to the first level bathroom.” “Well could you hurry up Officer? I need to be escorted there now.” He called for a nurse to help me outta bed and said he could handle me from there on. We went in the elevator silently and all the way down none of us spoke a word. He escorted me to the bathroom and guarded outside the door, probably not realizing the window was in that room and someone could easily escape. I locked my door and found the little window Jim talked about. I looked out to see if he was out there and I saw his car and him sleeping in it. I chuckled at how easy this was and tried to open the window. It was locked shut tight. “Damn boy, hurry up. Can’t sleep in there you know.” “Oh I’ll just be a moment.” I tried to unlock the window but it was shut tight, apparently no one had any desire to escape through here or no employees wanted them to at least. With all my strength I pulled up on the lock which eventually became unlocked and I managed to open the window. I saw that the window was so closed to the ground and I should’ve realized this since it’s on the first floor but I didn’t think it over that much. Just as I was embarking on escaping my ole pal Chaney figured it all out and knocked down the door with his foot and he got to watch me go out the window and drive quickly away. But I did get to hear him exclaim, as we drove out of sight “Shit! I lost another one!” I knew this was wrong but I was afraid to die and I was afraid of what my lawyer would think of me or anyone for that matter. So I hid and ran away from my worries and Jim helped me. Chapter 8 (back to Jim's POV) Shocked cannot even begin to discuss what I feel right now. I just stepped on the gas as soon as he came in my car. His hospital robe was still on but I had other clothes at the house anyway for him. “Mike I’m really glad you decided to get out.” He smiled “I am too Jim, I really am.” “Look they know where I live so we’ll have to pack up real quick, get new looks, and move out.” “Where would we go?” “Well I started looking at some condo’s in Las Vegas…..I put a down payment on one actually.” “A condo Jim? Isn’t that a bit risky?” “Well, it could be but we won’t look like ourselves though. It should be safe and if not we’ll move again.” “I don’t know Jim…….it sounds too out in the open to me.” “Well just wait until we get there. I promise we’ll be fine and have a great time in our new place.” “Condo. Our new condo Jim.” He obviously didn’t like my condo idea but it didn’t really matter. Plus I had already paid for it so what else could I do? The rest of the ride home was silent except for the 80’s music playing on the radio. When I got to my house, everything was clear so we quickly packed up our stuff in the car and headed out. We each had two weeks’ worth of clothes before we would have to wash clothes which, in context, is not really that bad but we needed to blend in with Las Vegas. I figured we would sell our clothes and use the money to buy new clothes. While I talked to Mike about my brilliant plan, Mike started to change his appearance. He used some tanning lotion his wife had, and put it all over his self. I had to admit; he could definitely attract a mate being tan more than he could when he was pale. I had personally exchanged my contacts for my old glasses and didn’t shave my face stubble, in hopes it would shield my identity. Mike didn’t have a problem with vision and I didn’t have clear lenses for glasses so he just stayed tan. When we got to Las Vegas we would dye our hair. He’d be blonde and I’d be red. On the way up to Las Vegas a man stopped us looking for a restaurant he could go to with his family. We pointed out The Nest and he thanked us. Mike suddenly looked at me. “Can we go too? I’m starting to get hungry myself.” “I am too but we aren’t far enough away from home. When we get to the Condo I’ll make you something.” “C’mon Jim. I’m starving!” “Fine. But we can only get something to go.” I pulled into The Nest and it turns out they don’t serve to go. Of course, new rules ! Mike gave me a sad look and I gave in. We picked a booth by the window so we could keep an eye out for the police. I wanted to just go home honestly; Get our hair done and be completely unexposed to people but of course Mike and his hunger are going to get in the way of that. We just ordered a large pizza and two sodas. The waitress warned us it takes a little while for pizza to be made since the place is jam packed. Mike said it was okay but I guess we think a little differently. I squirmed in my seat and bit my nails until they were tiny stubs. I looked and saw our waitress coming but she only had our sodas. Of course, the pizza wasn’t finished yet because they needed baking time. “Would you like some breadsticks while you wait?” “That would be wonderful! Wouldn’t it Jim?” I just grunted slightly “Wow your buddy there sure is hungry.” “Oh no he’s just nervous.” “Oh, why?” I gave Mike a look and he seemed to understand he shouldn’t have said that “Ummm…….fight with his girlfriend Lucy.” She nodded like she understood and walked back into the kitchen with a skip in her step. “Mike are you crazy?!” “Sorry! I forgot! “ “Yeah well just don’t forget again. We can’t afford any mistakes like that after all we’ve been through.” He nodded and I just stared at the window for a while. “This place sucks! You all suck! Go home bums!!” We looked over where a drunken man was slurring away out of the bar area. “Security?! You think you can just call security and I’ll be gone? I’ll put them down like a sack of flour!” We watched as he threw a chair at someone’s head and the waitress head for the phone. Mike was in a daze. He just watched this man throw chairs and menus about in the air. Shouting and slurring as he did so. We heard a siren and saw flashing lights outside the window. Someone called the cops. I shielded my face and, watching me, Mike did the same with his menu. I started squirming again but this time I banged my knee hard and made a loud noise. The police turned and one came over to ask if I was okay. “Yesssss……off-off-officer.” He looked at me strange but then walked back to the drunk man now throwing things at the police. “Mike we have to leave.” “But how? We’ll look bad if we leave just now.” “I know. We need another escape plan to get out of here.” “What about the window?” Chapter 9 The window! Why hadn’t I thought of this before? I looked around frantically for an unlocking mechanism but I couldn’t see one. I knew what I had to do. “Mike, how tired are you?” “Not bad I guess. Why?” “Here’s the plan. I’m going to break this window with my fist and we have to run as fast as we can out of it and go in the car. The police will be on our trail but I think we can confuse them.” “Jim I have a better idea. We pay someone to distract the cops. Play it off as a joke of a sort and go to the door.” “Would anyone do that?” “You’d be surprised Jim. You’d be surprised. Watch and learn.” I watched him go over to a guy sitting at the bar with a beer in his hand. He obviously wasn’t drunk because he seemed to hold up the conversation between them. I saw the man nod and Mike handed him some money. He came back to the booth and sighed in satisfaction. “Done.” I look at him in amazement. “What did you say?” “I just said I thought it would be funny if he distracted the cop and that if he did I’d give him a twenty.” “And he just said yes?!” “Wouldn’t you?” “Never mind that, lets just get out of here.” “Hold on. We gotta wait for the distraction first.” We kept watching the guy at the bar and finally he acted drunk for us. “Why does this stuff cost money?!” He threw his beer at a guy’s head and missed luckily but he caught the attention of the police sure enough. “Now we can go…C’mon Jim!!” I was just in awe watching how a mere twenty was spent on getting us away from the police. It was just so cheap. Much cheaper than I figured. “C’mon Jim! They are almost done beating him with their clubs!” I knew it was wrong but I ran out of there with Mike. I knew it was wrong to leave the guy there all bloody and mangled but I couldn’t be turned in after all we had done now. I had to keep going. So we hopped in the car and just continued down our path to the new condo. I panted as I turned the wheel at each corner. “We almost didn’t make it out of there. Phew right?” I didn’t want to answer Mike right now. “You to admit it was thrilling…” “Mike I don’t really want to talk about it right now.” “What do you want to talk about then?” “Maybe we should just be quiet for the trip up to the condo.” “Alright then…….Are you alright Jim?” “I’m fine Mike.” I don’t know what is going on with me. I’m not thinking before I speak and the words I speak are usually in harsh tones. I could tell by the look on Mike’s face. I wanted to apologize but I sincerely didn’t want to talk to anyone. I mean that being said in itself is pretty selfish but the other part is I don’t want to have to deal with Mike’s questions. I know he’s just concerned but right now they just seem annoying. Mike somehow did understand this insanity inside me ans was silent the whole trip up to the small condo. I guess when I picked it I didn't notice how oddly shaped it was but I was only thinking of a hideaway, not fanciness.It was all white except for the black roof and it was fairly modern looking on the inside. Chapter 10 (WARNING takes place at a club please be mature.) We had reached the condo. It was all white except for black shutters. Nothing too special, but at least we had a place to hide out. We went right in and started setting up the place. My nerves calmed down and in spite of my yelling at Mike he agreed to go to the nearby club with me. I figured it was packed enough that we wouldn’t really be found out about and with our disguises we wouldn’t even look like ourselves anyway. I had a buddy of mine send us some silk button up shirts and new jeans. “Mike are you coming?” “I’m not sure red really suits me Jim….I think blue brings out my eyes.” “Who the hell cares? Let’s just get going before there is a long line waiting outside.” “Fine.” He continued to button up his shirt and zip up his fly to his pants. “Well how do I look?” “Mike, you look absolutely fine, now lets get in the car,” “Alright, Alright…goddamn your pushy.” “Shut up! I’m just keeping us on time.” He kept mumbling but hurried along to the car with me. We finally pulled up the club called Bodacious Bodies. It had brightly colored neon signs, music loud enough to hear inside the car with the windows up, and lots of people. The line wasn’t quite out the door yet but it was long enough anyway. There was a bouncer (which whom I made a special reservation with) with a tight black T-shirt on so his muscles were showing in every place. He just stood there opening and closing the little gate, nobody really tried to mess with him…..at least from my standpoint. He recognized the names I gave him, Joseph and Geraldo, and then we were in for the night, free to party. “ five dollar cocktails? “ “Two Mimosas.” She wrote it down on her pad of paper and headed towards the bar area. We decided instead of looking around we would sit at a table and wait for our drinks and listen to the loud pumping music. Mike didn’t look like he was really enjoying himself much but I decided things would get better once he started to dance or actually socialize with other people. “Here you go and I also want to tell you there are free refills and a free shot for every 5 drinks you buy.” “Thank You.” “Excuse me but what is your name?” “My name is Geraldo and ……” He was cut off by a beautiful woman in a tight dress who decided to just sit on his lap without asking. “So what is your name hottie?” “Geraldo. And yours?” “Clarissa.” “Alright then.” “Do you dance?” She said as she rubbed her hand across his chest. “No not really.” “Then maybe you’d like to….” She whispered the rest in his ear and Mike understood exactly what was going on. He excused himself to the bathroom and told her to go with him. So I was left alone to drink and wander through the place. I danced a little bit with some girls and I drank….I drank a lot. After 5 mimosa’s and a winning position in a shot contest , I was drunk for when Mike came out. Apparently I am not the kind that gets violent when they are drunk, I just get an attitude of not caring and shouting exactly what I’m thinking. “So how was it GERALDO ?” He just looked at me with an embarrassed and disappointed look. “C’mon now, don’t leave me hanging!!” As quick as a flash he jumped out of his seat and grabbed my arm. “We’re going home right now. Do you understand this?” I nodded and we went out the door and into the car. I started searching for my car keys in my pocket. “No. I’m driving your way to drunk now get in the passenger side and buckle up.” Chapter 11 Chapter 11 He kept driving with this serious look on his face and was persistent on ignoring me. I threw up three times before we got home, then I passed out. I woke up in my bed and right beside me sitting in a chair was Mike. That disappointed, serious look was still plastered on his face. “Morning Jim.” “Morning.” “Do you understand what happened last night?” “Yes.” “And I’m assuming I don’t really need to go into details about why I’m upset?” “Well I mean now that you mention it……” “Why didn’t you tell me?” “What do you mean?” “When I woke up from my comma why didn’t you tell me Geraldo died too?” “I just….I don’t know…I couldn’t think of a good time.” “Well now seems like a pretty good time.” “Geraldo was murdered by someone. We don’t know who. They dropped the case.” “They DROPPED it?! Since when?” “Recently…..I’m really sorry Mike.” He stood quickly and started pacing while murmuring something that sounded like son of a bitch but it was kind of hard to make sense of it. He was biting his nails like I usually end up doing out of the two of us and his pacing started to slow down. “Were there witnesses?” “…….” “WERE THERE WITNESSES?” “No.” “Then I guess there isn’t much I can do but investigate myself.” He grabbed his coat and stormed out. I knew exactly where he was heading; the lake where Geraldo was killed. Luckily I was quick enough to catch up with him and take the passenger seat. At first he told me to get out but I told him I wanted to help him solve this so he couldn’t just nudge off help. It was cold outside and it didn’t help I had the jitters about being back in our hometown where police were looking for us. I shook in my seat and twiddled my thumbs while Mike drove highly concentrated on the gas pedal to get there as fast as he could. I thought I saw a policeman at one point and ducked but it was just a citizen trying to cross the street. I had never actually seen Mike like this ever. When he was crazy before the coma he was just….well crazy but now I don’t see crazy in his eyes, I see determination. His determination could not be broken under any circumstances, this I could see. We drove for what seemed like hours until we reached the spot that Geraldo was killed; the lake. “What do you really expect to find here?” “Evidence.” “After all this time? Surely you must understand that whatever was left behind is probably long gone.” “Yes but I think I could at least find something of relevance.” “Don’t you think we should maybe…I don’t know do some interviewing first?” “Why do that first when we can find evidence to back them up?” I just nodded and continued on to the sight to pointlessly look around with Mike. We were careful not to speak each other’s names. I walked around aimlessly with him for the ridiculous motives of Mike. Sometimes I just didn’t know about him. I watched also as Mike looked around with him arms in his pockets and an expressionless face. He nodded a couple times for reasons I had no notion of. He would squat like he’d seen on those television crime shows. What those television shows don’t show would happen next though. He thought really hard after not seeing any evidence and then motioned me to the car to talk in private. I couldn’t believe this was actually going to happen and to be honestly I wasn’t entirely sure that this wouldn’t put us more in trouble with the law than we already were and that in itself would be quite the trick considering we are wanted already for a list that stretches a mile long. Chapter 12 Mike had decided we needed to look at Geraldo’s deceased body and take pictures of his death wounds. Personally, I figured the police would find us at a public place like a morgue that had security. I guess though Mike had thought of all the explanations. He wanted to kidnap someone to do that for us. You’d think a man ALREADY fleeing from the police wouldn’t want to anything else to piss them off more. I guess Mike isn’t most criminals. “It has to be someone who can’t get away from us. Someone who isn’t strong...” “Mike, you aren’t suggesting a kid; are you?” “Well no Jim not a kid but maybe just someone weaker.” “Why go through the trouble?” “Well I figure that trouble is now attracted to us and if that’s the case we might as well keep a reputation.” “I don’t even want a reputation! This is your entire fault! If you hadn’t gone and killed May none of this would have happened in the first place!” Mike sighed in disgust but he even knew that we were in this together no matter what I had to say about it because the truth was it was my fault too for leaving him and then sheltering him. I had to stay with him now. We just happened upon a weaker man with a camera making a wish into the lake. The lake was primarily used to make peace, oh the irony. He kissed a penny he held in his shaking hands then tossed it. As he did so, I watched as Mike grabbed him and carried him back towards us. We ran until we were behind a bush. “We don’t want to hurt you.” Yes this is how I start things and then came Mike... “But if you don’t cooperate we will!” The man just nodded along frightened as we told him we needed him to go into the morgue and say that he was “paying his respects to his little neighbor Geraldo”. Then ask the officials to leave so he could say good bye in peace and take photographs of everything he could find on the body. It seemed like something straight forward, but we had to explain it many times to this poor old man. He agreed upon the terms (usually people do when it’s life or death situations) and walked over to the nearby morgue where little Geraldo lay. He walked up to the tall gates and told his name. “I’m Michael Bridgestone.” “State your business” “I was the neighbor of Geraldo Bunsen and I’ve come to pay my respects.” “That day to pay respects was a long time ago now. Good Day.” “Please wait! I just have to……I was…..I was chronically ill for those days please let me in.” There was a pause, a sigh and then clicking of locks unlocking the door. We watched as he stepped closer in where, just as we suspected, an escort was waiting for him. He seemed brawny and tough; he was at least six feet tall. Then we watched as they slowly drifted into the darkness of the morgue itself. The door shut and shortly after the gate shut tightly. Now we had to wait. Chapter 13 (Michael Bridgestone's POV)   Why does the bad luck always fall to me? I mean here I am just trying to get my good luck wish in when I’m being told to do something for someone I don’t even know pertaining to the morgue. What business has HE? And you know I could’ve probably not done this. I probably could’ve walked over there and told them I was being threatened. They’re guards they could’ve helped me right? But no, me, being my foolish self-had to get involved.  As I stood there shaking and watching the rattling gate open I just told myself this was never a good idea.  The guard told me that I could enter if I was escorted by none other than himself. He’d have his partner on duty outside to keep watch.  Inside the morgue was a pretty simple design. The room was divided in half. On the left side was an operations table and some tools which assumedly is where autopsies would be conducted I hoped.  On the right were shelves upon shelves of different draws-the draws of the dead folk being preserved. It was freezing and smelt like rotting fish with some twists.  I gulped as the guard shoved me closer to the shelves where this “Geraldo” was.   My legs were shaking vigorously along with my old withering hands. The guard took from his belt the large key ring which held millions of keys and one by one went through them. I watched intensely as he grabbed key 452 and put it in the slot of draw 452 and open the draw which contained a small little boy. Was this Geraldo? A little boy? What could he have possibly died from? I thought this to myself but didn’t mutter any of it to the guards. “Might I pay my respects in private? I’d like to say a blessing and a few words.” I tried to say without trembling.      He left. I held in my tears. “Oh bless you boy, you sweet innocent soul. What devilish fiend has taken you? Bless your father, your mother, your family, your beautiful sweet innocent soul.” I whispered delicately as I stared at his pale skin and bloodied neck.  I looked down at my camera that I brought, that soon would what I knew god would consider a sin. Would he though? I have no placement to really know. Either way, I apologized to god for my sinning and took pictures of this tattered boy resting on a steel slab. Never did my fingers burn as much as they did that moment clicking the little button on my Polaroid.   By this time, If I hadn’t done this, I could’ve already been home eating supper at the dining room table. I could’ve invited my son over with his wife and my grandkids. But instead, I was threatened into taking these ghastly, horrid pictures of a murdered little boy which the purpose was unknown to me. As I’d finished taken the photographs that seemed equally important, I took the boys hands, kissed them once, and placed them on my forehead for several minutes before telling the guard I’d finished my few words to him.   The guard walked in formally and slowly. Each step he took could be heard as an individual stomp on the floor.  He had a look which longed to show empathy but still remained as an unshaken face he’d been commanded to do. He had his hat at his side and gave me a slight bow out of respect. “Are you here to claim him as well?” he said rather gruffly. “He hasn’t been claimed and you’re the only person to come in here to see him.” I thought this through for a moment but claiming him would mean that I’d have to actually know him or be related in some way or another. I of course was not.  So I shook my head and started to walk towards the exit but the guard grabbed my shoulder and twirled me to face him yet again. “If you had no means of claiming him, then what for I dare ask was your purpose?” I started to sweat robustly as if I were a sprinkler. “I mean no harm I just wanted to give a blessing to the poor boy. It’s so sad what happened to him and I couldn’t bear with myself not to.”  “So you don’t know this boy?”   “Not in the slightest.”  I mean this wasn’t any sort of lie because I really didn’t.   He murmured to himself a few things which I couldn’t quite make out and then his tight grip loosened and he escorted me out of the building. Something told me he probably wasn’t supposed to do that but it didn’t matter because the issue was dealt with and I was done. I could go home and eat my dinner in peace and never have to deal with this situation again. I was relieved and sweaty but I was done. So I started to look around for those two strange men who gave me this very strange task but, they were nowhere to be found at least from what I could see. I looked all around and finally I found them concealed by a large shrub not too far away from the morgue.   I gulped and then started to breathe heavily yet again. I started inching closer and closer to the shrub my heart pounding within each step I took.  I finally got to their shrub when a hand grabbed my ankle and pulled me more behind it out of the public’s eye. This was just what my arthritis needed. Sure enough, there sat those two strange men who’d threatened me early all calm and relaxed as they asked for the camera.  My hands shook as I handed them the polaroid and each of them grinned as if this was their Christmas present. They told me I could leave now and without even thinking about the other pictures I took on that camera I raced away. Some things are more important than others, I know this all too well. Chapter 14 (Back to Jim POV)   Chapter 14 (Back to Jim POV) Well mission accomplished Mike. We got pictures but what are we to do now? I thought to myself as we made our way back to our condo. Mike was silent the entire time as was I. He seemed in deep concentration, not on the road of course though, on the case he put himself in to investigate. What was I thinking? Well……   “So when do we eat Mike?”   “When we get back to our condo Jim” I twiddled my fingers for a bit and tried to speak again.   “How far are we?”   “Twenty minutes.”   “Alright then maybe we should talk about something to make the time pass.”   “Why don’t you take a look at those photos and tell me what you see? Two birds with one stone.”   I didn’t really want to look at Geraldo’s body. Now I just felt guilty that I watched him get murdered. It ate away at my heart and my soul.  It kept me from sleeping at night. But I wasn’t going to refuse my brother in this state. So I pulled out the polaroid and pushed the power button at the top.  I had never seen one like it before. The ones I have had the pictures come shooting out at the bottom but this had so much more. This stored the pictures until you wanted them and then it would come shooting out. I could tell this was an expensive little electronic I was holding.   Scrolling through useless partying photos, I finally got to the Geraldo pictures. The first was of his head and neck region.   “It looks as if there is a large deep cut in his neck.. probably the cause of death. A slit of the throat.”   “Anything else like a sign of struggle?”   “No there are absolutely none. No signs of a struggle or huge fight.”   “So he either knew them or it was a surprise attack.”   I told him I was getting sick so he nodded and the polaroid was turned off. I could tell he was trying to be empathetic but really didn’t care at this point. He just wanted to know what happened to his kid. After a long wave of silence we finally reached our condo. I heaved a sigh of relief as we got out of our car and opened the door.   “Mike there is a message on the answering machine!” I said aloud for he’d already gone up to his room with the pictures. He came down the stairs, each stomp seeming to be harder and louder than the last. He sat on the last step and nodded for me to hit play on the answering machine. My mouth dropped and Mike’s brow furrowed.   Hello Mike and Jim Bunsen. Oh wait I’m sorry, Joseph and Geraldo. Did I get that right? As you can see I know very well who you two are problem is you two don’t know me. It’s quite unfair in my eyes. So I’ve been following you. Don’t know who I am? C’mon Jim think back to that day at the lake. Did you not tell Mike yet? You know Jim, that you were there and all. Surely you would tell your brother you witnessed his kid die. Well you two look great anyhow with the new look. If you want to see how I look however come to the alley between Fourth street and Third street. You can’t miss it, it was the place the news talked about recently. The place where two men were murdered. Oops I’m sorry that’s going to be the new headline when I’m finished with you two. I’ll see you there if you have the balls to show up.   There was nothing but silence. I slowly turned to look at Mike who was looking right back at me with a death glare. He was back to the old form. The one before the coma and the one that killed Mae Bunsen. Chapter 15   “Mike…….”   “Save it.” He started to make way for the door, grabbing his jacked from the coatrack. I saw something peeking out from his pocket but didn’t pay too much attention to it whatsoever.  Without thinking, I forcefully grabbed his shoulder and tried to pull him backwards. He spun around though with a knife in his hands and pointed it directly at my throat.   “Mike you can’t go there….he’ll kill you.”   “I care more that you didn’t tell me you witnessed his murder than that he might kill me. Frankly, if you don’t let me go I will kill you. Understand?” I could tell this was really no joke at all. He was my brother, but if I stood anymore into his way then he would’ve really killed me. I eased my grip and slowly brought my hand to my side. He put the knife into his pocket and left. He didn’t even ask me to go with him….maybe he didn’t want me around right now.  I thought about it for a little bit longer until I figured I should go after him. Whether or not I killed was not the concern. The concern was if Mike was going to get himself killed.   I don’t know what I have turned into but considering Mike had taken the car I needed to find a new source of transportation and rather quickly if I might add. I looked all outside and the answer was right across the street. Our neighbor’s black mustang was the perfect choice; it was fast and right there. So I walked over and just simply bashed my hand at the window until it shattered so I could unlock it and drive off. The owner decided to leave the keys on the seat. The perfection of the whole situation was a little overwhelming. Not only did this guy keep his keys in his car, but had a baseball bat inside. Maybe he was a baseball player but who really cares? All I understood was how to make the car move and that’s exactly what I did.   As I drove off, I started to notice little specks coming down from the clouds in the sky.  Nothing huge or anything to worry about but just something you notice. I cleared them off with the windshield wiper and more would appear. Then, they’d come down harder and harder from the sky, making many tapping noises on the windshield and roof.  Harder and harder they fell continuously unto the car as I sped along disregarding any speed limit signs. Then came the dark clouds that held within them bellowing sounds of rage and electricity that stomped on the ground periodically. It was just like in the movies when something bad would happen to the characters and you could tell this by the thunderstorm. Especially in the horror flicks.   I quickly looked at ever alley I passed until I came upon the darkest one I could find. Standing in the alleyway, was a man in a jacked. Mike. He was alone so the other man had not showed up quite yet so I sat in the car just waiting for something to happen. I waited a few minutes but pretty soon my sanity was tired and I ran out of the car to him. I had both the keys and the baseball bat. My feet were soaked but even so I splashed through the street to get to that alleyway.  It had no puddles. The pavement was not even wet. It was just dark. It was so dark that if one were to walk quietly, he’d be pretty invisible towards anyone else. I could just make out the shape of Mike so I tried to carefully whisper to him in hopes of not scaring him with that knife of his.   “Mike.”   “Why are you here?! I left you at home!”   “I don’t really know to be honest.”   He just rolled his eyes at me and kept looking straight ahead waiting for this guy.   “What just touched me?”   “The baseball bat.”   I could sense his head was shaking out of pure exhaustion of me. Now he know how I felt when I was first housing him back at my place. For once I could understand him clearly. I heard footsteps in the distance, or so it seemed at least. Then, what was heard were the puddles splashing about in the street and then dead silence except for a third person breathing beside us.   “You took quite the risk my friends.”   “You aren’t a friend of mine.” Mike was stern with his voice that it almost made me jump out of my skin. All it made our new company do is grunt and mumble. I head Mike fumble around in his jacket pocket then come up with the knife.   “Here I have with me no ordinary blade Mikey.  This blade has sinned on many people. One was a little boy and I believe his name was Geraldo. But my, that was some time ago. So I sharpened him up before this evening.”   Mike chuckled once and I could feel him twirling his blade he’d brought in his hands. “Well my knife has not sinned yet, but you see it is no ordinary blade. It’s the one that is going to kill you.” As soon as he spat out his last sentence he lunged and stabbed the man right below the heart. He only missed because the darkness surrounding him.   The man plummeted to the ground and it sounded like the lightening I’d encountered early but much more vibrant and loud.  He chuckled himself and whispered “My turn.” and slit Mike’s ankles.  He fell in pain but didn’t wince or anything. Mike stayed down for a short period of time before coming up with his knife and quickly stabbing him in the heart. Just to be sure he was dead I came over with my baseball bat and bashed the man’s head in a few times about the bloodied pavement.  I used my shirt as gauze to stop the bleeding in Mike’s ankles and helped him stand up, then to lean against one of the brick walls on the side of the alley.   As he was leaning there panting like a dog that had been in the sun with no water, he raised his knife at me and brought it down to about where my elbow starts. He carved an ‘x’ into my flesh. “That’s for watching Geraldo die.” I grimaced in pain as tiny blood speckles dripped down my arm slowly. He waited a bit and carved another one where my elbow ends. “That’s for not helping me with this fight and just standing there coward.” I grunted with pain that came oozing out as blood dripping warm down my arm.   “Can you walk?”   “Not per say Jim.”   “You’ll have to go a hospital.”   “Yes. I realize this but now I am at peace.”   “What do you mean?”   He tried to move a bit but instead realized this action would cause more pain. So he looked up at the sky and turned his head to slightly face me more. “His killer is dead. If I go to jail, then I go to jail. It won’t matter because I have gotten my revenge already. I am now at peace.” He sighed what seemed to be relief but soon turned into a grunt of pain from his sharp wounds. I remember the mustang and carried Mike through the streets into it and raced off to the nearest hospital.  All the way he stared out the window playing like a small kid with the little water droplets on his window.  I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything at all. I occasionally looked at the marks on my arm but for the most part couldn’t feel them anymore. I was numb. We reached the hospital and I again carried Mike in to get his ankles stitched or whatever they needed to do. They gushed far more than I thought they would, to a point where the two piece of shirt I gave as gauze were completely drenched in blood. You would’ve thought the shirt was red to begin with. I could see Mike slowly shutting his eyes and his breathing becoming slower. They took him in immediately.  I was left to wait in a small claustrophobic waiting lounge for family and friends of patients. They had many magazines and books but I didn’t even pick one up. I just sat staring at my arm and the little carvings Mike had dug in me. The doctor finally came out late at night to where I was.  He had blood on his fingers, but not a whole lot. His face was expressionless as he took off his little blue mask.   My heart palpitated inside and my hands were clammy. The room seemed to feel extremely cold now and all the hair on my arm stood straight much like a cat’s does when it fights. He inched his way closer and closer; and each time he did so I grew colder and more frightened than before.    “Are you here for Mike Bunsen?”   “Yes.”   “We lost him at one point……” My heart shattered into two and I could feel hot tears swelling up in my eyes.   “But we revived him and he’s doing fine. He got cut pretty deep in his ankles so we had to stitch it up to stop the bleeding and help it heal all on its own. He’ll feel a little sore for a while so we’re going to keep him here for a bit.” I sobbed those hot, salty tears but for joy. I shook his hands and thanked him many times and asked for the room number which he gave to me but not before he spoke once more.   “You can visit him but the fact of the matter is that you both are having some trouble with the law…you can’t stay here and he’ll be in jail once he’s better.” I nodded and headed out the door to his room.   Chapter 16   The room was pure white with newly polished tiles and clean white walls. There was a whiteboard saying the name of Mike’s nurse and a note of legal standard.   “We’re in quite a pickle now aren’t we Jim?” I looked over at the bed and saw Mike sitting there in his generic white sheets and pillows half awake.   I laughed “I think we were in a pickle the first time, this is nothing new by now.” He laughed in response and opened the bedside table draw next to him and pulled out an index card. He cleared his throat. “You need to call this number.” “Mike, I don’t know who this is or what to say-” “It doesn’t matter. You just need to call it….for me. Tell her I’m in jail, and what I’ve done, this person really deserves to know. So please just promise. You need to call this number.”   I inched my way closer to his bed and reached out for the index card. On it was the phone number I apparently had to call. Who would I be speaking to? How do I tell them?  All these questions flew through my mind like rockets through outer space.  I took my other free hand and hugged Mike for a few seconds, knowing it could be the last. Much later, doctor’s proclaimed he was doing well, and the police would come for him tomorrow. I’ll be honest; I felt a hot tear roll down my cheek in that moment. Just one tear by its lonesome slid down my right cheek. I looked at my feet for a long time hoping this would all be a dream. I knew it couldn’t have been and wouldn’t be so I just thought of all the good times we had. The doctor came out saying he was sorry but he had to do this. Behind him, were two police guards who were so stone faced I couldn’t even see if they had any empathy in them at all, I doubted the y did. One, a man with black hair and sunglasses stepped forward and started to speak.  “The case of Mike Bunsen will he held on the 22nd of March, before this three week trial he will be held in a cell not a home of a loved one or friend. The case of accomplice Jim Bunsen will take place on the same date with the same conditions. Jim Bunsen will be the only one able to make one phone call, which will last only up to seven minutes. The two will appear in trial separately and be separated through-out the entire trial. Do you understand these conditions?” “I understand these conditions.” “Good. Until Mike Bunsen is taken away, Jim Bunsen cannot leave this room. A guard will be watching his every move until he may be escorted by that guard.  Everything done and said will be reported back to the station. Is THIS understood?” I just nodded at him. He saluted his partner, one with blonde hair and blue eyes and muscles that could be clearly seen through his shirt. “I need to call someone.” The guard looked around for his partner. His stone-faced expression still plastered on his face. He turned back towards me, head held high. “Make it quick. This will be counted as your one and only phone call. I’ll be counting for the maximum minutes of seven. You may begin as soon as I take down the number to which you are calling.”   I handed him the index card and he wrote down the number on a pad of paper he was carrying in his jacket pocket. He handed it back to me sternly and reminded me I only had seven minutes.   I looked once more at the index card with the phone number on it. I decided to use Mike’s phone because maybe it would be a contact of his. It was, but with no name or title. I slowly typed in the numbers and pressed send. It rang five times and then there was an answer.   “Daddy?”   Chapter 17 - The end of a journey   "No, this is Jim Bunsen...I was told to call this number..."   "Jim? Uncle Jim?"   That name made my hairs stand up on end, I hadn't been called that since Geraldo...   "Who is this?"   "Ava...Ava Mackson. Where's my father?"   After a long overdue conversation it was found out that Mike had an affair way back when and kept very good care to keep it a secret...even when that affair had created a daughter. He was a caring man so sent money whenever he could and kept in contact with her. I told her about the situation. She was in her late twenties or early thirties I presumed. The affair would have had to have taken place at the very beginning of Mike's pitiful marriage.    She knew of Geraldo and his wife through the phone calls with Mike, though she never met either one of them. She wanted information. I could tell by the gleam in her eyes that she was not going to stop interrogating until there was enough information to satisfy herself. There was no turning back or running from her. I gave her as much as I could - that is as much as I knew which as of now was not a very long time. I had no history for the boy except for meeting him on a couple of holidays. Then came the questions of her father.   "How is he?"   "I think he's a little unstable myself...but I guess he's taking everything the best he can."   "And Mae?"   "I don't think she's ever sober enough to know what's going on."   Ava rolled her eyes. It was clear that many stories about Mae were given to her and made her unfond of the woman. Although, it could have also been because this was the woman her father chose over her mother.    "Good-for-nothing bitch. She's never there for him. I bet she didn't even get out of bed this morning."   It was a fair assumption.   "Listen, I only have so much time. The trial is on March 22nd. Your father would want you to know that."   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ March 22 - Date of Trial   I couldn't believe how tight the cuffs were on my underfed wrists. I had no appetite to really eat much after all that had happened with Mike and I. He seemed more at peace than ever. He was smiling and acting like everything was perfectly fine in the world. I took a glance around the room to see a young woman sitting and watching intently. I was hoping that it wasn't her - she shouldn't have to see her father be sentenced like I knew he would be.   "For the murder of Lewis J. Mackson, how do you plead?"   "Guilty."   Mackson...   Could this have been the man that was supposedly a "father" figure for Ava? Was it a simple coincidence? Just for reassurance I took a glance behind me to see that same young girl with mouth wide open. It was no coincidence.   In this moment, the lawyer stood up and made his way to the lawyer's desk. Somehow or another, he had convinced them to let Mike say some final words before the sentencing. Mike stood.   "I would like to respectfully say that the man I've killed, had a right to die and before anyone objects to this, please hear what I have to say. Years ago, I did something that was very wrong - I cheated on my newlywed wife and also became the reason why a woman cheated on her husband. It was wrong, but I made a beautiful child with her..."   "To the point! Out with it!" the judge voice bellowed   "The point is the man I wronged was Lewis Mackson and he found out about the affair as well as my life with children. He took it into his own hands to kill my child and attack me, so I killed him. He had a right to die and there are a lot of people who need to know that."    I glanced behind me again and that young woman was crying. I knew exactly who his statement was for - and it wasn't for his life or to save himself from years of imprisonment. It was a story to them - something without evidence that couldn't be proved and something that definitely could not save him, but it could make his daughter understand why her second father wouldn't come home. That was worth it.                Publication Date: March 9th 2022 https://www.bookrix.com/-michelleying

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-scathach-danu-sweet-caroline/

Scathach Danu Sweet Caroline “Caroline” the tall blonde woman called as she entered the small apartment. She was holding a paper grocery bag and was almost bubbling over with pure excitement. Maybe she finally got a real job. Maybe they could finally afford clothes, shoes, furniture, and something other than pasta to eat. Maybe they could move out of the small apartment that they both hated so much “Caroline I’m home!” No answer Caroline, her fifteen year old daughter was probably sketching like she normally was when she got home. Only fifteen and she could already draw like an adult. She was that good The ways of the American teenager were foreign to her. It had been a long time since she was fifteen. This was evident in her tired weather beaten face. She wasn’t even that old. She was just tired and overworked. Caroline was always encouraged to follow her dreams of becoming a fashion designer. She was always sketching and drawing beautiful dresses and hanging them on the gray walls of the run-down apartment building, giving them to neighbors when they were sick. Everyone loved Caroline “Caroline?” She asked in the silence that followed. She scanned the dark room. Mentally cursing herself for not paying the power company on time. She spotted the back of Caroline’s blonde head and sighed in relief. She set the bag down next to some half wilted flowers and walked over. Caroline’s head was bowed in concentration. Probably over her latest dress. Still something made her hand stretch forward and rest on her daughters shoulder. Caroline’s head rolled off and she fell off the stool. The blood was everywhere. In the corner, on the desk, on Caroline’s favorite pink sweater. She screamed in grief. She screamed in fear. She screamed because the one person she was sure she still loved was gone. Dead means gone, dead means broken, dead means lost. Death is forever. Only later Caroline would come to a schizophrenic little girl at her fourth hospital visit and tell her story. Publication Date: August 4th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-scathach24

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-bookworm7979-cadena-my-killer/

Bookworm7979 Cadena, helen cadena My killer Help some buddy Chapter 1 ( Prov: mallory) MALLORY wake up or else your Gana be late! Mallorie won't even get out of bed at times because of what happened. She had had nightmares about it the only reason she didn't die to is because her mom told her to hide. As she hided and watched as her parents die a painful death. She hated her self for hiding, mabe if she didn't hide the killer would of jest killed her and not her parents. It had been 2 years since her parents death. She has lived with her aunt shana. She always listened to her but today was the aniversary of her parents death. All her aunt wanted was her to be good in school and she was! She had strait A's, never got detention and on top of that she was the schools bad Ass. What more could her aunt ask for. Mallory wanted  to be with her parents. That's all she asked for from god. At church she had tried to kill her self at least 20 times intill her aunt said your going to therapy. Mallory couldn't believe her aunt! She new what day it was! Her aunt acted as if she was a little dog she had to take care of! Her aunt was very up tite! Probably becaus She's in the military. But her aunt didnt now is that she took in what she hated the most, what she was trained to kill, she took in a demon amd of all things she took in  The powerful demons daughter! Mallory hates being alone but that's what happened most days her aunt would be gone for months with out contact. MALLORY WILL YOU GET YOUR ASS UP ALREADY YOUR GOING TO BE LATE!!!!!! Mallory's aunt screamed. Mallory pretended that she didn't hear her but then got pulled out of bed and dragged down stairs. Mallory screamed bloody murder thinking it was the person that killed her parents. only to see her aunt. WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU!!! Mallory screamed at her. Do kiss your mother with that mouth. As soon as her aunt said that she regretted what she said. Mallory glared with hatred toward het aunt.  Chapter 2 killers prov he finally found her! I FINALY FOUND HER!!!!! He screamed into the midnight air. Then realizing that he said that aloud and freak out. Soon realizing that no one heard him he let out a big sigh. I can't belive it he though. After so many years of searching I found her, how could this be, her little humans told me she died when she was like 10 or was it 6 or 5 or was it 8. Oh how gives a damn I found her thats all that matters. god why am i so happy! this is pissing me off. ok jest dont think about it oliver. how can i not think about it! no thing has happened in the past 250 years of my life and know i get to have the thrill of ripping out that girls cute little throught. as long as i dont get stopped then im good. oh i so hope that the girl hasnt found her mate! chapter 3 mallory prov I left after the thing with aunt. Its not like she cares any way!! It makes me so mad! I decided to go to my hiding place in the woods. Text: No copywriting All rights reserved. Publication Date: April 17th 2015 https://www.bookrix.com/-bookworm7979

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-sydney-st-fleur-ashes-and-diamonds/

Sydney St. Fleur Ashes and Diamonds This goes to law and order!!! XD Flashback into the Past For Claire it was a normal day like always, you wake in bed with a stranger who you believed you saw last night, and you feel quite sore, as he was beating you all night. Abuse, is a good way to put it. It’s scary to realized you remember nothing from the night before, let alone anything. Claire was feeling quite uncomfortable that day. So I lied today is not normal, it’s abnormal, to my point of view.Claire couldn’t get out of the bed, like how you feel during the time you have to get to your school. Claire got out of the bed, preparing herself for what’s to come. She laid her feet down on the floor lightly for she didn’t want to risk her chance of escaping, by waking her attacker. Claire sadly ruined her chance, and her attacker woke up unexpectedly. “Why are you leaving so soon?” He brushed her hair as if they were in such a serious relationship. She look into his eyes, so pathetic to kidnap such a young girl who’s 14 years old. “Don’t touch me!” Claire slap his hand away and proceeded to leave. The attacker grabbed her by the neck and slammed her into the floor. “I wouldn’t leave paradise.” Claire screamed in agony. “But, I would leave the depths of hell, when I had the chance. I’m leaving your sick paradise. The type of paradise where kids never see home again, I don’t call that paradise, I call it evil.”  The attacker grabbed Claire by her neck once more and strangled her until she had no breath to spare. The attacker smiled lightly and laid her on the bed. “ It’s so sad, you died so young.” He laughed and left her dead body to spoil` . He closed the door and got into his vehicle. Reminiscing The Time, Is He the Guy   I laid on my bed. I had one of those nightmares again, where the past haunts you into the present. Claire, my 14 year old sister died just two years ago, and they found her body ten days ago. She still haunts me, the people say, like it’s a bad thing. But, I kinda feel like...It’s a warning. Her killer was not found. And my parents seemed to have forgot about it and act as if it was normal again. I don’t think I will ever be normal again. I lost my younger sister. And i’m off to college. We always debated whether my sister could have my room because it was bigger. Those times I will never forget. It’s hard to walk into the hallways of my house in the night. To use the restroom, I have to pass by my sister’s room, which I can’t even bare to look at. I feel like i’m to blame for her death, and I can’t even find her killer, and the police seemed to have forgotten about the homicide, and I don’t even know how to become a Veronica Mars, or a Sherlock Holmes to even figure it out by myself. It’s hard enough on top of that because there is more problems to my life, and I can’t even figure out those particular problems. I heard footsteps come along on the staircase. My mother opened the door, “Sweetie, It’s time to go. I love you so much.” She came to hug me and I hugged her back. “Goodbye mother, I wish you well.” She smiled and grabbed my suitcases and guided me out of the room. I turned around giving it one last glance before leaving it vacant. I kissed my father and they watched as I sped away from my home in my sports car they gave me when I was sixteen. After fourteen hours of driving from Atlanta to New York. I finally made it to my destination. I moved myself and my luggage into the Art institute of Manhattan. I was welcomed by the secretary of the college and was guided once more. She guided me into my dorm room and gave me the key. “Good Luck! I have a huge feeling you will be one of the best here. Unfortunately, you will have to share your room with a boy, I know that’s not what you wanted but -.” “No, It’s fine, Thank you. As long as I get my assignments done, I will be ok.” The secretary put my bags down with a smile and left the room with a slight slam to my dorm room’s door. Who is this person I will be sharing my room with, who is he? In ten minutes I answered my own questions. I felt a slight tap on my shoulder, I panicked and attacked. “Whoa, jeez calm down. I’m your roommate.” I frowned and then looked into his eyes which I believe says trouble. “I apologize.” “No, it’s fine.” He unpacked his bags and made his bed then proceeded to move to the bathroom to take a quick shower before class. I had a strange feeling about this boy, like he’s up to something. I waited until I heard the water of the head fall down on to the floor of the shower. I bent down, and went through his stuff. Then I found a picture of my dead sister. “HEY WHAT ARE YOU DOING!” Dumbfounded, I got up to see my roommate quite angry. “What’s this.” I said quietly. He remained unresponsive and snatched the photo out of my hand. “What concern does it it have towards you.” “One, you have a dead body photo in your bag, and that dead body is my sister. WHY DO YOU HAVE THIS!?” He turned away and a tear came down his face. “She’s, um. Never mind.” He’s a fake. He might be her killer. I’ll wait and see. “You killed her didn’t you?” He smiled lightly. “That’s for you to figure out.” He walked out of the room with a slam of a door. I know now, I know. A Daydream dressed like a Nightmare   I sat on the floor completely silent thinking about what he said. I felt fairly scared. Sharing a room with a suspect is not what I attended to happen. I didn’t feel like going to any of my classes that day. I decided to stay in the dorm alone. My door opened. It was the boy.  “I never introduced myself.” I stared at him, “You don’t need to.” I rolled my eyes. He smiled and sat next to me on the floor as I moved away. “I’m going to anyway, the name is Charles. What’s yours?” I glanced at him, and I could see he was desperate to get an answer. “My name is Amanda.” He got up and walked around the room as if a ghost was following him. “Look I can’t keep this from you any longer, I’m investigating your sister’s death.” My mouth started to transition downward. I throw a pillow at him. “HOW CAN YOU NOT TELL ME THIS!!” “THIS IS WHY!!” I looked at him and I could feel the face burning tears running down my face. I moved over to my bag and got out my pistol. “Tell me...right now.” I whispered as I came closer. “What do you know about my baby sister?” Charles backed away afraid I might take his life. “Sit down and put the gun away and I will.” I pushed the gun closer to him. “ Tell me right now or this gun’s bullet will be fired into your helpless little body. He stopped move back and moved forwards. Before I knew it two other men were in the dorm that just appeared there. I screamed for help, and then everything went black. Gunshot. Grunt. Darkness of unconsciousness. How can you do this to me   I woke to the sounds of tears and cussing. At first it was blurry until I saw what actually happened. Charles was dead. And so was one of his friends or should I say, suspected murderer. I got up slowly off the floor and clutched my chest. I was really close to being shot, a little too close. It was dripping just specks of blood on the carpet, but not enough blood to put my close to death body in the emergency room. I stood staring at the man who seemed to be choking on his own tears. He got up and walked towards me with the gun, I most likely accidently shot Charles and his friend with. “I’m going to kill you!!!” He started running towards me and I moved over to the side. I didn’t realize there was a fireplace right behind me and my attacker flew right in the flames of the furious fire. I turned around and watched him burn for a few seconds. I wondered if I should call for help. But, he taken too many lives to live himself. Even him being dead doesn’t repay all the lives that he had taken, in fact he had almost taken mine. So i’m sure I was not going to be the only one. I picked up my bags and suitcase and ran out of the dorm. Is this what happened to my sister, only she was the dead one. Possible. Wait….the picture!!! I ran into the dorm room as fast as I could and received the picture of my dead sister. I ran back out. I examined the picture closely. My best friend’s father was in the car, in the background… In the same type vehicle the suspected  killer…. drove in. Oh my gosh. It could be him….Then again….He never said he liked my sister… “Any ideas Amanda?” A voice whispered in my ear I turned around...It was my best friend, Sabrina. I jumped in amazement. I looked into her green eyes. “Please…” I said as I held up the photo. She looked around the hallway and eventually her eyes landed on mine. “Amanda, i’m going to try to give you as much information as I can.” Sabrina continued on. “My dad is a suspect but, that’s all I know so far. That’s all I know. I’m sorry.” Her eyes dragged on the floor. “You can stay in my dorm, I don’t have any roommates.” “Ok.” I grabbed my bags and she grabbed hers and we walked down to her dorm on the other side of the building silently. Sabrina grabbed her keys from out of her pocket. “We’ll have to duplicate my keys so you can get in without me.” I nodded my head slowly and walked into the very luxurious dorm room which was way better than my old one, that now smells like death. She smiled at me. “I got a first class dorm room. I got a full scholarship at school. So I guess they got me a first class one.” I nodded once again. Since when was there first class dorms!! Heck, It wasn’t a dorm room!! It was an apartment!! She guided me into my own personal room. “Make yourself comfortable. You will be here for four years.” I laughed. “Then again it doesn’t sound half bad.” We laughed for a long period of time and before I knew it she was gone into the kitchen to make dinner. I checked my phone for any new messages and there was. One from mom, “Hi my darling, How’s your dorm room? Are you settled? Are you having fun? Are you enjoying all your classes? If you have the chance please call me. You are my only daughter right now. Love, Mama” One from dad, “How’s the food? When are you coming home? Are you getting married?” Not sure where that idea came from… One from….unknown, “Amanda, I killed your sister and i’m going to kill you. In 48 hours start being aware of your surroundings. Beware who you’re friends with. Beware who your average neighbors are, because i’m one of them. Here’s a hint…..I’m related to your uncle. I’m related to you. And that’s why I can get away with killing you.” I threw my phone across the room which hit the wall hard. I grabbed the pillow and cried into it. Who is he. I’m becoming a killer myself trying to find a killer. Maybe….I’m the killer….Nonsense! More Flashbacks into the Past   “Amanda can you please drive me to my friend’s house. We have an important meeting for book club, and i’m president! Please Amanda, don’t make me walk!!” Claire did her pouty face but I didn’t give her what she wanted. I automatically wanted Claire to know she can’t always depend on me, Especially, when it comes to getting a ride. I said no, and she stomped out of my room quite angry, but not angry enough to not talk to me for weeks. Claire got on her average casual outfit she always has on, just in a different color. Claire stepped out of the house and started to make her way down the sidewalk. The most of the streetlamps seemed to be broken. So Claire had to use her Nexus phone for a flashlight, which wasn’t much help. She continued down into the dark path of the sidewalk. Eventually, Claire made it to her destination. Claire knocked on the door of her friends house and was let in immediately.  Her friend, Daniella was pretty relieved Claire was safe. Daniella’s mother wouldn’t let Claire leave since it was abnormally dark outside. Daniella was not the brightness apple out of the bunch, and decided to sneak out. Claire wasn’t the brightest either. Why do you think they were such good friends?! Claire forgot to bring her phone, but was the point. It was already out of juice. And Daniella didn’t get a phone yet. She wasn’t as responsible. They waited until 12:00 at night, exactly when everybody’s less likely to wake up. They snuck out    of the small window  just barely fitting their fast growing bodies. They stepped lightly on to the grass of her backyard and ran into the woods. Unfortunately, it was too dark to see anything, and they were too far to find their way back home. They heard footsteps and then sticks breaking into two by large feet. Daniella was far behind and then Claire heard a scream coming from her best friend’s mouth. Daniella could see nothing, but the flames of a raging fire. Daniella was going to be burned to death, and she was. On the other hand, Claire had no choice but to leave her best friend behind. Claire continued to run for her life. Her attacker eventually started to catch up to her. He had a chainsaw going off in his hands, and Claire never thought she would be apart of the “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre” (if you know what I mean.) He scratched her back which let Claire know not to look back. She kept running and tripped over a rock…..and fell. The attacker picked Claire up off  the floor and threw her over his back. Claire was unconscious. The attacker walked a long distance to his red truck and put Claire into the open trunk. The attacker got into the driver’s seat and drove to an abandoned cabin in the woods. He put Claire into his bed. The attacker stared at her close to dead body and laid by her side…. Only lonely people would do such a thing, but he wasn’t lonely….he was crazy. Waking from a living Nightmare   Again, one of those dreams happened again. Those haunting nightmares made by dead loved ones. And that loved one is my sister. I can’t make myself believe she’s gone. If I said to keep her butt at home, maybe she would be here today. I got up and out of my bed and went into the kitchen. Sabrina was at her classes by now, but she left me a note on top of the breakfast she made apparently before she left. I picked up the note and put my eyes on to the perfume covered letter, “Here’s breakfast that I hope you enjoy. In fact I enjoy sharing a dorm with my best friend!! So cool!! Also, I have some news I would like to share with you too. It’s about your sister.” Honestly, I don’t want to talk about my sister today, at least...Aloud. After that nightmare I had about her or a flashback. It makes me remember the text message I received from an unknown. I need to get myself prepared for classes. If I miss another day, I will be kicked out of college. I got on my favorite outfit, that I got a lot of compliments on in grade school. I made myself some coffee and got my car keys and transitioned into my sports car. I looked at my car’s clock. 9:15 , I’m fifteen minutes late. I made it in time for classes!! I went into the room where they were teaching fashion. I sat down in a desk closest to the teacher. Ten minutes later a boy and his sister came in, The boy sat next to me and the girl obviously already popular sat next to her clique, I don’t have a clique at least not right now. The boy was writing something on a piece of paper. He handed it to me with a smile. I grabbed it and opened it up in my lap. “Hey, my name is Logan. Um, I would like to know what’s going on.” I laughed at the way he put his words, I would like to know what’s going on? Funny. I got my pen out and began to write, “Hi, My name is Amanda. I have no idea what’s going on, therefore, I can’t tell you what’s going on. I kinda just got here.”  I smiled at him and handed him the note. He looked at me and then at the note. He got out his pen and started to write again. He handed me the note. “You know there’s a party going on in my dorm….Want to come? It’s for my little sister’s birthday. And i’m sure you would have a great time!” I gave him back the note. I whispered to him, “Sure, I would love too.” This is my chance to find the killer!!!!!!!!!! Party Full of Liers   I was finishing up my crop - tee design and handed in the teacher. Automatically I got an A+ and was dismissed from class. I was walking down the hallway and saw Sabrina and her mom. Sabrina’s face was covered in tear stains and Sabrina’s mom, Angelina face was not happy, furious in fact. I didn’t want to say I got an A+ in class today. It didn’t seem like a good time. Sabrina saw me standing in the middle of the hallway. She wiped her face and told her mom goodbye and walked away. She walked towards me, “Hey Amanda, How was your classes?” We started to walk to the secretary to get the keys duplicated. “Good, I guess. It seems you had a more exciting day then I did.” Sabrina moved her eyes to the ground. “No, not really...I was invited to a party though.” My eyes got filled with excitement. “Really!? I was invited to a party too!!” Sabrina’s tear stains seemed to disappear into her face pores. She stopped walking and so did I. “Really?!?! By who!?!?” I screamed in excitement, “By Logan!!!” “OMG ME TOO!!” Sabrina and I looked at our surroundings to find everyone staring at us. Some people said look at those freaks. I swallowed deeply, “There is nothing to see here.” Sabrina started walking again and so did I towards the secretary who luckily didn’t see our moment. Sabrina leaned towards me, “There was something to see. Us acting like total nutcases in the hallway.” I laughed, “We wasn’t acting, we are nutcases.” Sabrina chuckled and punched me in my arm. Sabrina wiped her dress skirt and grabbed the key from the secretary and passed it to me. We walked to our dorm talking about all the times we embarrassed ourselves in public. She opened our dorm’s door and went into her room and closed the door. I went into my room and got ready. I put on open back dress and black pumps. I looked at myself in the mirror closely. I smiled and then french braided my hair, then I undid the braid which made my hair wavy. Sabrina just put on a summer dress with flip - flops and let hair do whatever it desired. We came out of our rooms at the same time and we laughed.  Sabrina sat down at the kitchen table, “Whose car are we taking?” “Mine, I guess.” I said. I grabbed my car key and my dorm room key and walked out of our “apartment” with Sabrina. We got into my car and drove ten miles to Logan’s dorm. You could hear pop music streaming from out of the dorm two miles away. We knocked on the door and then Logan answered, “Oh hey, Amanda and Sabrina. How are you?” He smiled as he was guiding us in. Sabrina stepped closer to him, “We’re doing just great!” Logan’s smile faded, “I was meaning only Amanda, I don’t like my sister’s friends. Just kidding!” He hugged my friend, and Sabrina laughed. I was kind of in the background just watching all of this happening. I spoke up after ten minutes of Logan and Sabrina giggling like a bunch of five year olds watch babies eating lemons. “I’m good.” Logan didn’t even hear me and just followed Sabrina around like a bird. I walked off and went back home after two minutes, I had nobody to talk to anyway. I got into my car and texted Sabrina to call me when she wanted me to pick her up. I turned to my favorite radio station and drove back to my section of the college. As I was driving I was wondering if Charles body was still in the dorm, if not why wasn’t there a trial being held?! It makes no sense. I got out of the car and went into my new dorm room and sat and watched “Ellen” for a few hours. I got a phone call from Sabrina, and I answered, “Hello?” “OH MY GOSH PICK ME UP NOW!!! LOGAN IS TRYING TO KILL ME!!! I’M SERIOUS!!! HELP ME, HELP ME, HELP  -..................” The phone hung up, and I know that Sabrina is in trouble….because she never said help me in her life. At least not twice. I threw on some shoes and drove past speed limit and saw Sabrina outside crying. “SABRINA GET INSIDE!” Sabrina ran to my car and jumped in. I drove back to our dorm going past limit again and we ran back to our dorm as fast as we could. We ran in and I locked the door. “WHAT IN THE WORLD HAPPENED!!?!??” Sabrina caught her breath and sat down, “It wasn’t a birthday, It was a type of crime.” I sat next to her. “What do you mean?” “Like, killing. They were trying to kill me. I told you that on the phone.” I knew something was up with that party. Wait Killing. They may be apart of my sister’s murder. Sabrina got up, “I just want to go to bed...Good night.” “Good night” She closed the door softly. I got up and got into my PJ’S and went to bed. Part Two Part Two Who are you Really    My alarm went off at eight o'clock in the morning, and I was not ready for my classes, partly because I had to sit next to Logan. I don’t even know if that’s even his real name! And why did his actions change so quickly, and why did he change them after I left. Did he purposely leave me out so I would want to leave and leave in the next few minutes. And he was oddly close to Sabrina for a long time and on top of that I think he was trying to get her to trust him, and she did, and he decided to kill her. I’m starting to think he is the murderer of my little sister, and it’s completely possible. I slid my legs off of the bed slowly and went into my closet and threw on a hoodie and some jeans. I knocked on the door of Sabrina’s bedroom, no answer. I opened the door slowly and she was still sleeping, it must be her day off. I got my car keys and then closed the door of our dorm slowly. I started to walk down the hallway to my classroom and then I finally got there early! But, nobody was there. I sat down in my desk and looked around the room. And then the lights cut off and, the door locked by itself. I got up and ran to the door. I bang on it and screamed on the top of my lungs hoping to catch someone’s attention. I turned around and saw Logan, and he came pushed me against the door. His face didn’t have a happy face on it. “What did Sabrina tell you!” I pushed him off of me and then he pushed me against the door again with slightly a little more force. I winced. “TELL ME NOW!” “NOTHING!! GET OFF OF ME!!” The lights turned on and Logan ran and sat in his desk, and I moved away from the door. A whole bunch of students came and sat in their desk. I ran and sat in mine. Logan quickly whispered in my ear, “If you tell anybody about this, I will kill you.” I chuckled, “That’s if I don’t kill you first.” His face turned red and he strangled me, I gasped desperately for air. All of the students started to scream in fear and Sabrina came just in time with the teacher. I was gasping my last breath, until I heard a gunshot. Logan fell on top of me and I looked up to see Sabrina holding a gun that was smoking. She ran over to me and pushed off Logan’s dead body and gave me a hug. “I’m so sorry I didn’t come earlier!” I looked at her, “No, it was your fault!” We hugged even harder. All the students were gasping and then Logan sister Paris, came in. “Why is everyone all -” Paris looked at her dead body then at Sabrina. “YOU DID THIS!!” Paris jumped on Sabrina and started to pull on her hair and punch her in her face. Paris started to reach for the gun and then I grabbed mine and shot her. I told you, I’m becoming a killer myself….trying to find a killer. Maybe I should just look in the mirror, there’s a murderer right there. Ten minutes later the police arrived. The police walked over to me,”Ma'am what happened here?” He was the same cop who said that he’ll figured out my sister’s case and called a few days later saying it was useless. He blinked a few times before realizing who I was, “Oh there you go stirring up trouble!” He got out his handcuffs. “I thought you said you'd help me on my sister’s case!” “A girl like you doesn’t deserve to have a sister!” I turned around...and slapped the cop. I hit him so hard he fell on the floor. He got up and took out his walkie talkie and called for backup. Sabrina came to try to help and was stung with a stun gun. Sabrina let out a traumatizing scream and fell to the floor shaking. I screamed her name multiple times before falling to the floor next her being in pain. All of a sudden, I was shaking out of control and then everything went black. Am I dead, if so...which world would I be going to? Hell, for killing so many people? Or Heaven, for doing it out of defense and praying every night, and being a good Christian...At least a Christian that would be accepted in Heaven. I didn’t want my life to end that way. I wanted to die a wrinkly old lady dying in her sleep, not being stung to death! But, as they say...Life isn’t fair. I Don’t Belong in a Insane Asylum, You do   “Hand me that strap please. Hurry up before she wakes! Ok, give me that strap. Is she secure? Ok, good. Let’s go. Lock that door behind you! Sheryl, Who’s my next patient? Is she ok? Oh no. Get me a phone to call the family. How’s Sabrina? Critical? Ok, good. Is she strapped tight like Amanda? Excellent. Alright, Sheryl get me some coffee. It’s going to be a long day.” The doctor and his team walked down the hallway with every step leading to a echo. I opened my eyes slowly to a blinding light. I waited until my eyes adjusted to find myself strapped down on a patient bed. I looked around the room and then at myself. I’m in my own horror movie. I realized i’m in a insane asylum. The cops think I was making up my sister’s death and unleashing my wrath upon people. I turned to look over to the right and I saw Sabrina’s pale, silent, body. She turned to look at me, “Amanda where are we?” A tear came down my face because I realized that the people who are in insane asylums never come out alive, they always die immediately or, die in there just from old age. Sabrina repeated her question, “They think we are insane Sabrina...We are in insane asylum =, and we may never come out.” Before I knew it I was creating a small pond in my bed. My voice started to crack, “They might just kill us.” Sabrina looked at me and then at her straps. She started laugh insanely. “They didn’t strap me good, we have a chance at leaving this place.” She was moaning at first as she was removing her body free from the straps and before I knew it she was standing over me. She started untying the straps and I got up and hugged her. We ran out into the hallway and checked if there was any guards. Then Sabrina went down the hallway to check if there was a exit..There was. “HURRY UP FOLLOW ME!!” Sabrina and I ran to the exit and smelt the fresh air. I started to choke on my tears. “KEEP RUNNING AMANDA!!” We ran for a few hours and then we saw Sabrina’s house. “I HAVE THE KEY TO MY HOUSE LET’S GO!!” We ran up the steps and then she unlocked the door. We ran inside and locked the door behind us. “Sabrina, we did it.” “Sabrina?” We got up from the floor to face Sabrina’s dad AKA suspect.  “Hello Daddy.” He held a knife behind his back. “I love you sweetheart.” “DAD NO!!!” Screams filled the room and then eventually darkness. You are him  I woke up in bed next to Sabrina’s dad in a cabin. Oh my gosh, this is how my sister died, this is her killer. I looked at him and saw he had a camera in his hand. I slid it out of his hand then looked at his pictures, He had pictures of me dozed out and bleeding, then I saw Daniella’s body (Dead), Sabrina’s body (Dead) and then, Claire’s body (Dead). Mine (Alive). I’m seriously going to end my life this way. I got out of the bed and ran out of the bedroom. I tripped over a nail and fell to the floor in agony. Screaming in pain as I watched the blood move down my leg. I realized I have no time to be watching blood fall but, I have enough time to run from this vacant cabin and survive. I don’t want to join my sister not being able to tell her her killer is dead and he was executed in jail. Yep. They brought that punishment back just for him. I got up and started to run, and the pain in my leg was unbearable but, I couldn’t stop. At least...Not yet. I continued to run as fast as I could and saw the light of the door. Right when I was about to leave the door slammed in my face, and  the light….Was gone. I tried my best to pull on the door and push on the door but that door was not budging. All of a sudden, I felt hot and wet air breathing slowly on my neck. I turned around to find Sabrina’s dad watching me, “Why are you leaving so soon?” “You do this with all your victims?” “What do you mean with that statement?” I rolled my eyes. “Oh don’t get all intelligent with me! If you were intelligent all those girls lives you taken would be still here today?” “Please tell me what you meant.” “Ok, fine. Knock them out, Drive them to your remote cabin so no evidence will be provided for the police. Lay them in bed and lay next to their close to dead bodies. Which is sick by the way, heck you are sick and medicine won’t be able to treat your body! And you say the same thing, “Why are you leaving so soon? Why would you want to leave paradise?” Slam them into the nail filled floor, and then laugh at their dead bodies saying, “So sad, you died so young.” But, let me tell you something. None of those people will repeat those words with a single tear but with a harsh laugh. Because honestly you deserve to die a terrible death. Nobody will shed tears or attend your funeral.” I laughed like a cold hearted villain. “But, they will, they will attend your execution. And they will laugh at your dead body. And trust me this will happen, because i’m leaving out of here with bruises and scars, but i’m also leaving out of here with a soon to be dead man and my soul still full of life.” “I wouldn’t bet on that.” “But, I would. In fact, i’m not betting. I’m telling. This is going to happen. Whether you stab me with a blade of a knife once, i’m a soldier, and I will be coming out alive.” He laughed and tried to stab me with the knife in his hand in my shoulder blade. I dodged and he missed stabbing the door with is defenseless knife and skills. I ran off get a flashlight I saw earlier on the floor and picked it up and shined it  on him. “DAD!!!” Tear streamed down my cheeks like the flames of fires. “How, How, How could you do this to me and Claire and her friends, my friends, people, girls?” He remained silent coming towards me with the knife in his hand. I ran as fast as I could with the flashlight present in my hand. I found a open window in the bathroom and ran in there. I locked the door. I stood there for a second. How could I be so blind, that’s why my parents did not want to talk about Claire. Because my own dad was a suspect, my own dad was a killer. Maybe that’s why Sabrina’s mom was mad at Sabrina. Just because she was friends with me. She believed being friends with me would put her daughter in jeopardy, and it was true. Because now….Sabrina….she’s dead. I climbed out of the window knowing my dad would follow but, that just only apart of my plan. I ran into the woods feeling like I had asthma. I turned around see my dad running after me. If he’s smart he won’t follow me….Let’s see. I ran into a town well - populated and ran to one of the people. “Can I please use your phone!!” The nice lady took it out from her pocket and I dialed 911. The cops came immediately. And saw my dad. “THERE HE IS GET HIM GET HIM!!” My father, I can’t even call him my father any longer. The killer tried to run away but the cops stung him with there stun gun. What didn’t see is the gun in my father’s hand. He shot me. Everyone around me gasped in agony. I fell to the floor. Light, Darkness, End. Is this the end. I don’t know…..It’s a mystery...That’s for you to figure out. Publication Date: February 24th 2015 https://www.bookrix.com/-bsaf32d00ac1145

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-the-general-himself-death-from-the-past/

The General Himself Death from the Past When your best friend becomes you worst nightmare Death From the Past Written By:Scotty Hicks Rick Johnson was Former Military and now was just a shell of what he use to be.He now works a dead end job and never sees his daughter and son because his wife had left him right after he got out of the army after telling him that they would spend the rest of their lives together. Now his nights are filled with the sweet taste of beer and smokes. His Boss and coworkers didn't like him at all and looked for a reason to fire his ass everyday of his damned life. He often laid awake at night thanking how things could have been if his beloved wife had stayed with him instead of becoming a whore.His daughter didn't even remember who he was or what he looked like.Rick didn't have any big reason to live be he would never take his own life because he didn't want to burn in hell forever. He was a police officer and worked in one of the most dangerous parts of New York there were. He carried his Desert Eagle with him every where he went. The Military was his only family that's why he wanted back in so bad.Rick had a rank of a Lt General because he spend 95% of his life in there. Now he was a bold middle aged man that had a run down house and a car that should have been in the junk yard ten years ago.He was watching the news one night and saw that they were opening a new tourist attraction in an old nuclear fall out shelter. He couldn't understand why in the hell someone would want to spend any amount of time in a place that had no windows or room to itch your nut much less anything else.Most of the fall out shelters now days are blocked off to the general public or have been destroyed due to the things that were in them that the military didn't want us to know about. Now they are letting people in like it's some kind of fucking zoo. He thought about getting a job as a guide to show people around these places but he didn't know how in the hell he would ever get to West Virgina where this was taking place.It was not that far away but he knew his old beat up car would never make a trip like that.So like ever other hope and wish he washed it back down to the bottom of his stomach with a cold drink of Budweiser. It was six in the morning and Rick was up and getting ready for work as he did every morning.The phone rang and he tripped over his boot trying to get to it. It was his LT telling him that he need to see him in his office as soon as he got in. Rick couldn't understand why he wanted to see him so bad and what would it be about.When he walked through the door of the station his LT was standing there to greed him and rush him into his office. Jack sat down on the hard wood chair and listen to the LT tell him that some group of X military soldiers took over the nuclear fall out shelter and threatened to lunch ZX rockets into the air if they were not given a private plane and 1,000,000,000. Jack new what damage that XZ gas could do . One drop of this stuff if airborne would kill everything within a 30 mile ranger and now these people had 4 rockets that had over 400oz of this shit.He ask the General that was siting next to him who they where and what this had to do with him.Rick couldn't believe his ears when he learned that it was his old unit and that they wanted him to head the take down team on these people.This would be his chance to get back in he thought and then thought about his team, they were among the most highly trained and deadliest people that ever walked the face of this earth.He would need a team made up nothing but Navy Seals and Delta Force member to hope to have a snow balls chance in hell at taking this people down with out anyone getting hurt. After hearing what they had to say it didn't take him but a minute to say where is my uniform. He would be back in uniform back to killing the two main things he loved the most in his life. He walked out with General Jackson and stepped into his hummer and they drove off. He didn't care about his house because chances were he wouldn't be coming back!They got to the military station about an hour away and Rick went straight to get his uniform and gear from the supply room then return to the meeting room to meet his team.There were only 10 people that signed on for this black ops mission.Five Navy Seals and five Delta Force spec forces members.Rick didn't sugar coat anything and told them right up front that this may be their last mission.He told them that they were going up agents the most dangerous people they would ever meet and that these people loved to kill and love the taste of blood.Rick gave his team a day to say goodbye to their friends and family.They all loaded in a military airplane and took off from New York headed to West Virginia. When the team go to WV they all geared up and then meet with the local Nation Guard to get a update on what's going on and what his X team is asking for in return for not lunching the missiles.He was very angry to learn that they were asking for nothing more than money in return for thousands of lives. He didn't teach or train them this way and wouldn't mind kicking the dog shit out of them for what they have become. The chief of police in Charleston where this all was taking place told Rick that he wanted to just bust in there with his SWAT team and end this whole thing quick and easy.Rick told him that he would be doing nothing more than sending 15 of his men to their graves and told him a little bit about how well these men were trained and what they would do to keep themselves on top.Rick knew that once word got to John that he was the one that was heading the take down team he would get very angry very fast.John was Rick's best friend until he left him on a black ops mission about five years ago and coated Rick his military rank and everything.Rick knew that there would be no way his team could get through the front door or even through the roof.He started looking for some type of underground tunnel or pathway to gain access to this fortress.He was told about a very old tunnel just under the control room but it has not been used to even opened in over ten years.This is the only way they could get in and Rick knew that so he order his team to blow the door and check the tunnel to see if it was still passable.Once the door was open they all went inside and spread out looking for other doors or any other way to gain access to the control room.This fall out shelter had a fire system build in and if activated would spray and chemical that would disable both the men and missiles inside. All they had to do was get to the control room and pray that they had no disabled the fire system.When the whole team was inside the chief of the Charleston Police Debarment closed the door behind them so that no one could get back out if they were killed.If this team fails the only other chose the military had was to blow this fall out shelter straight to hell. Rick told his team to split up and look to an access door to the control room and they would meet back here in five.He told them that if they fount the door not to open it just come back to the meeting spot and wait for the rest of the team to return. Mike a younger Navy Seal fount a door the said weapon's hold and he did what the General had just told him not to do he open the damn door and tripped the alarm.Rick heard the alarm and grabbed for his sidearm when he saw a small group of men running towards his men with M-16 in their hands.He knew all they had were sidearms and they would be not match for a M-16 so he fired off about three rounds and then took off.His plan worked the men ran back to where he was and started looking around.Rick got behind the first man of the group and knew that this was there medic because of the red patch on his arm.He stabbed him right through the heart with his hand over his mouth the best way to kill someone with out letting the others know you did it.He killed all of them but one and couldn't find him.Mike saw the man with the rifle and shot him right between his eyes with his pistol.Mike so a sniper and a damn good one.Rick's team meet back and Mike told them that he had fount the weapon's hold about two meters back.When the team go to the weapon's hold they loaded up with guns and whatever else they could carry.Rick saw another door just past where they were and it was the access point to the control room.Rick told the others to go check it out and let him know if it was safe by dropping a flare back down.Mike and two other went through the narrow doorway and look all throughout the room for anything that even looked like a man or missile.Once they made sure it was safe Mike dropped the flare and the other joined them.Once Rick got to the top he ran over to the computer system and turned it on.He could now see the whole compound and was horrified by what he saw.These sons of bitches had thirty missiles lunch ready and pointing in all directions.He couldn't begin to tell where they would hit and how many they would kill.John was the tech guy for the missiles and told Rick and the others that these missiles were among the most dangerous of their class.Once lunched they would mix with napalm and blow up anything within a hundred mile rang of the drop point. Rick then look for the fire alarm system but John told him that wouldn't do them any good these missiles were not harmed by water.They would have to disarm them by hand and hope to God that they do not drop even one ball of the XZ gas or they wouldn't make it out alive. The team stay in the control room thought about what they were going to do to stop those missile from being lunched.Rick knew that they only had a few minutes be for word would get back to Jim that his men had been killed and how.Rick told his team that they were to go and try to get as many missiles disarmed as they could and he would deal with Jim and the others.Rick knew deep in his heart that he wouldn't make it out of this alive but may be they could save hundreds if not thousands of lives.When Rick got to the first room on the second floor he saw that John had taken the tourists hostages and had them tied up.He ran over to on the men there that had a police uniform on and cut the tape holding his hands and feet then gave him a gun and told him to get himself and the other out of her. Rick went to the third floor when John had set up his own control room and looked through the window at John and four others talking on a phone.He knew that his team only had one more hour be for the military would blow this place straight to hell. After about ten minutes Rick's team had all but one of the missiles disarmed and the last one was in th same room as John.The rest of the team joined Rick and waited for further orders.Rick took a flash bag out of his side pocket and throw it into the room.Once it went off the team ran through the door and Rick shot a hole right through John's side.He hit the ground but landed on the lunch button that was in his pocket.Rick watched as the missiles fired off into the air.He tried to change it's direction but wasn't able to.Rick notified the pentagon and they had their fighter jets that were on stand by shoot it out of the sky.Rick walked over to where John was laying and told him that we would burn in hell for what he had done.John ask him to just kill him and get it over with.Rick told John no that he wanted to see him live the rest of his life out in a cage where he shouldn't have been ten years ago.After the team was picked up and flown back to New York Rick went back to the military with the rank of General and the leader of the Delta Force Spec Ops team.He was happy once more but he still missed his family and would love to see his daughter and get to know her. The End. Publication Date: December 8th 2010 https://www.bookrix.com/-generalhicks

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-brady-h-the-ransacked-building/

Brady H The Ransacked Building 12:01 AM- Saturday Across the street from ten year old Billy's house, a loud crash was heard. He jumped out of bed scared that the monster from under his bed was finally going to get to him. He ran out of his room to his parents bedroom. His feet slapped on the wooden floors. The door to his parents room was locked. He banged on the door yelling for mommy. After a minute of pounding on the door, Billy's dad flew the door open half awake. "What do you want Billy. Im trying to sleep and i have work tomorrow early. If its about the monster uder your bed, just tell it to scram. Worked for me all the time when i was your age" Billy's dad motioned to close the door but Billy stopped it. "No i heard a crashe from across the street dad. Trust me i did. In that weird building across the street" Billy waa still breathing hard. His dad came out of his room and walked to Billy's room and looked out the window. The light was on in the building. It never was. It was abandoned. Billy's father shook it off. He rubbed his eye's and started to shut the window when he heard a loud bang from the old building. He stopped what he was doing. He poked his head out the window feeling the cold december breeze. He put his head back in the house and closed the window. "I will handle this Billy but you go back to sleep, got that? I can tell auntie Becky not to stop by tomorrow and you wont get your present from Mexico" after saying that Billy plopped into bed while his father covered him up. After doing that he went to the kitchen to grab the phone and report it to the police of a break in. 12:10 AM Saturday- ST. Paul Police Department Eddie Reynolds was seated at his desk and on his computer playing frogger when he got a call. "This is Detective Reynolds. What seems to be the problem?" He paused his game and took out his notepad. The conversation went on with a lot of Mhm's and ok's. Reynolds hung up the phone, shut down his computer and went to the exit of the police station and hopped in his police car. Getting there ten minutes later parked in front of the old abandoned building, Reynolds got out of his vehicle and slowly walked up to the doorstep. He didnt bother ringing or knocking on the door with the fact no one lived here. Walking in with precaution the first thing he saw was the main entrance of the building trashed. What was left of the building. Lamp knocked over. Boxes sprawled on the ground with random items fallen out of the boxes. Reynolds motioned for his Radio. "We have a possible 211. Im going to search the rest of the building" With hand around his holster in case the intruder was still in the building, he cautiosly crept up the stairs. He could not hear a thing, not even a mouse scurring across the floor. Who knows whats in here Reynolds thought to himself as he checked every office in the upper level. Nothing. Thinking he was done with the search, when he got to the bottom step of the stairs he saw a figure running out the building and fast. Reynolds put his jets on. "Freeze SPPD!" He always felt weird saying that. By the time he reached the entrance he lost the burglar. He slammed his hand on the door. He called it in to the police station. 3:10 PM- Saturday Reynolds Patrol Duty Reynolds circled the old warehouse building at leas eight times but on his ninth time he saw the figure again move into the building. He drove around the block and parked. He got out and slowly peeked in the old building. He heard rummaging, and and whispering. Does he have a partner? Reynolds asked himself. He moved slowly in the building keeping quiet and out of sight. It turned out this intruder didnt have a partner and was just talking to himself. What was he looking for. Reynolds could see the intruder in front of him with his back to Reynolds. "Dont try anything stupid, Eddie" Reynolds put down his gun with a shocked face. He knew exactley who this man was. His old gang partner back when he was in college. He became a detective to clear his name. Eddie put his gun down. "Ricky, what are you doing here. You were never interested in this building all the years we roamed this street. But now im beginning to think you are not here for anything in here are you?" Eddie asked his former friend. Ricky turned toward Eddie and stared at him. "No. I came for you shatter knee Eddie. Or should i say detective Eddie. What happend to you man. You became soft. You little bastard" Ricky laughed. Eddie shook his head. "That was a long time ago. What we did was stupid and childish. Im surprised i even was able to become a cop with my record" Eddie started to get angry. He never anticipated seeing him again. And he didnt want to. Ricky took a gun from his holster and pointed it at Eddie. Eddie stepped closer. "I am not scared of you, Ricky. Shoot me. I dare you. You dont have the guts. Murder wasnt out thing" Eddie kept his cool. "You will when i shoot you. Unless you come back" Ricky took another gun out of another holster and held it out to Eddie. Eddie stepped back. "Come on i know you want to" Ricky said showing his pure white teeth. What an idiot Eddie thought. Surprising Eddie Ricky cocked his gun and putting his finger on the trigger. Before Ricky could pull the trigger, he already had two bullet holes in his chest. He fell to the ground. Eddie stood over him with his spare pistol that Ricky taught him to do. "And thats for taking my girlfriend in college" Eddie slept like a baby slept like a baby that night. Publication Date: July 13th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-bradyhenlsey

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-alexia-marshall-truth/

Alexia Marshall Truth Intorduction If I had listened, I wouldn't be laying in this hospital bed. If I wasn't snooping around, I wouldn't have gotten shot in the arm. If he never killed her, everything would be different. There are so many things that might of never happened, but they just do. Sometimes you wish there was a restart button, but there isn't. But not everything can go your way and that is the fact of life.   Chapter 1 Most kids would be happy when it was time to leave school and come home. Not me. I hated my home. I lived with my abusive father who smokes. I always try avoiding coming home like staying after school, going to a friends house, or purposly missing my bus. But not today. All my friends were busy, there were on after school clubs, and I didn't feel like purposly missing my bus so because I didn't want to walk home.  I arrived at my apartment door. I sighed as I unlocked the door and shut it behind me. The scent of smoke was in the air and I immediatly knew my father was smoking another cigar. I raced upstairs hoping to avoid him until dinner, but I forgot to the creeky step. The loud creek echoed through our apartment. "Alexia! Is that you?" my father asked. "Yea, I have a lot of homework so..yea." There was silence from him so I just went to my room and locked the door behind me. I pulled out my homework and put in my earphones. Before starting my homework, I quickly glanced a picture of my mom on my wall. I never really knew her, but I would always imangine what she would be like, if she were alive. She looked like me with wavy blonde hair and greyish-greenish eyes. I looked away and began focusing on my homework. Publication Date: November 14th 2013 https://www.bookrix.com/-cxedfdee65e2825

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-by-morgan-burn/

By Morgan Burn News "She's dead" The words hung in the air, wrapping around like papers falling, my brother's face dropped, his smile gone, his blue eye's that shone were as deep and angry like the sea's. He dropped his head and then looked back at me, i hadn't seen that look all to much in my life, i told him about mum when she died when i was only 19 and he 16, it was a look i wished not to see again. "How?" he whispered, i walked towards him extending my arm out to rest my hand on his shoulder, but he flinched away and sunk into the armchair behind him, it was a good armchair considering how tacty the outside of the hotel looked. I sat down in the armchair opposite of his, the light from the window hit his dusty blonde hair perfectly, his clothes looked like he hadn't washed them for days, how long had he been staying here? "She was murdered, James i know this is a bad time but-" he stopped me with a dirty look, i wasn't use to that, it was usually me doing it to him, now i understood why he hated it, i felt like spirming away, but wouldn't give him the satisfaction of thinking i was weak at this time. "Bad timing-" he spat out "hell it's bad timing but i rather know now then find out when i am feeling great, crap Sam i mean she was our only cousin, we were like brother and sister and her with you, but you sit here not shedding a tear?" I stood up, i wasn't going to cry infront of him i did it to much when i was younger always relying on my little brother well not anymore, i am 26, and he 23, this was stupid i would mourn in my own time. I started to walk out when James grabbed my arm and turned me around and inbraced me with a bear hug. "James-" i said trying to breathe as he was sqeazing harder and harder. "I.need.to.breathe" he let me go and i slumped down on my feet, i didnt realise he grabbed me off the floor, mind you he was so tall, but i got dad's height, just normal height. I release my breathe that i was holding and straightened out my clothes my blazer was crumpled but the boss wouldnt care, hell i didnt even care if did. "I'm sorry it just, Lucy, i can't believe it, i guess you found out at work aye" he said while moving over to the small kitchen space next to his bed. "Yes, Bill tould me this morning but i had files to fill and i had to confirm the body since Aunt Susan and Uncle Bryon are away" i watched him hoping he wouldnt get mad at me that he did get to see Lucy again. "Good, i couldnt have seen her if it's true how she died" He consontrated hard on making just a tea, he looked up at me with big blue eys under his eye lashes, 'such a feminen thing' i thought but hell he could pull it off without looking homosexual. "Tea? Its Twinnings" he said, his voice back to normal. "No, thanks Im more a coffee girl" my voice soft, had it really been that long since i had seen my little brother? As if reading my mind he said, "Wow, its been that long since i've seen you i cant even remember what you like to drink, what next, you say you a love Vodka?" i grinned so he stilled rememebered my first drunk experience when i swam in a pool of Vodka and was saying goodbye to it the next day, i can still remember the burning tatse when it came up, yuck! "No, just with work i guess, i rely on coffee to keep me up and alert, i mean detectives got do what their told to do right?" James gave me a small smile, the kettle whistled and clicked, James replied while shakely pooring the hot water into the cheap looking mug, "So, my sister the undercover detective does what she's told, well thats a laugh" he laughed a little which made the boiling water not fall the into the mug but onto his bare hand, i knew it before i saw it coming, he was always a cluts. "Shit!" he shouted and quicky ran to the sink in the bathroom, i followed close behind tell him to quiten down, if anyone knows he is here then were both screwed. "It was freaking hot, Samatha, what and i going to do, giggle and skip to the sink?" he said. "Well, you could have just went to the kitchen sink you idiot, here let me help, you'll probably find a way to make the tap to break off and then i would have to fix it" i said as i grabbed his arm carefully to but in under the water, he let out a sigh as the coolnees of the water made the pain more bearable. He said to me, "The kitchen sink water isnt as cold you'll always find that everywhere, and i didnt think being a cluts was that bad Mrs.Plumer" i smiled, which made his smile, then he said, "Hey when you put my hand under the water, did steam come off like it does in the old movies we watch?" "Haha James, always a bad comedian at the weirdest of times" i said, his reply was, "Well, it wasn't as painful as it would have been for Lucy, i can't believe someone would burn her hands and feet, what a creep" he started to get angry again, i hated James angry he would say what ever would roll onto his tongue. But he did say he rather have bad news at a bad time then have it at a good time, so a grasped the oppotunity. "James" i said while turning off the tap, and looking at him. "They didn't just burn her feet and hands" his face was replaced my comfussion. "What are you saying the burnt her legs and arms too?" i didnt know how i was going to tell him, so i did was James would do, i let it roll of my tongue and i his reaction was different not angry but shock. "Tell me again, i-i need to here that again" he said so i said it again. "They used a knife of some sort to carve a cross out on the middle of her chest, then they took half of her heart" Silence hung in the air, it felt like eternity till James spoke, but is words were more chilling then mine. James stared at me and repeated it to me just as i did it to him. "I know who did it" and with that he grabbed a small towel wrapped it around his hand, i quickly followed right on his heel, where i saw his take a hand gun and storm out of the apartment, while saying. "What ever you do, Sam, don't call the cops, where dealing with something worse then a serial killer, were dealign with some one we know" I froze to my spot, my skin tingles, adrenaline was pushing me. Wanting to shove me out that door to run screaming for help, that my brother was going to kill some arse who killed my cousin, but my heart, well, my heart was beating to quick and my head, my head that was usually so clear and clean, like my filing cabniet, it was telling me to follow my brother, so thats what i did, stupid me though, fogot my gun and stun gun sitting on my bedside table at home. The one day i needed it the most and the one day i got shot, twice. A little to late As I got into the car i felt the first blow on my leg, warm and powerful it knocked me down. The second hit my other leg. But this time i could feel the surge of pain, i looked down at my legs as to see the blood that oozed out running it way into the lawn, i had no foot on my right leg that was totally gone. Then as if it was all a dream i woke up.   Text: Morgan Cook All rights reserved. Publication Date: January 16th 2013 https://www.bookrix.com/-morgiecook

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-sin-c-beautiful-killers/

Sin .c., Wattpad @misfit_realm Beautiful Killers Prologue "What did you do?" Amaranth asked harshly as she shoved the knife upwards into the man's stomach gutting him like a fish. She didn't even flinch at the man's warm insides were all around her hand and his blood was soaking her glove. "I-...I raped her! Then.....I-...I c-c-cut h...er up good!" The politician stuttered and spit up blood staring at Amaranth with hate. Just because I'm in this situation doesn't mean this girl won't pay if I die! His body seemed to be secured well to the ground, due to so much blood loss he was numb everywhere. It hurt like a bitch when he was first stabbed now it seemed the pain was gone but his body was paralyzed. "It felt so good! To be plea-asured-...d by a be.....autiful t-eeeen like her, T-..t-..th-en t-o..o feel her blood o-o..o-n my hands!" He struggled to speak blood choking him and his vision started to fade black dots appearing from every angle of his sight. I will be avenged! Little girl doesn't know what she's getting into! Amaranth looked at the pathetic man in disgust, tonight she decided to become an avenging angel. Bored with just killing innocent randoms Amaranth wanted a challenge. However this pathetic excuse on the ground seemed to be easier than most mundanes she's killed. Retracting her knife from the mans stomach, her free gloved hand wrapped the bloodied knife in a cloth and placed it back into her jacket. Putting her moist glove into one of her pocked Amaranth left the worthless body on the ground in an ally and walked away. She was completely oblivious to the fact that she was being watched and followed. Slayer was on a mission to kill Paul Venus, hired by the family of the girl he had assaulted. Venus was a well known politician, business man, and family man. No one knew the dark secret that would forever ruin his reputation. Instead of making Paul's entire family pay for his sin by ruining his reputation and theirs, the Darcy family wanted Paul dead, mysteriously murdered. But as Slayer closed in on his mark a raven haired adolescent got to Venus before him. Interest sparked as he watched this raven haired chick walk out of the ally like she did nothing wrong. He was there watching as Amaranth interrogated the man just for fun and confirmation before just leaving him with a sad death. Venus seemed to have had a quicker death than the teenager planned. Not that it hurt any less. Amaranth walked pass all of the city scene and onto a nearby forest trail that couldn't even be described as a trail. She had memorized the route but it looked nothing close to something that was used everyday besides the squished plant here and there. Following the path for about twenty minutes Amaranth finally reached her destination, a river hidden deep in the forest just outside of the urban setting. Pulling out her knife she began to clean the knife and her glove. Just a quick rinse off till she could get home to properly clean her tools. She didn't spend much time torturing the politician because he was just plain pathetic, and not worth toying with. Slayer decided to make himself known, not at all surprised that the girl didn't realize he had been following her. It didn't take long for him to realize Paul wasn't her first kill. He concluded by her stoic facial expression with a slight hint of amusement in her eyes that she's killed before. Not to mention the way she walked out of the ally casually after just murdering a well known man. "You seem like you know what you're doing. That wasn't your first kill, now was it?" He spoke up throwing Amaranth off, startling her to the point where she almost cut her hand that was washing her blade. Turning her attention to the dark figure, the moon light shown it was a man with light brown hair. "No it wasn't I hunt around here testing out my parents weapons and bringing home something to cook." Amaranth answered Slayer's question as if it wasn't a murder, she was out here in the woods hunting an animal. "Don't lie, I saw the whole thing. Besides if you were really hunting for dinner where is your catch hm? ..I'm not here to turn you in, rather I have a proposition for you." Slayer smiled very much amused at how well this girl would fit into Merodach Academy. She's an excellent liar, emotionally stable to handle killing people, not to mention she know's how not to get caught. Slayer was sure he could blackmail this girl into becoming an assassin, a hit man, or even a cleanup. "Obviously I nicked my prey good, just not good enough since it got away......" Amaranth rolled her eyes, deciding to acknowledge his little 'proposition' statement. "Suppose I did kill someone and not an animal tonight. What's in it for me?" Amaranth asked her face changing from rude to humorous as she laughed, masking her curious yet cautious emotions. She was not at all willing to just spill the fact that she was a serial killer. I've been killing for a few years now, this man isn't gonna stop that. Amaranth saw this man as a huge threat, not to her life, more towards her reputation. She was the good girl straight A's Co-captain of the Varsity Volleyball team, never misbehaving... Unless you count my night activities. "Well how would you like to be taught to better you're body and mind as a weapon, even get paid for it?" Slayer asked getting right to the point. Amazed at how well this girls acting skills were. She's real mouthy too. Slayer made a mental note not to let this little girl get under his skin. He was pretty sure if she wanted annoy him or even infuriate him into irrational thinking she could. A talent all kids have these days. Suddenly Colton came to mind That boy and his damn mouth. "Like a hit man....Or an assassin?" Amaranth's speaking seemed to break Slayer out of his thoughts. Interesting Mr. John Wick over here is a daydreamer. Amaranth thought about what Slayer was saying, besides mocking him in her head. Amaranth realized that the thought of being a hitman or an assassin did appeal her a lot more than it should have. The curiosity was genuine in the tone of her voice. She played with her blade in the river her gloved hand and knife clean. "Yes something like that." Slayer nodded, not ready to tell her everything just yet. I'll save that for the orientation. "Interesting.....What if I don't agree?" Amaranth sat on the ground crossing her legs like an Indian and watching the man closely. She played with her knife stabbing it into the ground over and over. Toying with her knife as she studied Slayer, from his stance to his facial expressions and the rest of his body language. There is some sort of confidence in the way he holds himself that isn't like normal. "If you don't agree I can get you put behind bars, or even kill your family. I suggest you play nice with me little one. I also suggest you not lie to me, I can tell when a little amateur like you is lying." Slayer sat himself on the ground after putting his guns down so it wasn't uncomfortable when he plopped himself down. "What do you want from me?" Amaranth narrowed her eyes at the mans threat. She sat on edge, her back rigid and her fingers gripping her knife tightly. "I want you to answer my questions, and then you will follow my instructions." Amaranth rolled her eyes at what Slayer told her, How cliche. "First things first, what's your name?" Slayer asked preparing for a long conversation with his soon to be recruit. "My names Amaranth Sivige. What's your name?" She sighed bored and yawned a little sleepy. "I am Slayer. How old are you Amaranth?" He was still studying her, and noticed the way she snickered when he told her his name. "How ironic Slayer.. I'm 16." Amaranth found it very entertaining that the man who kills people for a living's name was Slayer. "So did your parent purposely name you, knowing you'd make a fine killer?" A smirk started to form on her lips as she taunted him. Slayer didn't pay any more attention to Amaranth's childish behavior besides a simple eye roll. Instead he continued asking his questions. "How long and how many have you killed?" "I started eradicating the human species at 13, I don't know how much I've done away with, too much to count. I go out almost every night, and satisfy my blood thirst. For me killing people is like squishing a bug, pest control, neutralizing the ever growing population. I think you get my point." She shrugged still bored, using as many metaphors as she could to make her point. "Why do you kill? Normal people hesitate to take a life you don't. Heck I even hesitated to take my first life, I was older than you too." Slayer was prying, needing to solve his curiosity, some are just born killers others can be turned. He hasn't met anyone that could take a life so easily. "I kill to feel. There's just something about being in control of someone's life that just makes you feel so alive. Its empowering, I like testing the weapons I make on people too." Amaranth shrugged, knowing Slayer probably didn't understand her power hungry drug. "How are you able to make these weapons?" He had to admit Amaranth would only be the second sociopath/psychopath the Academy had, out of its 50 students that is. "My parents make weapons for a living, its a family business. Have you ever heard of the Sivige Blacksmiths?" Slayer asked many more questions and told Amaranth it would be best she learn to trust him, he would be like her big brother and protector at the Academy. He would look after her and accompany her on missions to make sure they go smoothly, even though he studied Amaranth enough to know she's total OCD so nothing could go wrong. "Here's how this is gonna work. You will be receiving a letter saying you have an invitation to Merodach Academy your parents will probably enjoy the cover of the school. You will look at the pamphlet and tell your parents you accept the invite." Slayer made sure he spoke slowly and clearly, he watched as Amaranth took in all the information. "What happens if I don't pass the Academy?" Amaranth stupidly asked knowing it impossible she's a genius. "If you don't pass you get sent to a lower division, there they will decide if you get a second chance or we cut you completely which is basically death." Explaining everything the best he could. Most if their students did get cut, everyone at the school knew when it happened too. Amaranth was trying to take everything in. She didn't care if she died, so the thought of getting cut didn't terrify her like it should have. There was a conclusion that Amaranth came to in her head. "I don't get to object do I?"Slayer just shook his head explaining. "Now that you know, I'd have to make it so you expire right here, right now. Besides what kind of killer would turn down this kind of offer??" Again his curiosity was peaked why would she want to object. "I guess you'll have to kill me then." Amaranth looked Slayer dead in the eye she was dead serious. "I pick my victims, who I want, when I want, and I don't take orders." She spoke dangerously calm her knife in her hand still being toyed with. "Maybe I won't kill you then, I'll just turn you in. Expose to the world what you really are. Bet your parents would be real proud." Slayer smirked as Amaranth's lips parted lost for words. "Who's gonna believe you in the nut house? That everything I told you is the truth? huh?" Slayer knew he won, his smirk widening when Amaranth stayed quiet and glared hatefully at him. "I'll take my chance. Who knows maybe my reputation will make crazies like me purchase weapons from my parents. Business will prosper." Amaranth looked smug and satisfied with her conclusion. If I end up I'm the nut house I'll escape and go AWOL for a while. "You don't actually believe that bullshit do you?" Raising an eyebrow Slayer stared at Amaranth learning she hates to lose. Now she's just being real pathetic. "I'll get my way one way or another." Amaranth shrugged ending the conversation with Slayer and preparing to leave. Publication Date: May 28th 2015 https://www.bookrix.com/-sapphire.c.

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-matteo-castro-the-great-revange/

Matteo Castro The Great Revange The Fall of the Tyrant For everyone who tolerated the tyrant Gadafi for more than 40 years. “Well Paco, will you do it?” “All right hand in the money”, “first kill Gadafi”. Paco left the market and went to look for his stuff and went to look for Gadafi. While he was walking next to Gadafi’s house he divised an enormous party on his mansion. He thought and after a while he decided that his best chance to kill Gadafi would be to poison him. With great agility Paco climbed the fence that separated the party from the rest of the city. When he entered he saw complete darkness and in the obscurity the flashlights of the guardians where easy to see. He rapidly moved to confront the first two guardians. He located himself behind them and then he kept advancing cautiously. He predicted that to go in the party he would have to enter through the top of the house, so he started to climb through the side of the mansion. Paco felt nervous, he didn’t know if he was ready for this difficult job. He stopped to catch his breath and then kept going. When he reached the top of the house he saw 2 snipers, rapidly he hide behind some barrels that were scattered along the sides of the roof. He opened his buttoned pocket and took out his silenced gun and with great precision he was able to insert the two 9mm bullets in the two snipers heads. He took one of the flashlights that the snipers had been using and started to search for an entrance. He looked for one, but he had no success in that. He thought for a while and with that he knew that the only away to enter to the party was through the main gate, where all the security stood. Paco was desperate he didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t find anything that would help get inside. After an extensive and overpowering search he saw a butler’s costume. He dressed up, took some cigarettes from his pocket and climbed down. He approached the main gate. As it was supposed to happen the four security guys stopped him, they told him, “Who are you and why are you here?” Paco’s answer was very precise, “Hello, I’m a butler from the party I am so late because one of the top class guests Mr. Tahoka asked me if I could bring him some cigarettes, because he was beginning to feel dizzy”.The 4 security guys were so dumb that they believed the story Paco told them and they let him in. When he was inside the party he could see many guests dressed in nice suits and women dressed in very expensive dressed, but there was no sign of Gadafi. After some time of searching he divised Gadafi, he was sitting on the farthest table where he could almost completely camouflage himself, “All right Gadafi you are not running away from me”. He prepared himself and without hesitating he approached Gadafi. When he was in front of him his stomach started to ache because of the pressure. He cordially asked Gadafi, “Sir would you like something to drink instead of that plain lemon juice”. Gadafi who was starting to get thirsty answered, “Yes please, I would like a chill of Margarita”, “ok sir”, “be sure it is very cold”.So Paco went to look for Gadafi’s refreshing chill. Paco was very nervous, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to kill him, so he waited some time to reflect on the crime. After a couple of minutes he couldn’t hold it anymore, so he grabbed a bottle of chill from the refrigerator, opened the cap with a cap opener and pored the 20 ml of a very deadly venom on the chill. He went walking to where Gadafi was talking to his friends and cordially handed the chill that would kill Gadafi. He handed the chill to him and then quietly turned back to the kitchen in order to see the great moment when Gadafi took a zip of the chill. Gadafi kept talking and talking until he took a long zip of the chill and relaxed for some time. One minute later Gadafi collapsed. Medics from everywhere appeared and started to help Gadafi, but it was too late. All the medics told us that he had died because of a heart attack, but the only one who knew the truth was Paco. He rapidly took a picture from a long distance of the dead body and went quietly out of the party. When he was out he climbed the fence one more time and left the perimeter of the house. He rapidly went to the market without hesitation. When he reached the market everyone cheered only because he had come alive. Paco gave the picture to the people so they could verify that Gadafi was dead. People cheered, cried, and thanked Paco for completing this suicide mission. All Libya exploded with emotion because the tyrant Gadafi was now dead. Publication Date: December 20th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-matteo10698

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-hannah-butler-the-key-inside-the-wooden-chest/

Hannah Butler The Key Inside the Wooden Chest To the best 5th grade teacher ever for giving me this idea! Adoption Day Today's the day i told myself. The day you get adopted. Come on Elizabeth! You can do this! Text: Words are mine. Photos are not. All rights reserved. Publication Date: January 17th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-awkwardpenguin98

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-amy-lockhart-shhh-the-name-of-this-book-is-classified/

Amy Lockhart Shhh...The Name of this Book is Classified! Certainly you want to close this book, for it can only bring you bad luck. How can you possibly stand this no good, evil, cursed book. Ahhghhh, quick your running out of time, close the book! Please I beg of you, if you read on you might get sick! To late, in about 20 minutes you are going to see spots! Energy will overwelm you and you will possibly faint! Relax, how can you relax when in 15 minutes you will get a case of amnesia! Oh no, lights are going dimmer you freeze up! Now you can feel yourself breath heavily. Eventually you pass out! On and on you sleep intill boom, you wake up! Right away you find yourself in a big mansion. "I hope you find your stay here injoyable!" you hear a ghostly voice say. So you get up and wonder wich way to go, right or left? If you picked right, you run out of the house screaming and catch a cab to Chicago. To bad, if you picked left you ran to an elevator. Will you choose to press the up button? If so just push. If you did not push the up button, you ran away from the elevator and ran out of the mansion. You hitched a ride to a doctor's office seeking mental help. If you did push the up button on the elevator you came to a stop at a room full of bats. You scream and A: Duck and cover your head intill the bats go away, or B:For some reason find a parachute in a near by supply closet and jump out of a two story high building into the busy street below. If you choose A your in luck! You find a napkin and a black pen in a near by drawer, A:You write an sos sign with the black pen on the napkin and hang it out the window, or B:Scream at the top of you lungs for help. If you picked A, good job! You smell smoke and notice that there is a fire on the first floor. Luckily someone sees your sos sign and calls the fire department. They quickly come and ask you to jump. They say you won't get hurt. A:You don't trust them, or B:You trust them and jump. If you picked A you were wrong. If you picked B you were safe but rused to the hospital. IF you got all the questions right you are an intelligent person with high expectations. If you got half of them right you are an amazing person with pretty good expectations. And if you got none of them right better luck next time, your getting there. This book will not selfdestruct in 5 seconds so please share it to more people. Publication Date: March 14th 2014 https://www.bookrix.com/-piggylover101

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-elle-marie-calhoun-the-mystery-diaries/

Elle Marie Calhoun The Mystery Diaries A New Place My name is Jen Connors, daughter of Jay Connors and sister of Jordan Connors. I am 16 years old and a junior in high school. I now live in Unitah, Utah. This is one of the most mysterious places in America. Perfect place to live, right? It's so creepy here that you can hardly believe the things that happen here. But what would I know? I've only been here for 4 days. It's time to start exploring. I don't really know anyone yet. It's been four days and at night is when everything gets creepy. Yep, exploring is the perfect thing to do. I start walking toward the woods when I hear my father's voice, Jen, what are you doing? You should be at school.” my father says. "Oh okay.” I say. "C'mon, get your stuff and we'll go. The school isn't far from here." Ever since we got here, I've forgotten how many days have passed. I arrive at school right on time; I head to the office to get my schedule which my father had already fixed for me before we got here. I have arrived in the middle of the school year. My first class is Investigative Management; the room is the last room at the end of the hall. When I walk in, I see there is only one table left where one girl is sitting. I go to the teacher's desk, passing him the paper that told I was a new student. He then begins to stand up and starts to speak, "Everyone, we have a new student; Miss Jen Connors." he then pauses and says to me in a more hushed tone, "There is one seat left by Miss Brown.", he gestures to the girl I had noticed when I first walked in. I walk toward the table, lay my stuff down and sit down across from the girl with curly brown hair. She looked at me and began to speak as she extended her hand to shake mine, "Hi, I'm Brailyn Brown. It's nice to see a fresh new face around here." "It's nice to meet you. I'm Jen Connors.", I said, shaking her hand. "So where are you from?" "Edgewood, New Jersey." "Wow, far way. So, I suppose you like investigating." "Yeah...” I paused, "It's something I've always been into." "Hmm... That's very interesting. There have been weird things happening here for years. No one really knows how or knows much about it. It definitely strikes my fancy." I thought for a second, all this sounds incredible. I've heard of the things that happen here and it just makes me want to know more. I begin to speak then, "Weird. Have you ever thought of checking it out?" "I've tried to get my parents to take me, but there's no use." "Well then, we'll just have to do it ourselves." She started to grin at me then spoke, "Lina, I think this is the beginning a wonderful friendship." My next class was U.S. History, which was practically a cinch for me. Most of the seats were already taken by the time I got in there. I struggled and eventually found a seat behind a guy with short, wavy brown hair and milky brown eyes. He turned around automatically and faced me, "Hey I'm Ryder Branson. So who are you, New Girl?” he said as a sly smile appeared on his face. "I'm Jen Connors." "Well Jen, what brought you to Unitah?" "My father's job. So any chance you know anything about the strange stuff happening here?" "Oh, you mean the railroad sounds that you can hear under the ground when nothing is there and the crazy mutations that supposedly happen?" "Uh, yeah. Have you ever been out there?" "Unfortunately not. So why are you so interested?" "Mysterious things intrigue me. They always have." "I see." Then he turned away from me. In lunch, I found Brailyn at a table and joined her. "Hey.", she said as I sat down across from her. "Hey do you know Ryder Branson?” I said, automatically. "That dare-devil with brown eyes? Of course, I've known him forever." Right then, I turned my head and saw Ryder walk my way and then before I knew it, he sat beside me. "Oh, we were just talking about you.” Brailyn said, grinning. "No, we weren't.", I growled to her, shooting a scowl her way. "Oh, were you?” he said, a huge grin on his face. "No, we weren't. I'm gonna get food now." I hurried and got up, trying to avoid Ryder. As I was rushing, I ran into a girl with long wavy blonde hair. She screamed and I began to apologize hurriedly. "Calm down. It's fine. Accidents happen. You must have really had something big on your mind.” she said, he voice as fluid as the ocean. She looked like beach queen, not someone you would see in Unitah with its dreary skies and mysterious happenings. . I looked in the direction of Ryder and she followed my eyes. “Ah, Ryder Branson; I’ve known him my whole life. He’s a bit of a tough guy but deep down he’s actually really nice. But… I do sense something else is on your mind besides him.” “Well you’re right.” “Okay so how about we get food and then go sit over there so you can tell me what is really on your mind. By the way, I’m Nina Johnson.” “Sounds great, and I’m Jen Connors.” “Nice to meet you Jen.” When I got back to the table, I sit back down by Ryder and Nina settles down beside Brailyn. “So Jen, what was on your mind that had you so distracted?” Nina says as she picks at a roll on her tray. “Well it’s just these things happening around here. The railroad sounds, the mutations, everything.” “Ah, so you’re curious about that as well. Most people around here are too scared to go out in the woods and some are skeptics who don’t believe in the things happening here.” Right then, Brailyn spoke up, “Jen and I were thinking of checking it all out. Who’s in?” “I am.” Ryder and I say at the same time. I blush a bit then and look away. Brailyn then looks at Nina, “Are you in or out?” she says. “Most definitely in.” Nina says, grinning from ear to ear. “Well I see we have a plan.” Brailyn says. “I say we all meet at my house after school and talk over the details. Agreed?” I say. “Agreed.” they all say in unison. After school, I ran into the kitchen to see Dad nowhere in sight and Jordan staring into a cup of some kind of liquid. “What are you doing?” I asked him. “I found this recipe online on how to make invisible ink.” he says, not even looking up. I got intrigued then and came closer to him. “So is it working?” “I have to add heat first   Publication Date: February 2nd 2017 https://www.bookrix.com/-ellemarie96

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-odessa-mcniel-clarissa-odele-and-the-case-of-the-slain-newlyweds/

Odessa McNiel Clarissa Odele and The Case of The Slain Newlyweds Preface I kept running and couldn’t stop. Don’t you dare stop! I thought to myself. I was running through the woods and for my life. Someone just killed my husband, and I needed to get the-hell-out-of-dodge. I had no clue where I was going or where I was. I heard more gunshots and screams of pain. So, I knew I was still too close to our honeymoon spot. I see a patch of road out of the corner of my eye and steer my body towards it hoping to get some help. I run to the double yellow line in the middle of the road and start waving my arms above my head. Ahead of me, I see lights that are brighter than the sun. They get closer and closer, and I realize the driver isn’t going to stop even if they notice me. So, I start to run again. I keep glancing over my shoulder to see where the car is as I run, but I don’t get too far before I hit the front bumper of the car. As I lie in the road struggling for my life, I hear the car door slam to my right and hear footsteps coming towards me. They stop no more than a few inches from my face. I don’t try to look at the person because of the pain in my chest, stomach and gut. You’d expect the driver to freak out, but this person didn’t. They leaned next to my ear and slowly whispered, “This is what you get for marrying my lover.” Then with the click of the trigger I was dead. The Case I arrived at the office about seven o’clock. I was flipping through some old paperwork when my office phone rang at ten-thirty. “Detective Odele speaking,” I answered into the speaker. “This is chief. We got ourselves a vic at 211 Saints Avenue in Banks. Get your butt over there and help lead things will ya'. Marks is having himself a hell of a time with the media, and needs someone else to take things over on the inside of the house.” “Yes, sir.” “And bring that rookie of yours, whatshisname- Josh. I’ll be there in about an hour and so should you.” He hung up before I did and left me hanging in the process. I tidied what I had made a mess of on my desk. Then I called “my rookie" up from his little cubicle of misery. “Josh I need to see you in my office please.” I said over the loud speaker. I heard “ooooo’s and ahhhhh’s” as he knocked on my door. “You wanted to see me, ma’am.” “Yes I did. Sit.” He sat in front of my desk with his hands twined together and his legs crossed under the chair. “The chief thinks that it’s time I let you come along with me to investigate some crime scenes. He thinks it’ll get you some well-earned experience. You up for the challenge.” I watched his face light up with excitement at my proposal of the situation. “That would be great,” he smiled at me with satisfaction. “Good, then you won’t mind if that starts now, will you?” I saw his face flush, “R... right now?” “Yes, now; we have a crime scene to investigate. Chief expects us to be there in an hour. He wants you to come, but I have no problem telling him you’re too chicken. So, unless you want to raise hell, I think you should come along and be my right hand man.” He stared at me like I was speaking Chinese or some foreign language. “Alright, when I get there without you…” I started for the door. “Ok… Ok… I… I’ll go with you.” “Good,” I took off down the hall to the parking garage. I wasn’t going to wait on Josh to follow me because I knew he’d catch up eventually. I also wasn’t fixing to let a stupid rookie make me look slow. I was about half way to the cruiser when I heard him panting behind me. I shouted over my shoulder at him, “If you can’t keep up with me at my pace, you need to work on getting faster. It’s all about fast pace action and making a decision at the blink of an eye in this career, and if you can’t even do that, then you need to get the hell out.” “I’m… trying... (wheeze)… to,” I heard his footsteps pitter-pater to a stop as we reached the cruiser. He put his hands on his knees to try to catch his breath. He reminded me of the dog my parents had: old and lazy. I unlocked the car and sat inside it. Josh did the same but a little slower. "Taking your sweet time aren’t you?” I asked. “I guess it seems like it doesn’t it?” My question was meant to be rhetorical. So, because he didn’t know me all that well, I let the conversation die. We buckled ourselves in; I was driving and rookie was riding shotgun. “So where we going?” “211 Saints Avenue in Banks.” He looks at me questioningly, “Banks?” “Yes, it’s our code for the valley that sits in the middle of the state. It’s a very remote place with lots of wooded areas and stuff like that.” “Oh,” he leaned back in the seat, “Did Chief say anything else?” “No, he did say that there was a lot of media, though. The only thing you have to worry about is if they ask you a question about the case.” “And if that happens?” “Then say that you are just accompanying one of the detectives and know nothing of the whole case. Not that you know anything more than where it is at or anything, right?” He laughed. I think he was actually getting warmed up to me after all. Bodies We pulled into the drive just as Chief was pulling in behind us. He was right about the swarm of media at the scene. We parked beside a patch of what looked like Huckleberries and were surprised when the chief did the same. He got out of the car as we did but with much less grace. We moved as quietly through the media as we could with an occasional “excuse me” or a sharp “let me through”. Eventually we made it to the deck where Marks was still holding his ground. “It’s about damn time you three make it here. I’ve had to do this bit by myself for the past hour and a half; it’s giving me a fucking migraine.” He said when he spotted us. His usual greeting was just a complaint and a plain ‘hi’, but that was Marks for you: plain and simple. “I’m sure you’ll suffer severely,” I exclaimed with heavy sarcasm. “Nah, I’ll fair better than John Doe in there.” “You guys haven’t identified him yet? Surely the medical examiner should’ve been here by now, right?” “She’s running late. ‘Family emergency’, she said.” “So, where’s our vic?” I asked then realized Rookie was still with us. “Josh, go keep the media back will ya’?” “Yes, ma’m,” I heard him say as he headed in the direction we’d just come. Marks lead us to what I’d guessed was the master bedroom. We were greeted with one hell of a mess. The vic was leaned against the wall naked all ‘spread eagle’. Blood splattered the wall and the floor, and the bed was unmade with blankets hanging off it in every possible way. I surveyed the scene and wasn’t very surprised at the weirdness of it because I’d seen worst. Finally I asked, “So, what can you tell about the scene that we don’t have to have Ashley for?” “The house keeper found him like this this morning. She said she had her own key to let herself in, but she found the door unlocked. She stated that it was unusual because most people in the area keep their doors locked at night. Mrs. Winter described an unusual silence in the house when she entered. That’s when she came into the room and found him like this.” “Anything else,” I asked? “Yea, the other investigators found these in the bags.” He handed me two ids. One of them said that our vic was Brandon Cizio, but the other one had the picture of a woman named Sierra Mace. “So who’s the chick in this picture?” He shrugged his shoulders, “Don’t know. She’s not here; they’ve searched the entire house.” “Maybe she shot him and ran for it, huh?” Marks laughed, “Maybe.” “Where’s the house keeper?” “In the living room in one of the recliners,” he stated. I walked into the living room to find the house keeper just like Marks said. I approached her and pulled out my badge. “Detective Odele,” I said to her, “Are you Mrs. Winter the house keeper?” She looked me up and down with her beady eyes. “Yes, but I was not part of this murder, detective.” She answered me. “I didn’t accuse you of anything, Mrs. Winter. However, if you don’t cooperate with our questioning I can accuse you for being an accessory to murder.” I said blatantly, “Mrs. Winter, I’m just looking for some answers; I’m just hoping you have some.” “I…”she started. However Ashley had just entered the house throwing around apologies like they were nothing but air. “I’m so sorry you guys really!” she exclaimed. She had rushed through the door as if she had a rocket on her back. Ashley looked like hell too. Her hair was untidy, loose and frizzy. Her clothes were mismatched and unironed, and she looked like she’d just had a panic attack. “Where’s John Doe?” she asked as if she wasn’t paying attention to the fact that we were staring at her in awe. I turned back to the house keeper. “Here’s my card,” I said flinging it at her. “We’ll call you later in the week to bring you in for questioning.” I lead Ashley back to the master bedroom. We entered the room as most of the others were finishing their jobs of lifting prints and taking pictures. Ashley looked around the room like she was taking a sample of everything mentally. She set her bag on the floor next to the victim and put some gloves on. She took out a notebook with the M.E.’s report in it and was writing down simple things. It took her awhile, but then she spoke. “He’s been dead about eight hours.” She stated slowly. “How do you know that?” Chief asked. He must’ve just entered the room because I hadn’t noticed that he was standing right behind me. She laughed, “I thought you’d never ask.” She grinned delighted. “The lividity isn’t fixed because the skin blanches when I apply pressure to it,” she demonstrated. “He feels warm, and he’s stiff,” we chuckled softly. “I didn’t mean it like that!” she exclaimed letting out a giggle herself. “Also, if we use the Glaister equation and subtract his rectal temperature from ninety eight point four, that gives us eleven point four. Then if we take that answer and divide it by one point five, that gives us about seven point six, and if we round that number up, that gives us about eight hours from the vic’s time of death.” She took her gloves off satisfied with her work and the fact that the question ‘how does she do it?’ was sprawled across our faces. She took out a body bag, put fresh gloves on, and handed me a pair of gloves so that I could help her. Together we lifted this man and put him in the body bag and then onto a gurney so that we could take him back to the coroner’s office. I don’t know how just the two of us did it, but we did. Ashley wheeled the gurney out of the house while Marks blocked the media from getting too close to the body. It wasn’t until Rookie and I got back to our vehicle that we realized that Chief wasn’t there anymore. I hadn’t been aware that he’d left. In fact I didn’t even know he was gone until then. Then we heard a phone ringing. “That yours,” Josh asked? “It has to be ‘cause it’s not yours, right?” I found my phone and saw that the Chief was calling me. How coincidental. “Odele here,” I answered. “Go down the highway, from the house that you guys are at now, about two miles. We’ve got ourselves another body.” Then he was gone. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ We got to the next scene fine, and sure enough there in the ditch, mangled but still intact, was our other body. Rookie and I got out of the car and trotted over to where the chief was. “What we got?” I asked him. Ashley came up behind me carrying the same bag she carried to the other crime scene. She knelt down next to the body and pulled something out of her bag. “Jane Doe here is Sierra Mace. It looks like there’s about a half hour difference between John Doe’s death and this one. Do you think they could be linked our just a coincidence?” “We’ll find out when we get back to the lab.” Answers Two days later, I arrived at the office to find the tox screens from both victims, a medical examiner’s report for each victim, and a gun and bullet tracing on my desk. The toxicology report showed that neither had taken any drugs, but it did say that they were a little on the tipsy side of things when they died. Next I looked at the M.E.’s reports. Victim number one, Brandon, had taken a six bullet hits, but only the one to the head was fatal. He had nothing wrong with him internally, and the blood analysis came back as being that of victim number one. That was good. Next came the autopsy report for our road-kill victim, Sierra. Hers showed that she’d been hit multiple times by a vehicle and shot in the head with a bullet. I guess her murderer wanted to make sure she was dead. Unlike Brandon, there was something that I found interesting about her internal exam and her blood analysis; she was about four months pregnant and had gestational diabetes. That confirmation brought up three questions for me: 1. Who was the father of the baby? and 2. Was this woman married? and 3. Who knew this woman enough to want to take away her happiness? The interesting thing about the bullets that were found in both victims was the same caliber. This meant that they most likely came from the same gun, and most likely the gun we found at the crime scene: a ’48 caliber pistol. I decided I’d better bring the pregnancy up with Ashley to see if she had tested the baby’s DNA. I entered the lab and got a huge whiff of alcohol. She was sitting in the corner doing some tests on other specimens. “Have you tested the DNA from the baby of our road-kill victim yet?” “I have,” she answered without hesitation. “And… Who’s the father?” “Oh! Brandon Cizio.” She said. “Why wasn’t it on the report?” “Did I really forget it? SHOOT!” she shouted. “It’s alright. I’m gonna go to Miles and see if he’s found any marriage certificates tied to these two yet.” She nodded in agreement and went back to what she was doing. I went to Miles only to find my assumption proven correct. These two victims were married, and we were looking at a double homicide. He even uncovered some missing pieces that I wasn’t expecting. Murderer We had brought in Mrs. Winter earlier that week for questioning. She told us that she had known both victims, however briefly, and had confirmed the accusation that our two victims were married. Mrs. Winter also said that they had rented the lodge they were staying in for their honeymoon because they were newlyweds. She also told us the name of her boss and gave us her business card. I was the one the business card was handed to and immediately recognized the name of an old friend of mine, Alex Cizio. I remembered her wanting to open a chain of resorts for newlyweds after her own marriage was crushed. We brought her in for questioning and knew a lot about her before she even came in. We knew that the prints we lifted from the gun belonged to her. Then we matched the tire tracks in the mud wear Sierra was found to her vehicle. Next, we uncovered that she had a registered gun carry permit in her name. Lastly, the most interesting part of the whole matter was that she was married to Brandon Cizio before he married Sierra. The only thing we needed was a confession. Three days later I was put in charge of interviewing her. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ I entered the room cool as a cucumber. She sat across from me as I sat across from her. I spread my evidence across the table and explained each piece to her. She sat there calmly and practically smiled through the whole thing. What really surprised me though was what she said to me. “I couldn’t help myself,” she said to me. “I couldn’t just let that bitch marry the love of my life.” She smiled like she was happy. “I can still see her face of misery while she lay on the pavement dying. I can see Brandon, my sweet, sweet Brandon, as I put a bullet in every limb. It was so much fun.” “You’re a very sick person Ms. Cizio. You’re under arrest for the murders of Mr. and Mrs. Cizio.” I stood up and hand cuffed her all the while she laughing her ass off. Publication Date: January 2nd 2014 https://www.bookrix.com/-smartypants202

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-alexandre-dumas-pere-karl-ludwig-sand/

Alexandre Dumas père Karl Ludwig Sand Celebrated Crimes KARL-LUDWIG SAND--1819 On the 22nd of March, 1819, about nine o'clock in the morning, a young man, some twenty-three or twenty-four years old, wearing the dress of a German student, which consists of a short frock-coat with silk braiding, tight trousers, and high boots, paused upon a little eminence that stands upon the road between Kaiserthal and Mannheim, at about three-quarters of the distance from the former town, and commands a view of the latter. Mannheim is seen rising calm and smiling amid gardens which once were ramparts, and which now surround and embrace it like a girdle of foliage and flowers. Having reached this spot, he lifted his cap, above the peak of which were embroidered three interlaced oak leaves in silver, and uncovering his brow, stood bareheaded for a moment to feel the fresh air that rose from the valley of the Neckar. At first sight his irregular features produced a strange impression; but before long the pallor of his face, deeply marked by smallpox, the infinite gentleness of his eyes, and the elegant framework of his long and flowing black hair, which grew in an admirable curve around a broad, high forehead, attracted towards him that emotion of sad sympathy to which we yield without inquiring its reason or dreaming of resistance. Though it was still early, he seemed already to have come some distance, for his boots were covered with dust; but no doubt he was nearing his destination, for, letting his cap drop, and hooking into his belt his long pipe, that inseparable companion of the German Borsch, he drew from his pocket a little note-book, and wrote in it with a pencil: "Left Wanheim at five in the morning, came in sight of Mannheim at a quarter-past nine." Then putting his note-book back into his pocket, he stood motionless for a moment, his lips moving as though in mental prayer, picked up his hat, and walked on again with a firm step towards Mannheim. This young Student was Karl-Ludwig Sand, who was coming from Jena, by way of Frankfort aid Darmstadt, in order to assassinate Kotzebue. Now, as we are about to set before our readers one of those terrible actions for the true appreciation of which the conscience is the sole judge, they must allow us to make them fully acquainted with him whom kings regarded as an assassin, judges as a fanatic, and the youth of Germany as a hero. Charles Louis Sand was born on the 5th of October, 1795, at Wonsiedel, in the Fichtel Wald; he was the youngest son of Godfrey Christopher Sand, first president and councillor of justice to the King of Prussia, and of Dorothea Jane Wilheltmina Schapf, his wife. Besides two elder brothers, George, who entered upon a commercial career at St, Gall, and Fritz, who was an advocate in the Berlin court of appeal, he had an elder sister named Caroline, and a younger sister called Julia. While still in the cradle he had been attacked by smallpox of the most malignant type. The virus having spread through all his body, laid bare his ribs, and almost ate away his skull. For several months he lay between life and death; but life at last gained the upper hand. He remained weak and sickly, however, up to his seventh year, at which time a brain fever attacked him; and again put his life in danger. As a compensation, however, this fever, when it left him, seemed to carry away with it all vestiges of his former illness. From that moment his health and strength came into existence; but during these two long illnesses his education had remained very backward, and it was not until the age of eight that he could begin his elementary studies; moreover, his physical sufferings having retarded his intellectual development, he needed to work twice as hard as others to reach the same result. Seeing the efforts that young Sand made, even while still quite a child, to conquer the defects of his organisation, Professor Salfranck, a learned and distinguished man, rector of the Hof gymnasium [college], conceived such an affection for him, that when, at a later time, he was appointed director of the gymnasium at Ratisbon, he could not part from his pupil, and took him with him. In this town, and at the age of eleven years, he gave the first proof of his courage and humanity. One day, when he was walking with some young friends, he heard cries for help, and ran in that direction: a little boy, eight or nine years old, had just fallen into a pond. Sand immediately, without regarding his best clothes, of which, however, he was very proud, sprang into the water, and, after unheard-of efforts for a child of his age, succeeded in bringing the drowning boy to land. At the age of twelve or thirteen, Sand, who had become more active, skilful, and determined than many of his elders, often amused himself by giving battle to the lads of the town and of the neighbouring villages. The theatre of these childish conflicts, which in their pale innocence reflected the great battles that were at that time steeping Germany in blood, was generally a plain extending from the town of Wonsiedel to the mountain of St. Catherine, which had ruins at its top, and amid the ruins a tower in excellent preservation. Sand, who was one of the most eager fighters, seeing that his side had several times been defeated on account of its numerical inferiority, resolved, in order to make up for this drawback, to fortify the tower of St. Catherine, and to retire into it at the next battle if its issue proved unfavourable to him. He communicated this plan to his companions, who received it with enthusiasm. A week was spent, accordingly, in collecting all possible weapons of defence in the tower and in repairing its doors and stairs. These preparations were made so secretly that the army of the enemy had no knowledge of them. Sunday came: the holidays were the days of battle. Whether because the boys were ashamed of having been beaten last time, or for some other reason, the band to which Sand belonged was even weaker than usual. Sure, however, of a means of retreat, he accepted battle, notwithstanding. The struggle was not a long one; the one party was too weak in numbers to make a prolonged resistance, and began to retire in the best order that could be maintained to St. Catherine's tower, which was reached before much damage had been felt. Having arrived there, some of the combatants ascended to the ramparts, and while the others defended themselves at the foot of the wall, began to shower stones and pebbles upon the conquerors. The latter, surprised at the new method of defence which was now for the first time adopted, retreated a little; the rest of the defenders took advantage of the moment to retire into the fortress and shut the door. Great was the astonishment an the part of the besiegers: they had always seen that door broken down, and lo! all at once it was presenting to them a barrier which preserved the besieged from their blows. Three or four went off to find instruments with which to break it down and meanwhile the rest of the attacking farce kept the garrison blockaded. At the end of half an hour the messengers returned not only with levers and picks, but also with a considerable reinforcement composed of lads from, the village to which they had been to fetch tools. Then began the assault: Sand and his companions defended themselves desperately; but it was soon evident that, unless help came, the garrison would be forced to capitulate. It was proposed that they should draw lots, and that one of the besieged should be chosen, who in spite of the danger should leave the tower, make his way as best he might through the enemy's army, and go to summon the other lads of Wonsiedel, who had faint-heartedly remained at home. The tale of the peril in which their Comrades actually were, the disgrace of a surrender, which would fall upon all of them, would no doubt overcome their indolence and induce them to make a diversion that would allow the garrison to attempt sortie. This suggestion was adopted; but instead of leaving the decision to chance, Sand proposed himself as the messenger. As everybody knew his courage, his skill, and his lightness of foot, the proposition was unanimously accepted, and the new Decius prepared to execute his act of devotion. The deed was not free from danger: there were but two means of egress, one by way of the door, which would lead to the fugitive's falling immediately into the hands of the enemy; the other by jumping from a rampart so high that the enemy had not set a guard there. Sand without a moment's hesitation went to the rampart, where, always religious, even in his childish pleasures, he made a short prayer; then, without fear, without hesitation, with a confidence that was almost superhuman, he sprang to the ground: the distance was twenty-two feet. Sand flew instantly to Wonsiedel, and reached it, although the enemy had despatched their best runners in pursuit. Then the garrison, seeing the success of their enterprise, took fresh courage, and united their efforts against the besiegers, hoping everything from Sand's eloquence, which gave him a great influence over his young companions. And, indeed, in half an hour he was seen reappearing at the head of some thirty boys of his own age, armed with slings and crossbows. The besiegers, on the point of being attacked before and behind, recognised the disadvantage of their position and retreated. The victory remained with Sand's party, and all the honours of the day were his. We have related this anecdote in detail, that our readers may understand from the character of the child what was that of the man. Besides, we shall see him develop, always calm and superior amid small events as amid large ones. About the same time Sand escaped almost miraculously from two dangers. One day a hod full of plaster fell from a scaffold and broke at his feet. Another day the Price of Coburg, who during the King of Prussia's stay at the baths of Alexander, was living in the house of Sand's parents, was galloping home with four horses when he came suddenly upon young Karl in a gateway; he could not escape either on the right or the left, without running the risk of being crushed between the wall and the wheels, and the coachman could not, when going at such a pace, hold in his horses: Sand flung himself on his face, and the carriage passed over him without his receiving so much as a single scratch either from the horses or the wheels. From that moment many people regarded him as predestined, and said that the hand of God was upon him. Meanwhile political events were developing themselves around the boy, and their seriousness made him a man before the age of manhood. Napoleon weighed upon Germany like another Sennacherib. Staps had tried to play the part of Mutius Scaevola, and had died a martyr. Sand was at Hof at that time, and was a student of the gymnasium of which his good tutor Salfranck was the head. He learned that the man whom he regarded as the antichrist was to come and review the troops in that town; he left it at once and went home to his parents, who asked him for what reason he had left the gymnasium. "Because I could not have been in the same town with Napoleon," he answered, "without trying to kill him, and I do not feel my hand strong enough for that yet." This happened in 1809; Sand was fourteen years old. Peace, which was signed an the 15th of October, gave Germany some respite, and allowed the young fanatic to resume his studies without being distracted by political considerations; but in 1811 he was occupied by them again, when he learned that the gymnasium was to be dissolved and its place taken by a primary school. To this the rector Salfranck was appointed as a teacher, but instead of the thousand florins which his former appointment brought him, the new one was worth only five hundred. Karl could not remain in a primary school where he could not continue his education; he wrote to his mother to announce this event and to tell her with what equanimity the old German philosopher had borne it. Here is the answer of Sand's mother; it will serve to show the character of the woman whose mighty heart never belied itself in the midst of the severest suffering; the answer bears the stamp of that German mysticism of which we have no idea in France:-- "MY DEAR KARL,--You could not have given me a more grievous piece of news than that of the event which has just fallen upon your tutor and father by adoption; nevertheless, terrible though it may be, do not doubt that he will resign himself to it, in order to give to the virtue of his pupils a great example of that submission which every subject owes to the king wham God has set over him. Furthermore, be well assured that in this world there is no other upright and well calculated policy than that which grows out of the old precept, 'Honour God, be just and fear not.' And reflect also that when injustice against the worthy becomes crying, the public voice makes itself heard, and uplifts those who are cast down. "But if, contrary to all probability, this did not happen,--if God should impose this sublime probation upon the virtue of our friend, if the world were to disown him and Providence were to became to that, degree his debtor,--yet in that case there are, believe me, supreme compensations: all the things and all the events that occur around us and that act upon us are but machines set in motion by a Higher Hand, so as to complete our education for a higher world, in which alone we shall take our true place. Apply yourself, therefore, my dear child, to watch over yourself unceasingly and always, so that you may not take great and fine isolated actions for real virtue, and may be ready every moment to do all that your duty may require of you. Fundamentally nothing is great, you see, and nothing small, when things are, looked at apart from one another, and it is only the putting of things together that produces the unity of evil or of good. "Moreover, God only sends the trial to the heart where He has put strength, and the manner in which you tell me that your master has borne the misfortune that has befallen him is a fresh proof of this great and eternal truth. You must form yourself upon him, my dear child, and if you are obliged to leave Hof for Bamberg you must resign yourself to it courageously. Man has three educations: that which he receives from his parents, that which circumstances impose upon him, and lastly that which he gives himself; if that misfortune should occur, pray to God that you may yourself worthily complete that last education, the most important of all. "I will give you as an example the life and conduct of my father, of whom you have not heard very much, for he died before you were born, but whose mind and likeness are reproduced in you only among all your brothers and sisters. The disastrous fire which reduced his native town to ashes destroyed his fortune and that of his relatives; grief at having lost everything--for the fire broke out in the next house to his--cost his father his life; and while his mother, who for six years had been stretched an a bed of pain, where horrible convulsions held her fast, supported her three little girls by the needlework that she did in the intervals of suffering, he went as a mere clerk into one of the leading mercantile houses of Augsburg, where his lively and yet even temper made him welcome; there he learned a calling, for which, however, he was not naturally adapted, and came back to the home of his birth with a pure and stainless heart, in order to be the support of his mother and his sisters. "A man can do much when he wishes to do much: join your efforts to my prayers, and leave the rest in the hands of God." The prediction of this Puritan woman was fulfilled: a little time afterwards rector Salfranck was appointed professor at Richembourg, whither Sand followed him; it was there that the events of 1813 found him. In the month of March he wrote to his mother:-- "I can scarcely, dear mother, express to you how calm and happy I begin to feel since I am permitted to believe in the enfranchisement of my country, of which I hear on every side as being so near at hand,--of that country which, in my faith in God, I see beforehand free and mighty, that country for whose happiness I would undergo the greatest sufferings, and even death. Take strength for this crisis. If by chance it should reach our good province, lift your eyes to the Almighty, then carry them back to beautiful rich nature. The goodness of God which preserved and protected so many men during the disastrous Thirty Years' War can do and will do now what it could and did then. As for me, I believe and hope." Leipzig came to justify Sand's presentiments; then the year 1814 arrived, and he thought Germany free. On the 10th of December in the same year he left Richembourg with this certificate from his master:-- "Karl Sand belongs to the small number of those elect young men who are distinguished at once by the gifts of the mind and the faculties of the soul; in application and work he surpasses all his fellow-students, and this fact explains his rapid progress in all the philosophical and philological sciences; in mathematics only there are still some further studies which he might pursue. The most affectionate wishes of his teacher follow him on his departure. "J. A. KEYN, "Rector, and master of the first class. "Richembourg, Sept. 15, 1814" But it was really the parents of Sand, and in particular his mother, who had prepared the fertile soil in which his teachers had sowed the seeds of learning; Sand knew this well, for at the moment of setting out for the university of Tubingen, where he was about to complete the theological studies necessary for becoming a pastor, as he desired to do, he wrote to them:-- "I confess that, like all my brothers and sisters, I owe to you that beautiful and great part of my education which I have seen to be lacking to most of those around me. Heaven alone can reward you by a conviction of having so nobly and grandly fulfilled your parental duties, amid many others." After having paid a visit to his brother at St. Gall, Sand reached Tubingen, to which he had been principally attracted by the reputation of Eschenmayer; he spent that winter quietly, and no other incident befell than his admission into an association of Burschen, called the Teutonic; then came tester of 1815, and with it the terrible news that Napoleon had landed in the Gulf of Juan. Immediately all the youth of Germany able to bear arms gathered once more around the banners of 1813 and 1814. Sand followed the general example; but the action, which in others was an effect of enthusiasm, was in him the result of calm and deliberate resolution. He wrote to Wonsiedel on this occasion:-- "April 22, 1813 "MY DEAR PARENTS,--Until now you have found me submissive to your parental lessons and to the advice of my excellent masters; until now I have made efforts to render myself worthy of the education that God has sent me through you, and have applied myself to become capable of spreading the word of the Lord through my native land; and for this reason I can to-day declare to you sincerely the decision that I lave taken, assured that as tender and affectionate parents you will calm yourselves, and as German parents and patriots you will rather praise my resolution than seek to turn me from it. "The country calls once more for help, and this time the call is addressed to me, too, for now I have courage and strength. It cast me a great in ward struggle, believe me, to abstain when in 1813 she gave her first cry, and only the conviction held me back that thousands of others were then fighting and conquering for Germany, while I had to live far the peaceful calling to which I was destined. Now it is a question of preserving our newly re-established liberty, which in so many places has already brought in so rich a harvest. The all-powerful and merciful Lord reserves for us this great trial, which will certainly be the last; it is for us, therefore, to show that we are worthy of the supreme gift which He has given us, and capable of upholding it with strength and firmness. "The danger of the country has never been so great as it is now, that is why, among the youth of Germany, the strong should support the wavering, that all may rise together. Our brave brothers in the north are already assembling from all parts under their banners; the State of Wurtemburg is, proclaiming a general levy, and volunteers are coming in from every quarter, asking to die for their country. I consider it my duty, too, to fight for my country and for all the dear ones whom I love. If I were not profoundly convinced of this truth, I should not communicate my resolution to you; but my family is one that has a really German heart, and that would consider me as a coward and an unworthy son if I did not follow this impulse. I certainly feel the greatness of the sacrifice; it costs me something, believe me, to leave my beautiful studies and go to put myself under the orders of vulgar, uneducated people, but this only increases my courage in going to secure the liberty of my brothers; moreover, when once that liberty is secured, if God deigns to allow, I will return to carry them His word. "I take leave, therefore, for a time of you, my most worthy parents, of my brothers, my sisters, and all who are dear to me. As, after mature deliberation, it seems the most suitable thing for me to serve with the Bavarians. I shall get myself enrolled, for as long as the war may last, with a company of that nation. Farewell, then; live happily; far away from you as I shall be, I shall follow your pious exhortations. In this new track I shall still I hope, remain pure before God, and I shall always try to walk in the path that rises above the things of earth and leads to those of heaven, and perhaps in this career the bliss of saving some souls from their fall may be reserved for me. "Your dear image will always be about me; I will always have the Lord before my eyes and in my heart, so that I may endure joyfully the pains and fatigues of this holy war. Include me in your Prayers; God will send you the hope of better times to help you in bearing the unhappy time in which we now are. We cannot see one another again soon, unless we conquer; and if we should be conquered (which God forbid!), then my last wish, which I pray you, I conjure you, to fulfil, my last and supreme wish would be that you, my dear and deserving German relatives, should leave an enslaved country for some other not yet under the yoke. "But why should we thus sadden one another's hearts? Is not our cause just and holy, and is not God just and holy? How then should we not be victors? You see that sometimes I doubt, so, in your letters, which I am impatiently expecting, have pity on me and do not alarm my soul, far in any case we shall meet again in another country, and that one will always be free and happy. "I am, until death, your dutiful and grateful son, "KARL SAND." These two lines of Korner's were written as a postscript:-- "Perchance above our foeman lying dead We may behold the star of liberty." With this farewell to his parents, and with Korner's poems on his lips, Sand gave up his books, and on the 10th of May we find him in arms among the volunteer chasseurs enrolled under the command of Major Falkenhausen, who was at that time at Mannheim; here he found his second brother, who had preceded him, and they underwent all their drill together. Though Sand was not accustomed to great bodily fatigues, he endured those of the campaign with surprising strength, refusing all the alleviations that his superiors tried to offer him; for he would allow no one to outdo him in the trouble that he took for the good of the country. On the march he invariably shared: anything that he possessed fraternally with his comrades, helping those who were weaker than himself to carry their burdens, and, at once priest and soldier, sustaining them by his words when he was powerless to do anything more. On the 18th of June, at eight o'clock in the evening, he arrived upon the field of battle at Waterloo, On the 14th of July he entered Paris. On the 18th of December, 1815, Karl Sand and his brother were back at Wonsiedel, to the great joy of their family. He spent the Christmas holidays and the end of the year with them, but his ardour for his new vacation did not allow him to remain longer, and an the 7th of January he reached Erlangen. Then, to make up for lost time, he resolved to subject his day to fixed and uniform rules, and to write down every evening what he had done since the morning. It is by the help of this journal that we are able to follow the young enthusiast, not only in all the actions of his life, but also in all the thoughts of his mind and all the hesitations of his conscience. In it we find his whole self, simple to naivete, enthusiastic to madness, gentle even to weakness towards others, severe even to asceticism towards himself. One of his great griefs was the expense that his education occasioned to his parents, and every useless and costly pleasure left a remorse in his heart. Thus, on the 9th of February 1816, he wrote:-- "I meant to go and visit my parents. Accordingly I went to the 'Commers-haus', and there I was much amused. N. and T. began upon me with the everlasting jokes about Wonsiedel; that went on until eleven o'clock. But afterwards N. and T. began to torment me to go to the wine-shop; I refused as long as I could. But as, at last, they seemed to think that it was from contempt of them that I would not go and drink a glass of Rhine wine with them, I did not dare resist longer. Unfortunately, they did not stop at Braunberger; and while my glass was still half full, N. ordered a bottle of champagne. When the first had disappeared, T. ordered a second; then, even before this second battle was drunk, both of them ordered a third in my name and in spite of me. I returned home quite giddy, and threw myself on the sofa, where I slept for about an hour, and only went to bed afterwards. "Thus passed this shameful day, in which I have not thought enough of my kind and worthy parents, who are leading a poor and hard life, and in which I suffered myself to be led away by the example of people who have money into spending four florins--an expenditure which was useless, and which would have kept the whole family for two days. Pardon me, my God, pardon me, I beseech Thee, and receive the vow that I make never to fall into the same fault again. In future I will live even more abstemiously than I usually do, so as to repair the fatal traces in my poor cash-box of my extravagance, and not to be obliged to ask money of my mother before the day when she thinks of sending me some herself." Then, at the very time when the poor young man reproaches himself as if with a crime with having spent four florins, one of his cousins, a widow, dies and leaves three orphan children. He runs immediately to carry the first consolations to the unhappy little creatures, entreats his mother to take charge of the youngest, and overjoyed at her answer, thanks her thus:-- "Far the very keen joy that you have given me by your letter, and for the very dear tone in which your soul speaks to me, bless you, O my mother! As I might have hoped and been sure, you have taken little Julius, and that fills me afresh with the deepest gratitude towards you, the rather that, in my constant trust in your goodness, I had already in her lifetime given our good little cousin the promise that you are fulfilling for me after her death." About March, Sand, though he did not fall ill, had an indisposition that obliged him to go and take the waters; his mother happened at the time to be at the ironworks of Redwitz, same twelve or fifteen miles from Wonsiedel, where the mineral springs are found. Sand established himself there with his mother, and notwithstanding his desire to avoid interrupting his work, the time taken up by baths, by invitations to dinners, and even by the walks which his health required, disturbed the regularity of his usual existence and awakened his remorse. Thus we find these lines written in his journal for April 13th: "Life, without some high aim towards which all thoughts and actions tend, is an empty desert: my day yesterday is a proof of this; I spent it with my own people, and that, of course, was a great pleasure to me; but how did I spend it? In continual eating, so that when I wanted to work I could do nothing worth doing. Full of indolence and slackness, I dragged myself into the company of two or three sets of people, and came from them in the same state of mind as I went to them." Far these expeditions Sand made use of a little chestnut horse which belonged to his brother, and of which he was very fond. This little horse had been bought with great difficulty; for, as we have said, the whole family was poor. The following note, in relation to the animal, will give an idea of Sand's simplicity of heart:-- "19th April "To-day I have been very happy at the ironworks, and very industrious beside my kind mother. In the evening I came home on the little chestnut. Since the day before yesterday, when he got a strain and hurt his foot, he has been very restive and very touchy, and when he got home he refused his food. I thought at first that he did not fancy his fodder, and gave him some pieces of sugar and sticks of cinnamon, which he likes very much; he tasted them, but would not eat them. The poor little beast seems to have same other internal indisposition besides his injured foot. If by ill luck he were to become foundered or ill, everybody, even my parents, would throw the blame on me, and yet I have been very careful and considerate of him. My God, my Lord, Thou who canst do things both great and small, remove from me this misfortune, and let him recover as quickly as possible. If, however, Thou host willed otherwise, and if this fresh trouble is to fall upon us, I will try to bear it with courage, and as the expiation of same sin. Meanwhile, O my Gad, I leave this matter in Thy hands, as I leave my life and my soul." On the 20th of April he wrote:--"The little horse is well; God has helped me." German manners and customs are so different from ours, and contrasts occur so frequently in the same man, on the other side of the Rhine, that anything less than all the quotations which we have given would have been insufficient to place before our readers a true idea of that character made up of artlessness and reason, childishness and strength, depression and enthusiasm, material details and poetic ideas, which renders Sand a man incomprehensible to us. We will now continue the portrait, which still wants a few finishing touches. When he returned to Erlangen, after the completion of his "cure," Sand read Faust far the first time. At first he was amazed at that work, which seemed to him an orgy of genius; then, when he had entirely finished it, he reconsidered his first impression, and wrote:-- "4th May "Oh, horrible struggle of man and devil! What Mephistopheles is in me I feel far the first time in this hour, and I feel it, O God, with consternation! "About eleven at night I finished reading the tragedy, and I felt and saw the fiend in myself, so that by midnight, amid my tears and despair, I was at last frightened at myself." Sand was falling by degrees into a deep melancholy, from which nothing could rouse him except his desire to purify and preach morality to the students around him. To anyone who knows university life such a task will seem superhuman. Sand, however, was not discouraged, and if he could not gain an influence over everyone, he at least succeeded in forming around him a considerable circle of the most intelligent and the best; nevertheless, in the midst of these apostolic labours strange longings for death would overcome him; he seemed to recall heaven and want to return to it; he called these temptations "homesickness for the soul's country." His favourite authors were Lessing, Schiller, Herder, and Goethe; after re-reading the two last for the twentieth time, this is what he wrote: "Good and evil touch each other; the woes of the young Werther and Weisslingen's seduction, are almost the same story; no matter, we must not judge between what is good and what is evil in others; for that is what God will do. I have just been spending much time over this thought, and have become convinced that in no circumstances ought we to allow ourselves to seek for the devil in others, and that we have no right to judge; the only creature over wham we have received the power to judge and condemn is ourself, and that gives us enough constant care, business, and trouble. "I have again to-day felt a profound desire to quit this world and enter a higher world; but this desire is rather dejection than strength, a lassitude than an upsoaring." The year 1816 was spent by Sand in these pious attempts upon his young comrades, in this ceaseless self-examination, and in the perpetual battle which he waged with the desire for death that pursued him; every day he had deeper doubts of himself; and on the 1st of January, 1817, he wrote this prayer in his diary:-- "Grant to me, O Lord, to me whom Thou halt endowed, in sending me on earth, with free will, the grace that in this year which we are now beginning I may never relax this constant attention, and not shamefully give up the examination of my conscience which I have hitherto made. Give me strength to increase the attention which I turn upon my own life, and to diminish that which I turn upon the life of others; strengthen my will that it may become powerful to command the desires of the body and the waverings of the soul; give me a pious conscience entirely devoted to Thy celestial kingdom, that I may always belong to Thee, or after failing, may be able to return to Thee." Sand was right in praying to God for the year 1817, and his fears were a presentiment: the skies of Germany, lightened by Leipzig and Waterloo, were once more darkened; to the colossal and universal despotism of Napoleon succeeded the individual oppression of those little princes who made up the Germanic Diet, and all that the nations had gained by overthrowing the giant was to be governed by dwarfs. This was the time when secret societies were organised throughout Germany; let us say a few words about them, for the history that we are writing is not only that of individuals, but also that of nations, and every time that occasion presents itself we will give our little picture a wide horizon. The secret societies of Germany, of which, without knowing them, we have all heard, seem, when we follow them up, like rivers, to originate in some sort of affiliation to those famous clubs of the 'illumines' and the freemasons which made so much stir in France at the close of the eighteenth century. At the time of the revolution of '89 these different philosophical, political, and religious sects enthusiastically accepted the republican doctrines, and the successes of our first generals have often been attributed to the secret efforts of the members. When Bonaparte, who was acquainted with these groups, and was even said to have belonged to them, exchanged his general's uniform for an emperor's cloak, all of them, considering him as a renegade and traitor, not only rose against him at home, but tried to raise enemies against him abroad; as they addressed themselves to noble and generous passions, they found a response, and princes to whom their results might be profitable seemed for a moment to encourage them. Among others, Prince Louis of Prussia was grandmaster of one of these societies. The attempted murder by Stops, to which we have already referred, was one of the thunderclaps of the storm; but its morrow brought the peace of Vienna, and the degradation of Austria was the death-blow of the old Germanic organisation. These societies, which had received a mortal wound in 1806 and were now controlled by the French police, instead of continuing to meet in public, were forced to seek new members in the dark. In 1811 several agents of these societies were arrested in Berlin, but the Prussian authorities, following secret orders of Queen Louisa, actually protected them, so that they were easily able to deceive the French police about their intentions. About February 1815 the disasters of the French army revived the courage of these societies, for it was seen that God was helping their cause: the students in particular joined enthusiastically in the new attempts that were now begun; many colleges enrolled themselves almost entire, anal chose their principals and professors as captains; the poet, Korner, killed on the 18th of October at Liegzig, was the hero of this campaign. The triumph of this national movement, which twice carried the Prussian army--largely composed of volunteers--to Paris, was followed, when the treaties of 1815 and the new Germanic constitution were made known, by a terrible reaction in Germany. All these young men who, exiled by their princes, had risen in the name of liberty, soon perceived that they had been used as tools to establish European despotism; they wished to claim the promises that had been made, but the policy of Talleyrand and Metternich weighed on them, and repressing them at the first words they uttered, compelled them to shelter their discontent and their hopes in the universities, which, enjoying a kind of constitution of their own, more easily escaped the investigations made by the spies of the Holy Alliance; but, repressed as they were, these societies continued nevertheless to exist, and kept up communications by means of travelling students, who, bearing verbal messages, traversed Germany under the pretence of botanising, and, passing from mountain to mountain, sowed broadcast those luminous and hopeful words of which peoples are always greedy and kings always fear. We have seen that Sand, carried away by the general movement, had gone through the campaign of 1815 as a volunteer, although he was then only nineteen years old. On his return, he, like others, had found his golden hopes deceived, and it is from this period that we find his journal assuming the tone of mysticism and sadness which our readers must have remarked in it. He soon entered one of these associations, the Teutonia; and from that moment, regarding the great cause which he had taken up as a religious one, he attempted to make the conspirators worthy of their enterprise, and thus arose his attempts to inculcate moral doctrines, in which he succeeded with some, but failed with the majority. Sand had succeeded, however, in forming around him a certain circle of Puritans, composed of about sixty to eighty students, all belonging to the group of the 'Burschenschaft' which continued its political and religious course despite all the jeers of the opposing group--the 'Landmannschaft'. One of his friends called Dittmar and he were pretty much the chiefs, and although no election had given them their authority, they exercised so much influence upon what was decided that in any particular case their fellow-adepts were sure spontaneously to obey any impulse that they might choose to impart. The meetings of the Burschen took place upon a little hill crowned by a ruined castle, which was situated at some distance from Erlangen, and which Sand and Dittmar had called the Ruttli, in memory of the spot where Walter Furst, Melchthal, and Stauffacher had made their vow to deliver their country; there, under the pretence of students' games, while they built up a new house with the ruined fragments, they passed alternately from symbol to action and from action to symbol. Meanwhile the association was making such advances throughout Germany that not only the princes and kings of the German confederation, but also the great European powers, began to be uneasy. France sent agents to bring home reports, Russia paid agents on the spot, and the persecutions that touched a professor and exasperated a whole university often arose from a note sent by the Cabinet of the Tuileries or of St. Petersburg. It was amid the events that began thus that Sand, after commending himself to the protection of God, began the year 1817, in the sad mood in which we have just seen him, and in which he was kept rather by a disgust for things as they were than by a disgust for life. On the 8th of May, preyed upon by this melancholy, which he cannot conquer, and which comes from the disappointment of all his political hopes, he writes in his diary: "I shall find it impassible to set seriously to work, and this idle temper, this humour of hypochondria which casts its black veil over everything in life,--continues and grows in spite of the moral activity which I imposed on myself yesterday." In the holidays, fearing to burden his parents with any additional expense, he will not go home, and prefers to make a walking tour with his friends. No doubt this tour, in addition to its recreative side, had a political aim. Be that as it may, Sand's diary, during the period of his journey, shows nothing but the names of the towns through which he passed. That we may have a notion of Sand's dutifulness to his parents, it should be said that he did not set out until he had obtained his mother's permission. On their return, Sand, Dittmar, and their friends the Burschen, found their Ruttli sacked by their enemies of the Landmannschaft; the house that they had built was demolished and its fragments dispersed. Sand took this event for an omen, and was greatly depressed by it. "It seems to me, O my God!" he says in his journal, "that everything swims and turns around me. My soul grows darker and darker; my moral strength grows less instead of greater; I work and cannot achieve; walk towards my aim and do not reach it; exhaust myself, and do nothing great. The days of life flee one after another; cares and uneasiness increase; I see no haven anywhere for our sacred German cause. The end will be that we shall fall, for I myself waver. O Lord and Father! protect me, save me, and lead me to that land from which we are for ever driven back by the indifference of wavering spirits." About this time a terrible event struck Sand to the heart; his friend Dittmar was drowned. This is what he wrote in his diary on the very morning of the occurrence: "Oh, almighty God! What is going to become of me? For the last fortnight I have been drawn into disorder, and have not been able to compel myself to look fixedly either backward or forward in my life, so that from the 4th of June up to the present hour my journal has remained empty. Yet every day I might have had occasion to praise Thee, O my God, but my soul is in anguish. Lord, do not turn from me; the more are the obstacles the more need is there of strength." In the evening he added these few words to the lines that he had written in the morning:-- "Desolation, despair, and death over my friend, over my very deeply loved Dittmar." This letter which he wrote to his family contains the account of the tragic event:-- "You know that when my best friends, A., C., and Z., were gone, I became particularly intimate with my well-beloved Dittmar of Anspach; Dittmar, that is to say a true and worthy German, an evangelical Christian, something more, in short, than a man! An angelic soul, always turned toward the good, serene, pious, and ready for action; he had come to live in a room next to mine in Professor Grunler's house; we loved each other, upheld each other in our efforts, and, well or ill, bare our good or evil fortune in common. On this last spring evening, after having worked in his room and having strengthened ourselves anew to resist all the torments of life and to advance towards the aim that we desired to attain; we went, about seven in the evening, to the baths of Redwitz. A very black storm was rising in the sky, but only as yet appeared on the horizon. E., who was with us, proposed to go home, but Dittmar persisted, saying that the canal was but a few steps away. God permitted that it should not be I who replied with these fatal words. So he went on. The sunset was splendid: I see it still; its violet clouds all fringed with gold, for I remember the smallest details of that evening. "Dittmar went down first; he was the only one of us who knew how to swim; so he walked before us to show us the depth. The water was about up to our chests, and he, who preceded us, was up to his shoulders, when he warned us not to go farther, because he was ceasing to feel the bottom. He immediately gave up his footing and began to swim, but scarcely had he made ten strokes when, having reached the place where the river separates into two branches, he uttered a cry, and as he was trying to get a foothold, disappeared. We ran at once to the bank, hoping to be able to help him more easily; but we had neither poles nor ropes within reach, and, as I have told you, neither of us could swim. Then we called for help with all our might. At that moment Dittmar reappeared, and by an unheard-of effort seized the end of a willow branch that was hanging over the water; but the branch was not strong enough to resist, and our friend sank again, as though he had been struck by apoplexy. Can you imagine the state in which we were, we his friends, bending over the river, our fixed and haggard eyes trying to pierce its depth? My God, my God! how was it we did not go mad? "A great crowd, however, had run at our cries. For two hours they sought far him with boats and drag-hooks; and at last they succeeded in drawing his body from the gulf. Yesterday we bore it solemnly to the field of rest. "Thus with the end of this spring has begun the serious summer of my life. I greeted it in a grave and melancholy mood, and you behold me now, if not consoled, at least strengthened by religion, which, thanks to the merits of Christ, gives me the assurance of meeting my friend in heaven, from the heights of which he will inspire me with strength to support the trials of this life; and now I do not desire anything more except to know you free from all anxiety in regard to me." Instead of serving to unite the two groups of students in a common grief, this accident, on the contrary, did but intensify their hatred of each other. Among the first persons who ran up at the cries of Sand and his companion was a member of the Landmannschaft who could swim, but instead of going to Dittmar's assistance he exclaimed, "It seems that we shall get rid of one of these dogs of Burschen; thank God!" Notwithstanding this manifestation of hatred, which, indeed, might be that of an individual and not of the whole body, the Burschen invited their enemies to be present at Dittmar's funeral. A brutal refusal, and a threat to disturb the ceremony by insults to the corpse, formed their sole reply. The Burschen then warned the authorities, who took suitable measures, and all Dittmar's friends followed his coffin sword in hand. Beholding this calm but resolute demonstration, the Landmannschaft did not dare to carry out their threat, and contented themselves with insulting the procession by laughs and songs. Sand wrote in his journal: "Dittmar is a great loss to all of us, and particularly to me; he gave me the overflow of his strength and life; he stopped, as it were, with an embankment, the part of my character that is irresolute and undecided. From him it is that I have learned not to dread the approaching storm, and to know how to fight and die." Some days after the funeral Sand had a quarrel about Dittmar with one of his former friends, who had passed over from the Burschen to the Landmannschaft, and who had made himself conspicuous at the time of the funeral by his indecent hilarity. It was decided that they should fight the next day, and on the same day Sand wrote in his journal. "To-morrow I am to fight with P. G.; yet Thou knowest, O my God, what great friends we formerly were, except for a certain mistrust with which his coldness always inspired me; but on this occasion his odious conduct has caused me to descend from the tenderest pity to the profoundest hatred. "My God, do not withdraw Thy hand either from him or from me, since we are both fighting like men! Judge only by our two causes, and give the victory to that which is the more just. If Thou shouldst call me before Thy supreme tribunal, I know very well that I should appear burdened with an eternal malediction; and indeed it is not upon myself that I reckon but upon the merits of our Saviour Jesus Christ. "Come what may, be praised and blessed, O my God! "My dear parents, brothers, and friends, I commend you to the protection of God." Sand waited in vain for two hours next day: his adversary did not come to the meeting place. The loss of Dittmar, however, by no means produced the result upon Sand that might have been expected, and that he himself seems to indicate in the regrets he expressed for him. Deprived of that strong soul upon which he rested, Sand understood that it was his task by redoubled energy to make the death of Dittmar less fatal to his party. And indeed he continued singly the work of drawing in recruits which they had been carrying on together, and the patriotic conspiracy was not for a moment impeded. The holidays came, and Sand left Erlangen to return no more. From Wonsiedel he was to proceed to Jena, in order to complete his theological studies there. After some days spent with his family, and indicated in his journal as happy, Sand went to his new place of abode, where he arrived some time before the festival of the Wartburg. This festival, established to celebrate the anniversary of the battle of Leipzig, was regarded as a solemnity throughout Germany, and although the princes well knew that it was a centre for the annual renewal of affiliation to the various societies, they dared not forbid it. Indeed, the manifesto of the Teutonic Association was exhibited at this festival and signed by more than two thousand deputies from different universities in Germany. This was a day of joy for Sand; for he found in the midst of new friends a great number of old ones. The Government, however, which had not 'dared to attack the Association by force, resolved to undermine it by opinion. M. de Stauren published a terrible document, attacking the societies, and founded, it was said, upon information furnished by Kotzebue. This publication made a great stir, not only at Jena, but throughout all Germany. Here is the trace of this event that we find in Sand's journal:-- 24th November "Today, after working with much ease and assiduity, I went out about four with E. As we crossed the market-place we heard Kotzebue's new and venomous insult read. By what a fury that man is possessed against the Burschen and against all who love Germany!" Thus far the first time and in these terms Sand's journal presents the name of the man who, eighteen months later, he was to slay. The Government, however, which had not 'dared to attack the Association by force, resolved to undermine it by opinion. M. de Stauren published a terrible document, attacking the societies, and founded, it was said, upon information furnished by Kotzebue. This publication made a great stir, not only at Jena, but throughout all Germany. Here is the trace of this event that we find in Sand's journal: 24th November "To-day, after working with much ease and assiduity, I went out about four with E. As we crossed the market-place we heard Kotzebue's new and venomous insult read. By what a fury that man is possessed against the Burschen and against all who love Germany!" Thus for the first time and in these terms Sand's journal presents the name of the man who, eighteen months later, he was to slay. On the 29th, in the evening, Sand writes again: "To-morrow I shall set out courageously and joyfully from this place for a pilgrimage to Wonsiedel; there I shall find my large-hearted mother and my tender sister Julia; there I shall cool my head and warm my heart. Probably I shall be present at my good Fritz's marriage with Louisa, and at the baptism of my very dear Durchmith's first-born. God, O my Father, as Thou hast been with me during my sad course, be with me still on my happy road." This journey did in fact greatly cheer Sand. Since Dittmar's death his attacks of hypochondria had disappeared. While Dittmar lived he might die; Dittmar being dead, it was his part to live. On the 11th of December he left Wonsiedel, to return to Jena, and on the 31st of the same month he wrote this prayer in his journal. "O merciful Saviour! I began this year with prayer, and in these last days I have been subject to distraction and ill-disposed. When I look backward, I find, alas! that I have not become better; but I have entered more profoundly into life, and, should occasion present, I now feel strength to act. "It is because Thou hast always been with me, Lord, even when I was not with Thee." If our readers have followed with some attention the different extracts from the journal that we have placed before them, they must have seen Sand's resolution gradually growing stronger and his brain becoming excited. From the beginning of the year 1818, one feels his view, which long was timid and wandering, taking in a wider horizon and fixing itself on a nobler aim. He is no longer ambitious of the pastor's simple life or of the narrow influence which he might gain in a little community, and which, in his juvenile modesty, had seemed the height of good fortune and happiness; it is now his native land, his German people, nay, all humanity, which he embraces in his gigantic plans of political regeneration. Thus, on the flyleaf of his journal for the year 1818, he writes: "Lord, let me strengthen myself in the idea that I have conceived of the deliverance of humanity by the holy sacrifice of Thy Son. Grant that I may be a Christ of Germany, and that, like and through Jesus, I may be strong and patient in suffering." But the anti-republican pamphlets of Kotzebue increased in number and gained a fatal influence upon the minds of rulers. Nearly all the persons who were attacked in these pamphlets were known and esteemed at Jena; and it may easily be comprehended what effects were produced by such insults upon these young heads and noble hearts, which carried conviction to the paint of blindness and enthusiasm to that of fanaticism. Thus, here is what Sand wrote in his diary on the 5th of May. "Lord, what causes this melancholy anguish which has again taken possession of me? But a firm and constant will surmounts everything, and the idea of the country gives joy and courage to the saddest and the weakest. When I think of that, I am always amazed that there is none among us found courageous enough to drive a knife into the breast of Kotzebue or of any other traitor." Still dominated by the same thought, he continues thus on the 18th of May:-- "A man is nothing in comparison with a nation; he is a unity compared with millions, a minute compared with a century. A man, whom nothing precedes and nothing follows, is born, lives, and dies in a longer or shorter time, which, relatively to eternity, hardly equals the duration of a lightning flash. A nation, on the contrary, is immortal." From time to time, however, amid these thoughts that bear the impress of that political fatality which was driving him towards the deed of bloodshed, the kindly and joyous youth reappears. On the 24th of June he writes to his mother:-- "I have received your long and beautiful letter, accompanied by the very complete and well-chosen outfit which you send me. The sight of this fine linen gave me back one of the joys of my childhood. These are fresh benefits. My prayers never remain unfulfilled, and I have continual cause to thank you and God. I receive, all at once, shirts, two pairs of fine sheets, a present of your work, and of Julia's and Caroline's work, dainties and sweetmeats, so that I am still jumping with joy and I turned three times on my heels when I opened the little parcel. Receive the thanks of my heart, and share, as giver, in the joy of him who has received. "Today, however, is a very serious day, the last day of spring and the anniversary of that on which I lost my noble and good Dittmar. I am a prey to a thousand different and confused feelings; but I have only two passions left in me which remain upright and like two pillars of brass support this whole chaos--the thought of God and the love of my country." During all this time Sand's life remains apparently calm and equal; the inward storm is calmed; he rejoices in his application to work and his cheerful temper. However, from time to time, he makes great complaints to himself of his propensity to love dainty food, which he does not always find it possible to conquer. Then, in his self-contempt, he calls himself "fig-stomach" or "cake-stomach." But amid all this the religious and political exaltation and visits all the battlefields near to the road that he follows. On the 18th of October he is back at Jena, where he resumes his studies with more application than ever. It is among such university studies that the year 1818 closes far him, and we should hardly suspect the terrible resolution which he has taken, were it not that we find in his journal this last note, dated the 31st of December: "I finish the last day of this year 1818, then, in a serious and solemn mood, and I have decided that the Christmas feast which has just gone by will be the last Christmas feast that I shall celebrate. If anything is to come of our efforts, if the cause of humanity is to assume the upper hand in our country, if in this faithless epoch any noble feelings can spring up afresh and make way, it can only happen if the wretch, the traitor, the seducer of youth, the infamous Kotzebue, falls! I am fully convinced of this, and until I have accomplished the work upon which I have resolved, I shall have no rest. Lord, Thou who knowest that I have devoted my life to this great action, I only need, now that it is fixed in my mind, to beg of Thee true firmness and courage of soul." Here Sand's diary ends; he had begun it to strengthen himself; he had reached his aim; he needed nothing more. From this moment he was occupied by nothing but this single idea, and he continued slowly to mature the plan in his head in order to familiarise himself with its execution; but all the impressions arising from this thought remained in his own mind, and none was manifested on the surface. To everyone else he was the same; but for some little time past, a complete and unaltered serenity, accompanied by a visible and cheerful return of inclination towards life, had been noticed in him. He had made no charge in the hours or the duration of his studies; but he had begun to attend the anatomical classes very assiduously. One day he was seen to give even more than his customary attention to a lesson in which the professor was demonstrating the various functions of the heart; he examined with the greatest care the place occupied by it in the chest, asking to have some of the demonstrations repeated two or three times, and when he went out, questioning some of the young men who were following the medical courses, about the susceptibility of the organ, which cannot receive ever so slight a blow without death ensuing from that blow: all this with so perfect an indifference and calmness that no one about him conceived any suspicion. Another day, A. S., one of his friends, came into his room. Sand, who had heard him coming up, was standing by the table, with a paper-knife in his hand, waiting for him; directly the visitor came in, Sand flung himself upon him, struck him lightly on the forehead; and then, as he put up his hands to ward off the blow, struck him rather more violently in the chest; then, satisfied with this experiment, said:-- "You see, when you want to kill a man, that is the way to do it; you threaten the face, he puts up his hands, and while he does so you thrust a dagger into his heart." The two young men laughed heartily over this murderous demonstration, and A. S. related it that evening at the wine-shop as one of the peculiarities of character that were common in his friend. After the event, the pantomime explained itself. The month of March arrived. Sand became day by day calmer, more affectionate, and kinder; it might be thought that in the moment of leaving his friends for ever he wished to leave them an ineffaceable remembrance of him. At last he announced that on account of several family affairs he was about to undertake a little journey, and set about all his preparations with his usual care, but with a serenity never previously seen in him. Up to that time he had continued to work as usual, not relaxing for an instant; for there was a possibility that Kotzebue might die or be killed by somebody else before the term that Sand had fixed to himself, and in that case he did not wish to have lost time. On the 7th of March he invited all his friends to spend the evening with him, and announced his departure for the next day but one, the 9th. All of them then proposed to him to escort him for some leagues, but Sand refused; he feared lest this demonstration, innocent though it were, might compromise them later on. He set forth alone, therefore, after having hired his lodgings for another half-year, in order to obviate any suspicion, and went by way of Erfurt and Eisenach, in order to visit the Wartburg. From that place he went to Frankfort, where he slept on the 17th, and on the morrow he continued his journey by way of Darmstadt. At last, on the 23rd, at nine in the morning, he arrived at the top of the little hill where we found him at the beginning of this narrative. Throughout the journey he had been the amiable and happy young man whom no one could see without liking. Having reached Mannheim, he took a room at the Weinberg, and wrote his name as "Henry" in the visitors' list. He immediately inquired where Kotzebue lived. The councillor dwelt near the church of the Jesuits; his house was at the corner of a street, and though Sand's informants could not tell him exactly the letter, they assured him it was not possible to mistake the house. [At Mannheim houses are marked by letters, not by numbers.] Sand went at once to Kotzebue's house: it was about ten o'clock; he was told that the councillor went to walk for an hour or two every morning in the park of Mannheim. Sand inquired about the path in which he generally walked, and about the clothes he wore, for never having seen him he could only recognise him by the description. Kotzebue chanced to take another path. Sand walked about the park for an hour, but seeing no one who corresponded to the description given him, went back to the house. Kotzebue had come in, but was at breakfast and could not see him. Sand went back to the Weinberg, and sat down to the midday table d'hote, where he dined with an appearance of such calmness, and even of such happiness, that his conversation, which was now lively, now simple, and now dignified, was remarked by everybody. At five in the afternoon he returned a third time to the house of Kotzebue, who was giving a great dinner that day; but orders had been given to admit Sand. He was shown into a little room opening out of the anteroom, and a moment after, Kotzebue came in. Sand then performed the drama which he had rehearsed upon his friend A. S. Kotzebue, finding his face threatened, put his hands up to it, and left his breast exposed; Sand at once stabbed him to the heart; Kotzebue gave one cry, staggered, and fell back into an arm-chair: he was dead. At the cry a little girl of six years old ran in, one of those charming German children, with the faces of cherubs, blue-eyed, with long flowing hair. She flung herself upon the body of Kotzebue, calling her father with piercing cries. Sand, standing at the door, could not endure this sight, and without going farther, he thrust the dagger, still covered with Kotzebue's blood, up to the hilt into his own breast. Then, seeing to his surprise that notwithstanding the terrible wound--he had just given himself he did not feel the approach of death, and not wishing to fall alive into the hands of the servants who were running in, he rushed to the staircase. The persons who were invited were just coming in; they, seeing a young man, pale and bleeding with a knife in his breast, uttered loud cries, and stood aside, instead of stopping him. Sand therefore passed down the staircase and reached the street below; ten paces off, a patrol was passing, on the way to relieve the sentinels at the castle; Sand thought these men had been summoned by the cries that followed him; he threw himself on his knees in the middle of the street, and said, "Father, receive my soul!" Then, drawing the knife from the wound, he gave himself a second blow below the former, and fell insensible. Sand was carried to the hospital and guarded with the utmost strictness; the wounds were serious, but, thanks to the skill of the physicians who were called in, were not mortal; one of them even healed eventually; but as to the second, the blade having gone between the costal pleura and the pulmonary pleura, an effusion of blood occurred between the two layers, so that, instead of closing the wound, it was kept carefully open, in order that the blood extravasated during the night might be drawn off every morning by means of a pump, as is done in the operation for empyaemia. Notwithstanding these cares, Sand was for three months between life and death. When, on the 26th of March, the news of Kotzebue's assassination came from Mannheim to Jena, the academic senate caused Sand's room to be opened, and found two letters--one addressed to his friends of the Burschenschaft, in which he declared that he no longer belonged to their society, since he did not wish that their brotherhood should include a man about to die an the scaffold. The other letter, which bore this superscription, "To my nearest and dearest," was an exact account of what he meant to do, and the motives which had made him determine upon this act. Though the letter is a little long, it is so solemn and so antique in spirit, that we do not hesitate to present it in its entirety to our readers:-- "To all my own "Loyal and eternally cherished souls "Why add still further to your sadness? I asked myself, and I hesitated to write to you; but my silence would have wounded the religion of the heart; and the deeper a grief the more it needs, before it can be blotted out, to drain to the dregs its cup of bitterness. Forth from my agonised breast, then; forth, long and cruel torment of a last conversation, which alone, however, when sincere, can alleviate the pain of parting. "This letter brings you the last farewell of your son and your brother. "The greatest misfortune of life far any generous heart is to see the cause of God stopped short in its developments by our fault; and the most dishonouring infamy would be to suffer that the fine things acquired bravely by thousands of men, and far which thousands of men have joyfully sacrificed themselves, should be no more than a transient dream, without real and positive consequences. The resurrection of our German life was begun in these last twenty years, and particularly in the sacred year 1813, with a courage inspired by God. But now the house of our fathers is shaken from the summit to the base. Forward! let us raise it, new and fair, and such as the true temple of the true God should be. "Small is the number of those who resist, and who wish to oppose themselves as a dyke against the torrent of the progress of higher humanity among the German people. Why should vast whole masses bow beneath the yoke of a perverse minority? And why, scarcely healed, should we fall back into a worse disease than that which we are leaving behind? "Many of these seducers, and those are the most infamous, are playing the game of corruption with us; among them is Kotzebue, the most cunning and the worst of all, a real talking machine emitting all sorts of detestable speech and pernicious advice. His voice is skillful in removing from us all anger and bitterness against the most unjust measures, and is just such as kings require to put us to sleep again in that old hazy slumber which is the death of nations. Every day he odiously betrays his country, and nevertheless, despite his treason, remains an idol for half Germany, which, dazzled by him, accepts unresisting the poison poured out by him in his periodic pamphlets, wrapped up and protected as he is by the seductive mantle of a great poetic reputation. Incited by him, the princes of Germany, who have forgotten their promises, will allow nothing free or good to be accomplished; or if anything of the kind is accomplished in spite of them, they will league themselves with the French to annihilate it. That the history of our time may not be covered with eternal ignominy, it is necessary that he should fall. "I have always said that if we wish to find a great and supreme remedy for the state of abasement in which we are, none must shrink from combat nor from suffering; and the real liberty of the German people will only be assured when the good citizen sets himself or some other stake upon the game, and when every true son of the country, prepared for the struggle for justice, despises the good things of this world, and only desires those celestial good things which death holds in charge. "Who then will strike this miserable hireling, this venal traitor? "I have long been waiting in fear, in prayer, and in tears--I who am not born for murder--for some other to be beforehand with me, to set me free, and suffer me to continue my way along the sweet and peaceful path that I had chosen for myself. Well, despite my prayers and my tears, he who should strike does not present himself; indeed, every man, like myself, has a right to count upon some other, and everyone thus counting, every hour's delay, but makes our state worse; far at any moment--and how deep a shame would that be for us! Kotzebue may leave Germany, unpunished, and go to devour in Russia the treasures for which he has exchanged his honour, his conscience, and his German name. Who can preserve us from this shame, if every man, if I myself, do not feel strength to make myself the chosen instrument of God's justice? Therefore, forward! It shall be I who will courageously rush upon him (do not be alarmed), on him, the loathsome seducer; it shall be I who will kill the traitor, so that his misguiding voice, being extinguished, shall cease to lead us astray from the lessons of history and from the Spirit of God. An irresistible and solemn duty impels me to this deed, ever since I have recognised to what high destinies the German; nation may attain during this century, and ever since I have come to know the dastard and hypocrite who alone prevents it from reaching them; for me, as for every German who seeks the public good, this desire has became a strict and binding necessity. May I, by this national vengeance, indicate to all upright and loyal consciences where the true danger lies, and save our vilified and calumniated societies from the imminent danger that threatens them! May I, in short, spread terror among the cowardly and wicked, and courage and faith among the good! Speeches and writings lead to nothing; only actions work. "I will act, therefore; and though driven violently away from my fair dreams of the future, I am none the less full of trust in God; I even experience a celestial joy, now that, like the Hebrews when they sought the promised land, I see traced before me, through darkness and death, that road at the end of which I shall have paid my debt to my country. "Farewell, then, faithful hearts: true, this early separation is hard; true, your hopes, like my wishes, are disappointed; but let us be consoled by the primary thought that we have done what the voice of our country called upon us to do; that, you knew, is the principle according to which I have always lived. You will doubtless say among yourselves, 'Yes, thanks to our sacrifices, he had learned to know life and to taste the joys of earth, and he seemed: deeply to love his native country and the humble estate to which he was called'. Alas, yes, that is true! Under your protection, and amid your numberless sacrifices, my native land and life had become profoundly dear to me. Yes, thanks to you, I have penetrated into the Eden of knowledge, and have lived the free life of thought; thanks to you, I have looked into history, and have then returned to my own conscience to attach myself to the solid pillars of faith in the Eternal. "Yes, I was to pass gently through this life as a preacher of the gospel; yes, in my constancy to my calling I was to be sheltered from the storms of this existence. But would that suffice to avert the danger that threatens Germany? And you yourselves, in your infinite lave, should you not rather push me on to risk my life for the good of all? So many modern Greeks have fallen already to free their country from the yoke of the Turks, and have died almost without any result and without any hope; and yet thousands of fresh martyrs keep up their courage and are ready to fall in their turn; and should I, then, hesitate to die? "That I do not recognise your love, or that your love is but a trifling consideration with me, you will not believe. What else should impel me to die if not my devotion to you and to Germany, and the need of proving this devotion to my family and my country? "You, mother, will say, 'Why have I brought up a son whom I loved and who loved me, for whom I have undergone a thousand cares and toils, who, thanks to my prayers and my example, was impressionable to good influences, and from whom, after my long and weary course, I hoped to receive attentions like those which I have given him? Why does he now abandon me?' "Oh, my kind and tender mother! Yes, you will perhaps say that; but could not the mother of anyone else say the same, and everything go off thus in words when there is need to act for the country? And if no one would act, what would become of that mother of us all who is called Germany? "But no; such complaints are far from you, you noble woman! I understood your appeal once before, and at this present hour, if no one came forward in the German cause, you yourself would urge me to the fight. I have two brothers and two sisters before me, all noble and loyal. They will remain to you, mother; and besides you will have for sons all the children of Germany who love their country. "Every man has a destiny which he has to accomplish: mine is devoted to the action that I am about to undertake; if I were to live another fifty years, I could not live more happily than I have done lately. Farewell, mother: I commend you to the protection of God; may He raise you to that joy which misfortunes can no longer trouble! Take your grandchildren, to whom I should so much have liked to be a loving friend, to the top of our beautiful mountains soon. There, on that altar raised by the Lord Himself in the midst of Germany, let them devote themselves, swearing to take up the sword as soon as they have strength to lift it, and to lay it down only when our brethren are all united in liberty, when all Germans, having a liberal constitution; are great before the Lord, powerful against their neighbours, and united among themselves. "May my country ever raise her happy gaze to Thee, Almighty Father! May Thy blessing fall abundantly upon her harvests ready to be cut and her armies ready for battle, and recognising the blessings that Thou host showered upon us, may the German nation ever be first among nations to rise and uphold the cause of humanity, which is Thy image upon earth! "Your eternally attached son, brother and friend, "KARL-LUDWIG SAND. "JENA, the beginning of March, 1819." Sand, who, as we have said, had at first been taken to the hospital, was removed at the end of three months to the prison at Mannheim, where the governor, Mr. G----, had caused a room to be prepared for him. There he remained two months longer in a state of extreme weakness: his left arm was completely paralysed; his voice was very weak; every movement gave him horrible pain, and thus it was not until the 11th of August--that is to say, five months after the event that we have narrated--that he was able to write to his family the following letter:-- "MY VERY DEAR PARENTS:--The grand-duke's commission of inquiry informed me yesterday that it might be possible I should have the intense joy of a visit from you, and that I might perhaps see you here and embrace you--you, mother, and some of my brothers and sisters. "Without being surprised at this fresh proof of your motherly love, I have felt an ardent remembrance reawaken of the happy life that we spent gently together. Joy and grief, desire and sacrifice, agitate my heart violently, and I have had to weigh these various impulses one against the other, and with the force of reason, in order to resume mastery of myself and to take a decision in regard to my wishes. "The balance has inclined in the direction of sacrifice. "You know, mother, how much joy and courage a look from your eyes, daily intercourse with you, and your pious and high-minded conversation, might bring me during my very short time. But you also know my position, and you are too well acquainted with the natural course of all these painful inquiries, not to feel as I do, that such annoyance, continually recurring, would greatly trouble the pleasure of our companionship, if it did not indeed succeed in entirely destroying it. Then, mother, after the long and fatiguing journey that you would be obliged to make in order to see me, think of the terrible sorrow of the farewell when the moment came to part in this world. Let us therefore abide by the sacrifice, according to God's will, and let us yield ourselves only to that sweet community of thought which distance cannot interrupt, in which I find my only joys, and which, in spite of men, will always be granted us by the Lord, our Father. "As for my physical state, I knew nothing about it. You see, however, since at last I am writing to you myself, that I have come past my first uncertainties. As for the rest, I know too little of the structure of my own body to give any opinion as to what my wounds may determine for it. Except that a little strength has returned to me, its state is still the same, and I endure it calmly and patiently; for God comes to my help, and gives me courage and firmness. He will help me, believe me, to find all the joys of the soul and to be strong in mind. Amen. "May you live happy!--Your deeply respectful son, "KARL-LUDWIG SAND." A month after this letter came tender answers from all the family. We will quote only that of Sand's mother, because it completes the idea which the reader may have formed already of this great-hearted woman, as her son always calls her. "DEAR, INEXPRESSIBLY DEAR KARL,--How Sweet it was to me to see the writing of your beloved hand after so long a time! No journey would have been so painful and no road so long as to prevent me from coming to you, and I would go, in deep and infinite love, to any end of the earth in the mere hope of catching sight of you. "But, as I well know both your tender affection and your profound anxiety for me, and as you give me, so firmly and upon such manly reflection, reasons against which I can say nothing, and which I can but honour, it shall be, my well-beloved Karl, as you have wished and decided. We will continue, without speech, to communicate our thoughts; but be satisfied, nothing can separate us; I enfold you in my soul, and my material thoughts watch over you. "May this infinite love which upholds us, strengthens us, and leads us all to a better life, preserve, dear Karl, your courage and firmness. "Farewell, and be invariably assured that I shall never cease to love you strongly and deeply. "Your faithful mother, who loves you to eternity." Sand replied:-- "January 1820, from my isle of Patmos. "MY DEAR PARENTS, BROTHERS, AND SISTERS,-- "In the middle of the month of September last year I received, through the grand-duke's special commission of inquiry, whose humanity you have already appreciated, your dear letters of the end of August and the beginning of September, which had such magical influence that they inundated me with joy by transporting me into the inmost circle of your hearts. "You, my tender father, you write to me on the sixty-seventh anniversary of your birth, and you bless me by the outpouring of your most tender love. "You, my well-beloved mother, you deign to promise the continuance of your maternal affection, in which I have at all times constantly believed; and thus I have received the blessings of both of you, which, in my present position, will exercise a more beneficent influence upon me than any of the things that all the kings of the earth, united together, could grant me. Yes, you strengthen me abundantly by your blessed love, and I render thanks to you, my beloved parents, with that respectful submission that my heart will always inculcate as the first duty of a son. "But the greater your love and the more affectionate your letters, the more do I suffer, I must acknowledge, from the voluntary sacrifice that we have imposed upon ourselves in not seeing one another; and the only reason, my dear parents, why I have delayed to reply to you, was to give myself time to recover the strength which I have lost. "You too, dear brother-in-law and dear sister, assure me of your sincere and uninterrupted attachment. And yet, after the fright that I have spread among you all, you seem not to know exactly what to think of me; but my heart, full of gratitude for your past kindness, comforts itself; for your actions speak and tell me that, even if you wished no longer to love me as I love you, you would not be able to do otherwise. These actions mean more to me at this hour than any possible protestations, nay, than even the tenderest words. "And you also, my kind brother, you would have consented to hurry with our beloved mother to the shores of the Rhine, to this place where the real links of the soul were welded between us, where we were doubly brothers; but tell me, are you not really here, in thought and in spirit, when I consider the rich fountain of consolation brought me by your cordial and tender letter? "And, you, kind sister-in-law, as you showed yourself from the first, in your delicate tenderness, a true sister, so I find you again at present. There are still the same tender relations, still the same sisterly affection; your consolations, which emanate from a deep and submissive piety, have fallen refreshingly into the depths of my heart. But, dear sister-in-law, I must tell you, as well as the others, that you are too liberal towards me in dispensing your esteem and praises, and your exaggeration has cast me back face to face with my inmost judge, who has shown me in the mirror of my conscience the image of my every weakness. "You, kind Julia, you desire nothing else but to save me from the fate that awaits me; and you assure me in your own name and in that of you all, that you, like the others, would rejoice to endure it in my place; in that I recognise you fully, and I recognise, too, those sweet and tender relations in which we have been brought up from childhood. Oh, be comforted, dear Julia; thanks to the protection of God, I promise you: that it will be easy for me, much easier than I should have thought, to bear what falls to my lot. Receive, then, all of you, my warm and sincere thanks for having thus rejoiced my heart. "Now that I know from these strengthening letters that, like the prodigal son, the love and goodness of my family are greater on my return than at my departure, I will, as carefully as possible, paint for you my physical and moral state, and I pray God to supplement my words by His strength, so that my letter may contain an equivalent of what yours brought to me, and may help you to reach that state of calm and serenity to which I have myself attained. "Hardened, by having gained power over myself, against the good and ill of this earth, you knew already that of late years I have lived only for moral joys, and I must say that, touched by my efforts, doubtless, the Lord, who is the sacred fount of all that is good, has rendered me apt in seeking them and in tasting them to the full. God is ever near me, as formerly, and I find in Him the sovereign principle of the creation of all things; in Him, our holy Father, not only consolation and strength, but an unalterable Friend, full of the holiest love, who will accompany me in all places where I may need His consolations. Assuredly, if He had turned from me, or if I had turned away my eyes from Him, I should now find myself very unfortunate and wretched; but by His grace, on the contrary, lowly and weak creature as I am, He makes me strong and powerful against whatever can befall me. "What I have hitherto revered as sacred, what I have desired as good what I have aspired to as heavenly, has in no respect changed now. And I thank God for it, for I should now be in great despair if I were compelled to recognise that my heart had adored deceptive images and enwrapped itself in fugitive chimeras. Thus my faith in these ideas and my pure love far them, guardian angels of my spirit as they are, increase moment by moment, and will go on increasing to my end, and I hope that I may pass all the more easily from this world into eternity. I pass my silent life in Christian exaltation and humility, and I sometimes have those visions from above through which I have, from my birth, adored heaven upon earth, and which give me power to raise myself to the Lord upon the eager wings of my prayers. My illness, though long, painful, and cruel, has always been sufficiently mastered by my will to let me busy myself to some result with history, positive sciences, and the finer parts of religious education, and when my suffering became more violent and for a time interrupted these occupations, I struggled successfully, nevertheless, against ennui; for the memories of the past, my resignation to the present, and my faith in the future were rich enough and strong enough in me and round me to prevent my falling from my terrestrial paradise. According to my principles, I would never, in the position in which I am and in which I have placed myself, have been willing to ask anything for my own comfort; but so much kindness and care have been lavished upon me, with so much delicacy and humanity,--which alas! I am unable to return--by every person with whom I have been brought into contact, that wishes which I should not have dared to frame in the mast private recesses of my heart have been more than exceeded. I have never been so much overcome by bodily pains that I could not say within myself, while I lifted my thoughts to heaven, 'Come what may of this ray.' And great as these gains have been, I could not dream of comparing them with those sufferings of the soul that we feel so profoundly and poignantly in the recognition of our weaknesses and faults. "Moreover, these pains seldom now cause me to lose consciousness; the swelling and inflammation never made great headway, and the fever has always been moderate, though for nearly ten months I have been forced to remain lying on my back, unable to raise myself, and although more than forty pints of matter have come from my chest at the place where the heart is. No, an the contrary, the wound, though still open, is in a good state; and I owe that not only to the excellent nursing around me, but also to the pure blood that I received from you, my mother. Thus I have lacked neither earthly assistance nor heavenly encouragement. Thus, on the anniversary of my birth, I had every reason--oh, not to curse the hour in which I was born, but, on the contrary, after serious contemplation of the world, to thank God and you, my dear parents, for the life that you have given me! I celebrated it, on the 18th of October, by a peaceful and ardent submission to the holy will of God. On Christmas Day I tried to put myself into the temper of children who are devoted to the Lord; and with God's help the new year will pass like its predecessor, in bodily pain, perhaps, but certainly in spiritual joy. And with this wish, the only one that I form, I address myself to you, my dear parents, and to you and yours, my dear brothers and sisters. "I cannot hope to see a twenty-fifth new year; so may the prayer that I have just made be granted! May this picture of my present state afford you some tranquillity, and may this letter that I write to you from the depths of my heart not only prove to you that I am not unworthy of the inexpressible love that you all display, but, on the contrary, ensure this love to me for eternity. "Within the last few days I have also received your dear letter of the 2nd of December, my kind mother, and the grind-duke's commission has deigned to let me also read my kind brother's letter which accompanied yours. You give me the best of news in regard to the health of all of you, and send me preserved fruits from our dear home. I thank you for them from the bottom of my heart. What causes me most joy in the matter is that you have been solicitously busy about me in summer as in winter, and that you and my dear Julia gathered them and prepared them for me at home, and I abandon my whole soul to that sweet enjoyment. "I rejoice sincerely at my little cousin's coming into the world; I joyfully congratulate the good parents and the grandparents; I transport myself, for his baptism, into that beloved parish, where I offer him my affection as his Christian brother, and call down on him all the blessings of heaven. "We shall be obliged, I think, to give up this correspondence, so as not to inconvenience the grand-duke's commission. I finish, therefore, by assuring you, once more, but for the last time, perhaps, of my profound filial submission and of my fraternal affection.--Your most tenderly attached "KARL-LUDWIG SAND." Indeed, from that moment all correspondence between Karl and his family ceased, and he only wrote to them, when he knew his fate, one more letter, which we shall see later on. We have seen by what attentions Sand was surrounded; their humanity never flagged for an instant. It is the truth, too, that no one saw in him an ordinary murderer, that many pitied him under their breath, and that some excused him aloud. The very commission appointed by the grand-duke prolonged the affair as much as possible; for the severity of Sand's wounds had at first given rise to the belief that there would be no need of calling in the executioner, and the commission was well pleased that God should have undertaken the execution of the judgment. But these expectations were deceived: the skill of the doctor defeated, not indeed the wound, but death: Sand did not recover, but he remained alive; and it began to be evident that it would be needful to kill him. Indeed, the Emperor Alexander, who had appointed Kotzebue his councillor, and who was under no misapprehension as to the cause of the murder, urgently demanded that justice should take its course. The commission of inquiry was therefore obliged to set to work; but as its members were sincerely desirous of having some pretext to delay their proceedings, they ordered that a physician from Heidelberg should visit Sand and make an exact report upon his case; as Sand was kept lying down and as he could not be executed in his bed, they hoped that the physician's report, by declaring it impossible for the prisoner to rise, would come to their assistance and necessitate a further respite. The chosen doctor came accordingly to Mannheim, and introducing himself to Sand as though attracted by the interest that he inspired, asked him whether he did not feel somewhat better, and whether it would be impossible to rise. Sand looked at him for an instant, and then said, with a smile-- "I understand, sir; they wish to know whether I am strong enough to mount a scaffold: I know nothing about it myself, but we will make the experiment together." With these words he rose, and accomplishing, with superhuman courage, what he had not attempted for fourteen months, walked twice round the room, came back to his bed, upon which he seated himself, and said: "You see, sir, I am strong enough; it would therefore be wasting precious time to keep my judges longer about my affair; so let them deliver their judgment, for nothing now prevents its execution." The doctor made his report; there was no way of retreat; Russia was becoming more and more pressing, and an the 5th of May 1820 the high court of justice delivered the following judgment, which was confirmed on the 12th by His Royal Highness the Grand-Duke of Baden: "In the matters under investigation and after administration of the interrogatory and hearing the defences, and considering the united opinions of the court of justice at Mannheim and the further consultations of the court of justice which declare the accused, Karl Sand of Wonsiedel, guilty of murder, even on his own confession, upon the person of the Russian imperial Councillor of State, Kotzebue; it is ordered accordingly, for his just punishment and for an example that may deter other people, that he is to be put from life to death by the sword. "All the costs of these investigations, including these occasioned by his public execution, will be defrayed from the funds of the law department, on account of his want of means." We see that, though it condemned the accused to death, which indeed could hardly be avoided, the sentence was both in form and substance as mild as possible, since, though Sand was convicted, his poor family was not reduced by the expenses of a long and costly trial to complete ruin. Five days were still allowed to elapse, and the verdict was not announced until the 17th. When Sand was informed that two councillors of justice were at the door, he guessed that they were coming to read his sentence to him; he asked a moment to rise, which he had done but once before, in the instance already narrated, during fourteen months. And indeed he was so weak that he could not stand to hear the sentence, and after having greeted the deputation that death sent to him, he asked to sit down, saying that he did so not from cowardice of soul but from weakness of body; then he added, "You are welcome, gentlemen; far I have suffered so much for fourteen months past that you come to me as angels of deliverance." He heard the sentence quite unaffectedly and with a gentle smile upon his lips; then, when the reading was finished, he said-- "I look for no better fate, gentlemen, and when, more than a year ago, I paused on the little hill that overlooks the town, I saw beforehand the place where my grave would be; and so I ought to thank God and man far having prolonged my existence up to to-day." The councillors withdrew; Sand stood up a second time to greet them on their departure, as he had done on their entrance; then he sat down again pensively in his chair, by which Mr. G, the governor of the prison, was standing. After a moment of silence, a tear appeared at each of the condemned man's eyelids, and ran down his cheeks; then, turning suddenly to Mr. G----, whom he liked very much, he said, "I hope that my parents would rather see me die by this violent death than of some slow and shameful disease. As for me, I am glad that I shall soon hear the hour strike in which my death will satisfy those who hate me, and those wham, according to my principles, I ought to hate." Then he wrote to his family. "MANNHEIM. "17th of the month of spring, 1820. "DEAR PARENTS, BROTHERS, AND SISTERS,--You should have received my last letters through the grand-duke's commission; in them I answered yours, and tried to console you for my position by describing the state of my soul as it is, the contempt to which I have attained for everything fragile and earthly, and by which one must necessarily be overcome when such matters are weighed against the fulfilment of an idea, or that intellectual liberty which alone can nourish the soul; in a word, I tried to console you by the assurance that the feelings, principles, and convictions of which I formerly spoke are faithfully preserved in me and have remained exactly the same; but I am sure all this was an unnecessary precaution on my part, for there was never a time when you asked anything else of me than to have God before my eyes and in my heart; and you have seen how, under your guidance, this precept so passed into my soul that it became my sole object of happiness for this world and the next; no doubt, as He was in and near me, God will be in and near you at the moment when this letter brings you the news of my sentence. I die willingly, and the Lord will give me strength to die as one ought to die. "I write to you perfectly quiet and calm about all things, and I hope that your lives too will pass calmly and tranquilly until the moment when our souls meet again full of fresh force to love one another and to share eternal happiness together. "As for me, such as I have lived as long as I have known myself--that is to say, in a serenity full of celestial desires and a courageous and indefatigable love of liberty, such I am about to die. "May God be with you and with me!--Your son, brother, and friend, "KARL-LUDWIG SAND." From that moment his serenity remained untroubled; during the whole day he talked more gaily than usual, slept well, did not awake until half-past seven, said that he felt stronger, and thanked God for visiting him thus. The nature of the verdict had been known since the day before, and it had been learned that the execution was fixed for the 20th of May--that is to say, three full days after the sentence had been read to the accused. Henceforward, with Sand's permission, persons who wished to speak to him and whom he was not reluctant to see, were admitted: three among these paid him long and noteworthy visits. One was Major Holzungen, of the Baden army, who was in command of the patrol that had arrested him, or rather picked him up, dying, and carried him to the hospital. He asked him whether he recognised him, and Sand's head was so clear when he stabbed himself, that although he saw the major only for a moment and had never seen him again since, he remembered the minutest details of the costume which he had been wearing fourteen months previously, and which was the full-dress uniform. When the talk fell upon the death to which Sand was to submit at so early an age, the major pitied him; but Sand answered, with a smile, "There is only one difference between you and me, major; it is that I shall die far my convictions, and you will die for someone else's convictions." After the major came a young student from Jena whom Sand had known at the university. He happened to be in the duchy of Baden and wished to visit him. Their recognition was touching, and the student wept much; but Sand consoled him with his usual calmness and serenity. Then a workman asked to be admitted to see Sand, on the plea that he had been his schoolfellow at Wonsiedel, and although he did not remember his name, he ordered him to be let in: the workman reminded him that he had been one of the little army that Sand had commanded on the day of the assault of St. Catherine's tower. This indication guided Sand, who recognised him perfectly, and then spoke with tender affection of his native place and his dear mountains. He further charged him to greet his family, and to beg his mother, father, brothers, and sisters once more not to be grieved on his account, since the messenger who undertook to deliver his last wards could testify in how calm and joyful a temper he was awaiting death. To this workman succeeded one of the guests whom Sand had met on the staircase directly after Kotzebue's death. He asked him whether he acknowledged his crime and whether he felt any repentance. Sand replied, "I had thought about it during a whole year. I have been thinking of it for fourteen months, and my opinion has never varied in any respect: I did what I should have done." After the departure of this last visitor, Sand sent for Mr. G----, the governor of the prison, and told him that he should like to talk to the executioner before the execution, since he wished to ask for instructions as to how he should hold himself so as to render the operation most certain and easy. Mr. G----made some objections, but Sand insisted with his usual gentleness, and Mr. G----at last promised that the man in question should be asked to call at the prison as soon as he arrived from Heidelberg, where he lived. The rest of the day was spent in seeing more visitors and in philosophical and moral talks, in which Sand developed his social and religious theories with a lucidity of expression and an elevation of thought such as he had, perhaps, never before shown. The governor of the prison from whom I heard these details, told me that he should all his life regret that he did not know shorthand, so that he might have noted all these thoughts, which would have formed a pendant to the Phaedo. Night came. Sand spent part of the evening writing; it is thought that he was composing a poem; but no doubt he burned it, for no trace of it was found. At eleven he went to bed, and slept until six in the morning. Next day he bore the dressing of his wound, which was always very painful, with extraordinary courage, without fainting, as he sometimes did, and without suffering a single complaint to escape him: he had spoken the truth; in the presence of death God gave him the grace of allowing his strength to return. The operation was over; Sand was lying down as usual, and Mr. G----was sitting on the foot of his bed, when the door opened and a man came in and bowed to Sand and to Mr. G----. The governor of the prison immediately stood up, and said to Sand in a voice the emotion of which he could not conceal, "The person who is bowing to you is Mr. Widemann of Heidelberg, to whom you wished to speak." Then Sand's face was lighted up by a strange joy; he sat up and said, "Sir, you are welcome." Then, making his visitor sit down by his bed, and taking his hand, he began to thank him for being so obliging, and spoke in so intense a tone and so gentle a voice, that Mr. Widemann, deeply moved, could not answer. Sand encouraged him to speak and to give him the details for which he wished, and in order to reassure him, said, "Be firm, sir; for I, on my part, will not fail you: I will not move; and even if you should need two or three strokes to separate my head from my body, as I am told is sometimes the case, do not be troubled on that account." Then Sand rose, leaning on Mr. G----, to go through with the executioner the strange and terrible rehearsal of the drama in which he was to play the leading part on the morrow. Mr. Widemann made him sit in a chair and take the required position, and went into all the details of the execution with him. Then Sand, perfectly instructed, begged him not to hurry and to take his time. Then he thanked him beforehand; "for," added he, "afterwards I shall not be able." Then Sand returned to his bed, leaving the executioner paler and more trembling than himself. All these details have been preserved by Mr. G----; for as to the executioner, his emotion was so great that he could remember nothing. After Mr. Widemann, three clergymen were introduced, with whom Sand conversed upon religious matters: one of them stayed six hours with him, and on leaving him told him that he was commissioned to obtain from him a promise of not speaking to the people at the place of execution. Sand gave the promise, and added, "Even if I desired to do so, my voice has become so weak that people could not hear it." Meanwhile the scaffold was being erected in the meadow that extends on the left of the road to Heidelberg. It was a platform five to six feet high and ten feet wide each way. As it was expected that, thanks to the interest inspired by the prisoner and to the nearness to Whitsuntide, the crowd would be immense, and as some movement from the universities was apprehended, the prison guards had been trebled, and General Neustein had been ordered to Mannheim from Carlsruhe, with twelve hundred infantry, three hundred and fifty cavalry, and a company of artillery with guns. On, the afternoon of the 19th there arrived, as had been foreseen, so many students, who took up their abode in the neighbouring villages, that it was decided to put forward the hour of the execution, and to let it take place at five in the morning instead of at eleven, as had been arranged. But Sand's consent was necessary for this; for he could not be executed until three full days after the reading of his sentence, and as the sentence had not been read to him till half-past ten Sand had a right to live till eleven o'clock. Before four in the morning the officials went into the condemned man's room; he was sleeping so soundly that they were obliged to awaken him. He opened his eyes with a smile, as was his custom, and guessing why they came, asked, "Can I have slept so well that it is already eleven in the morning?" They told him that it was not, but that they had come to ask his permission to put forward the time; for, they told him, same collision between the students and the soldiers was feared, and as the military preparations were very thorough, such a collision could not be otherwise than fatal to his friends. Sand answered that he was ready that very moment, and only asked time enough to take a bath, as the ancients were accustomed to do before going into battle. But as the verbal authorisation which he had given was not sufficient, a pen and paper were given to Sand, and he wrote, with a steady hand and in his usual writing: "I thank the authorities of Mannheim for anticipating my most eager wishes by making my execution six hours earlier. "Sit nomen Domini benedictum. "From the prison room, May 20th, day of my deliverance. "KARL-LUDWIG SAND." When Sand had given these two lines to the recorder, the physician came to him to dress his wound, as usual. Sand looked at him with a smile, and then asked, "Is it really worth the trouble?" "You will be stronger for it," answered the physician. "Then do it," said Sand. A bath was brought. Sand lay down in it, and had his long and beautiful hair arranged with the greatest care; then his toilet being completed, he put on a frock-coat of the German shape--that is to say, short and with the shirt collar turned back aver the shoulders, close white trousers, and high boots. Then Sand seated himself on his bed and prayed some time in a low voice with the clergy; then, when he had finished, he said these two lines of Korner's: "All that is earthly is ended, And the life of heaven begins." He next took leave of the physician and the priests, saying to them, "Do not attribute the emotion of my voice to weakness but to gratitude." Then, upon these gentlemen offering to accompany him to the scaffold, he said, "There is no need; I am perfectly prepared, at peace with God and with my conscience. Besides, am I not almost a Churchman myself?" And when one of them asked whether he was not going out of life in a spirit of hatred, he returned, "Why, good heavens! have I ever felt any?" An increasing noise was audible from the street, and Sand said again that he was at their disposal and that he was ready. At this moment the executioner came in with his two assistants; he was dressed in a long wadded black coat, beneath which he hid his sword. Sand offered him his hand affectionately; and as Mr. Widemann, embarrassed by the sword which he wished to keep Sand from seeing, did not venture to come forward, Sand said to him, "Come along and show me your sword; I have never seen one of the kind, and am curious to know what it is like." Mr. Widemann, pale and trembling, presented the weapon to him; Sand examined it attentively, and tried the edge with his finger. "Come," said he, "the blade is good; do not tremble, and all will go well." Then, turning to Mr. G----, who was weeping, he said to him, "You will be good enough, will you not, to do me the service of leading me to the scaffold?" Mr. G----made a sign of assent with his head, for he could not answer. Sand took his arm, and spoke for the third time, saying once more, "Well, what are you waiting for, gentlemen? I am ready." When they reached the courtyard, Sand saw all the prisoners weeping at their windows. Although he had never seen them, they were old friends of his; for every time they passed his door, knowing that the student who had killed Kotzebue lay within, they used to lift their chain, that he might not be disturbed by the noise. All Mannheim was in the streets that led to the place of execution, and many patrols were passing up and down. On the day when the sentence was announced the whole town had been sought through for a chaise in which to convey Sand to the scaffold, but no one, not even the coach-builders, would either let one out or sell one; and it had been necessary, therefore, to buy one at Heidelberg without saying for what purpose. Sand found this chaise in the courtyard, and got into it with Mr. G----. Turning to him, he whispered in his ear, "Sir, if you see me turn pale, speak my name to me, my name only, do you hear? That will be enough." The prison gate was opened, and Sand was seen; then every voice cried with one impulse, "Farewell, Sand, farewell!" And at the same time flowers, some of which fell into the carriage, were thrown by the crowd that thronged the street, and from the windows. At these friendly cries and at this spectacle, Sand, who until then had shown no moment of weakness, felt tears rising in spite of himself, and while he returned the greetings made to him on all sides, he murmured in a low voice, "O my God, give me courage!" This first outburst over, the procession set out amid deep silence; only now and again same single voice would call out, "Farewell, Sand!" and a handkerchief waved by some hand that rose out of the crowd would show from what paint the last call came. On each side of the chaise walked two of the prison officials, and behind the chaise came a second conveyance with the municipal authorities. The air was very cold: it had rained all night, and the dark and cloudy sky seemed to share in the general sadness. Sand, too weak to remain sitting up, was half lying upon the shoulder of Mr. G-----, his companion; his face was gentle, calm and full of pain; his brow free and open, his features, interesting though without regular beauty, seemed to have aged by several years during the fourteen months of suffering that had just elapsed. The chaise at last reached the place of execution, which was surrounded by a battalion of infantry; Sand lowered his eyes from heaven to earth and saw the scaffold. At this sight he smiled gently, and as he left the carriage he said, "Well, God has given me strength so far." The governor of the prison and the chief officials lifted him that he might go up the steps. During that short ascent pain kept him bowed, but when he had reached the top he stood erect again, saying, "Here then is the place where I am to die!" Then before he came to the chair on which he was to be seated for the execution, he turned his eyes towards Mannheim, and his gaze travelled over all the throng that surrounded him; at that moment a ray of sunshine broke through the clouds. Sand greeted it with a smile and sat down. Then, as, according to the orders given, his sentence was to be read to him a second time, he was asked whether he felt strong enough to hear it standing. Sand answered that he would try, and that if his physical strength failed him, his moral strength would uphold him. He rose immediately from the fatal chair, begging Mr. G----to stand near enough to support him if he should chance to stagger. The precaution was unnecessary, Sand did not stagger. After the judgment had been read, he sat down again and said in a laud voice, "I die trusting in God." But at these words Mr. G------interrupted him. "Sand," said he, "what did you promise?" "True," he answered; "I had forgotten." He was silent, therefore, to the crowd; but, raising his right hand and extending it solemnly in the air, he said in a low voice, so that he might be heard only by those who were around him, "I take God to witness that I die for the freedom of Germany." Then, with these words, he did as Conradin did with his glove; he threw his rolled-up handkerchief over the line of soldiers around him, into the midst of the people. Then the executioner came to cut off his hair; but Sand at first objected. "It is for your mother," said Mr. Widemann. "On your honour, sir?" asked Sand. "On my honour." "Then do it," said Sand, offering his hair to the executioner. Only a few curls were cut off, those only which fell at the back, the others were tied with a ribbon on the top of the head. The executioner then tied his hands on his breast, but as that position was oppressive to him and compelled him an account of his wound to bend his head, his hands were laid flat on his thighs and fixed in that position with ropes. Then, when his eyes were about to be bound, he begged Mr. Widemann to place the bandage in such a manner that he could see the light to his last moment. His wish was fulfilled. Then a profound and mortal stillness hovered over the whole crowd and surrounded the scaffold. The executioner drew his sword, which flashed like lightning and fell. Instantly a terrible cry rose at once from twenty thousand bosoms; the head had not fallen, and though it had sunk towards the breast still held to the neck. The executioner struck a second time, and struck off at the same blow the head and a part of the hand. In the same moment, notwithstanding the efforts of the soldiers, their line was broken through; men and women rushed upon the scaffold, the blood was wiped up to the last drop with handkerchiefs; the chair upon which Sand had sat was broken and divided into pieces, and those who could not obtain one, cut fragments of bloodstained wood from the scaffold itself. The head and body were placed in a coffin draped with black, and carried back, with a large military escort, to the prison. At midnight the body was borne silently, without torches or lights, to the Protestant cemetery, in which Kotzebue had been buried fourteen months previously. A grave had been mysteriously dug; the coffin was lowered into it, and those who were present at the burial were sworn upon the New Testament not to reveal the spot where Sand was buried until such time as they were freed from their oath. Then the grave was covered again with the turf, that had been skilfully taken off, and that was relaid on the same spat, so that no new grave could be perceived; then the nocturnal gravediggers departed, leaving guards at the entrance. There, twenty paces apart, Sand and Kotzebue rest: Kotzebue opposite the gate in the most conspicuous spot of the cemetery, and beneath a tomb upon which is engraved this inscription: "The world persecuted him without pity, Calumny was his sad portion, He found no happiness save in the arms of his wife, And no repose save in the bosom of death. Envy dogged him to cover his path with thorns, Love bade his roses blossom; May Heaven pardon him As he pardons earth!" In contrast with this tall and showy monument, standing, as we have said, in the most conspicuous spot of the cemetery, Sand's grave must be looked far in the corner to the extreme left of the entrance gate; and a wild plum tree, some leaves of which every passing traveller carries away, rises alone upon the grave, which is devoid of any inscription. As far the meadow in which Sand was executed, it is still called by the people "Sand's Himmelsfartsweise," which signifies "The manner of Sand's ascension." Toward the end of September, 1838, we were at Mannheim, where I had stayed three days in order to collect all the details I could find about the life and death of Karl-Ludwig Sand. But at the end of these three days, in spite of my active investigations, these details still remained extremely incomplete, either because I applied in the wrong quarters, or because, being a foreigner, I inspired same distrust in those to whom I applied. I was leaving Mannheim, therefore, somewhat disappointed, and after having visited the little Protestant cemetery where Sand and Kotzebue are buried at twenty paces from each other, I had ordered my driver to take the road to Heidelberg, when, after going a few yards, he, who knew the object of my inquiries, stopped of himself and asked me whether I should not like to see the place where Sand was executed. At the same time he pointed to a little mound situated in the middle of a meadow and a few steps from a brook. I assented eagerly, and although the driver remained on the highroad with my travelling companions, I soon recognised the spot indicated, by means of some relics of cypress branches, immortelles, and forget-me-nots scattered upon the earth. It will readily be understood that this sight, instead of diminishing my desire for information, increased it. I was feeling, then, more than ever dissatisfied at going away, knowing so little, when I saw a man of some five-and-forty to fifty years old, who was walking a little distance from the place where I myself was, and who, guessing the cause that drew me thither, was looking at me with curiosity. I determined to make a last effort, and going up to him, I said, "Oh, sir, I am a stranger; I am travelling to collect all the rich and poetic traditions of your Germany. By the way in which you look at me, I guess that you know which of them attracts me to this meadow. Could you give me any information about the life and death of Sand?" "With what object, sir?" the person to whom I spoke asked me in almost unintelligible French. "With a very German object, be assured, sir," I replied. "From the little I have learned, Sand seems to me to be one of those ghosts that appear only the greater and the more poetic for being wrapped in a shroud stained with blood. But he is not known in France; he might be put on the same level there with a Fieschi or a Meunier, and I wish, to the best of my ability, to enlighten the minds of my countrymen about him." "It would be a great pleasure to me, sir, to assist in such an undertaking; but you see that I can scarcely speak French; you do not speak German at all; so that we shall find it difficult to understand each other." "If that is all," I returned, "I have in my carriage yonder an interpreter, or rather an interpretress, with whom you will, I hope, be quite satisfied, who speaks German like Goethe, and to whom, when you have once begun to speak to her, I defy you not to tell everything." "Let us go, then, sir," answered the pedestrian. "I ask no better than to be agreeable to you." We walked toward the carriage, which was still waiting on the highroad, and I presented to my travelling companion the new recruit whom I had just gained. The usual greetings were exchanged, and the dialogue began in the purest Saxon. Though I did not understand a word that was said, it was easy for me to see, by the rapidity of the questions and the length of the answers, that the conversation was most interesting. At last, at the end of half an hours growing desirous of knowing to what point they had come, I said, "Well?" "Well," answered my interpreter, "you are in luck's way, and you could not have asked a better person." "The gentleman knew Sand, then?" "The gentleman is the governor of the prison in which Sand was confined." "Indeed?" "For nine months--that is to say, from the day he left the hospital-- this gentleman saw him every day." "Excellent!" "But that is not all: this gentleman was with him in the carriage that took him to execution; this gentleman was with him on the scaffold; there's only one portrait of Sand in all Mannheim, and this gentleman has it." I was devouring every word; a mental alchemist, I was opening my crucible and finding gold in it. "Just ask," I resumed eagerly, "whether the gentleman will allow us to take down in writing the particulars that he can give me." My interpreter put another question, then, turning towards me, said, "Granted." Mr. G----got into the carriage with us, and instead of going on to Heidelberg, we returned to Mannheim, and alighted at the prison. Mr. G---did not once depart from the ready kindness that he had shown. In the most obliging manner, patient over the minutest trifles, and remembering most happily, he went over every circumstance, putting himself at my disposal like a professional guide. At last, when every particular about Sand had been sucked dry, I began to ask him about the manner in which executions were performed. "As to that," said he, "I can offer you an introduction to someone at Heidelberg who can give you all the information you can wish for upon the subject." I accepted gratefully, and as I was taking leave of Mr. G----, after thanking him a thousand times, he handed me the offered letter. It bore this superscription: "To Herr-doctor Widemann, No. III High Street, Heidelberg." I turned to Mr. G----once more. "Is he, by chance, a relation of the man who executed Sand?" I asked. "He is his son, and was standing by when the head fell.". "What is his calling, then?" "The same as that of his father, whom he succeeded." "But you call him 'doctor'?" "Certainly; with us, executioners have that title." "But, then, doctors of what?" "Of surgery." "Really?" said I. "With us it is just the contrary; surgeons are called executioners." "You will find him, moreover," added Mr. G----, "a very distinguished young man, who, although he was very young at that time, has retained a vivid recollection of that event. As for his poor father, I think he would as willingly have cut off his own right hand as have executed Sand; but if he had refused, someone else would have been found. So he had to do what he was ordered to do, and he did his best." I thanked Mr. G----, fully resolving to make use of his letter, and we left for Heidelberg, where we arrived at eleven in the evening. My first visit next day was to Dr. Widernann. It was not without some emotion, which, moreover, I saw reflected upon, the faces of my travelling companions, that I rang at the door of the last judge, as the Germans call him. An old woman opened the door to us, and ushered us into a pretty little study, on the left of a passage and at the foot of a staircase, where we waited while Mr. Widemann finished dressing. This little room was full of curiosities, madrepores, shells, stuffed birds, and dried plants; a double-barrelled gun, a powder-flask, and a game-bag showed that Mr. Widemann was a hunter. After a moment we heard his footstep, and the door opened. Mr. Widemann was a very handsome young man, of thirty or thirty-two, with black whiskers entirely surrounding his manly and expressive face; his morning dress showed a certain rural elegance. He seemed at first not only embarrassed but pained by our visit. The aimless curiosity of which he seemed to be the object was indeed odd. I hastened to give him Mr. G----'s letter and to tell him what reason brought me. Then he gradually recovered himself, and at last showed himself no less hospitable and obliging towards us than he to whom we owed the introduction had been, the day before. Mr. Widemann then gathered together all his remembrances; he, too, had retained a vivid recollection of Sand, and he told us among other things that his father, at the risk of bringing himself into ill odour, had asked leave to have a new scaffold made at his own expense, so that no other criminal might be executed upon the altar of the martyr's death. Permission had been given, and Mr. Widemann had used the wood of the scaffold for the doors and windows of a little country house standing in a vineyard. Then for three or four years this cottage became a shrine for pilgrims; but after a time, little by little, the crowd grew less, and at the present day, when some of those who wiped the blood from the scaffold with their handkerchiefs have became public functionaries, receiving salaries from Government, only foreigners ask, now and again, to see these strange relics. Mr. Widemann gave me a guide; for, after hearing everything, I wanted to see everything. The house stands half a league away from Heidelberg, on the left of the road to Carlsruhe, and half-way up the mountain-side. It is perhaps the only monument of the kind that exists in the world. Our readers will judge better from this anecdote than from anything more we could say, what sort of man he was who left such a memory in the hearts of his gaoler and his executioner. Publication Date: May 27th 2010 https://www.bookrix.com/-bx.dumas

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Lee Mandel Monopoly Publication Date: July 14th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-leemandel

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Melissa Pollard Taking Revenge I walked down the abbey, my dress flowing behind me, sweeping the floor like waves along the ocean floor. Surrounding me was large stones, towering to enclose buildings of different functions and to protect the people inside. Rats raced across my path, cobwebs dangled in windows stories above my head. There was a slight pitter patter as the soles of my shoes graced the damp, stone path. As I arrived at my destination, I hastily climbed the steps, grasping the railing for support. At the top, I knocked. Ten seconds passed before the door heaved open. A petite, elderly woman stood inside, glassy grey eyes studying me. If I remember correctly, her name was Madeline. I straightened, “I came to see Sir Chase,” I stated. “For what matter?” She questioned, her voice wavering from old age. “He has something of mine, a token, and I wish it back,” I cleared my throat. “Sir Chases’ father is dying on his bed at this moment, and Sir Chase will not leave his side.” “That’s absurd! He instructed me to be here at the third hour before noon, promising to return my token, are you saying he’s breaking his promise to me?” “It appears so,” she responded. She stood there, waiting. I heaved a loud sigh, to show my frustration. Common men are not worth the sacrifice for love. I turned and eased downed the steps. Gingerly, the door behind me closed. I paused, my blood was beginning to boil hot, my fists clenched; sweat began to shimmer off my brow. He dares to break a promise to me? I expected better from him; this man of many words. He’s made my heart melt, my knees buckle under my dress, always catching me. He’s promised adventures and excitement, always following through. He vowed to never break a promise before. I pondered for a moment, has he ever broken a promise to me or riddled a lie before? No. I flew off the last step, outraged. He lied to me! For the love of God, he lied to me! To me! Oh, I’ll get my revenge alright, and I raced out of the alley. I didn’t bother with posture as I pushed past the crowd. Music played across the street, children dancing made up dances to the tune. Horses’ hooves clacked against the solid dirt. The baker had just set out fresh bread, the aroma of vanilla and honey and warm dough filled the streets, intoxicating my nostrils. My feet wanted to dance, my nose wanted to lather in the aroma, my taste buds developed a new fetish for bread, however, my mind was driven for revenge, and with that, I turned off the street and straight for my front door. I pushed the door open, slamming it shut. I stormed into the bedroom and fell to my knees. My fingers tracing the cracks between the wooden boards till I found the niche. I picked at the board until it budged and my fingers could grasp it more. Once it was finally off, I plunged my hand into the hole, till its warmth turned to cold. Found it. The corners of my mouth crept up. I closed the compartment, lifted up my dress, and right above my knee I laced the sheath around my thigh. The cold metal flew through my leg, nearly causing me to shiver. I took a deep breath, calming myself. I took off a long, black cloak off a hanger, twisting the ropes around my neck. I grabbed a coin purse and tied it around my hips. I raised the cloaks hood on top of my head, took one last look into the mirror, and flashed a pleasant grin. I stepped outside, the streets bustling with people from one place to another. Perfect. I fluttered down my steps, nodding as men tipped their hats, faint smiles across their faces. I headed left down the street, towards Sir Chases. The metal sheath hitting against my inner thigh with every step. I pushed open a door. Fresh baked bread filling my nostrils. A plump man stood on the other side of the room, a wide grin crossing his face as his eyes met mine. I floated forward, my eyes meeting a fluffy loaf of bread with honey drizzled on top. The man noticed my trance, and when he spoke, the walls shook at his booming voice, “Ahh, a fine loaf the be. Does it interest you m’lady?” I nodded, “Well then, that’ll be on shilling.” A man from Ireland obviously. His words playing in the back of my mind, young women in green dresses dancing inside a human circle; men with scraggly red beards chugging down alcohol, testing who will stay awake the longest. Laughter and music filling the air with intricate bagpipe cords. I chuckled at the thought. The plump man eyeing me, trying to figure out what’s so funny. He wrapped the bread in a burgundy cloth and took one shilling from my fingers. As I grasped the bread, my fingers sunk into the cloth and squished the bread, I loosened my grip, thanked the man, and left the bakery. Outside the air was thick. The fog had a reddish tint to it, as if it could predict the days outcome. The streets became busier as more folks were rising from their bedrooms and setting off for a new day. I made my way towards my intended destination, children still danced their unknown and unmatchable dances. “Lady Abigail, Lady Abigail!” I stopped and turned around, in search of the voice speaking. Hustling towards me with a hand raised and a pleasant smile across her face was Lady Matilda. I smiled as she got closer. She wore a blue skirt that matched her eyes, accompanied by a white top and brown corset. Flowing behind her was her rose pink cloak, tickling the arms of the people it brushed past. Her brown hair lightly stuck to her rose face from the slight sweat that broke from her run over here. “My lady Abigail,” she breathed, “wherever did you get that dress? It’s stupendous!” I looked down, the entire dress was black enriched in black lace roses and form fitting to my bodice. It was a gift from my late husband before he died from a brutal murder. I occasionally wear the dress in memory of him, and of course as a proud reminder that the killer still hasn’t been found. “A gift, I have no knowledge of its origins,” I stated. She looked a little disheartened, still admiring the dress. “Walk with me,” she invited, “I have matters to discuss with you,” we linked arms before heading towards Sir Chases’ house. “Sir William has privately announced his attraction to you,” a smile crossing her face. “Now, now, I have Sir Chase at the moment,” I pleaded. “Sir Chases father is dying, do you really want to say you’re being courted by a blubbering commoner?” “I suppose not, but he makes my heart melt, and my knees buckle, not even my latest husband did that.” “Fine, fine,” she protested, “but remember when it’s over with you two, just remember Sir William may not still have his eye on you,” and with that she released my arm and headed towards the ceramics shop, a teasing smile and hinting eyes looking my way for a brief amount of seconds before she disappeared. I looked to my left, down the alley was the door to Sir Chases’ rundown home. It was half past the tenth hour, Madeline shouldn’t be there any more, just Sir Chase and his rugged father. I took a step lightly in that direction. Then another, and another, and another until I stood at the foot of the stairs. My foot rose up, before whispering down on the first step. At the top, I lifted my dress and reached down for the cold metal. When my fingers reached it, they entwined around the hilt, where I pulled the metal out of the sheath, letting my dress fall. I glanced at the silver in my hand. The blade reflected my face clearly. The hilt bore three roses at the tip, the stems twisting and turning, racing down the hilt till they disappeared into the blade. My grip tightened on the hilt as my other hand reached for the door. I pushed, it was unlocked. I peered in; a short, musky hallway unwillingly welcomed me. Unattended candles on the walls were nearly out, just faintly illuminating my path. They protruded from the walls on black curved handles. The base that the candle rested on fanned out like rose petals, the handles carved into like rose stems entwining and twisting with each other. Sir Chases’ family crest, three roses with entwined stems. The walls were of cheap, brown wood, matching the floor hidden beneath an antique rug. Slowly I stepped down the hallway, the floor faintly creaking beneath my feet. At the end of the hallway, I heard muffled noises, possibly whispers or even crying. The paintings on the wall stared in disapproval as I made my way down the hallway. Painted eyes of blue, green and gold locked their eyes into mine, studying my every step. I raised my chin. If they had known what my beloved had done to me earlier, their eyes wouldn’t be of disapproval but of encouragement, but the oil in the paint blinded them from the truth. The door where the muffled noises came from was ajar, a faint glow peering out from the creeks. I pushed open the door slowly. Coming into view was a wooden post to the height of my waist. Following the past was a white semi fluffy pillow. Resting on the pillow was en elderly man, his eyes were closed a tint of purple encircling them. His hands were folded onto the top of his chest, his snow white hair untouched. Curled up against the wall was a young man, in his late twenties. His chestnut hair hung over his face, which was planted into his arms that rested on his knees. His shoulders were shaking. As he breathed in, muffled gasps filled the air. I cautioned towards him, the silver dirk firm in my grasp. He raised his head, “Abby?” he questioned. He wiped away his tears, and I came more clearly into his focus. When he saw the dirk in my hand, his golden eyes enlarged. “Abby, what are you doing?” “Taking revenge,” I lunged towards him, my arm swinging forward. The tip of the blade made contact with his throat, breaking the skin. Blood splattered across the wall connected the one Sir Chases back was leaning on. He let out a cough, dark red fluid escaping his mouth. He lifted his gold eyes to mine, freezing the second they made connection. His hands absent mindedly dropped, hitting a fast growing pool of blood. I turned, bowed my head in respect towards Sir Chases’ father and left the house. Outside, I ran towards a knight seat on top of his brown horse. “Sir, Sir, there’s been a murder! Sir Chase, he lays inside his home, his throat slit open! This dirk was laying on the ground!” I held up the dirk, tears streaming down my cheeks. The knight took the dirk and raced his horse to the house, getting off and entering the house. I straightened, the ends of my mouth curving upwards. “There goes another one,” I muttered. A month after Sir Chases’ murder, I was exiting the bakery, when Sir William approached me. “Hello Abigail, a fine evening it is today, wouldn’t you say?” I nodded. “I, I was wondering,” he stuttered, “Would you join me in a courtship, it would be my honor to have you at my side.” I looked up into his hazel eyes, “Of course,” I replied. He took my arm, and led me away. A tight smile pulling at my lips. Publication Date: March 20th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-callalilli

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A.M Layon The Bullies Revenge Enter your text here by copying it from any text editing software (e.g. M.S. Word). Publication Date: September 6th 2010 https://www.bookrix.com/-hazeleyes

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C Kelemen The Lively Glow of Death Winter's Ghost To the ghosts in my life. Shine While my eyes were closed I noticed that the glow Brightened and expanded. I peeked out of my right eye to see the machinery, which had been coming towards me, was now stopped by that glow that seemed to have built wall out of itself. The other glow that actually looked more like a shine was shaking. I saw what I was just given, a chance, and I was not about to lose it. I was out of the way now and the glow was by my side and I then thought to myself, 'who knew there was such a difference between a glow and a shine?' !--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]-- !--[endif]--   Invisible  the two lights started to take shapes and even that did not make me feel any better. The shine was a tall teen that was around the age of fifteen maybe. The glow though was Katie. This was the little girl my whole investigation was on. She was dressed in a lavender dress with red stains on it and her hair was up in two braids. To me she would have been the description of cute if there was not the part about her being dead. The two ghosts moved in circles around each other. It was obvious they were talking to each other, although it looked like it might have been yelling. But all I could see were their expressions for I couldn't hear a word. Blind Darkness  I was not one to join into quarrels, so I just backed up against the wall and stayed out. Finally the two seemed to have settled the debate. All was quite in the mill. The gear softly turning, the cricket’s chirps, and the turtles soft cry for food. I reached into my jean pockets where my partners had given me some lettuce to catch the tortoise and dropped a few leaves into my coat pocket. Then the teenager’s eyes went wide and she started to disintegrate. I saw why now behind where the shine floated before was a shadow and as I looked into it all I could see was black. I stared away and the blackness, the darkness, the blindness stayed with it briefly. A great uneasy feeling spread throughout my body.   Text: Kelemen Images: www.phombo.com All rights reserved. Publication Date: April 15th 2013 https://www.bookrix.com/-r16ckelemen

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Steve Bederman The CEO Publication Date: April 28th 2010 https://www.bookrix.com/-smbeder

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Rebecca Guanabara The Observer He sat in the back of the room. Often walking in late, it was the only seat that was open for him. She assumed that he did it on purpose; as if being early or on time meant that he would have to sit in the front of the class, which she knew he didn’t like… or she figured. Every time he would come to class, he’d slowly pull the door open, slipping in quietly and walking to the back without saying a word. Sara often studied him, watching his every move, observing him until he sat in his spot. “Do you know him?” the two girls stood on the edge of the sidewalk, watching the quiet boy walk down the front steps of the building and making his way to the parking lot. “He’s in my English class. His name is Kendal.” “Does he talk?” “Not really. He walks in late and just sits in the back. Only says something if he’s picked on by Ms. Jets.” Sara and her friend watched as Kendal got in his car and began driving towards their direction, stopping the car right in front of the two girls. “Sara, right? Want a ride?” “I know you,” he whispered softly into her ear as he held the sharp blade to her neck, “I’ve been watching you.” Sara whimpered through the cloth that was wrapped around her mouth, soaked with drool and tears. She tried to push away from him but was grabbed by the hair and pulled back. “DON’T!” Kendal yelled; Saras cries became louder. “Don’t cry. I love you.” He ran the blade up to her mouth, cutting it away. “Tell me you love me, Sara.” “Go to hell.” “I’ll be taking you with me,” Kendal smirked, pushing the blade into her throat. Text: Rebecca Guanabara All rights reserved. Publication Date: July 16th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-bexx781

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Florence Hazel Call 1800-234-DEAD Hopefully you won't be left with a DEAD line... To E.K. Perkins, ElizabethShadows, Sarcastically_Enhanced, Sami--Recognized, and many others from BookRix who would take too long to name! LAWLZ! AND to my loving mother, Tina 1. Locked Out “Asher let me inside the house, you big ass!” I shouted at the door, kicking the wooden frame with my iron-toe boots. I always hated it when my brother thought it’d be a good idea to play hide the house key, especially on days when I was in a piss-poor mood, kind of like now. I had just gotten fired from my job, not to mention having to sulk about it on the smelly city bus, and then I had to walk all the way from the stop in the pouring rain only to have my jerk store of a brother lock me out. The hallway boards creaked under my feet as I started down towards the main office to ask for my third key this year. I had lost many more and I’ve had to make trips down there so many times that I’m good acquaintances with the secretary, Mosey. Mosey was your average guy, his dark skin stretched easily over his broad cheekbones, he had full lips that never failed to grin at you, and, my favorite trait about him, his jittery coffee-colored eyes. What I also adored about him was he never ceased in his giving, he was supposed to stop giving me replacement keys around six, but he still grinned and said ‘Ms. Moravia, lost yet another key, have we?’ and I’d grin and say, ‘Of course I have, Mr. Abraham, it is me we’re talking about,’. He also gave me coffee and we’d sit in the lobby and converse over random, trivial things that didn’t matter. Hopping over to the front desk, I did our secret code, two taps of the silver bell that sat there. Soon enough, his head peeked around the corner to stare at me. “Ah! Ms. Moravia!” he cried, rushing over to the counter. “’Sup Mosey?” I asked, leaning on my elbows on the counter. “Nothing too important,” he pursed his lips. “You keeping secrets? Is it a girl? A pony? Oh please tell me you bought a pony! Or…you picked up a girl ON a pony, ‘cause that’d be so—“ “Ms. Moravia,” Mosey cut me off with a sigh, “I did no such thing, I wish I had done that much, but this is not some family-friendly secret I am allowed to share.” “Fine,” I pouted, sticking my bottom lip out, “I just want a new key.” “Again?” he arched a thick brow, “I thought you promised me last week that you were done getting new ones.” “Well last week I didn’t know my brother would be a complete jerk and lock me out of the apartment again.” “Hmm,” he nodded absentmindedly, “I’ll have to thank Asher for that one later, we need to talk, Ms. Moravia.” “Don’t you ever want to call me by my name?” I teased, poking him in the chest, “You can call me Charm, Mosey.” “I’m more of a formal person.” he clipped, walking over to the lobby furniture which consisted of two couches and two chairs. I sprawled out on the couch as he grabbed the coffee mug from the counter over by the window. The lobby was really not too shabby, with its floral print sofas, tall plaid chairs, and stained coffee table. I honest to Betsy thought everything was bought at a yard sale because the manager had very little left in his budget. The counter over by the window held the coffee-maker or God-Made-Machine-Sent-From-Heaven as I liked to call it, and there were a few trays of sweets like cookies and mints that lay next to the coffee-maker. Mosey brewed a fresh-pot every morning because we usually had our little chats when I lost my key, which was more than your usual six-month-dentist visit. “So, what’s going on in the ‘hood? Any babes on standby?” “Ms. Moravia!” Mosey exclaimed, looking horrified as he directed scolding tone in my direction. “What? I was just asking. You need to get yourself some girls, you’re an attractive guy.” I said nonchalantly, picking at my nails as I propped my feet up on the coffee-table. The floral wallpaper that matched the ugly couches was peeling off and flaking on the ground just like my black nail polish at the moment. “Why thank you,” he blushed slightly, “but what I need to know about is you. How has life been for the Moravias?” “Same stuff, different day. It’s dead boring here,” I whined, crossing my arms over my chest as I continued, “I can’t wait to become a big time director and work in Hollywood. I can see it now, CHARM MORAVIA JUST PRODUCED THE NEWEST GODZILLA FILM! It’d be wonderful, and you could be a stowaway, I’d let you hide in my suitcase on the way there, it’d be awesome! I’d thank you when I won an award. Never my jerk store of a brother,” I rolled my eyes. “I don’t know,” he shook his head, “maybe things are better when you go unnoticed, I much rather prefer hiding in the shadows, believe me you, I don’t think it’s best to go around making people pay attention to me.” “It’s not making if they want to.” I defended as he set down two cups of ambrosia, also known as coffee. I picked mine up and cuddled it to my chest as I took a small sip, sighing as the warm liquid took its course down my throat. “Still,” he protested, looking up to the wall, “some people who get noticed get killed.” His normally light and airy voice turned dark and mysterious, like lightning and thunder on a stormy night. I shivered as I thought over his words, some people who get noticed, get killed . I wondered what he could’ve meant by that, Mosey was normally a light-hearted guy, but he had his moments, I remember at midnight on Halloween last year he scared the crap out of me when he used what I call his “Darth Vader” voice.  I’m never going back on the thirteenth floor with a natural prankster, my brother, and Mosey again. “You’re doing it again,” I inched away from him on the couch, he was perched on the edge of the other sofa, staring at me with his imperious dark eyes, creeping me out to some extent, “stop going all Darth Vader on me, you know it freaks me out.” He coughed and straightened from his slouched position, “Sorry, something just came over me, that’s all.” Suddenly, the doors to the front lobby opened up and two very tall—very hot, may I add—men in suits came strolling through the doors. They dinged the bell at the front desk, expecting service, and Mosey was spacing out again like some moody teenager, so I guess I get to play bellhop, and that’s my idea of a fun time. Getting up, I reluctantly put down my cup of barely-touched coffee and skipped over to the front desk. “Look what the cat dragged in!” I drawled, hopping up so I was sitting on the desk. Both men turned their attention to me, and, let me say in an unbiased opinion, the one on the left was amazingly hot. Like I-Just-Broke-The-One-Through-Ten-Scale hot, and let me tell you, once you cross that line, you’re not hot anymore, you’re freaking sexy, or on fire, either one works. Although if it’s the latter, a fire truck might be needed. I think I’ll give the men names. The one on the left—the sexy one—his name is gonna be Fire Boy, and the cuter one on the right—the one that reminds me of a puppy dog—his name is gonna be Dave, just because I like the name Dave. “Ma’am,” Dave coughed, “we’re private investigators and we’re here to see a…” he looked at a clipboard that he was holding, “Ms. Charm Moravia.” This spiked my interest, why would I need to be seen by two completely hot PIs? “That’s me!” I smiled slightly, “What can I do for ya?” “Well,” Fire Boy started in a gruff voice, “it’d be best to do this in private.” “Okay,” I said slowly, walking over to the sofa and sitting down. Dave and Fire Boy just stared at me like I had grown two heads. “Ma’am,” Dave started again, “private means—“ “I know what private means, weirdo,” I grinned, “you said it’d be best to be in private, not that I had to be in private. You know you really shouldn’t say something like that, I’m an expert at finding loopholes,” I smirked smugly. “Can you just cooperate?” Fire Boy hissed, running his fingers through his dark brown locks, which looked oh-so-perfect. “By standards of investigation, I am. I’m letting you talk to me, you should be honored.” I put my hands out in an innocent, I-Did-Nothing gesture, which made Fire Boy angry and Dave chuckle. Puppy Boy Dave stepped forward and smiled slightly, “I think I’m going to like having you around for a bit, Ms. Moravia.” “Please,” I shrugged, “I get that too much.” “Really?” FB asked, “Because it seems like you’re an annoying female dog.” After doing the mature thing and flipping him the special finger I reserved for annoying people I made a common decision that supported my mental health. With biased opinion, I decided that Puppy Boy Dave was definitely my new favorite. 2. Learning After minutes of pleading and begging, I finally agreed to come back with them to the station. I also may have annoyed FB to the max. I mean, if he was a cartoon character, the steam would be rising out of his ears and hitting the roof of the uber-cool SUV that I was sitting in. It was an unmarked police car, I think my mom told me to stay away from those when I was like seven, but if there’s any time in life for rebellion, it’s now. “So, what are your guys’ names?” I asked curiously as I played with the radio, changing the stations back and forth, I think I know why PDD let me sit in the front, and it was obvious that FB knew why as well. It was so I could annoy FB, because his friend in the back got a kick out of it. “I’m Joshua Lexington,” PDD said, letting me know that his name was sadly not Puppy Dog Dave. Damn, that’d be a sick name, I’d love to go around greeting people with that name that clearly said I’m a bad-ass . Joshua had blonde hair that was spiked up into a Mohawk, his blue eyes were very animated, and his thin lips were curved into a smile. He looked like sunshine and happiness, if I was to give three words to describe him. “And I’m Beau Heathcliff,” FB said darkly, making me shiver with less-than welcome thoughts about my new enemy, whom I most certainly could not be attracted to, because it’d go against everything I was taught when I made my first enemy. His brown hair was tousled in a amazingly sexy disarray, his green eyes were aimed at the road, and his full lips were pursed in a thin line, assuming the expression of waning patience. He looked like a unhappy guy, I should know, I’ve seen more than a few. “Heathcliff?” I asked dubiously, “What are you, a character from Wuthering Heights?” “That’s his first name, oh so smart one,” he snapped sarcastically, “I didn’t think your small brain would have the room to comprehend a book bigger than twenty pages.” “And I didn’t think you’d be able to aim a joke so low below the belt,” I sneered, “Although at least I’m not an ignorant grasshole who deserves to be single for the rest of his miserable, sorry life. What, are you afraid of actually making friends or something?” “Grasshole?” he asked back, “ I don’t have the vocabulary of a third grader.” “ I don’t have the maturity of a forty-year old virgin on crack.” “What is that supposed to mean?!” he almost yelled. “What is the world supposed to mean?!” I asked back even louder than him, and by this point, Joshua was all but rolling around on the floor—mainly because of his seat belt holding him in—given how much he was laughing. “You’re a confusing annoying bitch!” he yelled. “And you’re a douchebag filled with pudding right where your man parts should be!” “That doesn’t even make sense!” “Fine!” I threw my hands up, “You’re a cocky, egotistical, son of a man whore, and you need to learn to have some manners around women, or else you’re going to get yourself castrated!” I shouted. Joshua laughed even harder, if that was possible, and Beau looked deep in thought, the steam from his cartoon character-self coming out of his ears at an alarming rate. I still wanted to push him further so I opened my bigger-than-Canada mouth and spoke. “Who has the vocabulary of a third grader now, huh? Certainly not me.” He growled and pulled the car over, shooting his dear friend a hate filled glare as he was howling like a hyena. “You will cooperate, you hear me? Don’t pull any stuff like this when we get to the station, I don’t like you and you don’t like me, we get it. Please, can we just have a peace treaty while we interrogate you?” “Hmm,” I pursed my lips, pretending to look up in thought, “I don’t know, maybe if there was something in it for me…?” I looked over to him and held my hand out, indicating cash was needed if he wanted to even look at me.  He groaned and pulled out his wallet, slapping fifty dollars in my palm. Grinning, I jumped around in my seat, doing a little happy dance as I pocketed my new cash. “I…I…I…think I’m going to like this girl,” Joshua gasped in between his guffaws. “Shut the hell up, Josh,” Beau muttered, putting the car into motion. The paved road passed faster as we all stayed silent and the blonde boy in the back tried to recover from his laughing seizure. I looked out the window as the small town of El Paso, Colorado passed by my eyes. It was a relatively nice day, just a little bit of snow on the grass that was slowly melting away. This meant that spring was creeping up on the town and I couldn’t be happier—well I could, if I left town, but that isn’t the point. Citizens were out today, walking along in light winter coats and ear muffs as they enjoyed the break from the terrible weather that had been occurring for the past few days. I even noticed some people walking their dogs, which I always protested to, if it was cold enough for you to wear a coat, don’t you think you and your dog should be inside? It never made sense, but then again, Dad always told me I was the most colorful crayon in the Crayola box, or what everyone else preferred to call it, crazy. I had an active imagination as a kid, maybe just a bit too active. I wouldn’t see monsters under my bed, I’d see ghosts in my closet. Usually I would have a tea-party and ask them what their name was, what they liked to do, and whether they wanted cookies or scones. That’s how I learned about the terrible things in life, the ghosts told me. I learned about World Wars I-III from a hardened war veteran named Augustus, or Gus for short. I learned about murders and death from an offed mother of two named Martha. That’s how I knew that Grandpa Gills wasn’t just “sleeping” and he wasn’t “out fishing”, I cried for weeks when Mom and Dad finally admitted the truth. “We’re here,” Beau declared, pulling the car to a halting stop and hopping out. Now it’s time to figure out why I was approached by these hot guys in the first place. Text: FLORENCE HAZEL Images: FLORENCE HAZEL Editing: FLORENCE HAZEL All rights reserved. Publication Date: July 22nd 2014 https://www.bookrix.com/-wj4f035a4060a35

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-letty-l-linhart-murder-at-the-trailer-park/

Letty L Linhart Murder at the Trailer Park Publication Date: May 22nd 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-lettylinhart

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-sarah-walker-n-a/

sarah walker n/a the beggining "CRACK." The quiet serenity of the house is disturbed. My eyes flash open. I am startled to be woken from the measly sound of a coffee mug probably falling out of my mothers hand. She has broken at least two this month. Shes been very shaky and started by almost everything. Just last night and every night before that, she had insisted upon checking each door three times as if expecting someone to break into our two-story ranch style house in the middle of nowhere. Well, not technically nowhere, we do have neighbors up Orchard valley. We live at the bottom of this valley in Colorado where all the fog just happens to drift from everyone else's house down to our front and backyard. I roll out of bed to go look out of my foggy window. Or,I think its foggy, its still twenty seconds after I've woke up. I wipe off a circle of the window and peer outside into the foggy obis. Publication Date: November 26th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-casieday

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-kattie-huang-i-039-m-here/

kattie Huang I'm Here What the author want to say  Thanks for reading and enjoy. I know that this book is not as interesting as the book you read before. I also know that the book's cover is scary and the story in this book destroyed the book's cover which it might destroy your mood of reading this book as well. People often said "don't judge a book by its cover." This is my first book and whoever readed my book knows that I have tons of error or grammer mistakes in the story. This book is not finish yet so there will be a lot of changes for the story, maybe the chapter sub title ,and ....etc.        Once again thank you for reading and please enjoy reading. Have a great day! :) Bathroom Ghost It been five days since I die in the bathroom. It was cold and all these darkness makes me feel loney. My name is Nana Chan and I'm a highschool girl in Tendo high. There was a boy that I really like killed me in the bathroom. We were in a relationship, but one day I saw him rapping another girl in the bathroom. The girl yelled out help and i decided to call 911, but before I take out my phone, he ran to me and stab me in the stomach. I don't know what happens after I die, but I think that innorcence girl is dead too. I am now a bathroom ghost that nobody notices. Many peoples sit on me and poop or pee. Nobody sees nor notices me and I can't leave the bathroom because that is the place where I die. I'm loney and stuck in this stinky bathroom smelling shits and pee everyday. I miss my families and friends. I miss those happy moment with them. I wonder what they are doing right now. Suddenly, an old man came in with a newspaper. I'm reading the newspaper with him and found myself in the newspaper. In the newspaper, it says that I am missing. On the bottom of the newspaper, it says that I elope with my boyfriend and both are missing. The word boyfriend hurts me and my tear came out. I would never cried for him because he is a jerk to me after killing me. I wants to forget him and to be reborn. I though I could reborn after I died but I'm still stuck in earth in the bathroom. When I was little, I read a lots of fairytail books about heaven. When a good person die, he or she will go to heaven and reborn, but if a evil person die, then he or she will go to hell. I wonder why I'm still in earth. Normally, people that died and still remains in earth means that they have unfinished business. I wonder if I have unfinished business in this world. I don't know what business it was but all I want now is a friend that can talk to me. Shit! that stinks! I don't believe it. That old man's shit smell's terrible. He probably ate too much fast food. There is nothing good about being a bathroom ghost. The only good thing is that you will never gets hungry. I can't take it anymore, It stinks like a tons of shit plus feet in your nose not on your nose! I want him to get out already! I slowly fell into a deep sleep due to the smell. I wonder if one day someone might discover me.      Days in the bathroom It been a week since I died and I'm still stuck in the bathroom. There is nothing interesting in the bathroom, but seeing different darkness and lightness of shit makes me sick. The shit stinks but I'm slowly use to it day by day. I'm just like a treasure chest waiting for the pirate to find me and take me away with them. A few minute later, a young boy came in with his dog. I'm a little happy to see a different specie other than human. The dog look at me and bark. I wonder if the dog can see me. I did a little experiment. I walk around and the dog followed me. This is crazy! I can't believe a dog can see me but not human. What is the point of letting a dog see me but not human. I don't know dog language nor I'm a dog. This sucks, but at least I can play with the dog. Oh my god! he want to bite me. Although he can't because I'm a ghost. This dog is not friendly at all. My friend once told me that pets learn from their owner and have similar personalities. That young boy is probably not that friendly too. Sixs minutes has passed and that boy is still in the bathroom because he is playing subway run on his phone. He is pretty good at this game though. The character is still running even though sixs minutes has passed. I wonder if that boy would get out of the bathroom if the character died. The dog hide himself in the corner of the bathroom due to the stinky smells. I'm find with it beacuse the smells doesn't bothers me anyway. Seven minutes has passed and the boy decided to leave even though the character in the game didn't die. The boy got up and trip on the floor. His leg became weak for overtime sitting in the bathroom. This remined me of a news I read online when I was alive. If you sit in the bathroom for too long, you might turn into vegetable. The boy slowly get up from the floor and take his dog with him. He ran out from the bathroom with his dog with out washing his hand nor flush the toilet. Kids these days are just so careless and irresponsible. When I was young in middle school, I often see toilets that are not flushed. The girls won't use the toilet that isn't flushed. They wait in line to use the clean one. For me, I just flushed the toilet and clean it myself. After I cleaned the bathroom, the girls would come rushing to use it. In my mined, the girls are just lazy to flush. I can no longer flush the toilet now. I will have to turn my face to the other side because I don't want to see shits and pee that is not flushed yet.          Abby  It's the second day after the young boy left the bathroom. The bathroom is still not flushed and I'm use to the life of being a ghost in the bathroom. This bathroom is built at a park near my highschool. The name of the park is called "Natrual Green Park." Lots of trees, plants, and flowers grow there. No body works for the park and is abanden but, people often came here to relax so the government didn't destroy the park. A few minutes later, a girl came in with her phone. I was surprise. Oh my god! It was my friend Abby! I'm so happy to see her. At least I saw somebody that I know and really miss. She flush the toilet and clean the bathroom. She also put on some perfumes to make the bathroom smells nice. The sweet smells brings back memories. Abby always smells nice and is the same smells that I'm smelling right now. She is my best friend in highschool and the most popular girl in school. Lots of boys wish to have her, but she is not hurry in a relationship yet. I smile and look at Abby's face even though she can't see me. Suddenly, she started crying while looking at her phone. In the phone, it was a picture of Abby and I together drinking apple juice. Abby's eyes became red and swollen. Her tears dripping down on her face like a melting icicle. That shows how much she misses me and I miss her too. Suddenly she shout out "Nana I miss you. You leave me in school alone and nobody talks to me. I'm eating lunch alone and I'm scared when people ask me out. I look for you every where and couldn't find you. I wish to see you. I heared that you elope with your boyfriend, but I don't believe the news. I know you won't leave your families and friends behined. You treasure your friend and families the most. Nana! oh Nana! where are you!" Abby continue to cry and her phone droped on the floor. She didn't pick it up but continue crying with her face hiding on her knees. I feel bad to leave her alone in school and I feel sad to see her crying. I want to tell her that I'm here but, she can't see me. I want to tell her that I will never leave her and will always love her. Abby is finally calming down slowly. I sit besides her and look at her to remember this moment of little happiness. I'm afraid that once she get out of this bathroom, I would never see her again. I will treasure this moment being with her and this will be my little gift from god before I reborn. Thank you for letting me see my friend god. Found a ring  Abby left the bathroom after she got a phone call from her mom. I miss her and felt a little loney after she left the bathroom. I am still a ghost in the bathroom but I get to learn what ghost can do and can't do. I hated the dark and like the daylight. Normaly ghost would hated the dayligh and like the dark because they come out and play in the dark. It just the ghost's party time at night. Other peoples that come in this bathroom feel cold but, it feels warm for me and I love it. Hell yeah! The day is getting longer and no body is coming. It seems that the sky is getting dark later or sooner. When the sun set, the light shines on the bathroom and made the bathroom looks golden. I called it " golden bathroom time." I enjoy watching the sun set through the small window but, today I enjoying looking at the red diamond ring that I found under the bathroom in the corner of the hole. It was stuck there and I didn't see it until now. The sun shines on the diamond and it shine through me like I'm being shot by guns. Some how I can touch that ring but I don't know why. I can't touch anything else in the bathroom but only this ring I found. It was weird but I ignored my curiosity and continue to enjoy looking at the ring. I wonder whose ring is that. I hope the own would come back for this ring. This ring is really beautiful and the color of the diamond is as red as blood. With out hesitation, I wore the ring on my finger. My whole body shines and I can feel my feet touching the floor. I don't know what happen but I feel alive. Suddenly, a women came in and saw me. She said " I'm sorry. I didn't know someone was in here." After she said that and went back out, I look at the ring. A moment of extraordinary excitement came from my heart. I quickly ran out of the bathroom and I can see my own shadow. Im alive again! I was surprise, but who cares. I will treasure my life this time. I can't go see my families and friends now. I'm in the news paper and I can't explain what happen to them. If my ex-boyfriend know that I'm still alive, he will come back and kill me in order to keep my mouth shut. The sky is turning darker than before. It can be dangerous at night. I must continue hide in the bathroom for now on and make sure to keep the door lock from now on since people can see me now. Time to change Early morning in the bathroom corner, the sun shines through the small window to my face making me awaken. It was weird until I remember everything that happened yesterday. I slowly open the bathroom door and looked outside. It was a wonderful day for a walk but It is time to change my life. I wander around in the park looking for hope. I did say I want to change but, how? I don't have money with me and the people I'm looking at now is the people that I saw in the bathroom. I found a bench and sat down. Looking at the bird makes me sleepy again. Suddenly, a women came and sat next to me. She looks sad and her eyes are getting teary. I know this have nothing to do with me but I'm a little worry about her. With out hesitation, I touch her solder. "hello," I said. "What happen? why you look so sad?" I said. She turn to me and look into my eyes. Shen then started crying and I don't know what to do. I feel like I'm a man making a girl cry or something.  She look at me with a puppy eyes with tears makes me want to know why she's sad. "Im sorry for asking. Um...may I help you?" I said. "I'm sorry for crying in front of you. You must think I'm weird. Am I bothering you?" she said. "No not at all. I just want to know why you're sad," I said. That was a lie. Her crying face does bothers me. That is why I ask her questions. Now that I think about it, does man have trouble talking to a crying girl? I think man find this a pain in the ass. She spend two hour talking about her dead dog. I feel sad for her and I understand the feeling of losing a pet that you love so much.  I use to have a gold fish named "alice." It was given from a boy that I like in middle school but, I haven seen him around after I went to highschool. Alice suddenly died one day and I was heart broken. I didn't eat for five day. There will be a sixes day if it wasn't my mom forcing me to eat. My best memory with alice is watching her swiming in the toilet. She fell into the toilet while I was washing her goldfish jar. She jump up and went into the toilet. I was having a hard laugh at that time. I really miss my alice but I think she is in her wonderland right now. I talk to the women next to me about what happen to Alice. She started to calm and continue talking to me. I said "you don't need to worry about your pet. Im sure your dog is not gone." She look at me and said "what do you mean she is not gone?" I turn to her and said "your dog is dead but his soul is still around in earth. You just can't see him." She started to get teary again. I wonder if I said something wrong and made her sad again. She then turn to me again and said "thank you for hearing me out. I feel much better and my dead dog might be watching be right now so I should not crying to much. I don't want my dog to worry to much." "Good! be happy and luck will come to you." That was a lie. Luck will never come to you if you never try to reach your luck. "I really like talking to you. I don't have much friend here and I don't talk much to people around here. Im the type of person that lets other speaks first then I speak," she said. " I can't really talk to people too. I have hard time talking to people," I said. It is not really hard to talk but no body sees me when I was a ghost so I'm having hard time talking to people. I don't really talk much to others in the past but I wanted to now after being a ghost for few weeks. " My name is Sandy. what is your's?" she said. " My name is Na.....ra. Um....yea," I said with an unsure voice. " oh, Nara. That is a nice name. Do you often come to this park?" she said. "I come here everyday," I said. I live in the park's bathroom anyway. I don't have a choice but to stuck with the bathroom after I came back to life. " I want to see you again tomrrow. Where can I find you?" she said with an excited face. " You can find me here everyday," I said. She smiled and walked away. I have a feeling that I might see her again soon. When the sky turn dark, I walk slowly to the bathroom and lock that door. Some how in my heart, there are something missing and I don't know what. This uncomfortable feeling bothers me all night long until the sun came up. I walked out the bathroom and sat on the some bench that I sat on yesterday. My clothes are dirty with dark red stain and I smelled like a dead fish. Soon, when the sun was about to set, Sand came looking fore me. She is calling out my name and seem to be worrying about something. I walk toward her and said "Sandy?" When she turn around, her expression changes. Her teary eyes tells me that there must be something bad happened to her. "Oh my god! I finally found you. I was looking for you and I don't know what to do andymore. Please come~ and help me out please~," she said with a trumble voice. She grab me on the sholder, begging for help. "Oh god! you are cold. How can you be so cold..... I mean is summer right now," she said with a suprise look. She then look at her own hand and it is the dark red stain. The color probably came off alittle. The bathroom wall is kind of wet anyway. "I'm not cold. I have a cold body when I was young so....um..is just like that. It will stay cold in the future too I think. Oh, and the clothes is cheap so the color came off easily," I said. I am so proud of my lies. "sorry to say that, but you smell like a dead fish," Sandy said. I panic and said " There was an old man smoking next to me and an oldy lady spraying perfume next to me today. The two different smells mixed togther and created the smell that you are smelling right now." I lied again. I wonder if I can get a gold cup for being the winner of lying. Publication Date: March 6th 2015 https://www.bookrix.com/-jjccafc8419bc45

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-crimson-rose-children-surrender/

Crimson Rose CHILDREN SURRENDER unfinished-no middle part dedicated to Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold Children Surrender BEGINNING If you ask me, loving is letting go; for good. But obviously some people –or rather most people- don’t agree with me. Because, when I expressed my love and let go, I was in more trouble than anyone would imagine. Where I live, people are nice and polite. Our daily lives are what a city person would call ‘boring’, but to us it’s just…’normal’. You see, my little town Johnson County is in the suburbs of Colorado. We have such a perfect little town… Perfect two story houses. Perfect lawns. Perfect neighbors. And I, Guinevere, the not so perfect son of Mr. and Mrs. Hunter. *** Who succeeds to come to school late on the very first day? I do. I was on the front steps of Johnson County Private High School for Boys and Girls when the bell rang. It’s stupid for our school to have such a fancy name, after all, it is the only high school in Johnson County, thus the only private one or the only school any girl or boy could go to anyways. It is my senior year this year and I never heard anyone address our school with its full name. Ever. Whatever, as I said, the first bell of the year had rung, and I was late. Not unexpected. I didn’t know where my new locker was. Not unexpected. When I dashed into the science lab where my first lesson was, all seats were already taken. Not unexpected. Except one. Where I sat. Where I fell in love. Unexpected. *** “Hi, I’m new.” I had just sat on the vacant seat. I didn’t even look at who was gunna be sitting next to me, so I was struck with surprise when someone talked to me “Hm...?” was my only answer. There he was, the most beautiful human being my eyes had ever seen. And he was… “I said I’m new. My name’s Sumio.” “H-hey! I’m Guinevere…” he smiled at me. My insides melted “And I’m not new!” Then, he turned away. But I couldn’t. He was sitting there as a Greek God in a school uniform. Soon he realized I was literally staring at him. “Um… Is something wrong?” I panicked “What? Oh no, I was just…looking at your…highlights!” and I guess I really was. He had fine brown hair, with wine-red highlights. He was trying to tuck his hair behind his ear. He gave me another smile, but then he continued to focus on the lesson. He didn’t care a bit about me, and why should he? He was too perfect to. Perfect… *** ENDING “Ahem, excuse me? I believe that is my seat?” It was a ‘girl’ sitting next to Sumio –my Sumio- where I should’ve been sitting. I guess any other guy other than me would consider hot, but all I considered about her was ‘thief’. Sumio answered “Oh, hi Gwen… I believe it’s ok if you swap places with my friend Alicia here?” I wanted to PUNCH Alicia. Pullherhairkickherasspokehereyescutoffherfingers. But I did non of these ‘fantastic’ ideas. But instead, I just said “Sure…” and without hesitating I gushed out, and ran to the mens room. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. I looked into the mirror. How dull I was, how ugly, how unvaluable. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cough my lungs out. So I tried. I screamed and screamed and screamed on the top of my lungs. No one came in. I doubt that anyone even heard me. I wanted them to hear me. I wanted them to… *** Human beings… Don’t we just love to destroy delicacies of what mother nature gave us! We burn forests down, hunt animals to extinction. I guess it’s in our nature. And maybe that’s the way its supposed to be. That’s how I came up with the idea of walking home to find my dads’ - pardon me- Mr. Hunters’ hunting gun. I remember Mr. Hunter taking me along to one of his hunting trips. I was probably 8 or 9. But that was the last time he took me to any trip. *** As I held the gun in my hands, I knew it was more than a toy. I was ready to destroy one of the wonders this world ever hosted. Sumio, HERE I COME! As I entered the school building, I realized I had no idea where Sumio was, or which classroom. So I started off with the science lab. He wasn’t there. Other, meaningless faces were staring at me and the gun with horror. So before I moved onto the next class I shot each student one-by-one. As I shot each student, the more fright came to the faces of the remaining ones. And as I saw more of the fright in their faces, I enjoyed each kill even more and more. As I killed the last student, after putting off the teacher, I experienced the feeling of truly letting go. This was love. This was passion. This was Sumio. I heard the commotion in the hall before I saw it. It smelled good. It smelled like panic. It smelled like victory. Everyone was running out to the main entrance. I should’ve used a silencer… Atleast I hadn’t forgotten to bring a U LOCK along with me to lock all the doors before shooting anyone. They were trapped, and where ever he was, Sumio in this whole crowd, he was trapped too. I was confused. A part of me was shouting “What the heck are you doing? You just murdered a classroom of people!” while the other part was more likely whispering “If you kill the older students first, the younger students will be freaked out to death which will give you more pleasure…” I had already begun this business, so it was my duty to finish it. “I GIVE YOU TEN SECONDS TO RUN!” I didn’t know what my point was but I surely was having lots of fun. People were running around like black spots on a broken TV screen. I grinned at the scene. Then, they went down. Bam. Bam. BAM! And there he was, Sumio, freezing at his spot, praying that he won’t be next. I ran at him, put the gun behind his neck, telling him to move it. ALTERNATIVE END 1 Finally we got to the classroom where I slaughtered my first pray; the science lab. It was quiet in here. *** Sometimes a little talk solves it all. Sometimes it doesn’t. “So Sumio, I guess I’ll be able to sit next to you till the end of eternity since Alicia is dead.” His eyes went wide “Alicia?” I gave a chuckle “Yes! Your…what is she, your girlfriend? Just a friend? Or is she just a girl? One of those girls that you lost count of?” his eyes even went wider “Please don’t kill me, but I’ve got no idea on who you’re talking about…” I was ready to end his life. My finger felt like water on soap on the trigger. “I thought it was just gossip, but you ARE really crazy!” Then I remembered. I remember what happened on that unforgettable hunting trip. I had nearly shot my dad, on purpose. They took me to a psychiatrist. I told them over and over again it was just an accident, but even I had trouble believing my own words. I remember the psychiatrist, Mr. Golan asking me “Why did you want to shoot your dad? Do you know?” of course I knew, so I told him “He is not really my dad. He is an alien from outer space who plans on taking over me and my mother first, then Johnson County, then over the whole world! We are in grave danger! He can hear every word I’m saying right now! We must hide or he’ll suck our brains!” I had told him everything with the whole truth, but all he heard was “blah blah blah DELUSIONS blah blah blah HALLUCINATIONS blah blah blah I’M SCHIZOPHRENIC.” *** Sumio closed his eyes, regretting his last words. But I didn’t shoot him. Afterall he WAS right. I WAS crazy. There WAS no Alicia. And worst of all, there WAS no damn reason for me to kill all those innocent people. There were 56 of them. All dead. What I was angry at, I don’t even remember. But it was too late. Too late to rewind things. So I left Sumio –alive- in the lab, to kill the remaining of the restless souls. My idea was perfect. I had come to this school, with the plan to kill Sumio - and Sumio only. But in the end of the day, Sumio was going to be the only survivor. As I killed the last student I still knew there was one person left to kill. Myself. I gave the gun to Sumio and asked him to pull the trigger on me. So he did. ALTERNATIVE END 2 As we moved to the science lab, I hadn’t realized someone was fallowing us. Finally I thought we were alone with Sumio. It was nice and quiet. The ideal place to kill my love. I asked him “So, are you going to say you love me now?” He knew he had to. But instead, a voice behind me replied “Yes, yes I love you.” It was one of the dumbass jocks who had bullied me. He continued “Guinevere, I’m so sorry. I know I’m one of those countless reasons why you wanted to kill all these people in the first place.” Yes, he was. But I didn’t care about his sorry anymore. It was too late. And he was interrupting a perfect kill. “All I want to say is, I kept teasing you because I was afraid.” He was getting on my nerves “AFRAID OF WHAT!?” I saw a tear slide down his cheek. Now I pointed the gun at him, and in the meanwhile Sumio hid behind a desk. “Afraid to love you. To discover that I’m actually gay. To be one of those people I make fun of. A fag…” now I was crying too “But the truth is, I do love you, and I’m sorry. So why don’t you put that gun down so we can make a new start?” An new start? That meant putting everything behind me. The past, when I nearly shot my dad on that hunting trip. The past, when I was diagnosed with schizophrenia. The past, when I didn’t get enough love, from my parents, from any of my peers, from anyone. The past, when I should’ve gotten help. The present, today, when I killed a bunch of innocent people. Then I looked up at him. Him who was asking me with all his heart to begin with a blank page. “My name’s Columbine.” I put the gun on the floor and embraced my new start… Publication Date: December 26th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-mcrxselinxmcr

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Natalie M. Wood The Other Side of Me Who Will Find Who? For everyone who has lost someone. Aways Expect the Unexpected Hands shake me awake, “Angel! Hurry up you’ll make us late again!” “W-what?” I groggily say to my best friend, whom thanks to much persuasion on my part, I was now living with in the cramped apartment that we bought. I open my eyes and see that she’s only a half inch away from my face, her pricing green eyes gazing into mine. I put my hand on her face and push her away and grunt out, “Ugh, toothpaste, breath mint, dog poop , anything to help your breath! Please, I’m begging!” She rolls her eyes at my comment, and walks out of our room to leave me to get dressed. Quickly I through on a shirt and some bright red skinny jeans and glance at the mirror to make sure I looked good. I have Shoulder length black hair, and light blue eyes, a few pesky Freckles around my nose, but otherwise I looked fine. The shirt I was wearing had Pooh Bear on it, and It was kind of odd that I was wearing it, because it always gave me bad luck, but whatever. I didn’t have time to change, anyway “Hurry up!” I hear Ally shout from the kitchen. I hurly grab my bag for school, and head off towards the door where we meet up. We walk to her car and suddenly I stop, because something seems amiss. Its then I see the outline of a person, crouched behind her car. Something glints in the pale overcast light. It was a knife! "ALLY WAIT STOP!"I shout, just as the figure starts to move forward. It seems that right then everything slows down. The man shoves the knife into Ally's ribcage, her face a mask of horror, blood spills over her crisp white shirt, and there she falls on the frozen ground forever. Dead. Gone. The figure shifts his gaze to mine and his eye are white, the type of white from the first frost over a freshly cut lawn. Then blackness enfolds over me. ~*~ I can hear voices, all blurred together, mixing into nonsense. I can see colors, making odd shapes in the deathly ghost of the world. I can't think, one word form through the fog. Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone. Publication Date: August 26th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-natiwood

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H.L.W. Handle Bars Chapter One   I sighed softly as I lay down horizontally across my bed, flat on my stomach. My long straight brown hair dangled over my shoulders almost touching carpet of my floor. I rolled over and let my head hang low as I looked at my upside-down world. I could imagine how my blood slowly rushed to my head, but since my heart wasn't beating anymore, would my face be blue or purple instead of red? My old school phone suddenly rung, and I quickly answered it at the second ring. "Hello." I said with joy in my voice. "Is this Charles?" "I don't know, is this Cicada?" He said with his handsome voice. I smiled, and imagined how it would feel if I could blush again, or feel the butterflies in my stomach when I heard his voice. "How are you? Any thing good happen today?" "Good day, I suppose." I smiled, then rolled over to be on my stomach again, and rapped the wire to the phone around my finger. "How has your day been?" "It was terrible, until I heard your beautiful voice." I was silent for a minute, and then sat down on my bed, the preferred way to sit right. I twirled the wire tighter around my finger, but only as I could imagine. "Are you still there Cicada?" "Um... Yes, I uh.... I have to go." I stammered. "Go where?" "I have to go.... To the bathroom... Yes to the bathroom!" I sounded like a complete and utterly buffoon. Why would I say that out of all the things I could have chosen? And why did he give my these feelings of joy and bash? "Oh, well, I'll see you tonight then, yes?" "Um... Yes, I'll see you tonight.... Charles." I then quickly hung up the phone. I love that British voice of his, and I loved these feelings that he gave me, but it felt so weird, and I've never felt anything like this before. I have never felt this way about anyone, and he had given these feelings to me. How could a human like Charles give me these feelings? How could a retired Horde member even be in a relationship with a man like him? I had then decided that Charles is amazing, and that is why I feel and think this way, but that was surely not the answer. Maybe I didn't need to use the restroom, but I did need to eat something. I got my shoes and my handbag that had hid my small and embarrassing flowered wallet. I fixed my tousled hair and patted the wrinkles on my white blouse and pink flowered ankle length skirt. My apartment had been just above a small little abandoned shop that I was hoping to one day open. It wasn't in bad shape, but it wasn't in perfect shape either. In fact, my little shop was soon to be famous with all the antique collectors, or at least that was what I was hoping for. I found my little bike that had that 1950's look to it, with the nice little bell and a weaved basket. It was about a ten to fifteen minute ride to the butcher shop, which had locally been known as Benny's Chop Block, and it had probably been the greatest health hazard in Denver, besides the Horde of course. As I walked into Benny's Chop Block, the bell on the door ringed to a familiar tune, but something had seemed different about Benny's Chop Block. Something wasn't right. "Hey, Helen, where is Dante? Did he not come today?" I asked, then realizing that he was gone. "He didn't come today, and he didn't come last week." She said, wrapping a package. "That's... odd." I said. "He should be here today. Do you know if anything has happened to him?" "I don't know." She handed me the package, and then looked at me, demanding money. "Yeah, I know." I reached into my handbag and then pulled out my wallet then seeing the cash and spare change and no credit cards. It was important to stay hidden. "How much?" "Twenty-three dollars, you know the drill." "Yeah, yeah, I know." I sighed and then paused as I sat down in a chair where most people used when waiting for there order. But for me, well I just needed to think for the minute. None of this had made any real since, so I sat there quietly and thought about Dante. It was very unusual for Dante not to be around on days like this. And if he hasn't been around then.... Has he left? I don't think that Dante would leave the Horde, and I don't think that he would leave Denver. But this, this didn't make any since. I stood up and then looked at Helen. "What is the new address of the Horde?" I asked. "What are you talking about?" She asked, pretending to play clueless." "Helen, you've been working here since you were in your early twenties. You know who the only costumers who keep this place running are. You know what the only costumers of the Chop Block are, so tell me now, Helen. What is the new address?" Helen frowned, and then looked at me. "Thirty years I've been working here. Thirty damn years, Miss Cicada. Do you know what it's like to know who killed some child on the street and devoured their insides? Do you know what that is like? Now you ask me about how long I haven't seen Mr. Dante, and do you know how I feel about you damn creatures? You killed my son Miss Cicada." "I didn't do a thing to your son, Helen, but I do know that your son is still here. He's a member of the Horde, and that's what they do to us. Now Dante, he know's where your son is, so if you tell me where he is then I will damn well find your son and bring him back to you." Helen put her hand over her mouth and tried to hold the tears still and keep them invisible. She uncovered her mouth, opened it, and then tried to speak words that couldn't come out. She then wrote down the address on a small paper and handed it to me. "I'll get your son back. I promise." I said. Chapter Two   I laughed as I listened to Charles joke around with me, and flirt a little. Finally I had leaned towards him, and then hoped to feel the rush as our lips almost touched. And the.... It stopped. The smile on Charles' face was gone, along with the joy. His face became serious and then angry. "You're a liar, Cicada." He says. I am shocked and appalled of the words that he speaks. "What do you mean? I have never lied to you." "Never lied? When were you going to tell me about what you really are? If you had then maybe you wouldn't have killed me." "What? Charles what are you talking about? You're right here, Charles, you're perfectly fine, and you're not dead." "Look again." He said. Suddenly darkness surrounded us, and there had been a faint spot light that had only surrounded Charles. His body had been torn and half eaten. He was covered in blood from head to toe... I covered my mouth, and wanted to cry. "You're a liar Cicada, a liar! Did you really want this? You're a liar!" -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Hello, Cicada?" I looked at the one person who had been like me and had still claimed to be my friend. We had decided to meet at the cafe after I had met with Helen "Oh, sorry Hortensia, I just sort of dozed off a little." "Day-mare, huh?" She asked. "Yeah, I guess you could say that. It was... strange. So did you get anything on Dante?" "Sorry, I didn't get zip. Maybe he's just on a trip." Hortensia said stretching her arms across the table, and making her limbs even more limber. "My Rigor Mortis is acting up again." "Haven't you been taking your pills? If you don't then that could be some risk, and then you'll start rotting and-" I began, but Hortensia cut me off. "You got no reason to worry sis, I got this. Now about Dante... he's missing right? And he is still part of the Horde so..." Suddenly Hortensia had her finger on her nose. "Nosies." She said with a smile. "Oh c'mon, sis, do you have to act like a child?" "Yes, when it comes to going back to the Horde and meeting up with Hydra, it does." I growled quietly and then sat back in my chair. "Fine." I said. I however wouldn't blame Hortensia. Hydra wasn't exactly known for being the most friendly lych in Denver, but if you had been male and human then it would be different. She was however known for giving every one around her, and anyone who was an enemy of the Horde complete and total hell. After finishing our lunch, Hortensia and I had then separated and I had road my bike home to grab a couple of things, like jeans, a t-shirt, and a hoodie, and then down to the new location of the Horde. I had to be careful here, unless I wanted my head mounted above Hydra's fire place. I took the little piece of notebook paper that held the address of the Horde's new location.  Only if I had a GPS then life might be easier.  That's something to add onto my Christmas list.  I slipped on my hoodie and then began riding down town, looking for the new location: Jefferson Ave. It wasn't that far from the old location actually, but it took me about an hour to finally get notice that I had been going around in a circle.  This was it, right?  A warehouse, huh?  Well I wouldn't have expected that.  I chained my bike to one of those metal thingys that no one knows the name to.  I slipped the paper back into my pocket and then went around to the main enterence.  I gave three soft knocks.  That was the code.  I hoped that was still the code.  The door opened and I bowed my head.  "The password is-" "Cicada, we don't have a password anymore."  A deep voice said.  It was Marco, ofcourse.  I looked up at him. "How did you know that it was me?" "Well who else wouldn't of gotten the memo?"  I looked down at my feet, feeling embarrassed.  How stupid of me. "Also, Ace said that he saw you coming." "How did he know that it was me?" "What other zombie has a bike with a weaved basket and a bell?"  I crossed my arms and tried to hide my embarrassment again.  "Anyway's, come on in, Cicada." He said moving aside for me to come in. "Wait, is she here?" "Who?" "You know... is she here." " She just arrived."  I turned around to see Hydra standing behind me.  She was truely a beautiful woman with long legs, a pretty face, and not too busty.  She was everything that any woman would want to be with her long black curly hair and     Publication Date: December 3rd 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-zombienerd42

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C. M. Albrecht The Albemarle Affair The Albemarle Affair by C. M. Albrecht United States of America © 2008 – Carl M. Albrecht All Rights Reserved ISBN 1-61658-273-1 ASIN: B001EW51MA No part of this book may be copied, printed, sold, or distributed in any manner whatsoever, including, but not limited to, compct disk copies, without express written permission from the publisher. This book is produced in electronic format, and the laws covering copyrights applies to this document in whole. First Publication. Published in the United States of America eTreasures Publishing P.O. Box 71813 Newnan, GA 30271 This book is entirely fictional and bears no resemblence to any actual person or place, in content and cover art, therefore, is based solely on the author’s vivid imagination. Chapter One Melodie Stark fidgeted her bare toes together beside her canopied bed. She should have been asleep two hours ago but…the voices. She knew, well, that’s what the doctor told her, they were just imaginary, but now. She felt sure they were real this time. One finger continued to nervously and unconsciously twist and tug at a coil of auburn hair as she moved ever so slowly across the rich Oriental carpet to the heavy oak door. She pressed her ear to the door, strived to hear. Voices. Yes! Finally she took a breath and dared open the door the faintest crack. From somewhere below, angry voices rose up to her. Melodie listened, but still could not make out individual words. But she knew they were talking about her. She just knew. Deciding her fate. Tony! She clearly heard him yell ‘Tony.’ And then her voice. Not so loud, but sharper. Oh God, how had she ever got herself into this mess? Why had she ever trusted this man? Rich. So smart; so educated. He always looked perfect in his fine suits, but -– well, if she couldn’t even trust her own father, a man of God! Maybe all old men were like that. And her foster mother…oh, those cold wet eyes had hated her from the moment she crossed the threshold. Melodie caught a sudden glimpse of herself in the cheval mirror by her dressing table. A slight girl of eighteen. Fat. She was so fat. Every time she saw herself in the glass, she seemed fatter. She had never thought of herself as being pretty, but Tony thought she was beautiful. Her hands moved unconsciously over her cotton pajamas to the swelling in her stomach. Oh, Tony…why couldn’t Tony just come and get her, take her away from this house? Why hadn’t she listened to him in the first place? She shrank back against the door. It closed quietly as she slipped slowly to the floor. Her legs splayed ungraciously out before her as she sat with her back against the door, lost in her reverie. Was it her fault? All of it, or part of it? Maybe. Tony insisted it was not. And she wanted to believe him, but… Abruptly a dull and distant thump and scream interrupted her musing. What? Silence. Had she really heard something? After what seemed an eternity of utter silence, she thought she heard sounds again, but now they came from beyond the open window of her bedroom. She forced herself to her feet and moved as if hypnotized to the window where she knelt and peered out. There in the bright moonlight they were dragging a body along over the lawn. They were dragging it by the legs. Tony! My God, it’s Tony! She sank back and tried to think clearly. It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t. Her eyes must be playing tricks on her again. Finally, Melodie raised her head and looked out. Although hours might have passed, there they were, still dragging the body, but it had changed. It wasn’t Tony after all. She giggled and twisted at strands of hair. It was Toby! She almost laughed aloud, but put one hand to her mouth. She didn’t want them to know she was still awake. She breathed a long sigh of relief. Toby. Just poor Toby. But why would they drag poor Toby around in the middle of the night? Well, at least it wasn’t Tony after all. They certainly sent Tony away and told him never to come back, but tomorrow he would come. He loved her. Surely he’d come. Tomorrow. She moved back to her bedside. Tony, Toby…it’s so confusing sometimes. She pulled back the bedclothes and snickered as she crawled into her bed. Some people already thought she was crazy. She knew that. She heard them whispering. Wow, if I ever told anyone about tonight, they’d really think I’m crazy. She giggled and rolled over onto her side, still twisting at the lock of hair. Her mind began to slip into a dream state. She caught hazy glimpses of the storefront church, her mother clutching her Bible, her Rock - the TV people, and then a more pleasant vision: She began to dream of her and Tony under the mimosa tree, and as she slipped more deeply into the dream she found solace at last. The faint last sound she heard came from the corridor beyond her door as the tall clock struck midnight. Chapter Two The Jesperson Building had seen better days. Keely Foster wrinkled her nose at the lobby smell. “Well, maybe it gets better up higher,” she commented. “You look nice,” Parker told her, smiling at the smart white blouse and full blue skirt Keely wore. “I like dresses better than slacks.” “Jeans and stuff are comfortable, but I don’t look good in slacks,” she told him. “And thanks for the compliment. Sometimes I think you never notice.” “Oh, I notice. I notice,” he said with a leer. The elevator growled, but it took them to the fifth floor where they found a pebbled glass door that read: A & E Investments. Parker Hall opened the door and they entered a large office space with only privacy panels separating the different desks. A middle-aged matron at the desk facing the door mildly looked up at the pair. “Eh, Foster and Hall,” Parker told her. “We’re here to see Edie.” “Edie? Haw!” The woman jabbed a thumb at the space next to her. Right over there.” Parker and Keely looked at each other, and moved to the indicated space. Sitting behind a cluttered desk sat a sour-faced middle-aged hairless man with a paunch and a big cigar. His tired face wore a harassed expression as he looked up at them. His white shirt was wrinkled and open at the throat and a tightly knotted tie had been pulled away to let the second chin have breathing room. His eyes softened briefly as he looked approvingly over Keely’s slender well-shaped body. “Nice outfit,” he said in a gravelly voice. “I hate that women don’t wear skirts anymore.” He obviously liked her auburn hair and pert nose, but then his gaze shifted to Parker’s six-foot-two hundred-fifty pound frame, his innocent face behind glasses, and his ill-fitting suit. The man’s expression turned doubtful. “Mr. Edie?” Parker said in an uncertain voice. “Edie? Haw! My name’s Ayoobi,” the man growled. “What do you want?” “Eh…” Parker began but Keely got the words out first. “We’re Foster and Hall, private investigators,” she explained. “You left a message on our answering machine?” Ayoobi leaned back and blew out a thick cloud of dark blue smoke that made both Parker and Keely hold their breaths. “Oh…that.” His eyes expressed doubt. “You’re not exactly what I expected.” He leaned forward again and studied the pair more closely. “You sure you got any experience?” “Oh, we’re professionals,” Parker assured him. Parker held out the card he had been holding. Ayoobi took it, looked at it and laid it on his desk amid the clutter of papers that already covered it. “Okay, sit down.” They drew up a pair of green plastic lawn chairs and sat down facing Mr. Ayoobi. “I own, or at least manage, several restaurants in the area,” he told them. “The Edie you were looking for died a spinster at the age of eighty-nine, so you can forget about talking to her.” Lidded eyes measured the pair and after a moment, he continued, “Put simply, what I want is an undercover detective to go into Edie's and find out who’s ripping me off.” “Somebody’s ripping you off?” Parker said. “Boy, you really are a detective,” Ayoobi said. He puffed and blew out another blue cloud. Parker took a breath and tried again: “Luckily,” he said with new enthusiasm, “I’ve worked as a fry cook in the past, before…I became a private investigator.” “A fry cook? Good. That’s good. You can blend right in then.” “What exactly did you want us to do?” Keely asked. “Not us -– him. I can’t afford to pay two people,” Ayoobi said. “We could do a lot better job with two of us on the job,” she told him. “I’ve had waitress experience. Between the two of us, we should be able to wind your case up in less than a week, Mr. Ayoobi.” She raised her bare arms prettily. “So in the long run, you’d be saving money.” Ayoobi looked at her. “Yeah, well maybe. See, somebody’s ripping me off to the tune of at least a hundred dollars a day. You know how it goes. After a while a restaurant averages a certain income, good days, bad days, it all evens out, and the same with the food cost and labor and all like that.” “Suddenly at Edie’s, I’m running about a hundred dollars a day low. Expenses still the same. Wages still the same. But suddenly I’m down about a hundred bucks a day -– maybe more. Maybe it takes me a little time to wise up, but I’m wised up -– and I want it stopped. You wouldn’t believe the narrow margin of profit we have here -– and I have people to answer to.” He leaned back, grunting. “Besides, it just ain’t right. It ain’t right, and I want it stopped. Can do?” “Absolutely,” Parker said with what he hoped sounded like lots of assurance. “Keely’s right, sir. With us working together undercover, we’ll wind the case up fast for you -- and we can give you a special rate, too, for an endorsement…after we successfully close your case for you.” “Yeah? What kind of rate are we talking about here then?” Keely told him. Ayoobi actually jerked to his feet. “Two hundred dollars each a day plus expenses!” he cried. “What expenses? I’m the guy got expenses. Look, while you’re working there you’ll be eating my food, wearing my uniforms. Two hun…” He sat back down and took a puff on his cigar. “Look, if I was rich I’d have called a big agency from the Yellow Pages. Why do you think I picked your name out of the Penny Saver? I’m on a tight budget here, that’s why. You’re going to get your meals. Two good meals a day for each of you. You can have anything on the menu -– well except the steaks. If I let you eat steaks, I have to let all the help eat steaks. But hey, two solid meals a day. That’s worth something. I’m going to put you on the payroll as regular employees, so you’ll get regular wages, too, and…” As Keely held up her hand to protest, he raised his voice and went on. “Okay, wait. Plus. Plus, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. You work for wages and meals, and when you wind the case up for me, I’ll give you a bonus. What do you say to that?” “What kind of bonus?” Keely asked. “Well…” After a lengthy argument that soon became as complicated as the Israeli-Palestine peace talks, it came down to Edie's regular restaurant wages — with two meals a day each — for two weeks' work followed by some vague talk of a 'nice' bonus — if the detectives were successful in handing over the perpetrator. Ayoobi continued to refuse to allow himself to be pinned down to a specific figure. Never one to say yes on the first date, Keely kept at Ayoobi for twenty minutes more until finally she managed to browbeat the commitment of a firm one thousand dollar bonus out of him, and an endorsement — if they caught the thief and put a stop to the theft within their allotted two weeks. “Plan to get lung cancer from all that cigar smoke,” Keely said when they were back down on the baking street walking toward their car. “The cancer doesn't worry me nearly as much as you do. Promising to catch the thief in two weeks,” Parker said. His lean face showed his apprehension. “I just don't know, Keelio.” “Hey, what have we got to lose?” she asked. “We can give the job a couple of weeks and still come out all right. After all, this is our first case, Park. This is our chance to show what we've got — and unless you know something I don't know — we haven't got anything else going right now, so as I say, what have we got to lose? At least we'll be getting paid over the next two weeks. After all we have an office now. That costs money. We’ve got to generate some kind of income. It's not great, I admit, but it's a start. Our first real case. Sure, I know we could fall on our faces…but if we pull this off, we'll have something positive to use as a reference. It'll look pretty good to list Edie's as a satisfied client, won't it? Everybody around town knows Edie's.” “Yeah, that would look good. Boy, I haven’t flipped an egg in a long time,” he said as his thoughts drifted back to earlier times. They hit it off the first day Keely came to work in the cafeteria on J Street. Parker worked as the morning fry cook — or as he liked to think of himself — a lean mean frying machine. Parker’s first glimpse of her took his breath away, and he knew then and there, even as he flipped eggs over easy in two egg pans at the same time, that Keely was the one and only for him. But how was he going to be able to talk to her? As to Keely, she thought this string bean was cute…and interesting, and a little voice told her that he just could be the one. Of course that was before she had a clue that behind Parker's innocent and misleading façade of mild-mannered fry cook lurked a wannabe crime-fighting private detective. Parker shook his head to clear it. “It would be nice to list somebody as a reference,” he agreed, loosening up a little. “But sometimes you scare me, Keelio. You sounded very sure of yourself up there in Ayoobi's office.” Keely looked at pedestrians who, clutched in the oppressing grip of the scorching sun, moved like zombies along the sidewalk. Cooking heat waves roiled up from the pavement, dazzling her eyes. A kid walked by, desperately trying to keep up with his rapidly dissolving ice cream cone. Keely turned her eyes back to Parker and opened her hands wide and smiled optimistically. “Hey, I had to sound sure of myself, Park. You sounded good, too. It was hard enough to get anything out of that Ayoobi anyway. If we'd hemmed and hawed around and said, ‘Well, we'll try,’ or ‘We'll do the best we can,’do you think for a moment we'd ever have talked him out of the thousand-dollar bonus? He probably would've decided against hiring us at all.” She straightened her posture and shrugged. “Anyway, it's a start for us, and,” she smiled, “we'll be eating and paying next month’s rent.” Suddenly her smile widened revealing large white teeth. “Look at the bright side: we're really in business now. This is what you wanted. This is what you’ve been dreaming of, having your own private eye business. Besides, obviously Ayoobi runs quite a few places in the area. There'll be other greedy employees and more dishonesty, that's for sure.” She rubbed her hands together in anticipation and spoke in a more dreamy voice, “Our first big case. We're really detectives, at last. You know, when you first started talking about being a detective, I thought you were nuts. I mean, I thought of detectives as either overweight cops or something people play on TV — but then…little by little, the idea kind of got hold of me, and now I think I'm as big a nut case as you are.” “Yeah,” Parker said. He scratched his head, smiling, thinking about it. “I think you are at that.” He laughed as they walked along. “Ever since I was a kid I was into this stuff. I read all the detective books I could get my hands on — especially the realistic private-eye stuff. The real clincher was when I read about François Vidocq — that came later, by chance.” “What's a François Vidocq?” “Hey, he was the world's first private-eye. Man, his life makes better reading than most detective novels. He did it all. He was an ex-con. Before he became a private detective, he founded the French Sûreté, and to make it even more romantic, once he started his own private agency all his employees were his old ex-con buddies, and the real cops hated his guts because he was always a jump ahead of them. He was real, that's the neat part. Not just the figment of some writer's imagination.” He paused for a moment and then continued, “I knew then and there that I had to be a private-eye. That was for me. I know that when you met me, you had no idea I was on that track, that I was going to be a detective, that in reality my spatula would be a cleverly disguised nine millimeter pistol, and I'd be a man who, in the face of danger, casts fear aside like a dirty apron as he becomes flinty-eyed ace private detective, Par—” “Can it, Hall. You were a fry cook when I met you. Before you became a flinty-eyed detective, the most dangerous thing your spatula ever did was spatter grease on your apron.” Parker smiled, nodding ruefully. “Yeah, I bet I've scrambled more eggs than the U.S. Army.” He fell silent, and then after a moment spoke again, “You know, that bonus Ayoobi was talking about still sounds pretty iffy, Keelio. I just hope he doesn't try to renege on his promise.” Keely looked up at Parker. “We’ll get it,” she assured him. When they reached their old Volvo, a slight young man with a big smile was finishing up his wash job. “Anthony,” Parker said, “how many times have I told you I don’t have the money to pay for wash jobs. I really don’t.” “Oh, that’s all right, Parker. I just like to wash cars. You can catch up with me when you get a few big cases under your belt.” He bent and shoved sponges and towels into an empty pail. Keely smiled. “Well at least you got to finish the job this time,” she said. As they drove off, Anthony stood and watched them with a big smile on his face. “Detectives,” he murmured. Chapter Three There she was! That woman. Corky's blue eyes narrowed as she stood on the sidewalk in direct sunlight, half a block from Edie's and brushed at the strand of straight dark brown hair that always fell across her eyes. This had to be more than a coincidence. Had somebody learned that she and some of her friends met at Edie's almost every day after their dance class? What difference would that make? It was not secret. But lately — well today was the third time exactly since Corky had become aware of that woman who was standing across the street in front of the bank. Corky casually stuck one hand in the hip pocket of her jeans while her brown eyes carefully scanned the busy street. At least the sneakylooking man wasn't with Ms. X today. Corky's sixth sense assured her that the woman was watching her. There was just no doubt about that. But why? Corky tried to ignore the woman's gaze at first, only thinking her maybe a little strange. But there was something about the woman, something about the way Corky could feel the woman's eyes clinging to her, watching her and studying her. Something weird is definitely going on here, Corky thought. Weird and a little bit scary. The woman appeared to be maybe forty. She had a kind of shapeless body covered by a colorless dress, and her face was sad and dry, a face that complained about the heartless way life had treated it, the dissolute face of a drinker maybe. If Corky had not become so conscious of the woman's stare, Corky would never have given her a second glance. The thought that she might be Corky's mother probably would never have occurred to her. But occur it did. Right out of the blue. No one could have been more surprised than Corky herself. Crazy? Of course, it was crazy. Corky knew that. She knew her mother was dead. She had always known that, and had absolutely no reason in the world to think otherwise — and besides, even if by some miraculous intervention by the hand of God from on high, Corky's mother somehow did turn up alive, she certainly would not look anything at all like this woman. Not a chance! Although Corky never had a picture of her natural mother to look at, she nevertheless did have a very clear picture in her mind of what her mother would look like, must look like. So, this whole idea was patently crazy from the start. There was simply no logical reason in the world for Corky to have got something like that into her young head, and she spent long fruitless moments wondering why and how all this had started in the first place. Yet somehow, crazy or not, there it was and in the end, when she stopped and really thought about it — like it or not — it all sort of fit together in a weird kind of way. Even while Corky tried to poo-poo the idea on the one hand, the poo-pooing did not work on the other hand, and the matter continued to gnaw at her. In some crazy way or another it all made sense no matter what Corky tried to tell herself. She just had a feeling. When Corky became old enough to understand, which is to say when she was about ten, her parents sat her down and carefully and thoughtfully explained to Corky that she had been adopted. They made every effort to explain to her that had they had the luxury of choosing her rather than just accept whatever baby the Lord might, in His wisdom, see fit to give them. Get the entire book at www.etreasurespublishing.com, e-book or print. A portion of all profits go directly to feed a starving writer. (Me.) Visit my website: www.cmalbrecht.com Publication Date: January 24th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-cmalbrecht

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-bronwyn-schulzeck-the-suspect/

Bronwyn Schulzeck The Suspect The Scene "How long has it been now Jacob" said Hilary. "It's been two hours, ten minutes and fourteen seconds"replied Jacob,"he's late." "Where is he" said Hilary in a paniced tone. "He did say that he was going on a date" said Jacob,"but i didn't think it was today." "Well he'd better get here before the boss comes" said Hilary "too late"said Jacob. A round man wadled towards them. He was wearing a serious, black suit with a white tie and shiny, black, leather shoes. "Maybe he wont notice he's gone" wispered Jacob. "Not a chance" replied Hilary,"sure he's got a brain the size of a peanut but he wont forget his best detective." "Where's Simon"said the boss glaring at Jacob and Hilary. They struggled to answer. "UM...he's...UM" "Right here"said a voice behind them. In a flash Jacob turned around. It was Simon. "Where the hell were you" said Hilary. "I think i just lost my girl" replied Simon with confusion. "Well i'm sorry to here that" said Jacob,"but we've got a case on our hands." "Ok right" said Simon,"so what do we have." "Ok, so there's already two possible suspects" said Hilary,"they're on the run though." "So what did they do" asked Simon. "They willingly murder two women with a blade we have not yet retreived" said the boss. He ducked under the police barrier line."We are not yet certain that they commited the murder. They were spotted at the scene of the crime and fled. The witness said they threw the blade into the bushes along the side of the road." "Where's the witness" said Simon. Publication Date: May 19th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-orangetree

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-ej-patterson-saving-maggie/

EJ PATTERSON Saving Maggie For Melanie, who supports me in everyway, and whom i'd do anything for. Thank you! My flip-flopped feet slapped against the cobble-stoned road in the decending twilight. I tilted my head up a fraction to drink the last, golden rays of the sun now sinking beneath the marshy hills. My deep, wheat colored hair rustled against my shoulders as a warm breeze fluttered by. I adjusted my backpack on my shoulder and I thought about her. I thought about her tinkling smile and her petite nose. She was my best friend in the world, and has been for years. On the first day of pre-school she held my hand when I cried, and the rest was history. Every touch, every word, she was there. Through lousy days, boyfriends, and teenage dramas she was always by my side, still holding my hand. But one day, she let go. One day, I turned around and she was gone. My hand was icy cold and empty. It wasn't the same. She had been taken away from me. He had snatched her with his dark, cut up hands. CHAPTER ONE I remember destictly to this day the absence of his middle finger. We were walking down this exact path, on a night just like tonight. A summer breeze was blowing and we were giggling about something. It's funny how when something horribly heart-wrenching happens to you, you remember every detail of it. I remember how her curly brown hair hair was sticking up in the back because of the sticky wind, and how we were laughing about it. It was getting dark, and we knew how dangerous it was to be out a night. Since childhood, our mothers and fathers have cautioned us about bandits and theives and criminals roaming the dusty road at midnight. Despite the hot air, I remember shivering at the mere thought. We stopped laughing as we felt the darkness close around us like a tight blanket. to hide her fear, she had yelled, "Race ya!" and we had started to run down the dusty, cobblestoned road. I was winning. The hot air sliced past my cheeks and necks as I sprinted toward my house. That's when it happened. I heard a long, drawn out bloodcurdling scream echo from behind me. I froze in my tracks, suffocating with icy fear. "M-Maggie?" I called, my voice shaking. Should I call 911? Run home and get my parents? Should I run and help her myself? The air seemed hot and cold at the same time. She had to be joking...right? Another scream shattered the strained silence. I gathered up all my courage and ran to the source of the scream. I stopped in front of a large oak tree and held out a trembling hand. "Maggie?" I whispered. Suddenly, a hand shot out from inside the branches and grabbed my wrist. Screaming, I twisted my entire body throw it off, but I wasn't strong enough. I kicked at the branches, struggling to hurt whatever was trying to capture me. Finally, with a shriek, I aimed a foot at the arm. I heard a sickly crack echo throughout the silence like a gun shot. I heard a low growl sound from the eaves of the braches. I backed away, horrified and trembling. My heart pumped wildly inside my chest. Blood came spurting from the branches, turning the green leaves a dark, sinister red. I felt dizzy. "Maggie," I whispered. Fear surged through me like lightning. "Maggie!" I screamed. "Maggie, Maggie! Maggie, where are you!?" I unglued myself from the spot and searched the area. Where was she, and where was...it? Any minute now, I knew, it could pop out of the nearest bush and stab me. A terrifying throught pierced my paralyzed brain. A scream died in my throat. What if it already got Maggie? I ran and ran, screaming her name to the sky and the air, but she didn't call back. Tears fell helplessly down my cheeks. Why, Why, hadn't I just called 911? Because she's your best, best friend, and you love her, a voice inside me said. You didn't want to waste time. True, I said to myself. Another scream, coming from the distant hills. I stopped in my tracks, and I knew what had happened and what to do. It finally hit me hard, with a wave of nausea washing over me. It had taken her, and it tried to take me, too. CHAPTER 2 I sprinted in the direction of the sloped hills. They weren't far, but already a stitch was forming in my side. I ignored it. Stars were starting to appear, but what good were they when you couldn't gaze up at them with your best friend? Cuts started oozing on my feet, but I didn't care. finally, I reached the green, marshy hills. The Hills were basically just large, sloped bumps in the ground, but with paths leading around them. I heard another scream; this time it was closer by. "Help meeeee!" I wiped salty tears off my face and ran down the narrow path to the right. I was going to find her, and nothing was going to stop me. A determined sort if fire resided in me, flames of courage and resolution licking my sides. I stopped to think. Mud coated my aching feet, but the ache was dull, and my mind was blank and white. Only one thought was repeated over and over in my mind like a record: Save Maggie. I started running again. I reached a fork in the road, decided on the right path, and sprinted toward the source of the screaming. My mind was wild, and I knew I was just acting on impulse and whim. what if what I was doing was wrong? what if whatever abducted Maggie already....?? No, I decided. I wouldn't think that. Maggie couldn't be dead. She just couldn't. It would be unfathomable. It wouldn't be possible. God wouldn't let that happen...would he? "Please!" I shouted at the night sky. The courage was draining out of my heart, being replaced by the too familiar terror that had recently occupied it. "Please! Don't let her die!" I yelled. It felt as if knives were piercing my ribcage, I was running so fast. My feet pounded the muddy ground, and I nearly slipped. In the distance I saw a small opening in the hills. Curiosity, despite my terror, infiltrated my brain. A tiny ball of light appeared in the distance. This is it, I thought. Everything before this is nothing compared to what was about the happen. I could die. It, whatever it was, could murder me. If Maggie were in my place, what would she do? She'd face her fear and save you, the voice inside me said. I knew that. I summoned up my bravery and Maggie's image burst into my mind like a firecracker. I ran on my toes toward the path. Nothing lived in my brain now; only the fact that I had to save Maggie. The sphere of light grew bigger and bigger until I was right in front of it. It was a large lantern. Next to it, a run down hut. I froze in my tracks. I couldn't be heard, I knew. I tip-toed silently to the carved window, only daring to peek inside. I stifled a gasp. Three girls lay, slumped, on a kitchen table; a crop of brown curly hair atop the head of the girl closest to the door. CHAPTER 3 They looked as if they were sleeping. I knew they weren't dead, for they were breathing. Relief washed over me-Maggie wasn't dead. I looked up at the sky, and sent a silent thank you to the heavens. But fear still lived: how was I to get her out of there? I looked at the pile of girls again. The second glance sickened me. The other two girls looked about my age; one maybe a little older. The older looking one had straight, raven-black hair with long lashes. The one on top of her had an aurburn bob. Then Maggie next to her. TO BE CONTINUED.... Publication Date: November 5th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-bold123

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-amaris-the-mystery-girl/

Amaris The Mystery Girl Who is she? CHAPTER 1 One morning as i walked out the door. And i went to school i saw a new girl and she looked dangerous her name was Taliyah.ps{i really want to know her but she seems like she will brake one of my bones if i tell her something. Then it was time for science class our teacher Mr.bradshaw he set me up with the new mystery girl. I was so mad that i just wanted to kill myself. I tried to talk to her but she would ignore me. She wasnt a good partner to be with and we had to do a project together and i might have to do it all. Then it was the end of the day. I went home walking with a heavy huge bookbag. And when i walked into the house i turned on the tv and i saw the news and it said missing girl named Mary. Then it said there is a mystery girl and she is very nice but is very dangerous and she wont talk to anyone. She wants someone to figure out who she is. She has memory lost she was found in a place and she is lucky she was found and she is going to school if she goes to your school try to help her out. I wanted to help her out because i am that type of person. So i went to sleep. And hoped that tommaorw will be a good day. CHAPTER 2 When i woke up in the morning i realized that my dream was going to help me out to help the mystery girl named Taliyah. So on my way out the door i walked to school. When i got there i looked for Taliyah. I saw her and handcuffed her to my hand so i can show her all the things so she wouldnt escape when i talk to her. When i showed her everything in the school i thought of my dream and tryed to see if it would help me out. In my dream after i showed her everything i had to show her how to read. However, she read the story perfect and no errors. Then we ate some food and i showed her the foods that we have here in our school. ps{ our school lunch is nasty}. Anyways, its time for me to go today was a short day for us. When i was walking home i realized she was still following me and i took out the handcuffs she was still behind me. When i looked back she tryed to hide her face with her hair. When i walked into the house she left and she wasnt there anymore. I turned on the tv and heard the news. Its said nothing interesting to me. So i thought about what i was going to do when i see her tommarow. When i thought what i was going to do it came to my mind like if she was right in front of me and i was going to teach her something and she didnt understand. I hope that tommarow she will come up to me and ask me a question. until tommarow im going to sleep because i had to much homework. CHAPTER 3 As i woke up it was really cold and chilly but the other days were warm and bright. I ate some breakfast and and packed me a lunch for school. On my ay out the house i saw Taliyah waiting for me i guess she wanted to walk with me to school. When we were walking to school we started to talk about math,science, and writing she said i need help with this. But she said it as if she was scared of me. When we walked in school she left and she went to her classes and she was fine but at the end of the day when we walked home she wasnt behind me and she seemed like a different person. like i always do when i go home i turn the tv and see the news and the guy said The girl that is in your school that has memory lost was found in the middle of the dessert and was found my a lady. She lost her memory because she got hit by a rock playing with her friends and the rock came straight to her head and she fell and her friends left her. I coldnt belive this i have to tel her what happended but she cant let anybody know this. I feel really bad for her. Im glad she is just getting an education and im helping her if i wasnt this kinda person she wouldnt be able to do anything right now. CHAPTER 4 Dear diary, i just now know what happened to the mystery girl that i have found. She needs to know what had happened to her she might need to know who did this to her and even if she doesnt rember he friends we can surely figure it out for her. She needs to know this and i just cant stop saying this in my head because i just cant belive someone would do this to her. CHAPTER 5 Its the next day and i have not had any sleep yet. i dont wanna go to schoo but i have to this means that if i dont go i wont be able to tell Taliyah what happened and if she moves schools she will never know. When i go to school i ca Taliyahs name over and over but she doesnt answer and she is right behind me. When i te her everything that happened in part by part she understands. I tld her not to tell anyone what had happened and she didnt say a word to anyone i left school i just wanted to tell her im lucky nobody saw me exept for her. CHAPTER 6 The next day i turned on the tv just to see what happened in the morning and the weather man said Taliyah kidnapped and not found i was schoked when he said that. TO BE COUNTINUED................ Publication Date: December 28th 2010 https://www.bookrix.com/-amaris.pen9.books

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-jordan-link-an-inspector-039-s-testimonial/

Jordan Link An Inspector's Testimonial An Inspector's Testimonial This is my written testimonial, to record and confess to the events that took place on the 4th of July. I realize that this piece will not alter the way I am viewed under the strict eye of the law and at the conclusion of any court proceedings I may attend. The scene was silent. All I could hear was the patter patter of cold water as it hit the floor and echoed around the room. It was quite distracting, really, especially when a crime could be taking place anywhere in the mansion, at any time. Haha . But that’s what I was there for. Anyways, I might as well introduce myself during this monotonous reminiscence. They call me Inspector “X”, simply because they did not know my gender, name, or origin, not until now. There was no need for them to know, anyways. I responded to their calls and ‘corrected’ their situations—sharing details with clients was of no use to me. But it was my job to catch the right criminal just before they did anything that they might regret. Something was ticking nearby me, and instantly I froze. Wild, unrealistic thoughts began to pop into my crowded mind. They were quite forced, really, but I am still amused by them to this day. Is it a bomb? No, why in the world would a thief or robber destroy a place of such wealth? Perhaps it is a greedy relative that seeks the inheritance of one of the mansion’s owners. I dismissed that idea as well. Everyone knew that the Lawrence family was diving deep into the clear ocean waves to explore coral reefs while they relaxed at their luxury, Bahamas resort. I ran down the endless list of possibilities in my mind, as I always did, knowing that none of the theories lead to the true conclusion. The ticking stopped suddenly, halting my train of thoughts. No matter how many times I had gone over the house, I refused to believe that the cause of these strange, spontaneous events was spiritual. I did not believe in ghosts, or magic for that matter. Foolishness and superstitions had no place in my cases. So I edged towards the sound fearlessly, knowing that I would appear in the nick of time. I turned the corner, and there were no ghosts. Slowly, I made my way towards the center of this new room, running a gloved hand alongside one of the walls to keep my sense of direction. Eventually, I found a light and flicked it on to look around. And oh did those riches look fantastic. There were antique plates, carvings, and sculptures sitting atop marble pedestals. There were jewelry boxes stuffed with glittering golden and diamond pieces. My eyes grew wide and one of my gloved-hands flew to my mouth in astonishment. I would say I was in heaven, just for a moment. A phone that was ringing down the hallway snapped me out my dazed mood. I quickly tugged a large leather bag free from my suitcase, emptying the glass cases and jewelry boxes into its depths. It would be a tangled mess to sort later on, I knew, but a very expensive, tangled mess at that. I went through several other rooms throughout the day, methodically. I opened safe upon safe, dusting for fingerprints and laughing with glee. This was one of my best days, oh yes . This was my first multi-millionaire client, and I had to be amused at their lack of security. I mean, come on . If you’re going to have a large ivory mirror and original who-knows-what-era paintings, at least secure them to the wall properly. And just like that, I was gone with the Lawrence riches, a feather in the afternoon breeze. There were benefits to having no name, no face. What foolish parent would name their child “X”. And what a clever idea it would be to use a faux name to conceal ones true identity—I should probably explain. Hello, this is my alias, Inspector “X”, known as something quite different for every case, signing out. I am a convicted criminal who is serving sixty-years in jail for involvement in the mansion robbery. This ‘case’ was not my first crime. I have come to the aid of many desperate, paranoid, pathetic fools in the past. While I laugh at their stupidity, claim that I will face down their ghosts or catch whatever thief may be lurking in the shadows of their homes, I also rob the riches right from their hands. You might call me a philanthropist, yes. I believe I am, in a twisted way. Oh, it is so interesting how I always manage to arrive at the scene before the police, deafeningly silent and extremely effective. I guess you could call me a super-villain. The name thing is simple, probably the most laughable part of the whole disguise. I have been doing this for quite a long time, longer than you might imagine, and others have begun to pick up the legacy that I left behind. I resumed a different fake name and identification for every client, and when I had departed with their riches the police referred to me as an “X” criminal—the “X” being the unknown identity. It caught on. I know what you’re thinking right now, and I will take my last minutes of break to answer your burning question. The Lawrence family consisted of several more intelligent policemen and women who had tracked this so-called Inspector “X” day in and day out and had hired him to do their dirty work. But there was no Bahamas for these dedicated law-enforcers. It had been a trap, a sham, the whole thing. A trap—what a cowardly thing to do! But I will always know, no matter what anyone tells me, that I was one of the most successful, clever criminals to ever be incarcerated. Once again, this is Inspector “X”, signing out. Publication Date: July 5th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-writerjordan

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-j-d-mincey-inside-my-mind/

J. D. Mincey Inside My Mind Ramblings of a Teenager Publication Date: August 15th 2010 https://www.bookrix.com/-jasminedionne

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-kimba-sue-this-cannot-be-happening-again/

Kimba sue This Cannot Be Happening Again! Too Much For One Girl This Cannot Be Happening Again! London was getting ready for bed when she would bet her life that she just heard someone walking around her cabin. She was not going to go there and see who it was but she would call the police. Thank god for her cell phone. She did not go no where so all the phone had to do is work inside her place. She grabbed her cell phone off her hip and quickly punched in the buttons to 911. She heared the operator say, "what is your emergency?" At the same time she heard the footsteps outside her window. London was to scared to say a word incase whoever was out there heard her on the phone. She could tell the operator was getting annoyed or maybe she was scared she was to hurt to speak. "If you do not answer me I am going to send an officer and when he gets there this better be real." London could faintly hear the sirens telling her the police were on there to help her. She did not hang up the phone though she knew if she did they would call her right back and the person outside would hear the phone ringing. She started to think who could it be? A teenager being a peeping tom or some weirdo with a sick fetish? She shivered at the later thought though having someone watch you through your window is creepy. She could hear banging on her front door but she didn't care until they said it was the police she was not moving from the spot on the floor in front of her couch. She was shaking and her head was pounding from the stress these noises were doing to her. "This is the woodsland police open up please." London finally moved towards her door on wobbly legs she reached her hand out to unlock the door when they started banging on it again making her jump back and scream. She managed to unlock the door and open it so the police officers could walk inside. They did not looking happy but what the hell did they except her to do? "Did you call us ma'am? We are here to help you but you have to tell us what the problem is." The female officer who's name is she looked down on the name plate of the womans green uniform. Mable was a first name, not a last she thought to herself who cares if she was not happy. The other officers name plate read mr. Baxton he seemed nice enough. "I called you because I have heard noises outside my window and I am not going to run out there to danger. I would say that would be stupid of me." She did not care that she was being a bitch. She wanted them to get on with their job check out house and whatever else they had to do and leave. She knew they did not want to be there and they were looking at as if she were a child. "We will take a look around outside but we doubt we will see anyone." What the hell were they talking about. She did know that whoever was out there is gone by now but she knew they could tell if someone had been walking around out there if someone had left something out there. There was more to do then they were willing to do. "Look I know there gone now sir. I thought you could tell if someone was out there or something?" They both looked at her shook their head then mr. Baxton said, we are doing what we can and just so you know we have to catch someone here to do something?" London watched the police cruiser pull out of her driveway. She slammed her front door so hard she made her nicknacks on her wall rattle. She didn't get what was going on but she was keeping her doors locked no matter what. She decided to go into her room which was off a corner of the cabin so there was no windows in there. She would feel safe in there tonight. She knew she would not be sleeping she was going to think about what almost happened to her that made her scared of people. She thought about calling the only person she loved or trusted; her brother derek. She always wondered how she got stuck with the weird name. Anyways she decided not to call him he would just worry tell her knew it was a bad idea to move into the woods in a cabin. He would jump in his bright red sports car and drive the three hours here. She leaned her head back against the wall and let the tears stream down her face. Then the flasbacks started flashing. She could see the two men and the dark room. London tried to shake her head to clear her the bad memorys away it did not work. She was at a party with a friend and they were both drinking. This was a normal friday night for london and Kate. She was drunk every weekend with her friends but always Kate. She knew something was wrong when a guy asked Kate to dance and soon after another guy came up with a glass of punch mixed with four different liquors. She studied him for a full minute then took the glass. He was making small talk and asked her if she wanted to dance, of course she said yes so she would be close to Kate but when they got on the dance floor her friend was gone. She scanned the room and did not see her anywhere. Out of no where she felt sick and her head was spinning out of control. All at once her legs went weak and she could not control her own body. She could not even speak when she tried to tell this strange man by the name of Brian; she wanted to go home her mouth would not move. Brian craddled her in his arms like he was carrying a baby. He smiled at everyone he walked passed and headed up these cream colored carpeted stairs. She tried to tell her body to kick and scream but she couldn't do anything but fall to his prey. He opened a bedroom door and kicked it closed behind him.he just dropped her on the bed not caring how hard he dropped her. He laughed an evil laugh and told her what he was going to do with her starting off raping her reapeadly and then he was going to kill her by slicing a little at a time on her raping her again. He took off his jeans and walked over to the bed and ripped her shirt wide open exposing her lacey pink bra. She knew she was crying but she could not help it she knew he was going to be rough with her. She had sex one time ever and she did not enjoy it too much so she did not do it again making her ex break up with her. He was tugging and pulling trying to get her jeans off of her when the door came flying open banging off the wall making Brian jump up off the bed. In ran Kate and the guy who had taken her on the dance floor. He punched Brian square in his nose breaking it instantly. The Kate flinched when the bone snapped she heard it pop and londons eyes went wide with fright. Kate snatched some black t shirt that was in the closet in the room they were in and took her shirt off putting it over londons head and she slipped the t shirt on. She asked her date to pick london up and carry her to her car. He sat in the backseat which we all knew was cramped we were driving a blue saturn. When Kate pulled in my driveway she got out and opened the passenger door so her date could get out her side and just bend inside and pull her out. He craddled her as she was a baby also but she knew kate would not let him try anything. Kate banged on her door. She was still living with her mother. When her mother opened the door and set her eyes on her she was immedietly pissed off. She kept shouting as soon as the doors were closed of course. I knew you were going to get in trouble. I knew this was going to happen you would find a way to embarrasse me. No said anything to her which pissed her mother off more. Angie grabbed a hold of kates arm but before kate said anything derek came out of his room took one look and london and grabbed her from the stranger that was carrying her to her room. The first thing out of his mouth was what the hell happened to her. No one answered right away making him yell the same question again. He made everyone jump and kate to speak up s s someone t tried to r r ra.... I don't want to hear it I know what happened and I will be finding this man that did this to my sister. London must have finally went to sleep because she woke up screaming no and could not breath. She did not how she made it through that maybe because he did not actually get a chance to hurt her. What was she going to do if someone was trying to hurt her again? Could it be the same person that tried to get her last time or someone else? She got out of her bed to take a shower. She was tired and that would wake her up. She would make a pot of coffee also that would help her. She was not going anywhere she never did. She got up every morning by nine am and she always took a shower and got dressed. She would run the brush through her long red hair that came past her ass. She knew her hair was too long but she did not care she was not cutting it off. She walked into her kitchen and started a pot of coffe and sat on her light brown chairs waiting for the coffee to brew. She decided to check on her brother. She laughed out loud at the thought of checking on her brother who always took care of her. She text him a quick hey how are you doing bro? And sent the text out. She did not have to wait long and he replyed he would be coming to see her in the next week or so. She wondered why he wanted to come see her but did not ask him. They chatted a good ten minutes then they said their I love yous. She got up and grabbed her french vanilla creamer from her fridge. She reached above the coffee pot into the cupboard to get a coffee mug sat it on the counter added two tea spoons of sugar, pourd in the creamer, and poured in some coffee. She took a deep breath and smiled. She loved the taste and smell of the french vanilla. Text: I am the owner for this story.... Images: I own all rights to the cover.... All rights reserved. Publication Date: March 8th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-kimmyj79

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hunter lynne truth in darkness I dedicate this book to my best friend Laura Deal wo has been a godsend Truth in Darkness Truth in the Darkness by: Hunter Lynne "Christain, seriously, get down from there before she sees you!" I yell up to my older brother. He looked down from his perch in the highest branches of the White Oak tree in our front yard and gave one of his mischievious smiles. "It's all right little sister. She hasn't got back yet, so take a chill pill and I promise you, she won't see me up here anyway." Christain called down from the top of the tree. I had to squint up to see him and caught a glimpse of his charming smile that wins every girls heart. "I brought you some lunch from Romatech. Would you like the chicken or the burger?" I managed a slight smile. I have just returned from Romatech Industries,a grocery store in our local neighborhood. "Back up ! I'm comin down" When I backed up, he leaped from the branch and landed right where I was standing. "Seriously, what has gotten into you. You haven't been right since Lucan left." I commented when he landed without a single sound. Christain was smiling like he won the triathalon. It is a while before he finally speaks up. "What do you mean? I am seriously confused right now. Who is Lucan?" When he saw the look on my face, his face paled "Oh, the one I called a brother before he betrayed me. Well, he did some things I can't even explain. And don't even think about bringing it up again." I quickly stepped back from him. "Sorry, I didn't know you were still that angry. I thought you were over it now considering that was three years ago." Before he could reply, my phone blared. I took it out of my pocket without looking at  the display screen and answered it. " Hello." " Hey, sweetheart." "Hi, mom. Is something wrong?" "No,sweetheart, I was calling to tell you we will be home in about thirty minutes." "Mom, you're not supposed to be coming home for another week. Why are you coming home so early?" "Is Gloria there?" She brushed off my question. "No, she left for Romatech a few hours ago." I thought it was strange since I left Romatech a few minutes ago. I didn't see her there, either. I finally said, " Huh, that is rather weird. Romatech is only a few blocks away from here so she should have been home a while ago. Why? What is wrong?" "Nothing, dear. How is Christain?" " A show-off as usual. He's fine. How are you?" "Scared and angry. I will be fine. Listen, your grandmother just dropped off Charity and Joshua a few hours ago because something came up and she couldn't have them with her now. So, do you have your stuff ready for in the morning?" Tomorrow is the first day of my Junior year, I totally forgot. "No, I don't, I totally forgot and is dad doing services tonight?" "No he's not. We have had  a long trip and we are tired .The money is in my nightstand drawer. Have Chirstian take you to get supplies. I love you, sweetheart." "Okay, I love you, too." Then she hung up. Christain was looking at me with with wide eyes and a pale face. I started to say something when he regained his composure. He took a shaky breath and finally spoke, "I'm fine. What did mom want?" The intensity left his eyes and the color slowly came back to his face. The charming smile came back. I finally said, "They will be home in a little while. They have Charity and Joshua with them so I doubt they will wait much longer to see us. And she said for us to go pick up our school stuff." "Wow, time already. I completely forgot. Go get the money. I will get the keys and the lists." "Fine." And we went into the house. I made my way upstairs to my parents bedroom. My parents room is huge, considering it is the master bedroom. My mom was right the money was laying in the top drawer of her nightstand with a rubber band around it to keep it all together. I walked out of their room and realized that dad's study door is open. Huh, that wasn't open when  I came up here, I thought. I walked toward it without thinking what was in there. I was just curious because  dad never left his study open like that. I finally made it to the door and peered inside. I gasped. The room was destoyed. Dads books were on the floor, the shelves torn from the walls, and paper ripped to shreds on top of it all. Right in the middle of the room, lying on thew floor covered in blood, was Aunt Gloria. I ran toward her. When I got near her, I could see the  were the blood was coming from. A deep gash across her chest and a long, silver knife in her hand. I screamed and screamed until Christain burst into the room. He saw her lying there motionless in a heap on the floor in front of me. He luged forward, grabbed the back of my shirt and pulled me back. I slammed into his chest and he wrapped his arms around me. He whispered in me ear, "Are you okay?" Through the tears I managed to say, "I'm fine. W-what h-h-happened to her?"My voice was barely audible. "I don't know,Tess. Go call mom, now!" "I'll be downstairs. Chrisatin?" "Yes, Tess?" "Please hurry." With that I boltled out the room.Tears streaked my face as I ran down the stairs and out the front door. I dailled mom's number faster than I thought possible. She picked up on  the third ring. "Mom, you need to get home, now! As fast as possible!"I was out of breath and my voice was shaking so badly from crying. "Sweetheart, slow down and tell me what happened" I slowed down and explained to her what I saw in dad's study. My voice started to go back to normal, but I'm pretty sure she could barely understand me. She was silent for a few minutes. Finally she she spoke,"We are about twenty minutes from Staples. Go get your stuff and don't come back until we call you. Then you come running." "Please hurry!" I ran back into the house and up the stairs. I nearly ran into Christain on the top step. He caught me before I could tumble back down the stairs. He looked down at me. His eyes were rimmed with red and his face was paler than usual. He finally spoke with a great effort,"What did mom say?" "She said to go get our stuff for school and don't come back until they call us back." "Alright, I see you have the money. So lets go. I already have the keys." He turned me around, but he kept his arm around me. Which is kind of weird because he never did that anymore. I assumed it was a protectively gesture. He did this when we were in a great deal of danger. He led me down the stairs and out the front door to his old Mustang. He opened the passenger door and I got in. After Christain shut my door, he dashed around the car to the drivers side, he was practically a blur, and jumped in. He never drives the old Mustang, it was always the old Ford pick-up that we drove to the shelter. We zoomed down the road and out of sight of the house. Within a few minutes we were pulling into the parking lot of Staples. We were practically running through the parking lot when I realized that my phone was ringing. Christian looked at me as soon as I made a grab for it. Text: Hunter Lynne Images: google Editing: Hunter Lynn All rights reserved. Publication Date: September 7th 2013 https://www.bookrix.com/-vvb7067c4578e15

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Abbey Voss Taken Advantage I would like to dedicate my book to my "friends" for making me feel uncomfortable and unwelcome. Text: Copyright to the picture. All rights reserved. Publication Date: October 26th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-toodles49653

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Elvira Frankenheim The Evil Within The Beginning (Chapter 1)   God sees everything, p reached the unmarried Joshua Black with all passion to his church. This con­greation constisted of 544 church­men. Sad, but true, only some 30 wor­shipers found their way to his Sunday sermons at ten a.m. Pastor Black was asking himself ever so often: And how many of these few people are nothing but hypocrites? Who leads a double life? No one can read another´s thou­ghts. God only knows what goes on inside of his creatures.   He was sure that Grandma Kowalski, an exceptional and spry 93 yearold, was a god-fearing and therefore did not belong to the fraction of hypo­crites. For the preacher, hypo­crites were all the people that pre­tended to be Christians, but whose deeds were not in accord with the Christian belief. They were like wolves in sheep´s clothing. A regular church or sermon and a necklace with a cross did not turn anyone into a Christian at all. For God, what humans do when no one is watching is more important. God is all-knowing, because God is omni­present.   Pastor Joshua Black came from a bigger town, about 300 miles away from Springfield. There, he first stud­ied three semesters of medicine, until he finally found God and the true belief due to God´s mercy and thus became a dominie. Some one and a half years before, he moved into the village and overtook the church ad­ministrative office because his pre­decessor, Reverend Joe Weaver, went into retirement.   On Christmas more of the churchmen actually show­ed up and participated in the mass, but one was never ever seen there. As opposed to all other church visitors, his sins were only too obvious. Perry Hobbs moved to Springfield about six months ago and stole peace from the village. He was freshly divorced, and was accused of having nearly beaten his first wife to death. His recent partner, Janet Tan­ner, was con­stantly beaten. And not only one time. Everybody in the village knew that he also constantly abused his new partner´s thirteen year old daugh­ter. And no one in the village ever interfered or did anything to stop it… yet.   After the mass, the 39 years old servant of the Lord normally first went to the tavern to smear his dried out throat with two or three beers. He loved to hang out with Major Murphy and Sheriff Collister who loved to discuss criminal cases and ficticious crimestories. Collister always con­fessed to the pastor that, if he were not being a policeman, he would teach this damn swine of a man Hobbs a tough lesson. A very tough lesson, actually. But he only confessed that to the Reverend and the Major, and thus it was a shared secret.   Hobbs was nothing but a thorn in the conservative Major´s flesh as well. This guy was not meant to belong into their honorable community. Addit­ianally, Hobbs´ stepdaughter was his daughter. This secret never became public either. But some years ago, Murphy did actually confess to pastor Black. Janet Tanner was a woman that Major Murphy had an affair with, though he was married at this time.   Perry Hobbs had long not been seen for a morning pint. He had to drink his beer somehwere else, either at home or outside on a park bench, near the historical monument, when the inn­keeper Oliver expelled him from the pub. Oliver was really fed up with that gadfy, that provoced the other guests, started fights and never payed his tippe shell. So far, he owed some 500 dollar to the clubowner for drinks and smashed up inventory. Hobbs, being out of work, could never think of reducing his debts. The enourmous consumation of alcohol and dissatis­faction with his life formed a vicious circle.   On a Monday morning, some five days before Christmas Eve, the number of inhabitants of the village was lowered by one. It was not Grandma Kowalski, the village elder, that left them. A pedestrian found Perry Hobbs lying dead in the creek.   Today, shortly after Christmas (Chapter 2)   I sit alone at my kitchen table and I´ve just finished my breakfast. I could take one more cup of coffee. There is a knock on my door. I hardly have ever any visitors so early. It will surely be Collister. I was well prepared for that occasion.   I open the door and he is the caller. »May I?« »Of course.« We go to the kitchen and I offer a chair to my guest. »I have the morning off today and I thought why not stop by the parson, the one who always breakfasts so very alone. And a good opportunity for some further discussion about crimes and criminalist sensory.« »Coffee?« I ask. Collister nods, dumb. I take a clean cup and pour hot coffee from the pot and join him at the table. »It is about Hobbs, right?« I am not really asking that at all - I know that it is about Hobbs. »Yes, exactly. Perry Hobbs died on Sunday, the 18th of December, at about midnight. Death by drowning.« »A silly accident«, I say after a short silense. »That´s about the size of it. But concerning Hobbs´ case, there is something more.« »Like exactly what?« The police officer pours some milk into his cup. I hand him a spoon. »When the corpse was examined, they found …« »A lot alcohol«, is my fast explan­ation. »This would explain an accident, a boozer falling in the creek. No, they found benzodiazepine.« »Benzodia...?« I ask stupidly as I put my right hand into my pocket and play nervously with the little bottle. Collister focuses on the cup of coffee with sharp eyes. »It is a narcotic, an anestethic. You can also find it to be psychotropic. Why did Hobbs take this drug? Who prescribed it for him? A doctor did not in any case. Where did this drug come from?« »Well ... good question.« »By the way, knockout drops contain benzodia­zepine as well. And even stranger, why didn´t we find this pharmaceutical in his place?« I deliberate on this and look around in the room. »Well, we can possibly think that he first got drugged and then …« Collister takes a careful sip. »Coffee tasting strange?« »It must be the holy water«, is my answer by keeping a straight face. »Our Mr. Preacher makes jokes! You should do that in church, and then more will attend the sermon!« »The sermon is no comedy show and the Bible a serious matter. This holy book is the mirror, how dirty or clean you are in front of the eyes of God. Self delusion does not function in this case at all. The one who does not take the Bible seriously is stupid. It is all about where you will spend eternity - in heaven or hell.« »I do not believe in any eternity at all, and I do not believe in any God either, not in any that lets evil happen. I do not believe in any God, that has people in the poor countries die from famine either.« »A way bigger catastrophe is to stand by without acting. There is a study that makes clear that the money of the seven richest people in the world would be enough to abolish all hunger worldwide.« »I do not believe in any God that has criminals go without punishment.« »That is wrong!« I react with a sharp voice. »What goes around comes around. We reap what we sow. It is all simply a question of time.« »Sorry, I am really not sure about that. I cannot believe in any God that I cannot see, but who never overlooks anything himself. For me and my court, only proof counts. I do believe in right and wrong.« »And in the fine fragile line between that«, I add. Collister carefully takes another sip and says: »One who believes in God cannot deny the existence of the devil.« »Of course not, the devil is real. He is called Satan, or Lucifer, and was long ago the most beautiful angel to be found in all of heaven. After the creation of Adam and Eve, God demanded that all the angels worship humans, but Satan refused to. The humans should worship him, not the other way around. Satan wanted to be like God. He wanted to climb up the skies and sit on the thrown next to the Almighty. But because of his pride and, Satan became a fallen angel. Since then, he projects all his hatred, jealousy and pain onto us humans, because he got driven out and alienated by us from his holiness, and happiness, while being amongst all angels in heaven.« »Ho-hum«, Collister moaned, being rather tired and bored. »Angels are spiritual beings. The devil is the father of all lies that attacks our mind. And all our thoughts get influenced by this, which triggers emo­tions, that again, have nothing but a bad influence on our deeds. Satan tries by all available means to make the human body the object of sin. One can definitely say that Satan is the spirit of deception. Bad people are obsessed by such demons and turn into criminals. By killing felons, you cannot eliminate these forces of evil either. Jesus did exorcise demons. There are legions of fallen angels und if they were visible, they would darken the sun.« The sheriff looked at me un­believingly. Unimpressed I kept on talking. »Someone who loves God obeys his creator. Every human was equipped with free will by God; the fall of mankind in the Garden of Eden shows that explicitly. Either you follow what God said, or you keep your fingers away from the forbidden fruits ...« »Oh you don´t«, interrupts me Collister. »That is right. Or you do something, that God forbids, one sin. Sin is the cause of all evil in this world. All that is allowed or not can be found in the Bible, the word of God. I orientate myself thus, con­sulting the word of Jesus Christ, the God of life and the resurrection. And only His judgments are just.« »Eye for an eye ...« »Tooth for a tooth, I know«, I break in. »And with this philosophy, society would only consist of blind people and ones who wear false teeth. That is no justice but revenge. It is written: The revenge is Mine, spoketh the Lord. Eye for an eye, the revenge does not function, Jesus instead demands: Love your enemies! With this love, he does not refer to any feeling, but to a decision on how to treat others. And enemies are people that one finds to be rather unsympathic and one avoids. Love your enemies, that works because the Lord are going to handle it. To take the law into one´s own hands is not allowed.« »Well, with good cause«, Collister agrees. »I do believe in chain of events by chance.« » Either you believe in God or everything is mere chance. For me, God is the most sovereign ruler of the universe, the one that has everything under his control and thus never makes any mistakes, He is perfect. And that excludes any coincidences at all, the chaos and the fear in this world are of no coincidence, they have reasons. In our consumer society nowa­days, many want to live a materialist and hedonistic oriented life and religious faith is lost. And exactly there, where the people don´t belief in the devil, the demonic power is at its peak. Where there is a lack of religious faith, the superstition grows. The German poet Friedrich Hebbel once stated: Many believe in nothing, but fear everything . There is little trust, but a ;ot of fear in this world. Rooted in this fear is the lack of any trust for God, as a strong belief in God is freeing and gives hope. You have to please God and not the world. God hates self-delusion and self justice as well as the sinful priorities of this contemporary society. Sin means the separation from God and the payback of sin in the lake of fire and brimstone, called hell. « »Your predecessor wanted to make me belief, that we all would be guilty.« »Of course, each human is a sinner, but by the belief in Jesus Christ, the people are freed from their sins. It´s the Blood of Jesus that washes our sins away forever.« »Hey c´mon, it´s alright now«, interrupts again Collister. »Don´t preach any Gospel here. But back to Hobbs, where was I?« I think hard. »We talked about the coffee, which tasted of holy water?« »No, before.« »That Hobbs got drugged?« I ans­wer. »Really? And?« »And... that someone might have arranged his death by drowning«, I whispered. »He got drugged first and then someone forced his head into the creek, for example.« My guest suddenly starts to yawn. »Hobbs´ case really did cost me sleep over the last few days.« »I can imagine ...« Then, Colloster looks deep into my eyes. »Hobbs was last seen alive on this warm Decemberday around 11 p.m. at the monument.« »Well«, I actually scrarch my chin. Collister leans over the table. »And where exactly was Mr. Reverend at that time?« »Here in my apartment«, I answered. I was sleeping, I already said so.« »Hobbs died around midnight. But someone did see you around the creek at that time.« »Thar is clearly an outright lie!« I affirm and get upset. Moses was a murderer, he killed an Egyptian. But nevertheless, he was a child of God, a chosen one, who lead the tribe of Israelites out of the Egyptian knightship. With the death of Perry Hobbs, the whole village was again free after half a year, freed from a tyrant. I am under suspicion. One can be sure about my hatred concubinates, how I hate physical violence, But no one could even dare to assume to know how I hated Hobbs and wished him to go to hell. No one could read my thoughts. »Many in the village are slightly happy, that Hobbs is dead«, explains Collister. But that is nothing new to me. »And some do have a motive, for example our Mr. Major Murphy«, I disclose to the policeman. He seems to be surprised. For him, this informa­tion seems to be new and he wants to know more. »And what exactly?« Janet Tanner´s child was his illegitimate daughter. He confessed that to me. »I am not allowed to say that in public. Seal of Confessional.« »That is not constructive for my investigation.« »But what I can say is, that our highly regarded village policeman always wanted to teach Hobbs a lesson. And where exactly was Mr. Collister around midnight?« Collister remains silent and finishes his coffee. After some short consider­ation, he continues to speak. »Alright, I will play it down with the narcotic, just like the doping data at the Tour de France, I am not even interested whether someone acutally buys that.« »Ok, that means, the case Hobbs will be closed?« »Yes, exactly, the Hobbs case will be closed. The death of Perry Hobbs was an accident, a perfect storm. Whether someone drugged him before his drowing him in the creek is only known by the murderer.« »Well, that is not completely accurate.« Respectfully I fold my hands for a prayer and bend my face with closed eyes heavenwards. »There would be still … someone else.«       Version   The Evil Within – Elvira Frankenheim eBook-Version 3 – Juni 2021     Copyright (Impressum)   Stefan Hoffmann Robert-Koch-Str. 55 41539 Dormagen Germany Publication Date: June 8th 2021 https://www.bookrix.com/-mrright

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Danielle Nimmo Clockwork Changes Publication Date: August 18th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-danninimz

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-elle-marie-calhoun-an-awakening-memory/

Elle Marie Calhoun An Awakening Memory The First Step I awoke to an unfamiliar face leaning over me. I stared at him, confused; he then spoke to me in a husky unknown voice. “Marianna? Can you hear me?” he said. I stared at him and answered shortly. “Who’s Marianna?” I asked confused. He looked worried, and replied softly, “You’re Marianna.” “Seriously? I’m Marianna?” “Yes.” “Oh. Well, may I ask who you are?” “I’m Joseph, your well” He stuttered then continued. “Boyfriend.” “Boyfriend? Wouldn’t I remember you? Though, I don’t really remember anything. Why is that?” “You have amnesia, Marianna.” “Amnesia? How did this happen?” You were in a car crash.” “Oh my gosh, that’s terrible.” “I know. It’s a miracle you’re alive.” “Can you tell me more about the crash?” “I will, but right now just isn’t the time. I promise I will tell you though.” A doctor came in then, he wore a blue venal shirt under his white doctor’s coat and spoke in a heavy, justified voice. “I heard that Miss Carner has awoken. I need everybody out so I can give her a full rundown.” the doctor said. Joseph, still crouched at my hospital bed, lightly kissed my forehead and told me that he would be back as soon as he could. I watched as he left and just stared because all of the people leaving the room were completely unfamiliar. Having amnesia is going to really stink and already does. “ You’re quite a survivor Miss Carner.”, the doctor said as he examined a huge knot on my head. “As I’ve heard. Do you mind telling me exactly what happened?” “Well, I don’t know everything, but I will tell you what I do know.” “Ok, but I have one more question before you tell me about the accident.” “Yes?” “How old am I?” “Eighteen.” I stared then replied, “Really? It doesn’t seem possible.” I shook my head a couple times with unbelief. A crooked smile appeared on his face as he simply took my blood pressure. “Age is a very unbelievable thing, dear. Something we can never get away from.” I sighed under my breath. “Well, anyhow you want to know about your accident, so I’ll tell you. It was May 27 th around 8:00 PM. You were on your way to a friend’s house when you and a truck crashed headfirst. Neither of you saw each other. It was an intense crash. It’s amazing how you came out; only a broken wrist, a huge knot on your head, and scratches and bruises all over your body. The guy in the truck was not as lucky, though.” He looked away, sad. Right when he said, “broken wrist”, I finally noticed my left wrist. It was in a small cast around my whole wrist. “What happened to him?” I asked curiously. “He has a brain tumor, and cuts all over his body from the windows of his truck and parts of your own car. He’s in a coma as we speak. We thought you were in one for the longest time because you would never wake.” “What happened right after the crash?” He was sitting down now. I guess he was done examining me. “Hmmm I think someone saw the crash and called the police and here also. When the ambulance got there, you looked as you had seen a ghost; it was very terrifying. You looked so disturbed, like you had seen something disastrous. It’s a miracle you survived with all that happened. You were so shaken up that we had to give you sleeping pills just so you would lie down and sleep. We thought you might have gone into a coma also because you were so motionless and quiet. It turned out that you just lacked a lot of sleep. You were unconscious for about a day and a half. Today May 29 th , it’s 5:30 at night. You woke up not too long ago.” “Wow a lot has happened. Um do you think you can find out who the guy that reported the accident is?” “I can give it a try, but if I don’t have any luck, check with Chief Peters up at the Police Department. He’ll probably be of some help.” “Thanks Doctor- err I don’t know your name.” “It’s Singleton, Thomas Singleton. I thought I had told you.” “Thanks Doc. Singleton.” “You’re welcome, Marianna.” I watched as he walked out the door with his clipboard. Hmmm I probably should find out the name of the guy in the truck that could help also. It was quiet for at least an hour until I heard a soft knocking on the door. Joseph walked straight to bed and just grinned at me. “Hey, I was just talking to Doc. Singleton and he said that you’ll probably be able to go home tomorrow. Isn’t that great?” he said smiling bigger. I smiled back. How could I forget such a wonderful person? “That’s awesome!” I said with excitement. “I was thinking maybe we could hang out tomorrow, what’d you think?” “That’d be great! I can get to know you, again. Maybe bring back some memories?” “And make some new ones.” For a while, we just stared into each other’s eyes. Only if I could remember my memories with him, everything would be better. That is my true desire. This really is terrible, not recognizing the people that love you most. “Oh, I almost forgot. I have something for you, Mari.” He went to a table with several flowers and gifts sat. “Mari?” I questioned as he picked up a small box and a large bouquet of beautiful, red roses. “Yeah, it’s your nickname, a lot of people call you that.” he replied as he walked back over to me. “Here you go.” he said with a smile as he laid the roses on my bed and placed the small box in my right palm. I laid the small box down for a second and picked up the bouquet of roses. “They’re beautiful, Joseph. Thank you.” “You’re welcome.” He smiled brightly as he eyed the small box out of the corner of his eye. I picked the small box up and what I saw surprised me. It was a beautiful emerald stone on one side and a stunning diamond on the other. In the middle hung a single, smoky gray bead; it was breathtaking. It's such a mesmerizing necklace. “Oh, Joseph it’s beautiful. Are the gems real?” “Yes.” “This must have cost you a fortune. You didn’t have to waste your money on me.” “It wasn’t a waste. You’re worth so much more. You can’t be bought. You mean the world to me; Marianna and I want you to always know that. The emerald is your birthstone and the diamond is mine, they symbolize us.” He grabbed my hand and just held it with both of his hands. He brought my hand to his cheek and held it there. I stared curiously like a small child at their first birthday as he closed his eyes and began to speak. “You are everything to me and always will be.” His voice was soft and felt like velvet. I didn’t feel a single urge to pull my hand away; it felt completely safe in his. I felt like I was in one of those vampire novels, what a weird feeling. He steadily moved my hand from his cheek as his eyes flashed open. I stared speechless at him as if he was an angel that had appeared from Heaven. He picked the necklace up and unhooked the latch. “Sit up and turn your back to Me.”, he told me in a low, gentle voice. I sat up and turned as he put the fascinating necklace around my neck. I turned back around so he could see. “Breathtaking.” “The necklace?” “No. You.” I felt my cheeks turn pink and started to look down. Suddenly he raises my chin up so I would be facing him. With one hand now on my back, he reached out with his other hand to lightly brush my cheek. He removed his hand from my cheek as he began to speak. “I have to go. I’ll see you soon”, he said lovingly. His hands moved to my shoulders as he affectionately kisses my cheek. I watch him leave, feeling alone, but I’m not completely alone. I have God watching over me. “ Everything looks good. Miss Carner, you’re free to go.” A bright smile appeared on my face, I noticed a huge smile on Joseph’s face also. “Let us just get you checked out.” “I can take care of things Doc. Singleton.”, Joseph suggested. “Well ok let us get her a wheelchair though.” “Why do I need that, Doc. Singleton?” I asked with confusion. “Well… I guess you wouldn’t need one after all, but you do need this. It’s the papers saying that Marianna is free to go, signed by me.” Doc. Singleton handed papers to Joseph while the nurse came to take the IV out, such searing pain. I bit my lip extremely hard as she took it out and placed a band-aid over the spot. Joseph came to the bed and helped me out. I had lost some balance while being in that hospital bed. I had at first, until I almost fell, but Joseph caught me. Doc. Singleton had left, leaving Joseph and I alone. He walked me to the bathroom and gave me my clothes to change into. I changed quickly, ready to get out of here. I came out of the bathroom and there he was, his bright eyes shining. To love is something that can take time, but to love Joseph isn’t that hard. Remember Me “So where are we going?” I questioned as he drove away from the hospital. “To the river, I have a lot down there.” “What are we going to do there?” “You’ll see.” He turned to grin at me then looked back at the road. He drove wonderful, smooth, yet exhilarating. I felt my heart beat heavily in my chest, it rarely happened. I must be anxious for freedom and adventure. I watched Joseph, his eyes fixed on the road. He looked so concentrated, filled with persistence. For him to love me so much, we must have known each other a long time. I must have loved him also by the way he talks. Only if I knew more, maybe I’ll find more information at my house, wherever that is. Memories that are completely hidden in my mind, that urge to leak out, only if they would. It would be such a complicated life if I never do remember, so very dreadful. Living such a jumbled and confusing life that I would never understand. My life would never be the way it was, it would be depressing. That terrible night that changed everything forever. Only if I could go back and stop it from happening, wouldn’t that be wonderful? I sighed under my breath. I turned and realized that Joseph was looking at me. “We’re here.” I took a deep breath and hopped out of the truck. Maybe memories will come back. It’s a possibility. The sight amazed me; it was beautiful. And yet I couldn’t remember anything. “What is it?” Joseph asked me. “Nothing. It’s just very beautiful, and I can’t believe I lost memory of such a beautiful place.” I replied solemnly. He grabbed my hand then. “C’mon. We got to get ready.” When we got there I saw a pretty large trailer. He went up and unlocked it and held the door open for me. I walked in and saw how nice it looked. He showed me in. Somehow I knew exactly where to look. I opened a cabinet and found a swimsuit and wetsuit. I held up the wetsuit and something hit me. My mind raced, I saw myself in that wetsuit on the back of a skidoo, holding on tightly to who was it? I concentrated harder. It was Joseph. I saw myself smile and lay my head against his back. I looked so happy right then. “ Marianna, are you okay?” I heard Joseph say to me. I opened my eyes to see that I had dropped the wetsuit. And picked it back up and looked at Joseph. “Uh, yeah fine. I’ll just go get changed.” Right then, it was like a huge surge had come over me. I was sucked up into the past. Into a flashback I had no recollection of. It was strange, seeing something inside my mind, when my mind feels empty of any information whatsoever. Later that night, I sat on the dock sitting by Joseph, his arm around me while my head rested on his chest. “Do you have a good time today?” he asked me. “Yes.”, I replied closing my eyes to take in the moment. “Good.”, he said then lifting my face up to his. He looked into my eyes then, his brown eyes big and dreamy. He kissed me then, his lips warm against mine. I then closed my eyes and began to see another memory… I was in library and reading a book, Joseph was walking toward me and stumbled into me knocking my book right out of my hand. “I am so sorry.” he said, picking my book up and handing it back to me. “It’s okay.” I said to him. He stood there for a second then began to speak, “Can I buy you a coffee and we can talk, about you?” “Yeah, I’d really like that.” I opened my eyes then. He lifted away from me and spoke, “Did you just have a flashback?” “Yeah, I think it was when we first met. Something about when you kissed me, the memory came back.” “I remember that day, you were wearing your glasses and your brown hair curled, pulled into a side ponytail. Your eyes sparkled and your smile was bright.” he replied, smiling. “You really love me don’t you?” “There was never a doubt in my mind that you were the one for me, Marianna.” “Kiss me.” That was one of the best nights since I have lost my memory; I now have this memory locked in my heart. “ Will you be taking me home?” I asked. “We usually just stay in the camper, there’s a bed and a pull-out couch. I always let you have the bed, though.” he says, walking into the camper. “Well that’s sweet of you.” I said, walking in behind him. “You go ahead to bed and if you need me, just call.” He kissed me then and told me goodnight. My mind whirled with memories. Mostly blurred, one discrete memory stayed in my mind. I kept seeing a shadowy figure in my mind over and over. My heart raced and I tossed and turned in the bed and finally screamed. I heard Joseph rush to me and spoke, “Are you okay?” “I…I don’t know.” I replied. “Would you feel better if I stay with you for tonight?” “I think so.” “Okay. Now, try and go back to sleep. I’ll be here beside you.” he said laying beside me and wrapping his arm around me, holding me close. I slept better then; somehow he was keeping the nightmare away, making me feel safe. I woke up in a dreamy haze, smelling the sweet essence of bacon. I crawl out of the bed and walk into the kitchen where Joseph is standing, his golden brown hair, tussled over his head. He turned and looked at me then. “Did you sleep good?” “Yeah, actually.”, I said, walking toward him. “Yeah, I noticed you didn’t have any more nightmares.” “Yeah, I didn’t. I think it was because you were there.” He walked to the table and laid two plates and the platter of bacon and toast down. I sat down and he sat opposite of me. “If you don’t mind me asking, what was the nightmare about.”, he said grabbing a couple pieces of bacon. “It was a shadowy figure over and over coming toward me, running after me. I feel like it’s from that night. It just haunts my memory and frightens me. If only I could see the actual face, I could know who hurt me that night.” “It’s strange, there’s got to be a way to improve your memory of that night. We need to go to the scene of the crime.” “Are you sure it’s safe?” “It’s our best chance, Mari. We have to find out who caused this.” I remember how the doctor said that when they found me, I looked as I had seen a ghost. What could it have been that I had seen?” “Hmm…I guess we’ll just have to find out.” “So we’re leaving? Yes, yes we are.”   Memories  “There may be something that the police missed when they checked the place out. It may also jog your memory being there.” Joseph says while driving. “Are you sure about this? It is a highway, with cars.” I said. “Mari, nobody drives around there anymore. It’s usually secluded. We’ll be fine.” “Okay.” “We’re just going to park on the side of the road and look around. Just don’t worry, we’ll figure this all out. I promise.” “Are we almost there?” “About a mile away.” I let out a breath, I hadn’t even realized that I was holding it. I worried about what will happen when I confront this memory. But I have to find out what happened that night and why I can’t remember anything including my name. I walked out of the car once he opened it for me. He was right, the place was deserted. Why would I have been here? “So anything?” Joseph says, walking beside me. “Not yet. I think we need to walk around some.” I say. I walk near the edge of the road, there’s a bridge. Water flows loudly and I feel Joseph’s arms around me immediately. “Be careful, you don’t want to fall.” “I was just looking. I have this weird sense of déjà vu.” I walked away then toward the road, looking past everything and concentrating. As I walked, the sense got stronger, like I was reaching some strange void. If I could break that void, I could find out what happened that night. And then it happened, the void broke and I was there that night. It wasn’t clear quite yet but it was close enough to understand. I looked and saw myself in the car then I saw what should have caught my attention right away. There was a shadowy figure near the bridge, it was as I could see through it. That is what distracted me, which is what caused me to even crash. Without thinking, I run toward the figure. But when I get there, the figure disappears and the face of the figure from dreams returns and I scream. “Marianna?!! Wake up? Are you okay?” Joseph says, trying to wake me up. “What…What happened?” I ask, sitting up. “You lit up in a high scream then fainted. What happened?” “I broke the void. I saw what distracted me. But if I tell you what it was, you may not believe me.” “Well… I think it might have been like a ghost.” “A ghost, specter, something. The memory is still a bit unclear, but I know the face. I couldn’t forget that face.”  “We need to find out who made the call to the ambulance and who the driver of that truck was. I think if we find that out, it can help us.” I say, when we’re back in the car. “You’re right, if we could get more information, we may be able to solve exactly what happened that night. Ghost or not.” Joseph says. “Are you sure about all this? I mean I just had a memory that literally knocked me off my feet. Do you think this is safe?” “Mari, listen, I won’t let you get hurt, I promise. We need to find out what happened and why you were out here. It’s in the middle of nowhere.” “Yeah, I know, it doesn’t make any sense. I was apparently going to someone’s house but that still makes no sense. None of this makes this, well except you.” “At least, you have that. Now we need to go.” Publication Date: October 28th 2015 https://www.bookrix.com/-ellemarie96

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-bronte-shepherd-time/

Bronte Shepherd Time Mother Time is the only thing i don't have. My mother used to say time was mean't to be spent doing what you love, but the world has changed since then. Mother passed away 5 years ago, when i was 11, tomorrow is my 16th birthday, and it is also the day mother left this world and entered the underworld. "Kora, if your not going to eat atleast don't play with your food!" Father sighed. He hasn't been the same since mother passed, and i dont think he will be the same ever again. I rise from the table and take my plate to the sink. The normal routine, i don't eat, father just sits at the table and dead silence fills the air. i wish it could have been different, i wish mother was with us if she was we wouldn't seem so deppressed. But sadly you can't change the past, if you could i would have done it years ago. "I'm going out." I sling my bag over my shoulder. Father says nothing, he just sits there staring at nothing. As I walk down the cold lifeless street i think of the last thing mother had said to me. " Time is just an illusion" . I never understood what mother meant by that. Time is just an illusion? If time was just an illusion wouldn't that mean it's possible to change the past. All of a sudden i feel a hand grab a hold of mine, I was focusing so much that i almost didn't see the busy street right infront of me. I turn to see who had helped me, but they were gone, it was just me yet again, walking in the silence that was all too familiar. Who was that?    ~   Back home father is still staring into space. I fix myself a small tea and read the paper.  "Father?" The sound of my voice slowly breaks the silence. Fathers eyes widen at the sound. "Nevermind." Always the same, i go to speak and he is frightened by the sudden change in pattern. His eyelids slowly drop down at the thought of me not speaking. As we sit there in silence, i can't help but think, Who saved me? Did i actually know the person or did they just help me because it was the right thing to do. Still, their touch felt so familliar to me, almost as if we were once one and why had they left without even waiting for a thank-you. I shake the ridiculous thoughts from my head. No need to be so paranoid all they did was save me from a few bumps and bruises.  Tomorrow is the day my life started 16 years ago and the day my mothers life ended 5 years ago. It's the day i loathe the most. It's the day that once was my favourite day of the year, a day i wanted to spend with friends and family and to just have fun. Now all i want to do is curl up in to a tiny ball and hide from the rest of the world, forever. My mother was my best friend, i could tell her anything, now i'm alone. Father is here but i'm alone and i will be alone until the day i die.      Alone  The light rays of the morning sun streak through the room. Music echoing around the house.  Happy Birthday to me . I thought as i lfted my head from my pillow. As i walk towards the door i see a red liquid seeping through the crack under the door. Bllood? I turn the handle and push on the door but something is blocking the way. "Father? Father can you help me, i'm stuck." There is no answer, why am i not surprised. I try to open the door again, pushing as hard as i can against the door. It moves. I slide it open enough for me to squeeze through.  Why was that so hard?  I check to see what was blocking the door, but there's nothing there.   I notice a trail of bloody foot prints and streaks of blood that looks as if something had been dragged around the house. I follow the trail to fathers room. I slowly creak open the door only to see what was left of father laying in the corner of the room. I try to scream, but no noise comes out. I try to run, but my feet are glued to the ground. I shut my eyes and fall to the ground. First mother, now father, who would do such a thing? I sway as i attempt to stand. I run downstairs to the dining room, grab the phone and call the police. Father is dead, i don't want to beleive it but it's true. I'm alone, i'm all alone.  Why?   ~   I sit in the police station waiting for someone to talk to me, to ask me if i'm all right, or to tell me what was going on. It has been three hours since i found fathers remains and the image is still fresh in my head. Father why did this happen? Why am i still alive? I should have been taken with you. How did i survive? All these questions float around my head. I start to feel dizzy. I shouldn't be here, father should, i should be the one who was chopped up in to tiny pieces.  "Miss Denton?" The officer is standing over me, judging by the look on his fasce he has been trying to get my attention for a while.  "Yes?" "Please, follow me, i would like a word." Without hesitation i follow him to a small room at the back of the station. "Miss Denton, i am Officer Miles, i am going to ask you some questions if that's alright with you." "That's fine." "First of all, you are 16, yes?" "Have been since 12 this morning." "Ok." His expression is mildly shocked. He seems to be unsure of whether he should say something about it or move on. He continues in a slower tone. "You lost your mother 5 years ago on this day, did you not?" "I did." I try to hold back the tears forming in my eyes. "This can't be just a coincidence can it?" "It could be but i find that highly unlikely." "Do you know of anyone that could be out to get your family?" "Not that i can think of, no." My mind rushes through everyone i've ever known, but i have never met anyone or know of anyone that could be out to get my family. "We can't be sure until we get more information, but i believe your life is in danger." I freeze at the thought of these words, Your life is in danger .  "Until we can asure your safety we will be placing you under the protection of the state." Why is this happening to me?  Mysterious Protector My life is in danger. It was my birthday yesterday, i'm now 16 and living alone. All alone. How could it get any worser than this. School holidays end in two more days, two more days of being alone. I could call a friend, i haven't heard from Chloe or Amy in a while, but Officer Miles told me not to speak with anyone because i don't know who i can trust anymore. I've been packing all my belogings since 2 o'clock yesterday afternoon, and i'm still not even half way through it all. I stop at the sight of a cracked photo of Mother, Father and I, back when we were together and happy. I've lived in this house my entire life and the police expect me to just get up and leave it behind as if it were nothing. Tears fall down my face. "I don't want to leave," I choke. "I want to stay!" I fall to the floor, clutching the picture in my hands. Why? Silence falls through the house all that can be heard are my silent sobs. I sit on the floor for what feels like hours. The tears have stopped falling, now i just sit in silence and slowly fall asleep. I awake to the sudden smell of smoke and burning wood. A fire? My eyes catiously open and i am greated by the sight of all my childhood memories going up in flames. I'm surrounded by the fire, my only escape is the window in my room. Without hesitation, i run in the direction of my room, but i am stopped by the flames. " There is no escape! " i hear an eery voice call. " You will die in this house, just like your parents " I cover my ears with my hands. "No!" I scream. "I will not die, this can't be happening. Why me, why my family, what did we do wrong?" I scream until no more words come out. The smoke is making me dizzy, i stumble and fall, but before my eyes close, i see a dark figure walk through the flames towards me. I try to move, but i'm too weak. My eyelids are too heavy to keep open. They shut and all is silent.   ~      I can hear the beeping of a heart rate monitor beside me. As i open my eyes i see doctors standing over me with worried and hopeful expressions across their faces.  "Thank goodness she's alive!"  "How are her stats looking?" "Sweety, do you know who and where you are?" I go to speak but am stopped by a knocking on the door.  "Yes, come in." One doctor answers. "I apologize for interupting, but i think you should give Miss Denton some time to rest, she has been through alot these past few days." "Aren't you the one who brought this young lady to us?" I turn my head to see the face of the one who saved me, but just like last time they are gone before i have a chance. Was it the same person as last time?  After half an hour the doctors and nurses are back checking my heart rate and asking me questions. "Ok sweety, can you tell me what your name is and what you think the date is?" One nurse asks. After  some seconds of pondering, i answer her question. "I am Kora Lee Denton, today is the 1st or 2nd of November." A huge smile spreads across the nurses face. "It's the 1st today, you've only been here for 4 hours" I nod at her then stare blankly at the ceiling. Who was it that saved me, do i know them, how did they get into my house, and how do they know where i live in the first place? "How much longer will i be in here." I ask. The nurses smile turns to a frown. "I'm sorry sweety but you're gonna be here for a few more days." I continue to stare at the ceiling.  "Get some rest, you need it!" Another nurse interupts. I drift off to sleep in a matter of seconds.  Golden Light  Its been five days and i'm finally out of the hospital. I sit outside waiting, not for someone to come get me, just waiting. The night is dark and cold, the slight sound of a siren blaring in the distance, the night is pieceful. After an hour of sitting alone, i get up and walk. The city lights in the distance shine like the stars. When i was younger i would pretend it was the glimmering of fairy wings. I used to imagine all sorts of things, but once mother died reality gave me a big slap across the face and i let my imagination die with mother. I haven't dreamed since. I turn and walk down a dark street. Graffiti spread across all buildings. The sirens can't be heard anymore, just the whistling of a man on the other end of the street. I try to not make eye contact as i pass, but he grabs a hold of my arm and pulls me back. "What's a pretty little girl like you doing in a place like this?" He cackles as he continues to restrain me. "Nothing, just passing through, now let me go!" I begin to panic, but i keep pulling. "But you only just got here, i thougth we were having fun!" "Let me go!" I scream. "Someone help me!" The man cackles loudly, amused at my crys for help. "I believe she asked you to let her go." It's the same voice as the person that saved me. "Who's gonna stop me, you?" "Yes!" I feel the mans grip on my arm loosen and i pull my arm free. I turn to see what had happened, but both the man and my saviour were gone. I don't bother staying, i just walk.   ~      I should probably be at the police station now for my own safety, but i feel safe now knowing there is some mysterious person i have never met protecting me. I don't know why, it just feels right. I stop infront of my home. I walk in amongst the ruble from the fire and place two flowers in the middle of the ruins. One for Mother and one for Father. I kneel down by the flowers and begin to cry. "I don't know why you had to go, but atleast you are together now," I croak. "Please wait for me wherever you are!" I wipe my face and stand up. I look around whats left of the house. Everything is black and scorched, but hidden in the darkness i see a bit of light. I walk over to the glistening and uncover my jewellery box i had got from my mother. Though everything else is burnt, the small golden box is untouched. Tears of happiness roll down my face. I don't know how its still here, but i don't care, it's just here and i couldn't be happier. In all the darkness i've been through these past weeks, this box is my symbol of hope. I open it to find the picture of my parents and i. It was in my hands the last time i saw it, someone, perhaps the mysterious person from earlier, must have put it in here for me to find knowing i would come back here. I sit in the silence, clutching the box and the picture in my hands. Tears still streaming down my face. I probably look like a wreck, but i don't care right now, i just want to sit here in this moment for as long as i can. I here police sirens in the distance getting louder, they must be looking for me, but i continue to sit and cry. I look back over to the flowers i left my parents and finally decide to stand. I make my way over and kneel down again.   "Good-bye!"        Searching for Answers The protection programe isn't bad. 3 meals a day, comfortable living space and a bathroom, but having all the guards around outside is daunting. I just wish i could go outside, alone, and out of this place. If i did that though it would mean putting myself in danger and even though there is someone protecting me, i don't want to put them in danger by putting myself in terrible situations. There's a knock on the door. "Miss Denton, it's me, Officer Miles." I walked over to the door and unlocked it. "Hello Miss Denton, are you settling nicely?" He asks me as if he doesn't want an answer. I simple look at the floor. "Okay well, i just wanted to ask you a few more questions if that's alright." I nod. "According to our files you have no living relations, are there any relations you know of that mightn't be on file?" "No, the only relations i've met were my parents." It's sad but true.  "Do you have any family friends?" "No, I can understand that i'm not helping, but my parents never told me if i had relations or if we had family friends the only person who knew my parents too was Aunt Peggie but last i heard she was dead!" My eyes swelled with tears. Officer Miles looks intrigued, but holds off his questions for a minesute. After some time he continues.  "Our records show nothing about an Aunt Peggie, was she a relation or a family friend?" "I don't know, i've only seen her twice and that was when i was only a toddler, she used to baby sit me, but mother told me Aunt Peggie was her sister!" The tears came flooding out of my eyes. "I just want answers, please, tell me what happened to my father and my mother, who killed them, why were they killed, please please just tell me!" My cheeks were red and puffy, there were so many tears it felt like i was drowning. "Please try to calm yourself down Miss Denton, we don't know who killed your parents or why, but we are trying as best as we can and i swear i will find the person responsible and lock them up for good." He stood and left. Leaving me all alone. Alone.     An Old Friend Ever since that day, i haven't been able to sleep peacefully. No matter how hard i try to relax. I have been waking in the middle of the night screaming, guards would run in thinking i'm being murded then just see me in my bed hyperventalating. Officer Miles has made me see a psycologist every week, but nothing has changed. I haven't spoken to any of my friends and i really need a shoulder to cry on. Why?  There was a knock on the door.  "Come in." I said.  I assumed it was Officer Miles, but as the door opened my jaw dropped. The figure standing in the doorway was a boy around my age with ash blond hair and a devilish side smile.  "Hey Kora, long time no see." He says as if i know him. He didn't sound like he was gonna kill me, but i didin't want to take any chances. I ran past him and out the door. There were no guards around anywhere. Where were they? The boy simply just turned and gave me an adorable yet dissapointed look. "To be honest, it's kinda upsetting you don't remember, after all we were bestfriends before your mother died." The sudden mention of my mother makes me freeze. Who is this guy? I want to run, but i can't move. There is something about this guy that is making me want to stay.  "You, your name is Romeo." i blurt out without thinking. His face lightens up. "Oh, so she does remember." He starts walking towards me. I should run, but i don't want to.  "You're the one who has been saving me, you've been protecting me ever since mother died." He gives me a smile then frowns and looks to the ground. "You told me you were moving away and then you left, but this entire time." Tears start streaming down my face. Everyone I've ever cared about left me. Romeo walks over to me and holds me to his chest, petting my head.  "I'm sorry!" He says. We stand there for what feels like hours, the tears have stopped falling but i'm still sad. He eventually lets go of me and just looks at me.  "Go back inside, don't worry, I'll protect you." I nod and walk back inside, not looking back. I close the door then lay in my bed and for the first time in weeks, I fall peacefully asleep. The End? I wake to the sound of chewing and as i open my eyes i see Romeo sitting at my dining table eating an apple. "Morning!" He chimes. "Hurry up and get ready, we are going out!" Without questioning him i get up and go have a shower. After some quick breakfast we leave. "Where are we going?" I ask him. "You'll see." We walk to his car and we're off. We stop infront of a small warehouse in the middle of the city. "What are we doing here?" I look at him in confusion.  "This is where i do my investigating," He says i an enthusiastic voice. "You could say it's my head quarters." He laughs. We walk over to the big roller door and he opens it, the sight that greated us was not pleasent. There was a gang of men inside all staring at us. I feel my hand entwined with Romeos as he pulls me back behind him still holding my hand. A very large man walks to the front of the group and gives a hideous toothless smile.  "Welcome kids," He chuckles. "Thanks for joining us!" "What are you doing here, Scratch?" Romeo says in a panicked-yet-trying-to-be-calm voice. The man simply laughs and looks at me. "Hello there Kora, we haven't been introduced yet, i'm Scratch, mob-boss, rich guy, the man responsible for your fathers death!" He and all his men break out into a cackle. "What about my mother?" I stupidly blurt.  "Why don't you tell me!" All of a sudden i feel another hand wrap around my other arm and i raise off the ground. It takes me a moment to realise i am being carried by a large muscular man with a huge scar across his face. He places me infront of Scratch, who then wraps his arms around me and holds a knife to my neck. "I don't know what happened to my mother." I struggle. "Are you sure?" He asks. "After all it's your fault she's dead!" He begins to laugh. "The Kora i know would never do something like that!" Romeo shouts as he gets restrained by one of Scratchs men.  "Well clearly you don't know Kora!" Scratch yells. I try to think back to what happened to my mother, then it hits me. "He's right." I say to Romeo. "It's all my fault, i'm the reason she's gone!" Scratch laughs at my confession. "No you're not," Romeo yells. "Don't believe him, it's not your fault!" "Yes it is!" I begin to choke on the tears that are streaming down my face. "If i wasn't so selfish she would still be alive. I'm the one who fought with her, I'm the one who made her leave, I'm the one who just stood there as she was being killed. It's all my fault!" I bow my head at this sudden realisation. Romeo doesn't respond. All i can hear is the laughing of Scratch and his men. In the laughter i hear choking, i raise my head to see Romeo being strangled by the man who brought me over to Scratch. "No!" I scream at the top of my lungs. "No, don't kill him, please, don't kill him!" The tears in my eyes making it too hard for me to see.  "After everything that pest has done, he deserves to die!" Scratch cackles. "No, please, don't, don't kill him!" I scream so much, i begin to feel weak.  "Alright fine." Scratch says. I hear Romeo wease and fall to the floor. Scratches grip on my loosens and he throws me over to Romeo. His eyes are shut, but i can hear him breathing. I reach for his hand and hold it in mine. "Thank you," I whisper to him. "For everything!" His eyes open and his grip on my hand tightens. He looks at my neck and I realise Scratch had sliced it. I smile at him through the pain and he smiles back. We then close our eyes for the final time.   The End Publication Date: November 27th 2014 https://www.bookrix.com/-vf7599a83142545

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-jonelle-patrick-fallen-angel-an-only-in-tokyo-mystery/

Jonelle Patrick Fallen Angel: An Only in Tokyo Mystery Excerpt   FALLEN ANGEL By Jonelle Patrick   Friday, October 21, 12:30 a.m. She stumbled out of the elevator and into Shinya’s arms. Safe . The Milky Way twinkled above, thousands of tiny lights imitating the night sky. Mirrored walls overlaid with ornate gold script reflected the dark leather banquettes and multiplied the “stars.” Light pooled on the alabaster tables, leaving the customers and their hosts in shadowy privacy while illuminating the sparkle of bubbles rising in champagne flutes. Pop music throbbed, masking intimate conversations. “Cherry -san ? Are you all right?” Shinya asked, steadying her and peering at the smudged mascara under eyes still puffy from crying. Stepping back, she hastily covered the bruises on her arms with her wrap. “I will be, after I freshen up. Is Hoshi…?” “I’ll tell him you’re here.” When she emerged from the ladies’ room five minutes later, broken nail filed, makeup repaired, still limping a little, Shinya was waiting patiently with a hot towel for her hands. Hoshi must still be busy. She swallowed her disappointment, knowing he’d come as soon as he was free. Meanwhile, she didn’t mind having a drink with Shinya, whose beautiful features were spiced with just enough bad boy to make him almost as alluring as herfavorite . He smiled and escorted her into the club, where every table was occupied by women spending lavishly on dandies so handsome and charming they could make as much in a month as a salaryman earned in a year. “Hoshi’ll be here shortly,” he apologized, ushering her to a table and seating himself at her side. “In the meantime…?” He cocked an exquisitely-shaped eyebrow at her, asking what she’d like to drink. Cherry watched him mix her shō-chū and water, his elegant gestures making an art of the preparation. Offering it to her with a bow, Shinya made one for himself, then pulled out his silver lighter when he saw her digging for her Lucia Menthols. Flicking it to life near his chest, he extended it with practiced grace. Flame licked the end of her cigarette.  After her first calming puff, she began to relax. Men weren’t welcome at host clubs; if her pursuer had managed to follow her, he wouldn’t make it past Taiyo, who had taken Shinya’s place at the door. And soon Hoshi would be sitting next to her, making her feel better. He always did. When everything became too hard, too complicated, she could always count on him to treat her like a princess. He’d lend a sympathetic ear, never say anything to hurt her, never make any demands on her. All she had to do was pay. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the banquette. Here she could shut out all her troubles, at least for a while. --------- Jonelle Patrick divides her time between Tokyo and San Francisco. She’s been living in one place or the other for most of her adult life and speaks Japanese well enough to get in trouble everywhere from kabuki theatres to maid cafes. When she’s not writing the next “Only In Tokyo” mystery, she’s discovering new destinations for her website “The Tokyo Guide I Wish I’d Had” or writing about plastic food and How To Glue Your Eyelids on her “Only In Japan” blog. Learn more at jonellepatrick.com Publication Date: June 20th 2013 https://www.bookrix.com/-mraf9b5f6739b15

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-zheba-deception/

Zheba DECEPTION!!! EVEN THE ONES YOU TRUST AREN'T TRUSTABLE. Publication Date: October 28th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-bookworm56

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-shady-larry-civil-being/

Shady Larry Civil Being Gathering Louis P.O.V I haunt the Doncaster Mansion House. I was the prince of all of England. My father was a cruel king to his land so they started a riot to seize him. His rules were unfair to the poor. I still roam this place because I'm lost. I was killed in my sleep in the honest hours of the night. I 'woke up' to find 8 rubbish looking men in my room stealing my things. I tried to tell them to get out but they ignored me. I got out of bed only to look down at my transparent feet. I looked in my bed to find my lifeless body laying there. They couldn't hear me because I was dead and now I'm trying to find my family, still checking there rooms every night to hope they will be in there safe and sound. Zayn P.O.V "Honey time for school". I hear my mom calling me from downstairs. I don't mind school. My best friend seem to make it a bit better. Harry and I have been best friends since kindergarten. I despise his other friends. They only hang out with him for his popularity. I'm the only friend that he can tell all to. "Zayn hurry I have work in 20 mintues! Why does it take you longer to get ready? I thought I was the only girl in the house." "Why must you insult me every morning! You know how long it takes to look this good everyday!" "I guess you don't mind making the sidewalk to school your runway then!" I run downstairs to see a satisfied woman. "Good morning mummy." "Good morning Jasmine." "excuse me it's Aladdin." "Well get your arse on the rug, your gonna be late." **************************** Harry P.O.V I wait outside for my late as always best friend, Zayn. That guy. I don't know what I'd do without him. I see Mrs. Malik's BMW pull up in front of me. The door opens while the car slowing. I wave to his mom before she races off into the busy traffic. "Hey bud!" Zayn shouts in a sarcastic voice. "Hey Sexy." I say in a low perverted voice. We both laugh. "Wanna go get some slimy breakfast from the cafeo?" "Sure sounds good" I say sarcastically. ****************************** "Where's the dummy crew?" "Hey be nice, at least they aren't mean." "Fine." We grab our breakfast and head to the table. "What's up guys?" "sup Harry" We sit at the farthest end of the table. "Why are you even popular?" "Cause..." I pause. "Go ahead." "I'm outspoken?" "I guess that's rea...don't eat that let it crawl off the table" Zayn says. "But I'm hungry." I pout. "What did I say." I take a bite. No one tells me what to do. I gag. I instantly regret that decision. "Hmm.." Zayn retorts. "Whatever" The bell rings for the first class. Where are we going?   Harry P.O.V The bell rings for school to end. Me and Zayn walk out in fromt of the school. "I'm walking home today because my mom is busy." "Do you want me to go with you? I can text my mom and tell her I'm walking with you." "Thanks Zayn but I think i should go alone today. I don't want you to walk back home in the dark." "Okay see you Monday mate" "Okay see you later princess." "What?" "What." **************************************************************** A few inches away from my house I see that my door is open. After watching alot of dramatic movies I run to the door to see my mom in tears and my dad standing there trying to comfort her in. "What happened?" They stare at me in daze. "Pack your bags baby." Anne says with emotion in her voice. "Why?" "Just do it." Anne replies. ************************************************************************** I walk into my room to get packed. I couldn't stop the flow of thoughts of why I'm packing and where I'm going. My phone lights up. ^^^^^^^ Zayn Xx hey man. hows it going. ^^^^^^^^ Reply: hey fine I'm guessing. I came home to alot of commotion and now I'm packing. ^^^^^^^^^ Zayn Xx Why? You aren't leaving me are you? ^^^^^^^^^^ Reply: I don't know where I'm going. ^^^^^^^^^^^ Zayn Xx Tell me if your leaving to far away just in case we have to go up to school property and sing 'gotta go my own way'. I hear a knock at my door. Reply: No way I'll text you some details later. ^^*^*^*^**^*^ "Come in." Anne and Des comes into my room. "Hey can we talk?" Anne asks. Anne, Des and I sit on the bed. "What's up? Why am i packing?" "Me..and you father are separating." "w-why?" "I'm sorry son." Des says. He leans over to give me a hug. I let it all out. ***************************************************************************** "I think you should finish packing. I have to meet up with the previous owner in an hour. I'll help you." Anne helps Harry pack his bags. They say their goodbyes and whisper promises before they leave for South Yorkshire, England. ********************************* I slowly wake up and notice te car isn't moving anymore. He sits up and takes in his surroundings. He sees nothing but a gigantic house and a small lake at the left of it. My thoughts are interupted by my mom knocking on my window gesturing for me to come out of the car. I step out of the car and walk up to my mom whose just as amazed as I am. "Isn't it amazing!" "Yes but...how can we afford this?" "Well...I had a secret bank account as soon as me and your dad got married and it was abnormally low for a big house." "Hmm...I'll take the bags in." "No need I did it already and your room is way at the top in the view of this beatiful lake." "Oh..thank you" I hug my mom. "Harry I can't breathe" "I love you" "I love you too sweety." She plants a kiss on my cheek. "So what are we waiting for? Lets go in!" Publication Date: August 13th 2013 https://www.bookrix.com/-yq333ecbcf69025

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-austin-c-drake-dream-of-the-dead/

Austin C. Drake Dream Of The Dead The soles of my shoes squeaked against the freshly dust-covered metal floor. “Filthy… Always filthy,” I mumbled to no one. Eleven years on the job has taught me two things. The first, and most important, don’t ask questions. This is also the easiest rule to follow. It’s not like there’s ever anyone here to talk to. Second, never be surprised. In this building, after everything I’ve seen, the unexpected is never surprising. I arrive every morning to the floor of this square room completely covered with dust. An image of my mother flashes before me, undoubtedly giving me one of her famous life lessons. “Dust,” I remember her saying as she slid her finger across the screen of our television, “is just dirt and dead skin cells…” Her voice trails off and I find myself already walking toward the door that houses my tools. I call it a door, not because it needs opening, but because it should need opening. The screw holes that once held the hinges of a long forgotten door have been painted over with the same flat gray that covers every wall. But it’s this gray paint that seems to have forgotten that its job is to conceal the doorway leading to Hell. A wide black door taunts me from the other end of the room. I lift a broom from its sheath and twirl it slowly around my fingers, staring intently at the gateway. The crimson stains near the handle only heighten my curiosity. I’ll bet that room has something to do with the floor… The sound of my mother’s voice then ricochets around my head. The reminding of the ingredients in dust causes me to gag momentarily, but I regain my composure as fury burns up my chest. “They hired me…” I breathed through a clenched jaw. I begin walking toward the locked door before I think my legs to move. What are you doing?! I question my behavior, much like it was questioned as a child. The door’s never been opened. My hand responds on instinct and reaches towards the handle, my eyes wide in anticipation. The handle turns before my hand reaches it, hinges creaking in a mockery of a tone as the door is pulled inward. I freeze. Un…locked? A billion hopes, and twice as many fears, collide in the ocean of my mind. The door opens fully to reveal a wide man dressed in darkly stained overalls. “You lost, kid?” He didn’t seem too irritated with my being here. “No… Sir,” I swallow hard before continuing. “My name’s Barry…” My words escape as hardly more than a whisper. “I sweep this building every morning.” He scanned me carefully before responding, “Name’s George. I’mma take it you gots yerself some questins.” He didn’t ask it as much as he cut it from my mind. “Well, here goes: I make the dust. You clean the dust.” His voice suggested no foul play, and his face had lightened a few shades. “But, I don’t understand how all this dust is made every day… It’s rather irritating.” My anger was slowly returning, though unwelcome in the presence of someone no less than twice my size. “Follow me,” he breathed. Then he turned and disappeared into the dark room. I took a step into the room and was immediately welcomed by an unimaginable stench. The fumes of rotting flesh burned my nostrils and forced me to heave to my left. A soft chuckle from somewhere deep in the room made me jump, but I didn’t make a sound for fear of being laughed at more directly. Oh that’s just great… I’m worried about being laughed at. My rapid blinking does nothing to add light to the room. Convinced that George would keep true to his word, I slowly slid my feet forward. Maybe he’ll hit the lights. The thought made me shiver. God, I hope not. The picture it created in my mind depicted nothing short of a massacre. I inched forward a little further, my arms outstretched in front of me. I kick something heavy and the sound of metal on metal echoes throughout the room. I crouch and drag my fingers across the floor, searching quietly for anything to use as a weapon. My fingers dip into something wet and I quickly wipe them onto my jeans, dreading the culprit. A loud switch is flipped and the room flashes as the fluorescent bulbs in the ceiling warm up. A familiar voice fills my ears, calling out my name. “Barry. Barry, it’s time.” That voice seems content enough. I close my eyes tightly as the lights flash less often, the brightness making my head pound. My body grows cold and I shiver, my eyes still clamped shut to keep the pain out. I bite through my tongue to keep from screaming, but my ear-piercing cry doesn’t subside. Why so much pain? The single question lingers as I yell through my now quivering jaw. The pain, more like a burning of my insides, increases as the light behind my eyelids brightens. The brighter light stings my eyes and my head throbs harder. Without warning the light is cut off. The holes in my tongue have filled my mouth of blood, but the pain is gone. My chest no longer feels burning, and my fingertips remain still. I slowly open my eyes to the darkness. As I become aware of my position I also notice the thinness of the air. I lie on my back with my hands at my sides, something solid holding them tightly against me. Reach out. Reach out and push. I tell my hands what to do, but they don’t respond. Hushed voices and soft sobbing penetrates the walls that enclose me and my worst fear becomes the only reality. “I can’t believe he’s… he’s gone.” My guess is assured at that statement. I’ve died. Publication Date: March 19th 2010 https://www.bookrix.com/-klondikebarassassin

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-lillian-hudson-broken-1/

Lillian Hudson Broken I dedicate this too all those unlucky victims of murder. Also, I dedicate this to "The Lovely Bones" my inspiration and by far my favourite movie and book. How could I have known he was going to kill me? If I had, I might still be walking this earth, a living, breathing person. Not Lilac Wilson, the dead girl. Gone. Missing. Murdered? Run-away? Suicide? They didn't know what I knew. Or what my killer knew. Jonathan Peter Baldwin. When my life was taken, I was so close to turning 14, I could touch it. I was a month and 3 days away. I had a burning desire to grow out of my awkward 13 year-old mind and turn into someone much more mature and smart than I. My life was wonderful and happy. I had everything I wanted, had all the friends I could ask for, and the greatest family. I even liked school. Then, it was all ripped away because I was foolish. Maybe, if I had turned 14, I would have been smart enough to avoid this. Text: No copyright intended for picture. The story is my own. All rights reserved. Publication Date: January 10th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-lillianthereader

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-k-m-montoya-who-am-i-really/

K.M Montoya Who Am I Really? Chapter 1 I felt the anger,the anger i had so long kept in check boil over. I felt the kn ife in my hand, its cold creul steel resting in the palm of my hand. I heard his screams of suprise and of horror and as we fought I excited; by the adreneilne rushing through my veins. i paused for a moment to take it all in and in that same moment he let his gaurd down and with the percision of a striking cora, I plunged the knife into his unprotected throat. He went down, writhing and wiggling in garbled agony; I dropped the knife and walked slowly over to him. I removed his hands from the fatal wound and replaced them with my own. I savored the feeling of his life's blood slipping through my seemingly delicate-looking fingers. I relished the feel of his warm, dark blood on my hands, face, and clothes. I wanted desperatly to cling to the rush; I continued to stab him over and over, and landing the blows I never could before. I finally let out all the anger I kept bottled up for so long. When I realized that he was dead, I stood up and stared at his lifeless cut up, beaten body on the cold kitchen floor. Working with the police long enough, I knew how to dispose of bodies effeciently. I made my way to the front door window by the stairwell, I looked outside there's no one about. I opened the window and listened, not a sound outside except the far off sirens and a college party a few houses down. No one had heard him scream from inside the house. I had to think of where to dump his body...aha the bridge down the block. I wrapped his body in a thick blanket and carried it to the garage and stuffed him in the trunk. I grabbed a pair of binoculars and gloves from Felix's secret box he uses to peep on the lesbians across the street. The sick bastard didn't know I knew but I knew a lot of things he didn't know I knew. I drove down the block and to the bridge and turned my lights off and took out the binoculars and looked around. There was no one in sight I draped the binoculars around my neck and I popped the trunk put on the gloves and got out. I pulled his body out of the trunk and dragged him to the railing. I picked up the binoculars from around my neck and looked around again, still no one. With one last final burst of strength I pushed the abusive son of a whore's body off the Southside Marlin's Bridge. I picked up the binoculars and took one final look around and still not one single person. I smiled slightly, this is too easy. I thought and got into the car and drove home. When I got home I locked all the doors and I felt a sick, twisted smile make its way across my face. I made my way upstairs to my bathroom to take a bath. I looked into the full length mirror behind the bathroom door and saw what my body for the first time that night. That perverted smile was still on my face and my cheecks and neck where flushed and splattered wit my husband's blood. My hands where blackened with his blood and my clothes where soaked and heavily stained with all his life's blood. I turned on the water and unclothed myself slowly letting the blood and cloth caress and stain my caramel skin and black wavy hair. Warm water had filled the bathtub and I got in and the clear water became dark pink as the blood lifted off my skin. I heard something metallic scrape and hit the bottum of the tub; I felt my around the bottum of the tub and i found it. It was my wedding ring. Ha Ha. It was caked and crusted with moist blood, I felt no guilt as i looked at the ring. I had no memory good enough with him to regret what I did. I finished up and got out and changed; I headed downstairs to go clean up the kitchen floor. I walked down the stairs and back into the blood stained kitchen. I reached into the cabinet under the sink and got a pair of cleaning gloves, some rags, a bucket, and bleach. I poured the bleach into the bucket along with some water; and threw in the rags. I rolled up my sleeves, put the gloves on and grabbed a rag on sloshed on the pool of blood and began to clean up the bleach-water and blood solution of the cold tile floor. After I had finally mopped up the pink solutiopn off the floor I opened the back window to let out the heavy smell of bleach that lingered in the air. I looked around slowly looking for any visible evidence of what happened tonight. There was nothing, perfect. As I went up the stairs I replayed the wonderful events of tonight, I memorized his screams, and the way the light in his eyes slowly dimmed until it faded from his eyes. As I lay in bed, I thought of what my albi would be. Sleeping? No, no one could confirm that. I'll say that he said he was going out and would be back later at about nine P.M. And when they ask if I was worried in the morining when I woke up I'll say, "No he was always up before me." I'd pretend that we were happily married, how absolutley devasted I am to find out some one had killed my husband in cold-blood. I could cry convincingly, and they would never suspect a thing. Now as I fell asleep, I relaxed as i remembered that I would never have to worry about Felix drinking, coming in, waking me and hurting me ever again. * * * Chapter 2 Chapter 2 The next morinig when I woke up, I wasn't surprised to find Felix had gone to work already. I sighed heavily, I had had a horrible nightmare were I killed Felix. It had felt so...real. I shuddered I love Felix, I would never pureposely hurt Felix. Sometimes he'd hurt me but it wasn't his fault. If I would do what I was told, like he said, he wouldn't hurt me. I went to the bathroom and washed up, then I headed downstairs for my usual breakfast of ceral and berries. My mind wandered off to memories of my nightmare, I could clearly smell the heavy bleach and and I could see the blood vividly. Remembering the heavy smell of bleach, my head swam. I cleaned off my dishes and I heard a heavy knock at the door, then they rang the door bell several times. "One second!" They kept ringing the door bell. "I said I'm coming!" I walked over and when I entered the living room I saw, for the first time, flashing red and blue lights. I opened the door to find to police officers. They were male, tall and both very handsome.One was fair skinned,and blonde with deep chocolate brown eyes, he was the younger of the two; and I could tell he was well muscled. The older officer was caramel skinned, a few shades darker than I, and he was soft in the stomach area. He had salt and peper hair, with black eyes. The blonde guy asked "Excuse me, but are you Annabell Rodrigez?" "Yes, but please call me Annie. Is there a problem Officer...?" the blonde stood straighter and said, "I'm Officer Grant, and this," he jestured to the older bored looking man,"is Officer Maybel. Ma'am I'm terribly sorry to tell you this, but your husband's been murdered. We need to ask you a few questions, may we come in?" His words didn't process at first, I couldn't believe what he had just said. "Wait, my husband? My Felix? But, no that's not. You must be mistaken." "Miss, we are very sorry but his identification led us to this address. May we come inside to ask a few routine questions?" I opened the door wide for them to come inside. Publication Date: July 30th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-montoya15

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-sherlet8-robin/

sherlet8 Robin Chapter-1 “Nothing has changed “thought robin as the bus pulled up beside her old home. After 5 years spending in the boarding school robin has returned home to her grandma. She still remembers the circumstances that had compelled her grandmother to send her to the boarding school. It was very hard for robin to part from her granny after she lost her parents. It was Christmas time and the house was full of celebration when the terrible news of her parent’s death shattered all happiness surrounding her. Her grandma understood it would be very difficult for her to cope up with the situation and hence after a few months she had sent robin to St. Vincent’s boarding school. It was equally hard for her to part with her only granddaughter. But there was no choice. And now standing before her old home all the memories attached to this place flashed back in robin’s mind and she realized that the place where she had spent most of her childhood still retains the same welcoming and enchanting spirit .once it had. As robin was recollecting these memories .Mrs. Kent came out of the house .her eyes were full of tears, tears of joy .robin also seeing her grandmother after so many years couldn’t keep herself from being sentimental. She hugged her grandma and whispered “I am so glad that I am back”. Her grandma smiled “I know my child have kept your room and all your books that you loved as a child clean thought you would feel happy having all that belonged to you.” “Oh! Thanks so much, granny. It really feels like being in home” “so make yourself comfortable and I will prepare the tea “saying that Mrs. Kent went to the kitchen .robin went upstairs to her room. she looked around hers elf ,her room was just the same ,the toys in the shelf(though she didn’t have any interest in playing with Barbie dolls and all that),her books on the table ,the window through which she used to gaze outside every evening watching the sun setting down ,the twinkling stars and lastly the cuckoo clock that her parents gifted her on her ninth birthday. She started arranging her things in order. Chapter-2 That evening robin spent her time talking to her granny recollecting many events, talking about her experience in the boarding school and many other things. Mrs. Kent could understand robin’s sadness and how pained she was to return to this house after that sorrow full incident that proved to be the turning point in her life. Robin saw that her grandma was staring at her. “You are thinking how I feel coming home isn’t it? But granny I know that you had sent me to the boarding school for my own benefit and as I told you I am really happy to be back.” “I know my dear and I also know that though you try to hide your pain I can understand you are sad but my dear grief passes with time and in this case also it will pass but it will take time to you will have to wait.” Robin could only mumble “yes, May be. You are right granny. “She was really missing her parent after arriving home.Mrs.Kent saw the clock struck ten. “My dear now I think you should go to bed .it’s quiet late and tomorrow is your first day in the school .go goodnight.” “Good night granny “saying that robin went upstairs and put the light off. Next day the sun shone brightly as robin headed for Maryland School. She hoped everything turns out all right today. Entering the class room, robin sat on the corner bench near the window which gave a wonderful view of the Santa Loop hills. The students were staring at her. Robin knew it was an obvious fact as she had faced similar situation on her first day in the boarding school. “This is your first day in the school I presume?” said a red haired girl with green eyes .she had freckles on her cheeks and her hair was curly. She was wearing a red T-shirt with black jumper and blue trousers. Robin answered in affirmative. “Well I am Tracy McKinney. What is your name?”The girl asked. “My name is robin. Robin Kent.” Glad to meet you robin.” “Nice to meet you too, Tracy.” The girl was going to ask some more questions when a boy with sharp eyes entered the class room. He was tall and thin but certainly muscular. He looked at robin for a few moments and then went over to his place. “That’s Roy. He is one of the best students of the class “informed her new friend Tracy. “So there are others too?”Robin asked. “Oh yes! There’s Roy as I have already told you. Then there’s Eric, Altair, Neo, Xander and York. They are all the cool ones amongst us. And if you want to know about the girls then they are Loraine, Christie, Amber, Price and many others.” “So you are also among one of them? I mean among Roy, Christie, Eric and others, the ‘cool’ ones?”Robin asked. “Well yes. We are a group of friends. Some of us are a bit serious you know .they talk less and don’t engage themselves in any funny activities and like that you know. But how did you guess that I am their friend?” “Firstly, I should tell you that I don’t guess. You said yourself that some of the guys are cool and you used the phrase “amongst us” which clearly implies that the group includes you too. Simple!” “Wow! That’s good observation .hey look there comes Eric, that brown haired boy with sharp features. Did you see him? And that’s Loraine.” “She is beautiful .isn’t she?” “Yes .she is beautiful” replied robin. “Hi! Loraine. What’s up?” “Hello Tracy!” waved Loraine as she came towards them. “Oh I see you are a new student I hope?”She asked pointing towards robin. “Yes .her name is robin.” “Hi! Robin.” greeted Loraine. “Hi”, answered robin. The group of three was joined by three more girls. Tracy also introduced Altair and the so called ‘coo’ guys.” While introducing Altair robin found Tracy quiet excited .she understood that Tracy liked the boy. While robin was enjoying company a tall thin be spectacled gray haired man entered the classroom. Robin recognized that he was Mr. Lucas, the principal of the school. Robin knew him to be his grandma’s friend but knew him only by sight. “Robin Kent?” “Yes, Sir “Robin replied promptly. “Please come with me.” Robin sat down in the chair. “So your grandma is Mrs. Kent of snowflake lane?” questioned Mr. Lucas. “Yes” answered Robin. “Well I heard your parents died in an accident and then you went to a boarding school.” “Yes sir. After the death of my parents’ grandma thought I would be better in a boarding school than at home.” Mr. Lucas could see that the girl hadn’t still recovered from the shock of death of her parents. He didn’t blame the girl for that.” But he was impressed to see that the girl was very self composed without showing any sign of sadness or being sentimental. He wished her best of luck and robin went back to her class. Mr. Lucas became very interested in the girl’s nature and therefore called up Mrs. Kent. Going back to her class robin found the teacher had already stated teaching .he was the math’s teacher Mr. Danvers. Robin went back to her seat. Mr. Danvers was explaining about algebra and graphs. “So you are robin. New here?” asked Mr. Danvers. “Yes sir “replied robin. “Okay .sit down.” “Now class Mr. Danvers continued .can you tell me how to draw the graph of x sin x.This is an extra topic .if anyone knows please come and explain it here on the board.” Robin knew the answer to the question .it was very easy. She loved math. Even though no one had taught her this part she knew about it as she had studied it herself. Publication Date: June 2nd 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-sherlet8

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-rue-wayles-hightail/

Rue Wayles Hightail They’re after me. Boots on, gun cocked. Click .  Slam down the fire escape and flee into the alley for darkness. Splash . Ignore the pelting of miasma as I dash too close to the clogged gutters. Slither hither, slink thither, ensconced within the shadows, my velvety refuge. Whoosh . Cloak accidentally grazes against brick and debris, scaring an emaciated cat. Meeeoowww . Somewhere in the distance, an owl howls like a coyote in response. Unexpected dead end: fight or flight, hide or seek? Clack . Her stealthy stilettos hit uneven asphalt, betraying their proximity. I turn around to face her for one last time… Bang ! Text: Copyright 2011 Rue Wayles All rights reserved. Publication Date: September 25th 2013 https://www.bookrix.com/-gothic.rue

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-the-general-himself-the-face-keeper/

The General Himself The Face Keeper A town built on top of fire. The Face Keeper Written by Scotty Hicks Deep within the woods that seem to consume West Virgina lived a old man that everyone knew only as the face keeper. He was said to be a metal patient that broke out of the insane silo about 20 years ago.No one knew why he broke out or if he even lived in the woods but no one would ever try to find him.A group of teenagers went camping but never returned,it's said that the face keeper caught them and torn their face off to put in his collection. This man was truly from the deepest pit of hell and would never be stopped. There has been people over the years that have tired to burn the woods, forcing him to leave and never return but it never worked.How can you catch a man that your not even sure is even alive anymore. One day about three years ago the police captain's daughter went missing.The captain tired to find her and had every police officer he could get helping him. She was never fount and after a while everyone blamed the Face Keeper for it.They blamed him because the last time she was saw was going into the woods where he is said to live. The captain lost his job because he shot a young man coming out of the woods,he thought it was the face keeper.The doctors that took care of the face keeper or Jack Ryan said that he had a book that was fount in his house that had human faces in it. He had ripped off faces of real people and kept them in a book like you would lives or something like that. The police tried to charge him with murder and put him in prison for the rest of his natural life but the insane silo doctor would not let them.The court ruled in the doctor's favor and said the this sick man was to remain in the silo for the rest of his life. They people were not at all pleased with what the judge said and later he was fount dead in his home. After a while the people of this small town started to thank that someone killed the judge in his home because of how he handled the sick and twisted killer. This town was built by the coal companies and once consumed it and now it was nothing more than a waste land.It didn't have anything to offer new companies or people to live here, it only had one store in the whole town that made its living by selling cigarettes and beer. Everyone in this town smoked and drank even the children. The one known as the face keeper was said to have been a doctor himself years ago but became up sect with other people's faces.He would take a large knife and cut the faces off the dead bodies in the city morgue and add them to his collection.It took the town's people a while to find out what he was doing but when they did they were very angry and tried to kill him.They forced him into the woods to live alone forever. When he would get hungry he would have to kill and eat whatever he could find out there. Most of the time he would eat worms and dead deer that he fount. This caused him to become very dirty and deformed. He would catch the people in the woods that were camping or hiking and kill them with his large knife. It used to be a butcher's knife and had a large blade that was used to cut the meat. After the judge was killed the police were on alert at all times for his killer but was never caught.The chief of police was fount with out his face about six months after the judge was killed. What was this sick person doing with the faces of the town's people.Was he using them as masks and wearing them or was he eating them for food. These were some of the thoughts that ran through the people's heads as they watched this faceless man be taken out of his home and put into a big black body bag. What was they going to do about this,they had to do something or all of them would most likely be killed.A group of old army men started a group and armed them with guns and flashlights.They sent out into the woods in search of this man but they would soon find themselves caught in the middle of the devil's playground.The group was made up of four people two army medic and two front line men. They were more than able to handle themselves if things got out of hand.They went into the middle of the woods and set up camp.The group didn't plan to leave until they fount this man and killed him.The group called themselves the black eagle and knew that the whole town was counting on them to get this man be for he could kill again. Jack was the head of the group and the most fearless man you will ever meet in your life, he killed a whole squad of Germans in WWII. Jimmy was the other front line man from WWII and we knew what he had to do. If they caught this man he was going to take his knife and cut his eyes out of his head. Jimmy went to take a piss about five minutes away from the camp.As he unzipped his paints and started to piss we couldn't help but thank that someone or something was watching him.He knew it had to be just his mind playing ticks on him and finished pissing.As he headed back to camp he walked under a large tree and BANG something hit him in the head.It was a head of a young girl but her face was missing only blood,bones,and veins remained. He dropped the head and grabbed his gun.He fired off about seven shots to alert the others of what was going on. They loaded their guns and took of towards the sound of the gun shots. when the others got there they saw their friend with a tree limb sticking through his chest. He was dead but they noticed that his face was not missing.They pulled the man off the tree and fount a note carved into his back it read"I'm coming for the rest of you!"They didn't know what to do for him so they just left him there and went back to the camp. Upon reaching the camp they saw a large man with a very big knife in his hands.They unloaded their weapons on him but he dodged everyone of them.He charged them and one by one slit their throats.He dragged them back to his shack and hung them from the roof like a deer. Once he cut them open so all of their blood would drain out he cut their faces off and put them into his book. The people of the town knew that the group should have been back by now but they weren't. They couldn't help but thank the worst,they were dead and now the keeper was coming for them.They thought that he would kill them one by one just like he did the group.They went to the police station,the only place in the whole town that he bars on the windows and some place they could protect themselves or so they thought. Once they town's people got there they went to the radio room and tried to raise someone on the radio. There were only ten of them left in the whole town and it was winter time witch means that they wouldn't get the radio to work good enough to let the outside world know what was going on.The face keeper knew where they were all at he could smell them but he didn't go into the station yet.He knew that is they did luck up and get someone on the radio that there would be more people coming with guns and he would be killed. This town had a big problem it was built old coal mines.The whole town would burn from the ground up if someone would set charges to blow up the main mines and that is what the keeper had planed to do.He knew that once the snow left and the weather got better that there would be more people coming into the town and find his work.He set the charges to blow up once his heart rate went below normal.He had linked the dynamite to his heart monitor.If he was killed the charges would go off and the whole town would be on fire faster than anyone could get out! After doing this he headed back to the station to take care of the rest of the people. He kicked in the front door and they heard him so they locked themselves in the cells to keep him from getting them.This just made it easier for him to kill them because now they had not where or way to run.He told them that it was because of them that made him live in the woods for so long and eat thing they could not even imagine. He would stab them in the legs,arms,back, and hands but not enough to kill them.There was only one person that wasn't locked in the cells,Rick the town's mayor.He heard the screams of the people and went to get his gun.When he saw what this son of a bitch was doing to them he cocked his shot gun and just be for he pulled the trigger the keeper told him that he can not kill him that their lives depended on his life. The mayor didn't want to hear any of this and shot his chest out. Just be for the face keeper died he told them that their lives deepened on his but didn't tell them why.My heart monitor is linked to about fourteen charges on the main coal mines in this town, when it hits zero this town will burn for the underground up and kill everyone and everything here.BANG! The charges went and the people unlocked the cells and ran outside but they could already feel the fire under their feet as they ran. When the opened the door to the police station they couldn't believe what they saw.The whole town was burning and nothing could have stopped it. As the fires from the coal mines burned the people's skin began to melt and you could hear the scream for miles. This is the story of the Face Keeper. To this day that town is still on fire and will be for years to come. The End "When fire consumes your soul only the devil can put you out" Publication Date: July 17th 2010 https://www.bookrix.com/-generalhicks

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-c-kelemen-the-birth-of-death/

C Kelemen The Birth of Death Winter Meets the Mill to the real tortoise, who tells the first clue. Eggs Oh... jeez; my head is throbbing, I'm sweating heavily, and my arms hurt. I guess that happens though when you’re holding up a piece of heavy machinery for about an hour. It's weird how it started coming down on the eggs all by its self. It was like the mill and machinery in it, had their own minds. As if at night the mill came alive. Finally I was able to move it away from the eggs. Then the tortoise from earlier came into the mill through a small space in the wall. The eggs started to shake, this can't be good. Birth Lines were cracking all over the place but there was no special design to it. The shaking stopped. The eggs were breaking and as they broke the tiny animals inside didn't move. It was not only their birth but also their death. They weren't surviving the temperature they came out to. The poor tortoise watched as all the babies died before her. I could no longer just stand and watch. So, as the last one started to break, I gently picked it up and carried it under my arm. It's head popped out and it kept making such adorable small noises. It was a little too cute for me but then again I could use a little bit of cute right now. Death's Shimmer The tortoise crawled into my pocket enjoying the warmth. As soon as I was sure that I could move around safely I did. Then, I saw it a small glow above a machine. It was like twelve thousand lightning bugs trying to show me something important. This glow started blinking and then I saw another spot where a different kind of glow had appeared, right in front of some switch. I couldn't take my eyes off of it. The first glow I saw though seemed to hypnotize me. It seemed to dance on a breeze as it came closer to me. Only then did I notice it wasn't a glow. It was the innocence of a child, the whisper of the wind, the breath of death, and the shimmer of a life. I thought I could hear the gears turning in my head, until I realized that it wasn't in my head. The shimmer was only inches away from me, like a fox waiting for the right moment to pounce. I closed my eyes ready to feel Death. Text: kelemen Images: google All rights reserved. Publication Date: April 15th 2013 https://www.bookrix.com/-r16ckelemen

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-bethany-r-porter-billowing-in-the-distance/

Bethany .R. Porter Billowing In The Distance To the people who cared about what I love and helped me become stronger. Johnsen I hear the waves rolling as if it was rivers whispering in the wind. Me and my friends are hauling a boat into the waters for our first ride in the Dead Mans Lake. It's forbidden for any one to go there. The legend says that one black and stormy night an old man went out to sea and was found about a year later washed up in a cave. People called him ol' Johnsen. A little boy was out exploring with his sister and found the cave and the girl fainted when she saw the dead body and the boy ran off for help. When help arrived the girl was gone and ol' Johnsen was sitting on a rock whistling to an old tune. The Cave "Marla!!!" yelled Matt as she fell. They were inside of a cave and ol' Johnsen's body was laying on the ground cold as stone. "Mmmatt" whispered Marla "gggo get help." Marla said as she layed on the ground barely moving. Matt got up and ran not wanting his sister to die anywhere near Johnsens' dead body. As he was running through town he started to have flashbacks of that one fateful night when he and his grandfather went out on their boat. No, no one knew that Matt was with Johnsen when he disappered. After all who would suspect a 10 year old boy? Matt knew that Johnsen had been murdered because Matt had killed him, but of course no one knew that either. Not even his sister Marla. The Flashback It was about 9:00p.m. when Johnsen made Matt get out of bed, Matt could tell that Johnsen was not happy. Johnsen grabbed Matt by the arm and yelled "GO GET DRESSED!!!" Matt quickly got dressed and remembered his knife, "better if I take it along" thought Matt to himself as he quietly opened the cabinet and took out him pocket knife. "HURRY YOU ASS UP" yelled Matts' grandfather, startling Matt. When Matt opened the bathroom door Johnsen grabbed Matts' arm and pulled him outside shutting the door quietly. "W-What do you want"? asked Matt to Johnsen as they walked out on the lawn towards the lake. Johnsen refused to answer, but in his head he was thinking "to get you out of here so I can get what I want." Soon they were at the lake and Johnsen made Matt get on the row boat with him. Eventually they were in the middle of the lake and Matt realized what Johnsen was going to try to do. He silently prayed a thank you to God for bringing the knife with him. As Johnsen was about to throw Matt over he pulled out his knife and started stabbing Johnsen over and over again in the chest. Then, Matt jumped out of the boat and started swimming towards the shore leaving Johnsen in the boat. The Redeming "Marla at last the time has come" said a voice from beside her. She didn't reconize the voice that said it, but it scared her all the same. "What are you talking about???" whispered Marla indulgently. "I was murdered by my grandson and now, now I will revenge that by taking away what is most precious to him" "W-who is your grandson"? "Ha-do you not know you foolish little girl?" "N-no I-I don't" "MATT IS MY GRANDSON!!!" "M-Matt, my Matt?" "YES!!!" "T-that means that I am your granddaughter then" "Exactly" "Then, then-" "I am finally going to get what I've been waiting for" "A-and wha-what's that?" "YOU!!!" "Bu-but-" "SHUT UP. It is time for me to redeem myself." The Truth "Please be okay, please be okay" Matt muttered as Steve, Alex and Nate followed behind him. Nate is a nurse, Alex is a surgeon, and Steve is a psychic. They weren't the best choice but, they were the only people that were willing to help, when Matt went to the hospital. It took a lot of convincing because they didn't believe Matt at first, but eventually they finally believed him. The cave was in front of them now and there was someone sitting on a rock. The figure was sitting straight and smiling... (to be continued) Text: Bethany .R. Porter Images: Google Editing: Bethany .R. Porter All rights reserved. Publication Date: December 5th 2014 https://www.bookrix.com/-sweetpea1234

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-alexandre-dumas-pere-murat/

Alexandre Dumas père Murat Celebrated Crimes MURAT--1815 I--TOULON On the 18th June, 1815, at the very moment when the destiny of Europe was being decided at Waterloo, a man dressed like a beggar was silently following the road from Toulon to Marseilles. Arrived at the entrance of the Gorge of Ollioulles, he halted on a little eminence from which he could see all the surrounding country; then either because he had reached the end of his journey, or because, before attempting that forbidding, sombre pass which is called the Thermopylae of Provence, he wished to enjoy the magnificent view which spread to the southern horizon a little longer, he went and sat down on the edge of the ditch which bordered the road, turning his back on the mountains which rise like an amphitheatre to the north of the town, and having at his feet a rich plain covered with tropical vegetation, exotics of a conservatory, trees and flowers quite unknown in any other part of France. Beyond this plain, glittering in the last rays of the sun, pale and motionless as a mirror lay the sea, and on the surface of the water glided one brig-of-war, which, taking advantage of a fresh land breeze, had all sails spread, and was bowling along rapidly, making for Italian seas. The beggar followed it eagerly with his eyes until it disappeared between the Cape of Gien and the first of the islands of Hyeres, then as the white apparition vanished he sighed deeply, let his head fall into his hands, and remained motionless and absorbed in his reflections until the tramplings of a cavalcade made him start; he looked up, shook back his long black hair, as if he wished to get rid of the gloomy thoughts which were overwhelming him, and, looking at the entrance to the gorge from whence the noise came, he soon saw two riders appear, who were no doubt well known to him, for, drawing himself up to his full height, he let fall the stick he was carrying, and folding his arms he turned towards them. On their side the new-comers had hardly seen him before they halted, and the foremost dismounted, threw his bridle to his companion, and uncovering, though fifty paces from the man in rags, advanced respectfully towards him. The beggar allowed him to approach with an air of sombre dignity and without a single movement; then, when he was quite near-- "Well, marshal, have, you news for me?" said the beggar. "Yes, sire," said the other sadly. "And what are they?" "Such that I could wish it were anyone but myself to announce them to your Majesty----" "So the Emperor refuses my services! He forgets the victories of Aboukir, Eylau, and Moscow?" "No, sire; but he remembers the treaty of Naples, the taking of Reggio, and the declaration of war of the viceroy of Italy." The beggar struck his forehead. "Yes, yes! I daresay he thinks I deserve his reproaches, and yet it seems to me that he ought to remember that there are two men in me--the soldier whom he made his brother, and the brother whom he made a king.... Yes, as brother I have treated him ill--very ill, but as king, upon my soul, I could not have acted differently.... I had to choose between my sword and my crown, and between a regiment and a people. Listen, Brune: you do not know how it all happened. There was an English fleet, the guns of which were growling in the port, there was a Neapolitan population howling in the streets. If I had been alone, I would have passed through the fleet with one boat, through the crowd with my sword alone, but I had a wife and children. Yet I hesitated; the idea of being called traitor and deserter caused me to shed more tears than the loss of my throne, or perhaps the death of those I love best, will ever wring from me.... And so he will have nothing more to do with me? He refuses me as general, captain, private? Then what is left for me to do?" "Sire, your Majesty must leave France immediately." "And if I don't obey?" "My orders are to arrest you and deliver you up to a court-martial!" "Old comrade, you will not do that?" "I shall do it, praying God to strike me dead in the moment I lay hands on you!" "That's you all over, Brune. You have been able to remain a good, loyal fellow. He did not give you a kingdom, he did not encircle your brow with a band of iron which men call a crown and which drives one mad; he did not place you between your conscience and your family. So I must leave France, begin my vagabond life again, and say farewell to Toulon, which recalls so many memories to me! See, Brune," continued Murat, leaning on the arm of the marshal, "are not the pines yonder as fine as any at the Villa Pamfili, the palms as imposing as any at Cairo, the mountains as grand as any range in the Tyrol? Look to your left, is not Cape Gien something like Castellamare and Sorrento--leaving out Vesuvius? And see, Saint-Mandrier at the farthest point of the gulf, is it not like my rock of Capri, which Lamarque juggled away so cleverly from that idiot of a Sir Hudson Lowe? My God! and I must leave all this! Is there no way of remaining on this little corner of French ground--tell me, Brune!" "You'll break my heart, sire!" answered the marshal. "Well, we'll say no more about it. What news?" "The Emperor has left Paris to join the army. They must be fighting now." "Fighting now and I not there! Oh, I feel I could have been of use to him on this battlefield. How I would have gloried in charging those miserable Prussians and dastardly English! Brune, give me a passport, I'll go at full speed, I'll reach the army, I will make myself known to some colonel, I shall say, 'Give me your regiment.' I'll charge at its head, and if the Emperor does not clasp my hand to-night, I'll blow my brains out, I swear I will. Do what I ask, Brune, and however it may end, my eternal gratitude will be yours!" "I cannot, sire." "Well, well, say no more about it." "And your Majesty is going to leave France?" "I don't know. Obey your orders, marshal, and if you come across me again, have me arrested. That's another way of doing something for me. Life is a heavy burden nowadays. He who will relieve me of it will be welcome.... Good-bye, Brune." He held out his hand to the marshal, who tried to kiss it; but Murat opened his arms, the two old comrades held each other fast for a moment, with swelling hearts and eyes full of tears; then at last they parted. Brune remounted his horse, Murat picked up his stick again, and the two men went away in opposite directions, one to meet his death by assassination at Avignon, the other to be shot at Pizzo. Meanwhile, like Richard III, Napoleon was bartering his crown against a horse at Waterloo. After the interview that has just been related, Murat took refuge with his nephew, who was called Bonafoux, and who was captain of a frigate; but this retreat could only be temporary, for the relationship would inevitably awake the suspicions of the authorities. In consequence, Bonafoux set about finding a more secret place of refuge for his uncle. He hit on one of his friends, an avocat, a man famed for his integrity, and that very evening Bonafoux went to see him. After chatting on general subjects, he asked his friend if he had not a house at the seaside, and receiving an affirmative answer, he invited himself to breakfast there the next day; the proposal naturally enough was agreed to with pleasure. The next day at the appointed hour Bonafoux arrived at Bonette, which was the name of the country house where M. Marouin's wife and daughter were staying. M. Marouin himself was kept by his work at Toulon. After the ordinary greetings, Bonafoux stepped to the window, beckoning to Marouin to rejoin him. "I thought," he said uneasily, "that your house was by the sea." "We are hardly ten minutes' walk from it." "But it is not in sight." "That hill prevents you from seeing it." "May we go for a stroll on the beach before breakfast is served?" "By all means. Well, your horse is still saddled. I will order mine--I will come back for you." Marouin went out. Bonafoux remained at the window, absorbed in his thoughts. The ladies of the house, occupied in preparations for the meal, did not observe, or did not appear to observe, his preoccupation. In five minutes Marouin came back. He was ready to start. The avocat and his friend mounted their horses and rode quickly down to the sea. On the beach the captain slackened his pace, and riding along the shore for about half an hour, he seemed to be examining the bearings of the coast with great attention. Marouin followed without inquiring into his investigations, which seemed natural enough for a naval officer. After about an hour the two men went back to the house. Marouin wished to have the horses unsaddled, but Bonafoux objected, saying that he must go back to Toulon immediately after lunch. Indeed, the coffee was hardly finished before he rose and took leave of his hosts. Marouin, called back to town by his work, mounted his horse too, and the two friends rode back to Toulon together. After riding along for ten minutes, Bonafoux went close to his companion and touched him on the thigh-- "Marouin," he said, "I have an important secret to confide to you." "Speak, captain. After a father confessor, you know there is no one so discreet as a notary, and after a notary an avocat." "You can quite understand that I did not come to your country house just for the pleasure of the ride. A more important object, a serious responsibility, preoccupied me; I have chosen you out of all my friends, believing that you were devoted enough to me to render me a great service." "You did well, captain." "Let us go straight to the point, as men who respect and trust each other should do. My uncle, King Joachim, is proscribed, he has taken refuge with me; but he cannot remain there, for I am the first person they will suspect. Your house is in an isolated position, and consequently we could not find a better retreat for him. You must put it at our disposal until events enable the king to come to some decision." "It is at your service," said Marouin. "Right. My uncle shall sleep there to-night." "But at least give me time to make some preparations worthy of my royal guest." "My poor Marouin, you are giving yourself unnecessary trouble, and making a vexatious delay for us: King Joachim is no longer accustomed to palaces and courtiers; he is only too happy nowadays to find a cottage with a friend in it; besides, I have let him know about it, so sure was I of your answer. He is counting on sleeping at your house to-night, and if I try to change his determination now he will see a refusal in what is only a postponement, and you will lose all the credit for your generous and noble action. There--it is agreed: to-night at ten at the Champs de Mars." With these words the captain put his horse to a gallop and disappeared. Marouin turned his horse and went back to his country house to give the necessary orders for the reception of a stranger whose name he did not mention. At ten o'clock at night, as had been agreed, Marouin was on the Champs de Mars, then covered with Marshal Brune's field-artillery. No one had arrived yet. He walked up and down between the gun-carriages until a functionary came to ask what he was doing. He was hard put to it to find an answer: a man is hardly likely to be wandering about in an artillery park at ten o'clock at night for the mere pleasure of the thing. He asked to see the commanding officer. The officer came up: M. Marouin informed him that he was an avocat, attached to the law courts of Toulon, and told him that he had arranged to meet someone on the Champs de Mars, not knowing that it was prohibited, and that he was still waiting for that person. After this explanation, the officer authorised him to remain, and went back to his quarters. The sentinel, a faithful adherent to discipline, continued to pace up and down with his measured step, without troubling any more about the stranger's presence. A few moments later a group of several persons appeared from the direction of Les Lices. The night was magnificent, and the moon brilliant. Marouin recognised Bonafoux, and went up to him. The captain at once took him by the hand and led him to the king, and speaking in turn to each of them-- "Sire," he said, "here is the friend. I told you of." Then turning to Marouin-- "Here," he said, "is the King of Naples, exile and fugitive, whom I confide to your care. I do not speak of the possibility that some day he may get back his crown, that would deprive you of the credit of your fine action.... Now, be his guide--we will follow at a distance. March!" The king and the lawyer set out at once together. Murat was dressed in a blue coat-semi-military, semi-civil, buttoned to the throat; he wore white trousers and top boots with spurs; he had long hair, moustache, and thick whiskers, which would reach round his neck. As they rode along he questioned his host about the situation of his country house and the facility for reaching the sea in case of a surprise. Towards midnight the king and Marouin arrived at Bonette; the royal suite came up in about ten minutes; it consisted of about thirty individuals. After partaking of some light refreshment, this little troop, the last of the court of the deposed king, retired to disperse in the town and its environs, and Murat remained alone with the women, only keeping one valet named Leblanc. Murat stayed nearly a month in this retirement, spending all his time in answering the newspapers which accused him of treason to the Emperor. This accusation was his absorbing idea, a phantom, a spectre to him; day and night he tried to shake it off, seeking in the difficult position in which he had found himself all the reasons which it might offer him for acting as he had acted. Meanwhile the terrible news of the defeat at Waterloo had spread abroad. The Emperor who had exiled him was an exile himself, and he was waiting at Rochefort, like Murat at Toulon, to hear what his enemies would decide against him. No one knows to this day what inward prompting Napoleon obeyed when, rejecting the counsels of General Lallemande and the devotion of Captain Bodin, he preferred England to America, and went like a modern Prometheus to be chained to the rock of St. Helena. We are going to relate the fortuitous circumstance which led Murat to the moat of Pizzo, then we will leave it to fatalists to draw from this strange story whatever philosophical deduction may please them. We, as humble annalists, can only vouch for the truth of the facts we have already related and of those which will follow. King Louis XVIII remounted his throne, consequently Murat lost all hope of remaining in France; he felt he was bound to go. His nephew Bonafoux fitted out a frigate for the United States under the name of Prince Rocca Romana. The whole suite went on board, and they began to carry on to the boat all the valuables which the exile had been able to save from the shipwreck of his kingdom. First a bag of gold weighing nearly a hundred pounds, a sword-sheath on which were the portraits of the king, the queen, and their children, the deed of the civil estates of his family bound in velvet and adorned with his arms. Murat carried on his person a belt where some precious papers were concealed, with about a score of unmounted diamonds, which he estimated himself to be worth four millions. When all these preparations for departing were accomplished, it was agreed that the next day, the 1st of August, at five o'clock, a boat should fetch the king to the brig from a little bay, ten minutes' walk from the house where he was staying. The king spent the night making out a route for M. Marouin by which he could reach the queen, who was then in Austria, I think. It was finished just as it was time to leave, and on crossing the threshold of the hospitable house where he had found refuge he gave it to his host, slipped into a volume of a pocket edition of Voltaire. Below the story of 'Micromegas' the king had written: [The volume is still in the hands of M. Marouin, at Toulon.] Reassure yourself, dear Caroline; although unhappy, I am free. I am departing, but I do not know whither I am bound. Wherever I may be my heart will be with you and my children. "J. M." Ten minutes later Murat and his host were waiting on the beach at Bonette for the boat which was to take them out to the ship. They waited until midday, and nothing appeared; and yet on the horizon they could see the brig which was to be his refuge, unable to lie at anchor on account of the depth of water, sailing along the coast at the risk of giving the alarm to the sentinels. At midday the king, worn out with fatigue and the heat of the sun, was lying on the beach, when a servant arrived, bringing various refreshments, which Madame Marouin, being very uneasy, had sent at all hazards to her husband. The king took a glass of wine and water and ate an orange, and got up for a moment to see whether the boat he was expecting was nowhere visible on the vastness of the sea. There was not a boat in sight, only the brig tossing gracefully on the horizon, impatient to be off, like a horse awaiting its master. The king sighed and lay down again on the sand. The servant went back to Bonette with a message summoning M. Marouin's brother to the beach. He arrived in a few minutes, and almost immediately afterwards galloped off at full speed to Toulon, in order to find out from M. Bonafoux why the boat had not been sent to the king. On reaching the captain's house, he found it occupied by an armed force. They were making a search for Murat. The messenger at last made his way through the tumult to the person he was in search of, and he heard that the boat had started at the appointed time, and that it must have gone astray in the creeks of Saint Louis and Sainte Marguerite. This was, in fact, exactly what had happened. By five o'clock M. Marouin had reported the news to his brother and the king. It was bad news. The king had no courage left to defend his life even by flight, he was in a state of prostration which sometimes overwhelms the strongest of men, incapable of making any plan for his own safety, and leaving M. Marouin to do the best he could. Just then a fisherman was coming into harbour singing. Marouin beckoned to him, and he came up. Marouin began by buying all the man's fish; then, when he had paid him with a few coins, he let some gold glitter before his eyes, and offered him three louis if he would take a passenger to the brig which was lying off the Croix-des-Signaux. The fisherman agreed to do it. This chance of escape gave back Murat all his strength; he got up, embraced Marouin, and begged him to go to the queen with the volume of Voltaire. Then he sprang into the boat, which instantly left the shore. It was already some distance from the land when the king stopped the man who was rowing and signed to Marouin that he had forgotten something. On the beach lay a bag into which Murat had put a magnificent pair of pistols mounted with silver gilt which the queen had given him, and which he set great store on. As soon as he was within hearing he shouted his reason for returning to his host. Marouin seized the valise, and without waiting for Murat to land he threw it into the boat; the bag flew open, and one of the pistols fell out. The fisherman only glanced once at the royal weapon, but it was enough to make him notice its richness and to arouse his suspicions. Nevertheless, he went on rowing towards the frigate. M. Marouin seeing him disappear in the distance, left his brother on the beach, and bowing once more to the king, returned to the house to calm his wife's anxieties and to take the repose of which he was in much need. Two hours later he was awakened. His house was to be searched in its turn by soldiers. They searched every nook and corner without finding a trace of the king. Just as they were getting desperate, the brother came in; Maroum smiled at him; believing the king to be safe, but by the new-comer's expression he saw that some fresh misfortune was in the wind. In the first moment's respite given him by his visitors he went up to his brother. "Well," he said, "I hope the king is on board?" "The king is fifty yards away, hidden in the outhouse." "Why did he come back?" "The fisherman pretended he was afraid of a sudden squall, and refused to take him off to the brig." "The scoundrel!" The soldiers came in again. They spent the night in fruitless searching about the house and buildings; several times they passed within a few steps of the king, and he could hear their threats and imprecations. At last, half an hour before dawn, they went away. Marouin watched them go, and when they were out of sight he ran to the king. He found him lying in a corner, a pistol clutched in each hand. The unhappy man had been overcome by fatigue and had fallen asleep. Marouin hesitated a moment to bring him back to his wandering, tormented life, but there was not a minute to lose. He woke him. They went down to the beach at once. A morning mist lay over the sea. They could not see anything two hundred yards ahead. They were obliged to wait. At last the first sunbeams began to pierce this nocturnal mist. It slowly dispersed, gliding over the sea as clouds move in the sky. The king's hungry eye roved over the tossing waters before him, but he saw nothing, yet he could not banish the hope that somewhere behind that moving curtain he would find his refuge. Little by little the horizon came into view; light wreaths of mist, like smoke, still floated about the surface of the water, and in each of them the king thought he recognised the white sails of his vessel. The last gradually vanished, the sea was revealed in all its immensity, it was deserted. Not daring to delay any longer, the ship had sailed away in the night. "So," said the king, "the die is cast. I will go to Corsica." The same day Marshal Brune was assassinated at Avignon. II--CORSICA Once more on the same beach at Bonette, in the same bay where he had awaited the boat in vain, still attended by his band of faithful followers, we find Murat on the 22nd August in the same year. It was no longer by Napoleon that he was threatened, it was by Louis XVIII that he was proscribed; it was no longer the military loyalty of Marshal Brune who came with tears in his eyes to give notice of the orders he had received, but the ungrateful hatred of M. de Riviere, who had set a price [48,000 francs.] on the head of the man who had saved his own.[Conspiracy of Pichegru.] M. de Riviere had indeed written to the ex-King of Naples advising him to abandon himself to the good faith and humanity of the King of France, but his vague invitation had not seemed sufficient guarantee to the outlaw, especially on the part of one who had allowed the assassination almost before his eyes of a man who carried a safe-conduct signed by himself. Murat knew of the massacre of the Mamelukes at Marseilles, the assassination of Brune at Avignon; he had been warned the day before by the police of Toulon that a formal order for his arrest was out; thus it was impossible that he should remain any longer in France. Corsica, with its hospitable towns, its friendly mountains, its impenetrable forests, was hardly fifty leagues distant; he must reach Corsica, and wait in its towns, mountains, and forests until the crowned heads of Europe should decide the fate of the man they had called brother for seven years. At ten o'clock at, night the king went down to the shore. The boat which was to take him across had not reached the rendezvous, but this time there was not the slightest fear that it would fail; the bay had been reconnoitred during the day by three men devoted to the fallen fortunes of the king--Messieurs Blancard, Langlade, and Donadieu, all three naval officers, men of ability and warm heart, who had sworn by their own lives to convey Murat to Corsica, and who were in fact risking their lives in order to accomplish their promise. Murat saw the deserted shore without uneasiness, indeed this delay afforded him a few more moments of patriotic satisfaction. On this little patch of land, this strip of sand, the unhappy exile clung to his mother France, for once his foot touched the vessel which was to carry him away, his separation from France would be long, if not eternal. He started suddenly amidst these thoughts and sighed: he had just perceived a sail gliding over the waves like a phantom through the transparent darkness of the southern night. Then a sailor's song was heard; Murat recognised the appointed signal, and answered it by burning the priming of a pistol, and the boat immediately ran inshore; but as she drew three feet of water, she was obliged to stop ten or twelve feet from the beach; two men dashed into the water and reached the beach, while a third remained crouching in the stern-sheets wrapped in his boat-cloak. "Well, my good friends," said the king, going towards Blancard and Langlade until he felt the waves wet his feet "the moment is come, is it not? The wind is favourable, the sea calm, we must get to sea." "Yes," answered Langlade, "yes, we must start; and yet perhaps it would be wiser to wait till to-morrow." "Why?" asked Murat. Langlade did not answer, but turning towards the west, he raised his hand, and according to the habit of sailors, he whistled to call the wind. "That's no good," said Donadieu, who had remained in the boat. "Here are the first gusts; you will have more than you know what to do with in a minute.... Take care, Langlade, take care! Sometimes in calling the wind you wake up a storm." Murat started, for he thought that this warning which rose from the sea had been given him by the spirit of the waters; but the impression was a passing one, and he recovered himself in a moment. "All the better," he said; "the more wind we have, the faster we shall go." "Yes," answered Langlade, "but God knows where it will take us if it goes on shifting like this." "Don't start to-night, sire," said Blancard, adding his voice to those of his two companions. "But why not?" "You see that bank of black cloud there, don't you? Well, at sunset it was hardly visible, now it covers a good part of the sky, in an hour there won't be a star to be seen." "Are you afraid?" asked Murat. "Afraid!" answered Langlade. "Of what? Of the storm? I might as well ask if your Majesty is afraid of a cannon-ball. We have demurred solely on your account, sire; do you think seadogs like ourselves would delay on account of the storm?" "Then let us go!" cried Murat, with a sigh. "Good-bye, Marouin.... God alone can reward you for what you have done for me. I am at your orders, gentlemen." At these words the two sailors seized the king end hoisted him on to their shoulders, and carried him into the sea; in another moment he was on board. Langlade and Blancard sprang in behind him. Donadieu remained at the helm, the two other officers undertook the management of the boat, and began their work by unfurling the sails. Immediately the pinnace seemed to rouse herself like a horse at touch of the spur; the sailors cast a careless glance back, and Murat feeling that they were sailing away, turned towards his host and called for a last time-- "You have your route as far as Trieste. Do not forget my wife!... Good-bye-good-bye----!" "God keep you, sire!" murmured Marouin. And for some time, thanks to the white sail which gleamed through the darkness, he could follow with his eyes the boat which was rapidly disappearing; at last it vanished altogether. Marouin lingered on the shore, though he could see nothing; then he heard a cry, made faint by the distance; it was Murat's last adieu to France. When M. Marouin was telling me these details one evening on the very spot where it all happened, though twenty years had passed, he remembered clearly the slightest incidents of the embarkation that night. From that moment he assured me that a presentiment of misfortune seized him; he could not tear himself away from the shore, and several times he longed to call the king back, but, like a man in a dream, he opened his mouth without being able to utter a sound. He was afraid of being thought foolish, and it was not until one o'clock that is, two and a half hours after the departure of the boat-that he went home with a sad and heavy heart. The adventurous navigators had taken the course from Toulon to Bastia, and at first it seemed to the king that the sailors' predictions were belied; the wind, instead of getting up, fell little by little, and two hours after the departure the boat was rocking without moving forward or backward on the waves, which were sinking from moment to moment. Murat sadly watched the phosphorescent furrow trailing behind the little boat: he had nerved himself to face a storm, but not a dead calm, and without even interrogating his companions, of whose uneasiness he took no account, he lay down in the boat, wrapped in his cloak, closing his eyes as if he were asleep, and following the flow of his thoughts, which were far more tumultuous than that of the waters. Soon the two sailors, thinking him asleep, joined the pilot, and sitting down beside the helm, they began to consult together. "You were wrong, Langlade," said Donadieu, "in choosing a craft like this, which is either too small or else too big; in an open boat we can never weather a storm, and without oars we can never make any way in a calm." "'Fore God! I had no choice. I was obliged to take what I could get, and if it had not been the season for tunny-fishing I might not even have got this wretched pinnace, or rather I should have had to go into the harbour to find it, and they keep such a sharp lookout that I might well have gone in without coming out again." "At least it is seaworthy," said Blancard. "Pardieu, you know what nails and planks are when they have been soaked in sea-water for ten years. On any ordinary occasion, a man would rather not go in her from Marseilles to the Chateau d'If, but on an occasion like this one would willingly go round the world in a nutshell." "Hush!" said Donadieu. The sailors listened; a distant growl was heard, but it was so faint that only the experienced ear of a sailor could have distinguished it. "Yes, yes," said Langlade, "it is a warning for those who have legs or wings to regain the homes and nests that they ought never to have left." "Are we far from the islands?" asked Donadieu quickly. "About a mile off." "Steer for them." "What for?" asked Murat, looking up. "To put in there, sire, if we can." "No, no," cried Murat; "I will not land except in Corsica. I will not leave France again. Besides, the sea is calm and the wind is getting up again--" "Down with the sails!" shouted Donadieu. Instantly Langlade and Blancard jumped forward to carry out the order. The sail slid down the mast and fell in a heap in the bottom of the boat. "What are you doing?" cried Murat. "Do you forget that I am king and that I command you?" "Sire," said Donadieu, "there is a king more powerful than you--God; there is a voice which drowns yours--the voice of the tempest: let us save your Majesty if possible, and demand nothing more of us." Just then a flash of lightning quivered along the horizon, a clap of thunder nearer than the first one was heard, a light foam appeared on the surface of the water, and the boat trembled like a living thing. Murat began to understand that danger was approaching, then he got up smiling, threw his hat behind him, shook back his long hair, and breathed in the storm like the smell of powder--the soldier was ready for the battle. "Sire," said Donadieu, "you have seen many a battle, but perhaps you have never watched a storm if you are curious about it, cling to the mast, for you have a fine opportunity now." "What ought I to do?" said Murat. "Can I not help you in any way?" "No, not just now, sire; later you will be useful at the pumps." During this dialogue the storm had drawn near; it rushed on the travellers like a war-horse, breathing out fire and wind through its nostrils, neighing like thunder, and scattering the foam of the waves beneath its feet. Donadieu turned the rudder, the boat yielded as if it understood the necessity for prompt obedience, and presented the poop to the shock of wind; then the squall passed, leaving the sea quivering, and everything was calm again. The storm took breath. "Will that gust be all?" asked Murat. "No, your Majesty, that was the advance-guard only; the body of the army will be up directly." "And are you not going to prepare for it?" asked the king gaily. "What could we do?" said Donadieu. "We have not an inch of canvas to catch the wind, and as long as we do not make too much water, we shall float like a cork. Look out-sire!" Indeed, a second hurricane was on its way, bringing rain and lightning; it was swifter than the first. Donadieu endeavoured to repeat the same manoeuvre, but he could not turn before the wind struck the boat, the mast bent like a reed; the boat shipped a wave. "To the pumps!" cried Donadieu. "Sire, now is the moment to help us--" Blancard, Langlade, and Murat seized their hats and began to bale out the boat. The position of the four men was terrible--it lasted three hours. At dawn the wind fell, but the sea was still high. They began to feel the need of food: all the provisions had been spoiled by sea-water, only the wine had been preserved from its contact. The king took a bottle and swallowed a little wine first, then he passed it to his companions, who drank in their turn: necessity had overcome etiquette. By chance Langlade had on him a few chocolates, which he offered to the king. Murat divided them into four equal parts, and forced his companions to take their shares; then, when the meal was over, they steered for Corsica, but the boat had suffered so much that it was improbable that it would reach Bastia. The whole day passed without making ten miles; the boat was kept under the jib, as they dared not hoist the mainsail, and the wind was so variable that much time was lost in humouring its caprices. By evening the boat had drawn a considerable amount of water, it penetrated between the boards, the handkerchiefs of the crew served to plug up the leaks, and night, which was descending in mournful gloom, wrapped them a second time in darkness. Prostrated with fatigue, Murat fell asleep, Blancard and Langlade took their places beside Donadieu, and the three men, who seemed insensible to the calls of sleep and fatigue, watched over his slumbers. The night was calm enough apparently, but low grumblings were heard now and then. The three sailors looked at each other strangely and then at the king, who was sleeping at the bottom of the boat, his cloak soaked with sea-water, sleeping as soundly as he had slept on the sands of Egypt or the snows of Russia. Then one of them got up and went to the other end of the boat, whistling between his teeth a Provencal air; then, after examining the sky, the waves; and the boat, he went back to his comrades and sat down, muttering, "Impossible! Except by a miracle, we shall never make the land." The night passed through all its phases. At dawn there was a vessel in sight. "A sail!" cried Donadieu,--"a sail!" At this cry the king--awoke; and soon a little trading brig hove in sight, going from Corsica to Toulon. Donadieu steered for the brig, Blancard hoisted enough sail to work the boat, and Langlade ran to the prow and held up the king's cloak on the end of a sort of harpoon. Soon the voyagers perceived that they had been sighted, the brig went about to approach them, and in ten minutes they found themselves within fifty yards of it. The captain appeared in the bows. Then the king hailed him and offered him a substantial reward if he would receive them on board and take them to Corsica. The captain listened to the proposal; then immediately turning to the crew, he gave an order in an undertone which Donadieu could not hear, but which he understood probably by the gesture, for he instantly gave Langlade and Blancard the order to make away from the schooner. They obeyed with the unquestioning promptitude of sailors; but the king stamped his foot. "What are you doing, Donadieu? What are you about? Don't you see that she is coming up to us?" "Yes--upon my soul--so she is.... Do as I say, Langlade; ready, Blancard. Yes, she is coming upon us, and perhaps I was too late in seeing this. That's all right--that's all right: my part now." Then he forced over the rudder, giving it so violent a jerk that the boat, forced to change her course suddenly, seemed to rear and plunge like a horse struggling against the curb; finally she obeyed. A huge wave, raised by the giant bearing down on the pinnace, carried it on like a leaf, and the brig passed within a few feet of the stern. "Ah!.... traitor!" cried the king, who had only just begun to realise the intention of the captain. At the same time, he pulled a pistol from his belt, crying "Board her! board her!" and tried to fire on the brig, but the powder was wet and would not catch. The king was furious, and went on shouting "Board her! board her!" "Yes, the wretch, or rather the imbecile," said Donadieu, "he took us for pirates, and wanted to sink us--as if we needed him to do that!" Indeed, a single glance at the boat showed that she was beginning to make water. The effort--to escape which Donadieu had made had strained the boat terribly, and the water was pouring in by a number of leaks between the planks; they had to begin again bailing out with their hats, and went on at it for ten hours. Then for the second time Donadieu heard the consoling cry, "A sail! a sail!" The king and his companions immediately left off bailing; they hoisted the sails again, and steered for the vessel which was coming towards them, and neglected to fight against the water, which was rising rapidly. From that time forth it was a question of time, of minutes, of seconds; it was a question of reaching the ship before the boat foundered. The vessel, however, seemed to understand the desperate position of the men imploring help; she was coming up at full speed. Langlade was the first to recognise her; she was a Government felucca plying between Toulon and Bastia. Langlade was a friend of the captain, and he called his name with the penetrating voice of desperation, and he was heard. It was high time: the water kept on rising, and the king and his companions were already up to their knees; the boat groaned in its death-struggle; it stood still, and began to go round and round. Just then two or three ropes thrown from the felucca fell upon the boat; the king seized one, sprang forward, and reached the rope-ladder: he was saved. Blancard and Langlade immediately followed. Donadieu waited until the last, as was his duty, and as he put his foot on the ladder he felt the other boat begin to go under; he turned round with all a sailor's calm, and saw the gulf open its jaws beneath him, and then the shattered boat capsized, and immediately disappeared. Five seconds more, and the four men who were saved would have been lost beyond recall! [These details are well known to the people of Toulon, and I have heard them myself a score of times during the two stays that I made in that town during 1834 and 1835. Some of the people who related them had them first-hand from Langlade and Donadieu themselves.] Murat had hardly gained the deck before a man came and fell at his feet: it was a Mameluke whom he had taken to Egypt in former years, and had since married at Castellamare; business affairs had taken him to Marseilles, where by a miracle he had escaped the massacre of his comrades, and in spite of his disguise and fatigue he had recognised his former master. His exclamations of joy prevented the king from keeping up his incognito. Then Senator Casabianca, Captain Oletta, a nephew of Prince Baciocchi, a staff-paymaster called Boerco, who were themselves fleeing from the massacres of the South, were all on board the vessel, and improvising a little court, they greeted the king with the title of "your Majesty." It had been a sudden embarkation, it brought about a swift change: he was no longer Murat the exile; he was Joachim, the King of Naples. The exile's refuge disappeared with the foundered boat; in its place Naples and its magnificent gulf appeared on the horizon like a marvellous mirage, and no doubt the primary idea of the fatal expedition of Calabria was originated in the first days of exultation which followed those hours of anguish. The king, however, still uncertain of the welcome which awaited him in Corsica, took the name of the Count of Campo Melle, and it was under this name that he landed at Bastia on the 25th August. But this precaution was useless; three days after his arrival, not a soul but knew of his presence in the town. Crowds gathered at once, and cries of "Long live Joachim!" were heard, and the king, fearing to disturb the public peace, left Bastia the same evening with his three companions and his Mameluke. Two hours later he arrived at Viscovato, and knocked at the door of General Franceschetti, who had been in his service during his whole reign, and who, leaving Naples at the same time as the king, had gone to Corsica with his wife, to live with his father-in-law, M. Colonna Cicaldi. He was in the middle of supper when a servant told him that a stranger was asking to speak to him--he went out, and found Murat wrapped in a military greatcoat, a sailor's cap drawn down on his head, his beard grown long, and wearing a soldier's trousers, boots, and gaiters. The general stood still in amazement; Murat fixed his great dark eyes on him, and then, folding his arms:-- "Franceschetti," said he, "have you room at your table for your general, who is hungry? Have you a shelter under your roof for your king, who is an exile?" Franceschetti looked astonished as he recognised Joachim, and could only answer him by falling on his knees and kissing his hand. From that moment the general's house was at Murat's disposal. The news of the king's arrival had hardly been handed about the neighbourhood before officers of all ranks hastened to Viscovato, veterans who had fought under him, Corsican hunters who were attracted by his adventurous character; in a few days the general's house was turned into a palace, the village into a royal capital, the island into a kingdom. Strange rumours were heard concerning Murat's intentions. An army of nine hundred men helped to give them some amount of confirmation. It was then that Blancard, Donadieu, and Langlade took leave of him; Murat wished to keep them, but they had been vowed to the rescue of the exile, not to the fortunes of the king. We have related how Murat had met one of his former Mamelukes, a man called Othello, on board the Bastia mailboat. Othello had followed him to Viscovato, and the ex-King of Naples considered how to make use of him. Family relations recalled him naturally to Castellamare, and Murat ordered him to return there, entrusting to him letters for persons on whose devotion he could depend. Othello started, and reached his father-in-law's safely, and thought he could confide in him; but the latter was horror-struck, and alarmed the police, who made a descent on Othello one night, and seized the letters. The next day each man to whom a letter was addressed was arrested and ordered to answer Murat as if all was well, and to point out Salerno as the best place for disembarking: five out of seven were dastards enough to obey; the two remaining, who were two Spanish brothers, absolutely refused; they were thrown into a dungeon. However, on the 17th September, Murat left Viscovato; General Franceschetti and several Corsican officers served as escort; he took the road to Ajaccio by Cotone, the mountains of Serra and Bosco, Venaco and Vivaro, by the gorges of the forest of Vezzanovo and Bogognone; he was received and feted like a king everywhere, and at the gates of the towns he was met by deputations who made him speeches and saluted him with the title of "Majesty"; at last, on the 23rd September, he arrived at Ajaccio. The whole population awaited him outside the walls, and his entry into the town was a triumphal procession; he was taken to the inn which had been fixed upon beforehand by the quartermasters. It was enough to turn the head of a man less impressionable than Murat; as for him, he was intoxicated with it. As he went into the inn he held out his hand to Franceschetti. "You see," he said, "what the Neapolitans will do for me by the way the Corsicans receive me." It was the first mention which had escaped him of his plans for the future, and from that very day he began to give orders for his departure. They collected ten little feluccas: a Maltese, named Barbara, former captain of a frigate of the Neapolitan navy, was appointed commander-in-chief of the expedition; two hundred and fifty men were recruited and ordered to hold themselves in readiness for the first signal. Murat was only waiting for the answers to Othello's letters: they arrived on the afternoon of the 28th. Murat invited all his officers to a grand dinner, and ordered double pay and double rations to the men. The king was at dessert when the arrival of M. Maceroni was announced to him: he was the envoy of the foreign powers who brought Murat the answer which he had been awaiting so long at Toulon. Murat left the table and went into another room. M. Maceroni introduced himself as charged with an official mission, and handed the king the Emperor of Austria's ultimatum. It was couched in the following terms: "Monsieur Maceroni is authorised by these presents to announce to King Joachim that His Majesty the Emperor of Austria will afford him shelter in his States on the following terms:-- "1. The king is to take a private name. The queen having adopted that of Lipano, it is proposed that the king should do likewise. "2. It will be permitted to the king to choose a town in Bohemia, Moravia, or the Tyrol, as a place of residence. He could even inhabit a country house in one of these same provinces without inconvenience. "3. The king is to give his word of honour to His Imperial and Royal Majesty that he will never leave the States of Austria without the express-permission of the Emperor, and that he is to live like a private gentleman of distinction, but submitting to the laws in force in the States of Austria. "In attestation whereof, and to guard against abuse, the undersigned has received the order of the Emperor to sign the present declaration. "(Signed) PRINCE OF METTERNICH "PARIS, 1st Sept. 1815." Murat smiled as he finished reading, then he signed to M. Maceroni to follow him: He led him on to the terrace of the house, which looked over the whole town, and over which a banner floated as it might on a royal castle. From thence they could see Ajaccio all gay and illuminated, the port with its little fleet, and the streets crowded with people, as if it were a fete-day. Hardly had the crowd set eyes on Murat before a universal cry arose, "Long live Joachim, brother of Napoleon! Long live the King of Naples!" Murat bowed, and the shouts were redoubled, and the garrison band played the national airs. M. Maceroni did not know how to believe his own eyes and ears. When the king had enjoyed his astonishment, he invited him to go down to the drawing-room. His staff were there, all in full uniform: one might have been at Caserte or at Capo di Monte. At last, after a moment's hesitation, Maceroni approached Murat. "Sir," he said, "what is my answer to be to His Majesty the Emperor of Austria?" "Sir," answered Murat, with the lofty dignity which sat so well on his fine face, "tell my brother Francis what you have seen and heard, and add that I am setting out this very night to reconquer my kingdom of Naples." III--PIZZO The letters which had made Murat resolve to leave Corsica had been brought to him by a Calabrian named Luidgi. He had presented himself to the king as the envoy of the Arab, Othello, who had been thrown into prison in Naples, as we have related, as well as the seven recipients of the letters. The answers, written by the head of the Neapolitan police, indicated the port of Salerno as the best place for Joachim to land; for King Ferdinand had assembled three thousand Austrian troops at that point, not daring to trust the Neapolitan soldiers, who cherished a brilliant and enthusiastic memory of Murat. Accordingly the flotilla was directed for the Gulf of Salerno, but within sight of the island of Capri a violent storm broke over it, and drove it as far as Paola, a little seaport situated ten miles from Cosenza. Consequently the vessels were anchored for the night of the 5th of October in a little indentation of the coast not worthy of the name of a roadstead. The king, to remove all suspicion from the coastguards and the Sicilian scorridori, [Small vessels fitted up as ships-of-war.] ordered that all lights should be extinguished and that the vessels should tack about during the night; but towards one o'clock such a violent land-wind sprang up that the expedition was driven out to sea, so that on the 6th at dawn the king's vessel was alone. During the morning they overhauled Captain Cicconi's felucca, and the two ships dropped anchor at four o'clock in sight of Santo-Lucido. In the evening the king commanded Ottoviani, a staff officer, to go ashore and reconnoitre. Luidgi offered to accompany him. Murat accepted his services. So Ottoviani and his guide went ashore, whilst Cicconi and his felucca put out to sea in search of the rest of the fleet. Towards eleven o'clock at night the lieutenant of the watch descried a man in the waves swimming to the vessel. As soon as he was within hearing the lieutenant hailed him. The swimmer immediately made himself known: it was Luidgi. They put out the boat, and he came on board. Then he told them that Ottoviani had been arrested, and he had only escaped himself by jumping into the sea. Murat's first idea was to go to the rescue of Ottoviani; but Luidgi made the king realise the danger and uselessness of such an attempt; nevertheless, Joachim remained agitated and irresolute until two o'clock in the morning. At last he gave the order to put to sea again. During the manoeuvre which effected this a sailor fell overboard and disappeared before they had time to help him. Decidedly these were ill omens. On the morning of the 7th two vessels were in sight. The king gave the order to prepare for action, but Barbara recognised them as Cicconi's felucca and Courrand's lugger, which had joined each other and were keeping each other company. They hoisted the necessary signals, and the two captains brought up their vessels alongside the admiral's. While they were deliberating as to what route to follow, a boat came up to Murat's vessel. Captain Pernice was on board with a lieutenant. They came to ask the king's permission to board his ship, not wishing to remain on Courrand's, for in their opinion he was a traitor. Murat sent to fetch him, and in spite of his protestations he was made to descend into a boat with fifty men, and the boat was moored to the vessel. The order was carried out at once, and the little squadron advanced, coasting along the shores of Calabria without losing sight of them; but at ten o'clock in the evening, just as they came abreast of the Gulf of Santa-Eufemia, Captain Courrand cut the rope which moored his boat to the vessel, and rowed away from the fleet. Murat had thrown himself on to his bed without undressing; they brought him the news. He rushed up to the deck, and arrived in time to see the boat, which was fleeing in the direction of Corsica, grow small and vanish in the distance. He remained motionless, not uttering a cry, giving no signs of rage; he only sighed and let his head fall on his breast: it was one more leaf falling from the exhausted tree of his hopes. General Franceschetti profited by this hour of discouragement to advise him not to land in Calabria, and to go direct to Trieste, in order to claim from Austria the refuge which had been offered. The king was going through one of those periods of extreme exhaustion, of mortal depression, when courage quite gives way: he refused flatly at first, and there at last agreed to do it. Just then the general perceived a sailor lying on some coils of ropes, within hearing of all they said; he interrupted himself, and pointed him out to Murat. The latter got up, went to see the man, and recognised Luidgi; overcome with exhaustion, he had fallen asleep on deck. The king satisfied himself that the sleep was genuine, and besides he had full confidence in the man. The conversation, which had been interrupted for a moment, was renewed: it was agreed that without saying anything about the new plans, they would clear Cape Spartivento and enter the Adriatic; then the king and the general went below again to the lower deck. The next day, the 8th October, they found themselves abreast of Pizzo, when Joachim, questioned by Barbara as to what he proposed to do, gave the order to steer for Messina. Barbara answered that he was ready to obey, but that they were in need of food and water; consequently he offered to go on, board Cicconi's vessel and to land with him to get stores. The king agreed; Barbara asked for the passports which he had received from the allied powers, in order, he said, not to be molested by the local authorities. These documents were too important for Murat to consent to part with them; perhaps the king was beginning to suspect: he refused. Barbara insisted; Murat ordered him to land without the papers; Barbara flatly refused. The king, accustomed to being obeyed, raised his riding-whip to strike the Maltese, but, changing his resolution, he ordered the soldiers to prepare their arms, the officers to put on full uniform; he himself set the example. The disembarkation was decided upon, and Pizzo was to become the Golfe Juan of the new Napoleon. Consequently the vessels were steered for land. The king got down into a boat with twenty-eight soldiers and three servants, amongst whom was Luidgi. As they drew near the shore General Franceschetti made a movement as if to land, but Murat stopped him. "It is for me to land first," he said, and he sprang on shore. He was dressed in a general's coat, white breeches and riding-boots, a belt carrying two pistols, a gold-embroidered hat with a cockade fastened in with a clasp made of fourteen brilliants, and lastly he carried under his arm the banner round which he hoped to rally his partisans. The town clock of Pizzo struck ten. Murat went straight up to the town, from which he was hardly a hundred yards distant. He followed the wide stone staircase which led up to it. It was Sunday. Mass was about to be celebrated, and the whole population had assembled in the Great Square when he arrived. No one recognised him, and everyone gazed with astonishment at the fine officer. Presently he saw amongst the peasants a former sergeant of his who had served in his guard at Naples. He walked straight up to him and put his hand on the man's shoulder. "Tavella," he said, "don't you recognise me?" But as the man made no answer: "I am Joachim Murat, I am your king," he said. "Yours be the honour to shout 'Long live Joachim!' first." Murat's suite instantly made the air ring with acclamations, but the Calabrians remained silent, and not one of his comrades took up the cry for which the king himself had given the signal; on the contrary, a low murmur ran through the crowd. Murat well understood this forerunner of the storm. "Well," he said to Tavella, "if you won't cry 'Long live Joachim!' you can at least fetch me a horse, and from sergeant I will promote you to be captain." Tavella walked away without answering, but instead of carrying out the king's behest, went into his house, and did not appear again. In the meantime the people were massing together without evincing any of the sympathy that the king had hoped for. He felt that he was lost if he did not act instantly. "To Monteleone!" he cried, springing forward towards the road which led to that town. "To Monteleone!" shouted his officers and men, as they followed him. And the crowd, persistently silent, opened to let them pass. But they had hardly left the square before a great disturbance broke out. A man named Giorgio Pellegrino came out of his house with a gun and crossed the square, shouting, "To your arms!" He knew that Captain Trenta Capelli commanding the Cosenza garrison was just then in Pizzo, and he was going to warn him. The cry "To arms!" had more effect on the crowd than the cry "Long live Joachim!" Every Calabrian possesses a gun, and each one ran to fetch his, and when Trenta Capelli and Giorgio Pellegrino came back to the square they found nearly two hundred armed men there. They placed themselves at the head of the column, and hastened forward in pursuit of the king; they came up with him about ten minutes from the square, where the bridge is nowadays. Seeing them, Murat stopped and waited for them. Trenta Capelli advanced, sword in hand, towards the king. "Sir," said the latter, "will you exchange your captain's epaulettes for a general's? Cry 'Long live Joachim!' and follow me with these brave fellows to Monteleone." "Sire," said Trenta Capelli, "we are the faithful subjects of King Ferdinand, and we come to fight you, and not to bear you company. Give yourself up, if you would prevent bloodshed." Murat looked at the captain with an expression which it would be impossible to describe; then without deigning to answer, he signed to Cagelli to move away, while his other hand went to his pistol. Giotgio Pellegrino perceived the movement. "Down, captain, down!" he cried. The captain obeyed. Immediately a bullet whistled over his head and brushed Murat's head. "Fire!" commanded Franceschetti. "Down with your arms!" cried Murat. Waving his handkerchief in his right hand, he made a step towards the peasants, but at the same moment a number of shots were fired, an officer and two or three men fell. In a case like this, when blood has begun to flow, there is no stopping it. Murat knew this fatal truth, and his course of action was rapidly decided on. Before him he had five hundred armed men, and behind him a precipice thirty feet high: he sprang from the jagged rock on which he was standing, and alighting on the sand, jumped up safe and sound. General Franceschetti and his aide-de-camp Campana were able to accomplish the jump in the same way, and all three went rapidly down to the sea through the little wood which lay within a hundred yards of the shore, and which hid them for a few moments from their enemies. As they came out of the wood a fresh discharge greeted them, bullets whistled round them, but no one was hit, and the three fugitives went on down to the beach. It was only then that the king perceived that the boat which had brought them to land had gone off again. The three ships which composed the fleet, far from remaining to guard his landing, were sailing away at full speed into the open sea. The Maltese, Barbara, was going off not only with Murat's fortune, but with his hopes likewise, his salvation, his very life. They could not believe in such treachery, and the king took it for some manoeuvre of seamanship, and seeing a fishing-boat drawn up on the beach on some nets, he called to his two companions, "Launch that boat!" They all began to push it down to the sea with the energy of despair, the strength of agony. No one had dared to leap from the rock in pursuit of them; their enemies, forced to make a detour, left them a few moments of liberty. But soon shouts were heard: Giorgio Pellegrino, Trenta Capelli, followed by the whole population of Pizzo, rushed out about a hundred and fifty paces from where Murat, Franceschetti, and Campana were straining themselves to make the boat glide down the sand. These cries were immediately followed by a volley. Campana fell, with a bullet through his heart. The boat, however, was launched. Franceschetti sprang into it, Murat was about to follow, but he had not observed that the spurs of his riding-boots had caught in the meshes of the net. The boat, yielding to the push he gave it, glided away, and the king fell head foremost, with his feet on land and his face in the water. Before he had time to pick himself up, the populace had fallen on him: in one instant they had torn away his epaulettes, his banner, and his coat, and would have torn him to bits himself, had not Giorgio Pellegrino and Trenta Capelli taken him under their protection, and giving him an arm on each side, defended him in their turn against the people. Thus he crossed the square as a prisoner where an hour before he had walked as a king. His captors took him to the castle: he was pushed into the common prison, the door was shut upon him, and the king found himself among thieves and murderers, who, not knowing him, took him for a companion in crime, and greeted him with foul language and hoots of derision. A quarter of an hour later the door of the gaol opened and Commander Mattei came in: he found Murat standing with head proudly erect and folded arms. There was an expression of indefinable loftiness in this half-naked man whose face was stained with blood and bespattered with mud. Mattei bowed before him. "Commander," said Murat, recognising his rank by his epaulettes, "look round you and tell me whether this is a prison for a king." Then a strange thing happened: the criminals, who, believing Murat their accomplice, had welcomed him with vociferations and laughter, now bent before his royal majesty, which had not overawed Pellegrino and Trenta Capelli, and retired silently to the depths of their dungeon. Misfortune had invested Murat with a new power. Commander Mattei murmured some excuse, and invited Murat to follow him to a room that he had had prepared for him; but before going out, Murat put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a handful of gold and let it fall in a shower in the midst of the gaol. "See," he said, turning towards the prisoners, "it shall not be said that you have received a visit from a king, prisoner and crownless as he is, without having received largesse." "Long live Joachim!" cried the prisoners. Murat smiled bitterly. Those same words repeated by the same number of voices an hour before in the public square, instead of resounding in the prison, would have made him King of Naples. The most important events proceed sometimes from such mere trifles, that it seems as if God and the devil must throw dice for the life or death of men, for the rise or fall of empires. Murat followed Commander Mattei: he led him to a little room which the porter had put at his disposal. Mattei was going to retire when Murat called him back. "Commander," he said, "I want a scented bath." "Sire, it will be difficult to obtain." "Here are fifty ducats; let someone buy all the eau de Cologne that can be obtained. Ah--and let some tailors be sent to me." "It will be impossible to find anyone here capable of making anything but a peasant's clothes." "Send someone to Monteleone to fetch them from there." The commander bowed and went out. Murat was in his bath when the Lavaliere Alcala was announced, a General and Governor of the town. He had sent damask coverlets, curtains, and arm-chairs. Murat was touched by this attention, and it gave him fresh composure. At two o'clock the same day General Nunziante arrived from Santa-Tropea with three thousand men. Murat greeted his old acquaintance with pleasure; but at the first word the king perceived that he was before his judge, and that he had not come for the purpose of making a visit, but to make an official inquiry. Murat contented himself with stating that he had been on his way from Corsica to Trieste with a passport from the Emperor of Austria when stormy weather and lack of provisions had forced him to put into Pizzo. All other questions Murat met with a stubborn silence; then at least, wearied by his importunity-- "General," he said, "can you lend me some clothes after my bath?" The general understood that he could expect no more information, and, bowing to the king, he went out. Ten minutes later, a complete uniform was brought to Murat; he put it on immediately, asked for a pen and ink, wrote to the commander-in-chief of the Austrian troops at Naples, to the English ambassador, and to his wife, to tell them of his detention at Pizzo. These letters written, he got up and paced his room for some time in evident agitation; at last, needing fresh air, he opened the window. There was a view of the very beach where he had been captured. Two men were digging a hole in the sand at the foot of the little redoubt. Murat watched them mechanically. When the two men had finished, they went into a neighbouring house and soon came out, bearing a corpse in their arms. The king searched his memory, and indeed it seemed to him that in the midst of that terrible scene he had seen someone fall, but who it was he no longer remembered. The corpse was quite without covering, but by the long black hair and youthful outlines the king recognised Campana, the aide-decamp he had always loved best. This scene, watched from a prison window in the twilight, this solitary burial on the shore, in the sand, moved Murat more deeply than his own fate. Great tears filled his eyes and fell silently down the leonine face. At that moment General Nunziante came in and surprised him with outstretched arms and face bathed with tears. Murat heard him enter and turned round, and seeing the old soldier's surprise. "Yes, general," he said, "I weep; I weep for that boy, just twenty-four, entrusted to me by his parents, whose death I have brought about. I weep for that vast, brilliant future which is buried in an unknown grave, in an enemy's country, on a hostile shore. Oh, Campana! Campana! if ever I am king again, I will raise you a royal tomb." The general had had dinner served in an adjacent room. Murat followed him and sat down to table, but he could not eat. The sight which he had just witnessed had made him heartbroken, and yet without a line on his brow that man had been through the battles of Aboukir, Eylau, and Moscow! After dinner, Murat went into his room again, gave his various letters to General Nunziante, and begged to be left alone. The general went away. Murat paced round his room several times, walking with long steps, and pausing from time to time before the window, but without opening it. At last he overcame a deep reluctance, put his hand on the bolt and drew the lattice towards him. It was a calm, clear night: one could see the whole shore. He looked for Campana's grave. Two dogs scratching the sand showed him the spot. The king shut the window violently, and without undressing threw himself onto his bed. At last, fearing that his agitation would be attributed to personal alarm, he undressed and went to bed, to sleep, or seem to sleep all night. On the morning of the 9th the tailors whom Murat had asked for arrived. He ordered a great many clothes, taking the trouble to explain all the details suggested by his fastidious taste. He was thus employed when General Nunziante came in. He listened sadly to the king's commands. He had just received telegraphic despatches ordering him to try the King of Naples by court-martial as a public enemy. But he found the king so confident, so tranquil, almost cheerful indeed, that he had not the heart to announce his trial to him, and took upon himself to delay the opening of operation until he received written instructions. These arrived on the evening of the 12th. They were couched in the following terms: NAPLES, October 9, 1815 "Ferdinand, by the grace of God, etc.... wills and decrees the following: "Art. 1. General Murat is to be tried by court-martial, the members whereof are to be nominated by our Minister of War. "Art. 2. Only half an hour is to be accorded to the condemned for the exercises of religion. "(Signed) FERDINAND." Another despatch from the minister contained the names of the members of the commission. They were:-- Giuseppe Fosculo, adjutant, commander-in-chief of the staff, president. Laffaello Scalfaro, chief of the legion of Lower Calabria. Latereo Natali, lieutenant-colonel of the Royal Marines. Gennaro Lanzetta, lieutenant-colonel of the Engineers. W. T. captain of Artillery. Francois de Venge, ditto. Francesco Martellari, lieutenant of Artillery. Francesco Froio, lieutenant in the 3rd regiment of the line. Giovanni delta Camera, Public Prosecutor to the Criminal Courts of Lower Calabria. Francesco Papavassi, registrar. The commission assembled that night. On the 13th October, at six o'clock in the morning, Captain Stratti came into the king's prison; he was sound asleep. Stratti was going away again, when he stumbled against a chair; the noise awoke Murat. "What do you want with me, captain?" asked the king. Stratti tried to speak, but his voice failed him. "Ah ha!" said Murat, "you must have had news from Naples." "Yes, sire," muttered Stratti. "What are they?" said Murat. "Your trial, sire." "And by whose order will sentence be pronounced, if you please? Where will they find peers to judge me? If they consider me as a king, I must have a tribunal of kings; if I am a marshal of France, I must have a court of marshals; if I am a general, and that is the least I can be, I must have a jury of generals." "Sire, you are declared a public enemy, and as such you are liable to be judged by court-martial: that is the law which you instituted yourself for rebels." "That law was made for brigands, and not for crowned heads, sir," said Murat scornfully. "I am ready; let them butcher me if they like. I did not think King Ferdinand capable of such an action." "Sire, will you not hear the names of your judges?" "Yes, sir, I will. It must be a curious list. Read it: I am listening." Captain Stratti read out the names that we have enumerated. Murat listened with a disdainful smile. "Ah," he said, as the captain finished, "it seems that every precaution has been taken." "How, sire?" "Yes. Don't you know that all these men, with the exception of Francesco Froio, the reporter; owe their promotion to me? They will be afraid of being accused of sparing me out of gratitude, and save one voice, perhaps, the sentence will be unanimous." "Sire, suppose you were to appear before the court, to plead your own cause?" "Silence, sir, silence!" said Murat. "I could, not officially recognise the judges you have named without tearing too many pages of history. Such tribunal is quite incompetent; I should be disgraced if I appeared before it. I know I could not save my life, let me at least preserve my royal dignity." At this moment Lieutenant Francesco Froio came in to interrogate the prisoner, asking his name, his age, and his nationality. Hearing these questions, Murat rose with an expression of sublime dignity. "I am Joachim Napoleon, King of the Two Sicilies," he answered, "and I order you to leave me." The registrar obeyed. Then Murat partially dressed himself, and asked Stratti if he could write a farewell to his wife and children. The Captain no longer able to speak, answered by an affirmative sign; then Joachim sat down to the table and wrote this letter: "DEAR CAROLINE OF MY HEART,--The fatal moment has come: I am to suffer the death penalty. In an hour you will be a widow, our children will be fatherless: remember me; never forget my memory. I die innocent; my life is taken from me unjustly. "Good-bye, Achilles good-bye, Laetitia; goodbye, Lucien; good-bye, Louise. "Show yourselves worthy of me; I leave you in a world and in a kingdom full of my enemies. Show yourselves superior to adversity, and remember never to think yourselves better than you are, remembering what you have been. "Farewell. I bless you all. Never curse my memory. Remember that the worst pang of my agony is in dying far from my children, far from my wife, without a friend to close my eyes. Farewell, my own Caroline. Farewell, my children. I send you my blessing, my most tender tears, my last kisses. Farewell, farewell. Never forget your unhappy father, "Pizzo, Oct. 13, 1815" [We can guarantee the authenticity of this letter, having copied it ourselves at Pizzo, from the Lavaliere Alcala's copy of the original] Then he cut off a lock of his hair and put it in his letter. Just then General Nunziante came in; Murat went to him and held out his hand. "General," he said, "you are a father, you are a husband, one day you will know what it is to part from your wife and sons. Swear to me that this letter shall be delivered." "On my epaulettes," said the general, wiping his eyes. [Madame Murat never received this letter.] "Come, come, courage, general," said Murat; "we are soldiers, we know how to face death. One favour--you will let me give the order to fire, will you not?" The general signed acquiescence: just then the registrar came in with the king's sentence in his hand. Murat guessed what it was. "Read, sir," he said coldly; "I am listening." The registrar obeyed. Murat was right. The sentence of death had been carried with only one dissentient voice. When the reading was finished, the king turned again to Nunziante. "General," he said, "believe that I distinguish in my mind the instrument which strikes me and the hand that wields that instrument. I should never have thought that Ferdinand would have had me shot like a dog; he does not hesitate apparently before such infamy. Very well. We will say no more about it. I have challenged my judges, but not my executioners. What time have you fixed for my execution?" "Will you fix it yourself, sir?" said the general. Murat pulled out a watch on which there was a portrait of his wife; by chance he turned up the portrait, and not the face of the watch; he gazed at it tenderly. "See, general," he said, showing it to Nunziante; "it is a portrait of the queen. You know her; is it not like her?" The general turned away his head. Murat sighed and put away the watch. "Well, sire," said the registrar, "what time have you fixed?" "Ah yes," said Murat, smiling, "I forgot why I took out my watch when I saw Caroline's portrait." Then he looked at his watch again, but this time at its face. "Well, it shall be at four o'clock, if you like; it is past three o'clock. I ask for fifty minutes. Is that too much, sir?" The registrar bowed and went out. The general was about to follow him. "Shall I never see you again, Nunziante?" said Murat. "My orders are to be present at your death, sire, but I cannot do it." "Very well, general. I will dispense with your presence at the last moment, but I should like to say farewell once more and to embrace you." "I will be near, sire." "Thank you. Now leave me alone." "Sire, there are two priests here." Murat made an impatient movement. "Will you receive them?" continued the general. "Yes; bring them in." The general went out. A moment later, two priests appeared in the doorway. One of them was called Francesco Pellegrino, uncle of the man who had caused the king's death; the other was Don Antonio Masdea. "What do you want here?" asked Murat. "We come to ask you if you are dying a Christian?" "I am dying as a soldier. Leave me." Don Francesco Pellegrino retired. No doubt he felt ill at ease before Joachim. But Antonio Masdea remained at the door. "Did you not hear me?" asked the king. "Yes, indeed," answered the old man; "but permit me, sire, to hope that it was not your last word to me. It is not, the first time that I see you or beg something of you. I have already had occasion to ask a favour of you." "What was that?" "When your Majesty came to Pizzo in 1810, I asked you for 25,000 francs to enable us to finish our church. Your Majesty sent me 40,000 francs." "I must have foreseen that I should be buried there," said Murat, smiling. "Ah, sire, I should like to think that you did not refuse my second boon any more than my first. Sire, I entreat you on my knees." The old man fell at Murat's feet. "Die as a Christian!" "That would give you pleasure, then, would it?" said the king. "Sire, I would give the few short days remaining to me if God would grant that His Holy Spirit should fall upon you in your last hour." "Well," said Murat, "hear my confession. I accuse myself of having been disobedient to my parents as a child. Since I reached manhood I have done nothing to reproach myself with." "Sire, will you give me an attestation that you die in the Christian faith?" "Certainly," said Murat. And he took a pen and wrote: "I, Joachim Murat, die a Christian, believing in the Holy Catholic Church, Apostolic and Roman." He signed it. "Now, father," continued the king, "if you have a third favour to ask of me, make haste, for in half an hour it will be too late." Indeed, the castle clock was striking half-past three. The priest signed that he had finished. "Then leave me alone," said Murat; and the old man went out. Murat paced his room for a few moments, then he sat down on his bed and let his head fall into his hands. Doubtless, during the quarter of an hour he remained thus absorbed in his thoughts, he saw his whole life pass before him, from the inn where he had started to the palace he had reached; no doubt his adventurous career unrolled itself before him like some golden dream, some brilliant fiction, some tale from the Arabian Nights. His life gleamed athwart the storm like a rainbow, and like a rainbow's, its two extremities were lost in clouds--the clouds of birth and death. At last he roused himself from this inward contemplation, and lifted a pale but tranquil face. Then he went to the glass and arranged his hair. His strange characteristics never left him. The affianced of Death, he was adorning himself to meet his bride. Four o'clock struck. Murat went to the door himself and opened it. General Nunziante was waiting for him. "Thank you, general," said Murat. "You have kept your word. Kiss me, and go at once, if you like." The general threw himself into the king's arms, weeping, and utterly unable to speak. "Courage," said Murat. "You see I am calm." It was this very calmness which broke the general's heart. He dashed out of the corridor, and left the castle, running like a madman. Then the king walked out into the courtyard. Everything was ready for the execution. Nine men and a corporal were ranged before the door of the council chamber. Opposite them was a wall twelve feet high. Three feet away from the wall was a stone block: Murat mounted it, thus raising himself about a foot above the soldiers who were to execute him. Then he took out his watch,[Madame Murat recovered this watch at the price of 200 Louis] kissed his wife's portrait, and fixing his eyes on it, gave the order to fire. At the word of command five out of the nine men fired: Murat remained standing. The soldiers had been ashamed to fire on their king, and had aimed over his head. That moment perhaps displayed most gloriously the lionlike courage which was Murat's special attribute. His face never changed, he did not move a muscle; only gazing at the soldiers with an expression of mingled bitterness and gratitude, he said: "Thank you; my friends. Since sooner or later you will be obliged to aim true, do not prolong my death-agonies. All I ask you is to aim at the heart and spare the face. Now----" With the same voice, the same calm, the same expression, he repeated the fatal words one after another, without lagging, without hastening, as if he were giving an accustomed command; but this time, happier than the first, at the word "Fire!" he fell pierced by eight bullets, without a sigh, without a movement, still holding the watch in his left hand. The soldiers took up the body and laid it on the bed where ten minutes before he had been sitting, and the captain put a guard at the door. In the evening a man presented himself, asking to go into the death-chamber: the sentinel refused to let him in, and he demanded an interview with the governor of the prison. Led before him, he produced an order. The commander read it with surprise and disgust, but after reading it he led the man to the door where he had been refused entrance. "Pass the Signor Luidgi," he said to the sentinel. Ten minutes had hardly elapsed before he came out again, holding a bloodstained handkerchief containing something to which the sentinel could not give a name. An hour later, the carpenter brought the coffin which was to contain the king's remains. The workman entered the room, but instantly called the sentinel in a voice of indescribable terror. The sentinel half opened the door to see what had caused the man's panic. The carpenter pointed to a headless corpse! At the death of King Ferdinand, that, head, preserved in spirits of wine, was found in a secret cupboard in his bedroom. A week after the execution of Pizzo everyone had received his reward: Trenta Capelli was made a colonel, General Nunziante a marquis, and Luidgi died from the effects of poison. Publication Date: May 28th 2010 https://www.bookrix.com/-bx.dumas

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Briahna Williams Gone In The Wind Macy's story This story is dedicated to my family and friends. I love you Lauren H. Text: May be used for inspiration. All rights reserved. Publication Date: October 9th 2010 https://www.bookrix.com/-writerluvr7

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Yagnesh Chokasi God is watching everything God is watching everything! ઉપરવાળો બધું જોવે છે !           લેખક યજ્ઞેશ . જે . ચોકસી પ્રસ્તાવના   આ વાર્તા એક પતિ અને એક શહીદ ના પિતા દ્વારા પોતાની વહાલસોયી ધર્મપત્ની ને ન્યાય આપવાની છે . અને ઉપરવાળો હંમેશા આપડા પર નજર રાખે છે એવું એમને ભાસ થાય છે.   ******************************************************************************** માધવસિંહ ના ઘર માં શોક નું વાતાવરણ હતું ઘર માં વાતાવરણ હૃદય ચીરી નાખે આવું હતું એમનો એક નો એક વહાલ સોયો દીકરો આજે બોર્ડર પર દુસ્મન ની ગોળી નો શિકાર થઇ ગયો હતો અને એનો પાર્થિવ દેહ લેવા માટે માધવસિંહ અને એમના થોડા સગાવહાલા એરપોર્ટ પર ગયા હતા.એમના ઘરમાં માણેકબા અને એમના સગા વહાલા ના રુદને અડધું શહેર દ્રુસકે ચડ્યું હતું.એરપોર્ટ પર થી જયારે ગોવિંદસિંહ ના પાર્થિવ દેહ ને ઘરે લાવા માં આવેલો ત્યારે આખું શહેર આજે તંગ ગાળિયો વળી ચાલી માં એકઢું થયેલું ધારેક વીર શહીદ ને આખરી સલામ કરવા માટે આવેલા.એ દિવસે દીકરીના અંતિમ સંસ્કાર માધવસિંહે ભારે હૃદયે કરેલા હતા.આખા શહેર માં સમાચાર માં ગોવિંદસિંહ ની બહાદુર ના વખાણ થતા હતા અને દરેક કે દરેક કોમ ના લોકો ના આંખો માં આશુ આવી ગયેલા જયારે એ શહીદ થયો.કેમ ના થાય અંતિમ પળ માં ગોવિંદસિંહે જે બહાદુરી દેખાડી અને દુસ્મન દેશ ની ચોંકી પાર કબજો કરેલો એ એક ખુબ જ બહાદુરી નું કામ હતું. માધવસિંહ ખુબ દુઃખી હતા એમણેજ ગોવિંદસિંહ ને આર્મી માં જોડાવા માટે કીધું હતું બાકી ગોવિંદસિંહ તો બીજું કરવા ઈચ્છતો હતો.માણેકબા તો થોડા દિવસ માં સ્વસ્થ થઇ ગયા એકના એક વહાલ સોયા દીકરા ને ખોવાનું દુઃખ તો એ કદાચ ક્યારેય નહિ ભૂલે પણ એમને માધવસિંહ ની હાલતજોયા બાદ એમને પણ સાંભળવા ના હતા. એ બરાબર રીતે જાણતા હતા કે ગોવિંદ નું આર્મી માં જોઈન કરવાનો નિણઁય માધવીસિંહ નો હતો અને એ આજે એમના આ નિર્ણય પર પછતાઈ રહ્યા છે.માણેકબા એ માધવિંસહ ની સાર સંભાળ ચાલુ કરી અને ધીમે ધીમે એમને સમજાવ્યા કે તમે તમારા આ નિણઁય ના લીધે દુઃખી ના થાવ આજે જોવો આપડો દીકરો દરેક ના દિલ માં વાસ કરે છે એ માર્યો નથી અમર થઇ ગયો છે.માધવસિંહ ને આ આઘાત માંથી બહાર આવતા એક વર્ષ લાગ્યું.માધવ સિંહ પણ માણેકબા ને ધીમે ધીમે સાથ આપવા મંડ્યા બંને એક બીજા ને શહારે જીવવા લાગ્યા. માણેકબા અને માધવસિંહે નક્કી કર્યું કે એ એમના જેવા લોકો ને મદદ કરશે અને એમને ધીમે ધીમે સમાજ સેવા પણ શરુ કરી દીધી.પાંચેક વરસ માં તો એ એમને આખા દેશ ની દુઆઓ મળવા લાગી અને એમના આ નિશ્વાર્થ સેવાભાવ ને લીધે એમને ઘણા લોકો એ સામે થી આવીને મદદ કરવાનું શરુ કરી દીધુ આજે માણેકબા અને માધવસિંહ ખુબ ખુશ હતા.અખિલ ભારતીય મહિલા મંડળ દ્વારા માણેકબા ને સન્માન કરવા માટે મુંબઈ જવાનું હતું અને એજ દિવસે માધવસિંહ ને દિલ્હી અગત્ય ના કામ થી જવાનું હતું.એટલે માણેકબા અને મદવસિંહ બની આજે ઘણા સમય બાદ અલગ અલગ જય રહ્યા હતા આમતો વારસો થી એ જ્યાં પણ જતા સાથે જતા માધવસિંહ નું તો મન નહતું અલગ જવાનું પણ માણેકબા એ એમને સમજાવ્યા કે દિલ્હી જવાનું તમારા માટે અગત્ય નું છે તમે ત્યાં જાઓ અને મુંબઈ ક્યાં દૂર છે હું જાતે જઈ આવીસ તમે ચિંતા ના કરો. માધવસિંહ નું આજે એકદમ વ્યગ્ર હતા પલંગ માં પડખાઓ ફરી રહ્યા હતા એમને ગભરામણ થતી હતી એમને થયું લાવ ને માણેકબા જોડે વાત કરી લઉં પણ મધરાત હતી એટલે એમને થયું ક્યાંક સુઈ તો નઈ ગયા હોયને? એમનું મન ન માન્યું અને માધવસિંહે કોલ કર્યો પણ સામે છેડે માણેકબા એ કોલ ના રિસીવ કર્યો એટલે માધવસિંહ વધારે ચિંતામાં આવી ગયા અમને ફરી કોલ કર્યો બસ રિંગ પુરી થઇ પણ ફોન રિસીવ ના થયો એમના મગજ માં શંકા કુશંકાઓ ચાલુ થઇ ગઈ એમની પાસે મુંબઈ માં માણેકબા જ્યાં હતા એમનો નંબર પણ નહતો એમને ઊંઘ નહતી આવી રહી.એમને પથારી માં પડ્યા પડ્યા ટીવી ચાલુ કર્યું ઘણી બધી ચેનલો એમને બદલી છેલ્લે એ ન્યુઝ ચેનલ ચાલુ કરી તો એમાં સમાચાર આવી રહ્યા હતા.અજાણ્યા કાર ચાલક દ્વારા સમાજસેવિકા ને કાર થી ઉડાવી દીધા.અકસ્માત સ્થળેથી કાર ચાલાક ફરાર પણ ન્યુઝ માં એ સફેદ કલર ની મોંઘી કાર વારે વારે દેખાડતા હતા.માધવસિંહ ના હૃદય માં ફળ પડી ક્યાયક? ત્યાં સમાચાર માં આવ્યું કે અકસ્માત થનાર નું નામ માણેકબા છે અને એમને નજીક ની હોસ્પિટલ માં દાખલ કરવા માં આવ્યા છે એમની હાલત નાજુક છે.     ************************************************************************************* PArt-1 માધવસિંહ એક પણ પળ નો વિલમ્બ કર્યા વગર પહેલી ફ્લાઈટ પકડી અને મુંબઈ પહોંચી ગયા દવાખાના માં માણેકબા એ અંતિમ શ્વાસ લીધા ત્યારે માધવસિંહ નો હાથ એમના હાથ માં હતો એ કંઈક કહેવા માંગતા હતા પણ કાળ ને કંઈક બીજું મંજુર હતું અને એમનું પ્રાણપંખીરું ઉડી ગયું.માધવસિંહ ખુબ પડી ભાંગ્યા હતા.એ રૂમ માં પુરાઇનેજ રહેતા ઘર ની બહાર નીકળતા નહતા.ન્યુઝ ચેનલવાળા રોજ નવું નવું લાવતા હતા.હિટ એન્ડ રન ના શીર્ષક નીચે એ લોકો વરવા ન્યુઝ બનાવી રહ્યા હતા.પોલીસ તાપસ માં બધી બાબત ચોખી હતી કે કાર મોટા ઉદ્યોગપતિ ની છે અને એ દિવસે એ એજ કારમાં હતો જયારે માણેકબા ને અકસ્માત થયેલો શરુ શરુ માં તો ન્યુઝ માં નજરે જોનારાઓ ની લાઈન હતી બધા એકજ વાત કરતા હતા કે એમને દર્શન ને કાર માંથી ભાગતા જોયો છે.કોઈ એમ પણ કહેતું કે એમને દર્શન ને કાર ચલાવતા જોયો છે.પણ થોડાજ દિવસો માં એ નજરે જોનારાઓ ગાયબ થઇ ગયા.ન્યુઝ ચેનલ માં આવી રહ્યું હતું કે માણેકબા ની ગફલત ના લીધે અકસ્માત થયો છે અને મોંઘી દાટ કાર ને નુકસાન થયું છે.માધવસિંહે આ સમાચાર સાંભળી ને એમનું લોહી ઉકાળી ગયું.એમને જીવની ઈચ્છા નહતી પણ એમને એ દિવસે નક્કી કર્યું કે માણેકબા ના ખૂની એ સજા અપાવશે અને ન્યાય જરૂર મેળવશે.દિવા જેવી વાત હતી કે કાર ચાલાક કોણ હતું અને અકસ્માત કોને કર્યો છતાં પણ કેસ થોડાજ દિવસો માં કોર્ટ એ યોગ્ય પુરાવાના આભાવે કેસ બંધ કરી દીધો. માધવસિંહ એ દરેક વ્યક્તિ ના સરનામાં મેળવ્યા અને એમને મળ્યા પણ એકપણ વ્યક્તિ રાજી ના થઇ દર્શન ના વિરુદ્ધ ગવાહી આપવા.એકેતો માધવસિંહ ને ચોખ્ખું કઈ દીધું કે અમને ઢગલો પૈસા મળ્યા છે મોઢું બંધ રાખવાના તો કેમ ખોલીયે.મદવસિંહે દર્શન ને મળ્યા અને એને પણ સમજાવ્યો કે એ દિવસે જે બન્યું એ સાચું કઈદે દર્શન ને એના બાપ ના પૈસા નું ઘમંડ એના ચહેરા પર રતીભાર પસ્તવો નહતો દર્શને ધક્કા મારીને મદવસિંહે કાઢી મુક્યા.આ બધું દર્શન ના બાપ એ જોયું.રમણીકલાલ દર્શન ના પિતા રમણીકલાલ એટલે દેશ ના નઈ પણ એમની પાસે આખા વિશ્વમાં ટોપ ના દશ ધનવાન વ્યક્તિ માં એમનું નામ પણ એમને જરાય પૈસા નું ઘમંડ નહતું અને એમનો દીકરો પૈસા ના નાસા માં ચૂર.બોલવાનું ભાન નઈ અને હંમેશા નાસા માં ચૂર.રમણીકલાલ એકના એક દીકરા ના મોહ માં હતા એમને દર્શન ને ક્યારેય ટોક્યો નહતો એટલેજ એ આજે આવો હતો અને એ વાત નો પછતાવો રમણીકલાલ ને હતો.એ મદવસિંહ પાસે ગયા અને એમનો પરિચય આપી અને માધવસિંહ ની માફી માંગી અને એમના દીકરાને માફ કરી દેવા માટે કીધું અને એમને પૈસા ની પણ ઓફર કરી.માધવસિંહ એ કીધું એ તારા દીકરા એ જે ગુનો કર્યો છે એની સજા એને મળશેજ તારો પૈસો જો એને બચાવી શકે તો બચાવી લેજે. માધવસિંહે તો નક્કી કરી લીધું હતું કે એ દર્શન નું કહું કરી નાખશે.પણ એમને એમના શહીદ દીકરા ની યાદ આવી એ નહતા ઇચ્છતા એ એમના અમર દીકરા ને બધા એક ખૂની ના દીકરા તરીકે ઓળખે અને માણેકબા જો જીવતા હોતા તો એ પણ આવું ના કરવા દેત.એટલે એમને નક્કી કર્યું કે એ દર્શન વિરુદ્ધ પુરાવાઓ ભેગા કરશે અને કોર્ટ થી એને સજા કરાવશે.માધવસિંહ વારંવાર દુર્ઘટના વાળી જગ્યા પર જતા અને તપાસ કરતા કે કંઈક મળી જાય પણ એમના હાથ માં કઈ આવતું નહતું. એકવાર એ ત્યાં નજીક આવેલા એક બેંક ના એ.ટી.એમ.મશીન માં પૈસા ઉપાડી રહ્યા હતા ત્યાં એમની નજર ત્યાં આવેલા સી.સી.ટીવી કેમેરા પર ગઈ એ કેમેરો થોડો નીચો હતો અને એ અકસ્માત ની જગ્યા ને બરાબર આવરી રહ્યો હતો.એમને બેંક માં જઈને બનાવ ના દિવસ ના વિડિઓ ચેક કરવા માટે વિનંતી કરી પણ બેંક વાળા એ ના પાડી.પરંતુ માધવસિંહ ના સદનસીબે એમના દ્વારા મદદ કરેલા એક વ્યક્તિ ના સંબંધી એ બેંક માં હતા અને એ માધવસિંહ ને જોઈને ઓડખી ગયા.માધવસિંહ ને એને પોતાનો પરિચય આપ્યો અને માધવસિંહ ના કામ ના ખુબ વખાણ કર્યા.માધવસિંહે એની પાસે મદદ માંગી એ તરત તૈયાર થઇ ગયો અને અકસ્માત ના દિવસ નું રેકોર્ડિંગ એમને કોપી કરી આપ્યું. માધવસિંહે એ રેકોર્ડિંગ જોયું માણેકબા ફૂટપાથ પાર ચાલી રહ્યા હતા એવા માં અચાનક પાછળ થી એક કાર એકદમ સ્પીડ માં આવી અને ડિવાઈડર થોડી અને સીધી માણેકબા ને ટક્કર મારી અને દીવાલ સાથે અથડાઈ.થોડી વાર માં કાર નો આગળ નો ડ્રાઈવર સાઈડ નો દરવાજો ખુલ્યો અને અંદર થી દર્શન નીકળી અને ભાગ્યો હતો.આ ઘટના બરાબર દેખાઈ રહી હતી અને દર્શન પણ એકદમ સ્પષ્ટ નજર આવી રહ્યો હતો.મદવસિંહે એ વિડિઓ ની કોપી સોશ્યિલ મીડિયા પર પોસ્ટ કરી થોડી વાર માં એ વિડિઓ વાયરલ થયો લોકો ની સહાનુભૂતિ માધવસિંહ જોડે હતી લોકો બીજા દિવસે રસ્તા પર આવી ગયા અને એક દિવસે દર્શન ની ધડપકડ કરી અને એને કોર્ટ દ્વારા ખૂની જાહરે કરી અને મૌત ની સજા કરવા માં આવી. માધવસિંહ ખુશ હતા કે આજે કાનૂને એક સાચી સજા સંભળાવી અને એ ઉપરવાળા નો આભાર માની રહ્યા હતા અને વિચારતા હતા કે કદાચ સી સી ટીવી કેમેરા તેથી જ ઉપરવાળો નજર રાખી રાખ્યો છે એટલેજ કહેવાય છે કે ઉપરવાળો બધું જોવે છે.   Publication Date: September 7th 2016 https://www.bookrix.com/-qk0e4f6b0248975

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-g-j-prager-039-the-lesson-plan-039/

G.J.Prager 'The Lesson Plan' THE LESSON PLAN’ G.J.Prager Chapter 1 It was seven p.m. when I finally turned off the freeway at Lincoln Boulevard. The blonde I’d been tailing for almost an hour was still in my sights. I’d been up since five in the morning and was bone-tired from working two jobs: teaching school by day and playing private detective at night. But babysitting teenagers was only temporary, I reasoned. It would pay my rent till I learned how to snoop full time. I wanted the outdoors and the feel of the chase, not some stultifying classroom teaching prepositions to thirty brats at my throat. I was determined to make this P.I. gig work sooner than later. The off-ramp was bumper to bumper - a line of circus elephants waiting for their cue. I kept my foot glued to the brake, the road had a grade in it and I didn’t want to roll into the guy behind me, especially if he was having a bad day. I checked the dash for the time; it read ten after seven in good old-fashioned analog. My mind wandered as it usually did in traffic. I kept thinking about all the money gathered around me, corporate hacks in luxury sedans on their way home to Brentwood. It didn’t seem fair sitting lock-jawed in my cramped jalopy while they got massaged in their do-it-all powered leather seats. I thought about that oil change I’d been meaning to get to. And that Mexican beside me in his battered pickup; he was too close for comfort with his rickety old ladder hanging over the side. I peered up at a sunless sky, solid gray with no cracks in the lining. That June gloom wasn’t leaving town yet. News bulletins were streaming out of my door speakers--something about terrorists on the border and severe weather up north. It got me thinking the world was coming to an end. I was feeling a lot like that lately, like the sky was falling. All the talk about the new millennium was making me nervous, so I kept looking up, just to make sure. I switched off the news and put on a jazz station. I was singing along to pass the time when a cop finally appeared and began directing traffic. He was all business, waving his hands and pointing in different directions, and in no time cars were moving again. I stepped on the clutch, put down some gas, and rolled up a few feet, only to stop again behind the late model BMW I’d been tailing. The blonde up front didn’t look much older than twenty-four. I wondered where she got her dough, something I wonder about a lot around here. These kids with their Beemers, me and my ancient Honda - there’s gotta be a better way. The Beemer was moving staccato-like, it heaved and jerked like some lesser car would and I attributed that to its owner. Nevertheless, I couldn’t help but admire the demeanor of all that steel in front of me. I fixated on it for a few moments until it jerked out into the intersection and made a left turn. I was finally at the head of the line, and all my frustration went out the window–it went up to sock heaven or something. I made a left turn and proceeded to follow the blonde. She didn’t know I was tailing her, and wasn’t much of a driver, either. Her left turn signal was still blinking but she wasn’t turning, and she kept feinting right but wasn’t switching lanes. For a moment I thought she might be on to my doings, but something told me she was just another air-head taking up space around here–not a far-fetched notion in this burg. A few more blocks of overwrought driving told me I was right. A turn on Bay and a left on Seventh, and she slid right into an underground garage and out of sight. I had my tail’s destination and my afternoon’s work was almost finished. All I had to do now was find out which unit she was heading for and proceed home for dinner and a little rest and relaxation watching the tube. A poor man’s night on the town indeed. I watched her exit the garage and climb a short stairway that led to a second floor balcony. She looked great: tall and thin with hair that was straight and golden and fell softly over her shoulders. I wondered where they cut the mold for girls like that. They’re all over this town, just waiting to be scooped up by Hollywood or wherever else beauty is bought and sold around here. My attention was suddenly diverted by a classic rock song; it put me in a sentimental mood but caused me to miss seeing her walk through the door. I had no choice but to start doing some old-fashioned gumshoeing. I was giddy about getting started and doing a Sam Spade on someone had me all pumped up. But I had to be careful, I didn’t want her catching on. I just needed to beg a few pardons till I found her. They were pretty-looking condos, three units in all. Through the large bay windows, you could see the polished oak staircases descend from an upstairs bedroom to a ground floor den. They were officially known around here as town homes; they looked more like overpriced apartments to me. I knocked on the first door, just to try out my new chops. “Yes?” The voice went up instead of down, not atypical for this neck of the woods. He wasn’t opening the door, either, so I spoke up loud and clear: “Sorry to disturb you. I live across the street and I’m looking for my cat. A gray cat. Have you seen one roaming around the neighborhood lately?” I figured he’d warm up to cats. He opened the door and greeted me with a big smile. “I’m sorry about your cat. I don’t think I’ve seen a gray one around lately.” He was short and muscular with perfectly straight teeth. His hair was thick in front with a buzz cut on the side and a diamond stud was embedded in his ear. He wore a yellow and green Hawaiian shirt that hung loosely over a pair of tight fitting shorts. He looked happy to see me. I spoke quickly. “I’m just checking. I’m sure I’ll find him somewhere.” “Why don’t you put up a poster with his picture,” he offered, showing off his teeth. “That usually helps.” I was trying to steal a look around him, but the guy took up a lot of space in the doorway. “Good idea. I’ll get to work on that right away….How about the lady of the house? Maybe she’s seen my cat?” I had to make sure. “No, I live alone. But if I see your cat wandering around whom should I call?” I had to think fast. “Well if you do find him just…you know, hang on to him and I’ll get back to you. And thanks anyway.” He’d caught on to my nervous meanderings and politely let me off the hook, still smiling as he closed the door. I moved on to the next apartment; one down and two to go. I rang the doorbell instead of knocking–-I figured it’s more polite that way. A couple of excitable hounds started barking. “Who’s there?” A sharp, husky voice responded. “U.S. Census Bureau. Do you live alone or is this a multiple family unit.” “Get lost.” “Sure.” I couldn’t argue with that. One unit remained, but I figured it was the blonde’s so I didn‘t bother knocking. I was quite proud of myself and was all set to head home, but as I turned to leave I noticed her door was slightly ajar, which seemed odd. I stuck my head inside for the hell of it. Like I said, they were pretty-looking condos. There were no lights on, but something caught my eye a short way down the foyer. A set of shapely legs stuck out from an opened doorway; they seemed rigid and lifeless in the darkness. I slipped in quietly and tiptoed across the polished oak floor. When I reached the doorway I could see the blonde lying on the floor. I suddenly felt a sharp sting at the back of my head - it was the last thing I remembered. When I came to, the place was pitch black and eerily quiet. I fumbled around till I found a doorknob; I held on to it and clawed my way up along a wall, groggy and unsteady. The back of my head was pounding furiously. I turned on a light switch by the side of the door and scanned the floor. The floor was stained with blood and so were the walls, but the blonde was gone. I got the hell out as fast as I could. Publication Date: March 30th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-g.j.prager

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-charles-morehouse-cannibal-assassions/

Charles Morehouse Cannibal Assassions. The horror in a man Translation: English Publication Date: December 6th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-vanilla223

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-brewcris-tears-of-the-forgotten/

brewcris Tears Of The Forgotten all the awesome people who read this :D Prologue "Eat it!" commanded Jolly Rancher, shoving some fresh, green broccoli in my face. "NO!!!" I screamed in his face close to tears, he was the color of a blue raspberry and wearing a rapper like the piece of candy he was! “Now, or I’ll shoot you with this!” he glared at me while pulling out a squirt gun and putting his finger on the trigger. I slowly took it from him; tears falling down my face, my shaky hand barely able to grab a hold of it. I brought it to my mouth, at a snail's pace, with my eyes glued to the squirt gun. “Do you…” I hesitated before continuing, “have any ranch dressing?” He laughed evilly and it had an edge to it like a rapper crinkling when rubbed between fingers. “No, you have to eat it; Plain.” He smiled horribly, like he was constipated. “It’s simple. Just put the broccoli in your mouth and chew, unless of course you want me to shoot you.” He put the gun up against my forehead with that awful smile still on his face. I took a small bite and gagged spitting it out. “I said eat it not spit it out!” I heard his outraged voice speak before I felt freezing cold water stream down my tiny face. *~* I screamed and woke up to see people staring at my seven year old self like I was crazy. I blushed and turned to see my stop up ahead. I put on my jacket and gathered my backpack just as the bus stopped. I went to get up, but one of the older kids pushed me back down. I could hear sirens and see the flashing lights through the window. I crawled closer to it to get a better look. Emergency vehicles surrounded my house. I could see the cops everywhere; the yellow tape they use on crime scenes bordered my yard. What stood out to me most though was the blood. The fresh blood red blood, not ketchup, blood, everywhere; the body bag not zipped up all the way, with a pale white and bloody hand sticking out. The hand had my daddy’s watch on; the hand was my daddy’s. The last thing I remember was a silent tear falling down my frozen face, reminding me of the squirt gun spaying me in my dream as I sat there shocked beyond belief. *~* “She has nowhere to go; I just got a hold of her mom, shocking I know, and she didn’t want anything to do with her.” I could hear someone talk in a hushed whisper as I sat at a table letting my silent tears fall down my face. I may have been seven, but I wasn’t stupid. My daddy was murdered just hours ago. “She doesn’t have any family that will take her in?” I heard the officer ask the lady that I believe was my daddy’s co-worker. “No, her grandparents are all dead, or not in contact with her. She has no aunts or uncles that I know of.” she sounded sad, “I-I can take her in…” she stated. The officer hesitated before replying. “No, I think it best if she gets out of this town of a while instead of being stuck with her past memories.” He spoke in a voice that I don’t think anyone would argue with. The thought of never seeing my friends again made me cry harder “I don’t want to leave” I sobbed looking up at the officer and lady. “It’s only for a while; you’ll be back before you know it.” He gave me a weak smile and before adding. “I’m going to contact some people and see if you can find you a nice, kind home.” with that he walked away with the lady trying to plead with him and I was left by myself; crying, wondering how my live ended up like this. Nobody that walked by came to try and comfort me when that’s what I wanted most at that moment. Publication Date: September 20th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-brewcris

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-christopher-cabreja-helga/

Christopher Cabreja Helga Publication Date: April 28th 2010 https://www.bookrix.com/-cjcchris7575

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-rina-past-life-misian/

Rina Past Life Misian Story of a Sinner Past life Misian Version 81 years from now there lived a girl named Misian. She was rich and powerful she was in the age of 13. She wanted to be more powerful by killing her parents and taking their money for herself. She not only got money from her parents but she got money from a group who hired her to do it. Her parents were important people in the enemy group and with them out of the way her people can easily defeat them. After she had one more job to do and that was to kill the daughter of the other group's leader and with their guard down our group can finally win. I wasn't of it I recently knew I wasn't in the good side I killed many people and I want to take it back. I came with an idea and it finally worked I went back to the times where I wasn't in the group yet and it happened. I should have done this before now that I'm dead It never happened. Now its all over. All over... Publication Date: June 22nd 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-fifi1o

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-wayne-elder-the-mysterious-phone-caller/

Wayne Elder The Mysterious Phone Caller The Mysterious Phone Caller In the town of Salem, Indiana, Harry Mason, a middle-aged police detective who has worked on the force for decades, is trying to solve a year old mystery about a mysterious phone caller that can not be traced by police. 911 gets a lot of these calls by a person no one knows. The calls always lead the Emergency teams to someone who needs help, can not get to a phone, or no one is around to call for help, sometimes all three. Sometimes the calls direct search teams to missing people or to a suspect of a crime that the police are trying to find. One day as Mr. Harry was investigating; he got a call from his coworker about a break-in at a home on N. Shelby Street, and he got in his car and went. As soon as he got there he got out of his car and his cell-phone rang. When he looked to see who was calling him the phone said “unknown caller.” He answered the phone and the voice behind the phone said, “Be aware there is a man inside waiting to kill you, take caution.” the mysterious caller hung up. Mr. harry wandered who was inside there, so he brought a gun. When he got inside the man lunged on Mr. Harry with a knife, so in self-defense, Mr. Harry shot him and the man fell dead. Mr. Harry called the other police officers to tell them about the incident that took place. He told them that the man lunged on him with a knife so he shot him in self-defense. Mr. Harry went to court and the judge ruled it self-defense. Three nights later, Mr. Harry, when he went to sleep, he had a dream in which an angel came to him and told him that she was the mysterious voice behind the phone calls they had been receiving. Then he woke up. The next day he told everyone about his dream and that the case of the mysterious phone caller had been solved. Text: Wayne Elder Editing: Wayne Elder All rights reserved. Publication Date: November 29th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-we1996

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Kevin Jenkins Time Bomb Publication Date: January 13th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-krilie

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-cameron-percy-jeeves-the-old-house/

cameron percy jeeves the old house charpter 1 someone has brought the forest on the edge of the small town of writingham. the man who had brought the forest was planing to build some houses on the land. when he started to clear some land with his work mates. they started one the edge of the woods and they found an old house standing there. then sudddenly the house began to sink in to the ground and a big hole opened as the house when down in to the ground. the men fell down the big hole and fell for a long time after an hour the men fell to the bottom of the hole. it was dark and the only light was a little candle on the wall in a dark braket. one man died after the fall and one of the other man die after the fright of the darkest. they walk for an hour and a half but ther ewas still darkness. soon they found running water and had a drink from it. luckerly they had some bottles from the shop not far from the woods. In the shop 5 hours before the old women with the black cat that 50 million years ago the land right here was a deep hole where an huge rock hit the land. there was a little village on the land and there was a shop a school and a few houses on the land and one of them was a black wooden cottage and when the huge rock fell the rock skipped the whole house and left tunnels at the bottom and when world war 1 broke out the us army made a base at the bottom and made the house a secret way in so the germans could not invade. Publication Date: February 10th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-camey13

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-wintersk18-the-diary-the-twins-on-the-other-vally/

Wintersk18 The Diary: The twins on the Other Vally My 7th ELA teacher who loved this book Day 1 Hello, I am Angis Anginkiss. Welcome to Horse valley I will be writing everything that happens in this Diary. Facts: I have a twin named Dagger. One of our borders is called Other Valley and that is where our friends live, Flip and Herb. We have been friends for a long time and we are people who plan very early. So we are sleeping over at their house in a week. Oh and our friends... our twins. The twins names are Flip and Herb, weird names but cool kids. When we sleep at their house they said that they will tell us a secret. School is a day away, I just got my picture done... and for some reason our district makes our school picture an anime picture. It is still the person but in an anime way. I don't know what is up with this district but it is plain old weird. Weird kids, weird teachers, weird principles!! Let me tell you what Flip Gamp’Dion and Herb Gamp’Dion look like. They have pale white skin, blue worried looking eyes, medium sized nose. They have small lips and they are skinny 5’10’’people. I am only 4’9’’! Day 2 Mrs.Killowatts is a crazy science teacher.This is what she said... “First, I am going to give you your homework,” She announced. When I saw the homework, I screamed, “Say what! Do we have to do all 25 pages?” “You have to do all 25 pages,” Mrs.Killowatts, replied to the class”and it is due wednesday.” “WHAT,” Everyone shouted. “What if we have plans for today,”asked Herb. Did I tell you about Flip and Herb yet? I don’t think I did, I’ll check, (check Day1 writing). I did, but Herb is the oldest twin and Flip is the youngest. “ Can we just move on...,” Mrs.K was saying. “So wait you're saying we have to get 25 pages done in just two days?”asked Flip. “Yes.”replied Mrs.K. “WHAAAAT,” said the class,”THIS IS NOT HOW YOU TREAT STUDENTS!” We did not like it at all. But as I looked at it I realized that it wasn’t that hard until page 21, it was so hard that I it made my head hurt. Besides I had other homework to do... I had to take notes from a video called (Planets From Hell) which was actually very cool, I loved the one with the 2 radiation rays from the planet. Day 3 4 more days till I go to the sleepover, they said that their room has a secret entrance to somewhere and they also said that it was haunted, but in a good way. but I bet you it is not. But I still can’t wait till that secret. Flip told me that we are going to go to Folhoyo sports park, then we are going to eat dinner at Ann Kenya's buffet, I love that place. Not because they have food there but their waiters sneak up on you and scare you to ask your order. When we get home, is when they will tell me a secret. Oh and that 25 page homework I got that done to. As I got the hang of it, the homework got easier and easier. Day 4 Now we have a 12 page essay. We had to write it about what are your personalities .The class was complaining about this to. But the thing is it is due the day before the sleepover. But it wasn't that hard either (their giving us easy stuff in the beginning of the year, but they are also giving lots of it at once). I got that done in 30 minutes. But the 2 teachers I also have are very strict! It gets on my nerves. We have a kid in our school that his voice is changing already and one of my teachers yelled at him to whisper and he said... “I am whispering,” Nad said. Then the kids explained why he whispers so loudly, and she still told him to be quite. I laugh sometimes about teachers because they act so weird. Day 5 Flip was so funny, her twin sister (Herb) showed her the chapstick video. And when the girl said she needs to get a life Flip says... “ No derrr of course you do, the chapstick was right next to you. Daa dimwit.” Flip hates it when people act so dumb, unless it is her friend or anyone in the family. “You don't get it do you,” Me, Dagger (my twin), and Herb told her. “Get what,”Flip said, “I'm reading a caption of my book.” Then we all gave her a look and she said “What....... oh nevermind..... Herb, you know I never get that mess unless Its someone who is making a rap for something. For example... ‘asking all them questions’..... now that video is hilarious but what you guys showed me I didn’t understand it at all” “She just wanted to be funny,”Dagger replied,”and besides it was a rap...when she was doing a remix it was totally part of a rap. “Yeah she was just goofing around and...”When I was on my way to finishing the sentence Herb Finished it for me. “.... Wanted to put something on ‘youhilarious.com’”. Like I said Flip is hilarious. Day 6 My mom is crazy. She keeps on asking me weird things such as... “Do you want your teddy back?” Or... “Don’t forget your toothbrush!” First of all, I don’t use a teddy bear anymore, and I didn’t even have a teddy bear. Maybe I misheard her. Maybe she was talking to Dagger, I don’t know. But I thought it was a weird question to ask. Second of all she makes us cookies and unhealthy treats for some reason. I mean, yes her cooking is good. But I am trying to stay healthy this year. Tomorrow is the sleepover and I can’t wait! Mom says I have more than I need, but she is different like that. She is just not used to all the weird technology at all. We have Iphone 65 and galaxy X 64 and many, many more we even have a foldable laptop that can fold so many times that it can fit in your pocket, and when the laptop comes out it is the same size as an original laptop looks like. I bet braggers don’t even have that. I love this technology. But I heard that the aliens from everywhere in the world are going to take over after tomorrow. Day 7: the fun begins/author tells what happens Dagger and Angis are so excited that they're going to the sleepover. “I can’t wait,” Dagger said in excitement, then after saying that she said in a hushed tone,”I can’t wait for the secret.” Of course mom can not hear a word they are saying. But when they got there, her mom shouted out loud.. “Okay time to have some fun at the party, lets race to the door. the first one to the door gets to knock at the door.” They all had a race to the door. Dagger was the first one, Angis was second, and their mom was last. Dagger knocked and then when she was done, her and her sister jumped up and down like they had a surplus of sugar. “Come on in. Flip and Herb are in their room watching, who knows what... but at least I know they're laughing.,” Mrs.Gamp’Dion told them. They ran in and right when they got in the other twins said... “Okay we changed our mind, we want to show you early.” Flip told them as she walked towards them. “Turn around,” Herb told them. They were aliens.Because the light was off in the room. Their skin was green but when the light turn back on their skin was gray. Angis and Dagger was excited because they were aliens too. They had pointed eyes, puffy cheeks, small lips, still 5’10’’, but long necks. But when their mom went into the room to say good night and see you later, she looked at them and screamed... “OMG, MRS.GAMP’DION!!!!!!” When Flips mom came into the room, she saw the other skin on the floor and she also screamed. “OMG, YOU MEAN WE HAVE BEEN RAISING ALIEN TWINS ALL THIS TIME!!!!” Still Day 7: Uhoh!(still author writing) Then their use-to-be parents slammed the door and Flip, Herb, Angis, and Dagger went to the door to hear the commotion. This is what they heard... “What are we going to do,” Said Mrs.Gamp’Dion. “I don’t know maybe...” replied Ms.Anginkiss. “I know lets call the president” replies Mrs.Gamp’Dion. They were all going nuts and running onto the walls. Then they all said the title of the next chapter.... Still Day 7: START OF WAR IS COMING !!(still author saying the story) They all jumped out the window... as they were falling, they had their own commotion... “What are we going to do?” Angis said. Angis was freaked out she was totally losing it,”are they going to have them kill us? Are they going to have us studied? Are we going to run away? Are we going to kill ourselves? ARY,ARY,ARY help us.”Ary means O-king in Acikkc. “Don’t worry... We have a plan,” Dagger said while they were rolling into the grass. When they got up they dung one big clump of dirt and grass so they can hide under ground. “ all we have to do is shoot the laser.” “But when will we shoot the laser and what does that mean.”Angis said. “We will shoot the laser at midnight...” Flip replied while running. “The laser will tell the others that the war has arrived.” Herb said the rest of the reply. “Will the humans see the laser” Angis questioned. After Angis said that Dagger’s mind said ‘poor child’ which gave her the chills because it sounded just like Ms.Anginkiss (whenever Ms.Anginkiss gets worried she always says ‘poor child’ to them and Angis and Dagger hated that she treats them like they are little girls). “No they will not see the laser” Dagger replied. “So it will be like a surprise,” Angis asked, “and how much longer do we have to run?” “Yes it will be like a surprise.”Herb replied. “We’re here.... everybody jump!”Flip yelled. As they fell through a hole that was glowing... Angis said... “ARY,ARY,ARY,ARY,PLEASE HELP US,ARY,ARY,ARY.” “Angis chill”Dagger shouted. Suddenly they hear a scream and then saw Angis fall with her hand on her hip. “Dagger, You're going to have to carry me to the ship. Dive down and stand onto the floor and catch me,PLEASE!!!!” “I understand.” Dagger hates to see her sister like this.When she landed onto the floor Dagger caught her and said in big worry “Ary, please don’t let my.....” “Don’t even say it because my time is done” Angis said in a weak voice. “QUICK IN HERE” Flip and Herb shouted and cried at the same time. Day 8: out of the ground use-to-be-parents situation on chasing the twins (Angis, Dagger, Flip, and Herb are still underground) “I can’t believe you gave us unbelievable twins,”Mrs.Gamp’Dion shouted in the phone. “Well, ma'am; what do you mean by unbelievable twins?”The president said. The presidents name is president Marshall. “I am saying you gave me and ...”Mrs.Gamp’Dion was trying to say the rest of her sentence. “May I ask you what are you and your friends names?” Mr.Marshall asked her. “ My name is Mrs.Gamp’Dion and my friends name is Ms.Anginkiss.” Mrs.G replied. “So Mrs.Gamp’Dion you may now finish your sentence.”Mr.M respectively said. “I was saying you gave me and Ms.A 2 sets of alien twins.”Mrs.G said in shock. He sprayed out his coffee and bellowed out “WHAT IN TARNATIONS, ARE YOU KIDDING ME!!!!!!!!!! Oh ma’am I am so sorry” he was so disappointed in himself he calmly said,“I'm so sorry, but may I ask where they are.” “Hold on...”Mrs.G. “OMG, THEY'RE GONE.” Mrs.G and Ms.A vociferated. Ms.Anginkiss went to the phone and told the president “Here is my address. Do you have a pen and paper with you?” “Yes,”the president replied. “Its, 5600 Gankissistro Peak,Other Valley,Miniwago 57893 “That is by Hancin bay beach,” President asked to see if he was correct,“ am I correct?” “Yes,”Ms.Anginkiss replied, “Just to the right of that. Please hurry!” “Understood,” Said Mr.Marshall in a polite tone. Still Day 8 (What is going on underground/still author saying the story) “What happened when we were falling?”Dagger questioned in worry tone. “There was a piece of dirt that had a HUGE piece of sharp jewelry” Angis said. “What color was it?”Dagger asked. “Why are you asking that weird question?”Flip asked. “Because she is allergic to diamonds,”Dagger replied. “Oh,”Flip said in shock. “Angis, what type of jewelry was it?”Dagger asked Angis again. “It looked like it.... was ...... a diamond.................not quite sure,”Angis replied in a very weak tone. “Hey,”Herb shouted in an excited tone,“It look like a piece of the silver for the laser for the sign. Its not a diamond it is a piece of silver shaped like a diamond.” “So.. am I safe or not?”Angis asked in a confused voice. Dagger didn’t want to finish the conversation, so she just said “yeah.” Angis knew what Dagger meant by that but the others were confused so she said,“What she means by that is, ‘Lets check to make sure.’” They all nodded their heads in agreement and Herb took Angis and Dagger to the closest room as possible. “You know me too well.”Dagger sarcastically told Angis. “Hey thats what twins are for,”Angis said,“am I right.” “Yes that is true.”Dagger said in embarrassment. Herb was going crazy about the laser so she asked,“Sorry to interrupt your guys conversation...But I forgot....What is the kings favorite color?” “Herb his favorite color is Purple”Flip yelled across the hallway. The ship they are on is enough to fit 1,500 football fields side by side and 8 colosseum's stacked on top of each other. They have chandeliers of purple and gray hanging on the ceiling. 10 windows and on each window it has blue and purple curtains hanging on them. The walls are painted baby blue and the floors are gray and purple tiles. The rooms are all baby blue in one hallway and all violet purple in another hallway. On the outside of the ship is red, yellow, and green. “Dagger can I go to sleep for,” Angis said than in shock she said,“OWWW... what was that?” “Sorry I had to give you a tracker so I can see how fast your heart is beating,”Dagger said,“I didn’t mean to hurt you.” “What?”Angis said in confusion. “You read the Hunger Games right?”Dagger asked. “Yeah... But what does that have to do with me” Angis replied and gave her a curious look on her face. “Do you remember the part when.... before the ‘game’ started, that the had to have a tracker in their body so the people who are watching can see if they are alive or not.” Dagger said as she is trying to refresh her sisters memory. “Oh now I remember what you mean by that,”She replied,” so you are kind of doing the same thing but just checking my heart rates?” “Yeah,”Dagger said. As Dagger expected for her sister to respond back, her monitor said that her heart was going 125 beats per minute. “Uh Oh, Flip I am going to need your help!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Fast!!!!!!!!!!”Dagger screamed over her lungs. She didn't know what to do. She paced back and forth constantly. While jumping up and down in worry she cried out,“ARY, ARY, ARY, ARY PLEASE DON’T LET MY SISTER DIE!!!!” When Flip got there she saw that it dropped to 100 beats per minute. Still in worry Dagger told Flip,“ Go tell Herb to start the laser and then get over here this instant.” Still Day 8(President Marshall Arrives/still author saying the story) The president arrived and some sketch person came with him and right away asked them “What did they look like?”The sketch person (Mr.Hannigan) asked. “They had short hair, gray skin, pointy eyes, small lips, 5’10’’ and long necks.”Mrs.Gamp’Dion replied.Mr.Hannigan sketch they way the aliens looked like and Ms.Anginkiss said,“That looks just like them!” “I want this printed to every sergeant in the US and tell them I need them to look for 2 sets of twins that look like this and bring them to me. The aliens can be our answer to finding a new earth,”The President commanded. “Yes sir,”Mr.Hannigan said in respect. “Come we have some searching to do,”Mr.Hannigan said. They nod in agreement. Then in shock Ms.G said,“Or this could be start of a war. I say that because the twins look at me in a suspicious way and I don’t even know what I did wrong.Which I didn’t do anything wrong at all. But I knew something was up and it was not going to be pretty.” Day 9 and 10(Angis is having a heart attack/still arthur saying the story) “Stop hyperventilating and help this child!”Dagger screamed. Suddenly a gasp came from Angis, and Dagger was full of joy. Angis asked Herb,“did you shoot the laser? If you did, can you take us home already, please?” “Yes the laser has been shot and the robot is taking us home.”Her Flip said. “Oh...are we taking off right now?” Angis asked because her room didn't have a window. “Yes,”Herb and Flip replied at the same time. “Good... I am starting to get tired of this place,”Angis said in excitement and weakness,“ and I need to talk to the king about what happened when we were here. When will we get there?” “ We will be their in two days,” Dagger said,“ but do you feel better?” “No, Little, I don’t know,”Angis said in a weak voice. As she is feeling so sick, she actually thinks she is allergic to silver. “What do you mean you don’t know?”Dagger said in worry. “I...Feel...Weak...Tell......the...king....that...I won’t...”Angis said. Then closed her eyes and died. “NO!!!!!!!!”Dagger cried. Angis heartbeat stop and her skin turned black (when their skin turns black, that is a sign for that they died). Dagger ran across the room and knocking everything onto the floor. She can’t believe that her own soul that she could actually see every day is now dead. “Dagger cool down”Flip said in scarce, she got scared and walked cafeteria. At the cafeteria, Herb was there and Flip told her what happened. Herb ran to the room to check if Dagger was ok. When she got there she screamed, Dagger poisoned herself and now Dagger is slowly dying. “If half of my body slowly dies, the rest slowly dies too,” Dagger said. Herb Was scared. All of a sudden Dagger starts a seiger. Herb goes crazy and shouts in the specker,“I NEED FLIP TO COME TO ROOM ‘A’ AND TELL HER TO PLEASE HURRY FAST!!!!!!” Flip is freaked out .She does not know what is going on in room ‘A’. So she ran from hallway 2 to hallway on and did not even take a break. When she got there she said,“Yes is everything ok.........wooo OMG WE HAVE TO STRAP HER IN AND SAVE HER NOW,” “To late.” Herb said,“What did you say that....did her heart stop?” “No she is having a heart attack and a seiger at the same time.” Then her sieger stopped but still have the heart attack. They try to do the CPR but it made it worse. After the CPR Dagger’s rib snapped, and now she died. Now Flip and Herb closed the door and put a sign that said ‘For ARY’. “What will we do when we have to tell ARY about what happen?” Herb said. “That the world wants us dead.. I mean we can tell by the way they are treating us”Flip replied. Day 10 (summary of book 2) When they get to panet Occs, they tell the king right away what happened when they were on earth. When Ary hears that their friends have died (Angis and Dagger) he gets very furious and tells everyone that the war will start tomorrow. “Men, we must practice, we have to travel for a new planet to roam over” King Fosii the second said in command. “YES SIR,” All the soldiers replied. “What do you want us to do with the body ARY” Herb asked. “Make a clone or a robot if you want your friends back,”the King replied. Herb and Flip smiled with glee, and ran to the nearest layer to start working. They can’t wait to accomplish their assessment. At earth they're still looking for the twins. They never knew that Angis and Dagger died. “I can tell the president is not giving up on this mission,” Mrs.G whispered to Ms.A. All Ms.A did was giggle then started worrying again. ‘If it is a war...what will they do to us? Will they study our bodies? Will they take over and have us be slaves? What will they do? I am really scared now!’ And thats where everything turns around. The end of book 1 Publication Date: February 20th 2013 https://www.bookrix.com/-wintersk18

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ISAIAHPULLIAN THE VAMPIRE TRUE STORY I AM COMING TO A MEETING TO DIGUISE ABOUT WORK.WHEN EVERYONE IS SETTLED THEY BEGIN TALKING IN THE LIVING ROOM.THEN SUDDENLY THE LIGHTS WENT OFF.EVERYONE BEGAN SCREMING THEY HEARD SOMEONE BITE.THEN THE LIGHTS CAME BACK ON THERE WAS A DEAD BODY ON THE FLOOR.HE WAS BIT.THEN EVERYONE RAN TO THE KITCHEN PANTING.THEN THE LIGHTS WENT OFF AGAIN! CHAPTER2 AND AGAIN THEY HERD TWO BITES!THE LIGHTS CAME BACK ON THERE WERE FOUR PEOPLE LEFT.THEY TRIED TO RUN TO THE DOOR.THEN AGAIN THE LIGHTS WENT OFF.THEY TRIED TO FIND THE DOOR SHAKING IN FEAR.THEN SOMEONE FOUND SOMETHING IT WASENT THE DOOR IT WAS THE VAMPIRE.HE STARTED TO SCREAM THE SCREAM CUT OFF QUIKLY. CHAPTER3 IM SO SCARED SAID 2 OF THE 3 LEFT.STOP PLAYING SAID ONE BUT THE LIGHTS WERE STILL OFF THE TWO OF THEM HERD THE DOOR OPEN. THEY SAW ONE PERSON RUNNING TO THERE CAR.WHILE THERES A HAND TOUCHING THEM THEN BOTH OF THEM FELL TO THE FLOOR SLOWLY.AND THAT ONE PERSON MADE IT HOME. LOOK FOR CONTINUING BOOK;THE VAMPIRE STRIKES AGAIN ITS A SERIES AND THIS IS THE ATHUORS NOTE. Publication Date: October 10th 2010 https://www.bookrix.com/-naruto45

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Melinda Dawn Mardars Satifaction Guaranteed Satisfaction Guaranteed By Melinda Dawn Mardars Victoria, could not believe her eyes, as she approached her front porch, there sat the package in all of it ominous glory, taunting her. Daring her to pick it up. She was so tired of this, she would send the package back and there it would be again. She just couldn’t seem to get rid of it! Well this time things were going to be different. Grabbing up the package, she tucked the wretched thing under her arm and proceeded to open the front door. As she walked in she tossed the thing on the bench by the entry way and headed straight for the phone. She was going to give Banatelli’s a piece of her mind, she was tired of this crap. She was going to settle this once and for all. She didn’t even have to look up their number, she knew it by heart. Picking up the phone she dialed the number…735-2180 and waited for the morons to answer. She was not known for her patience, drumming her fingers on the table. As she listened to the incessant ringing, she wondered if anyone was ever going to answer. George her deceased husband, had driven her crazy with his indecisiveness and procrastination. But now, he was dead and she was free, from the shriveled up old man. She couldn’t believe how easy it had been to dispose of him and his wretched housekeeper Hortense. It had been a stroke of genius… It was simply a case of food poisoning, the coroner had said. Little did he and the police know, she had taken a jar of mayonnaise and had opened it and left it out to spoil, then had mixed it in with the fresh bottle in the refrigerator. When she went out on a errand for good old George, she had conveniently disposed of the bottle. And no one was the wiser. Now, sick old George and Hortense were gone and she Victoria Andrews was rich… Even Dr. Reynolds and the brats at the orphanage had not got a dime. Yep, everything was hers, the mansion, the cars, the stocks, the money It was all hers and nobody was going to take it from her. Her daddy had always told her to do what it took to get ahead, and not let anyone or anything stand in her way. And this girl from the wrong side of the tracks hadn’t. Her daddy had taught her well… Suddenly she was jogged from her thoughts, by the voice on the phone. “ Banatelli’s may I help you?” “You certainly can, I want you to do something about this package.” ”Package?” “ Package, what package?” Came the confused reply.: “The package that I have been sending back to your store and keeps coming back you idiot.”” Mam, I’m afraid I don’t know what your talking about, but I can connect you to Mr. Williams, the store manager,”” Maybe, he can sort this problem out for you.” “Whatever” Victoria replied, As , she found her self in limbo land, as music droned on in her ear. Once she settled this package problem. She was headed for Europe, she already had her tickets. She had her sights set on something bigger, a rich old count in France, That she had read about. It seems he was looking for a bride and that bride was going to be her. Yes, she was going to be countess Victoria. But this time she wouldn’t use the same thing to get rid of him, she would think of something else. “Hello, is anyone there?” asked the voice on the line. “Yes I’m here.” Vicky replied. “What can I do for you miss?” “It’s Mrs. Victoria Andrews.” she corrected. “That’s fine, what can I do for you Mrs. Andrews.?” “ You can do something about this stinking package, that I keep sending back to your store, that keeps coming back!.” She screamed into the phone. “No need to get upset Mrs. Andrews, I am sure we can sort this problem out.” “Here at Banatelli’s our moto is Satisfaction Guaranteed.” “ Yeah, right,“ Vicky hissed into the phone. ”Well Mr. Williams, I am not satisfied and I want something done about this package.“ “And I want it now…” Very well, Mrs .Andrews, I’ll see what I can do.” Who is the package addressed to?” “It’s addressed to my dead husband, that’s who it’s addressed to.” ” I see, “And what was your husbands name?” ” Mr. George Andrews, “ Vicky hissed into the phone again. “ well Mrs. Andrews, give me a little time to look into the matter and I will call you back.” ” What is your number?” ” It’s 315-9241“ “Very, well ,I’ll get back to you shortly.” “ Is that all right Mrs. Andrews?” “I guess it will have to be.” ”Won’t it?” As she waited for a reply, she realized the line had gone dead. Slamming the phone down in disgust, she headed off to her bedroom to lie down for a while, this whole irritating episode, had given her a migraine. When she woke up, she wasn’t sure how long, she had been asleep, but it was dark outside and there had been no phone call from Mr. Williams of Banatelli’s. Of all the colossal nerve she thought, looking at the clock next to the bed, she saw it was only 8:00 P. M. She knew they would still be open and she was going to give Mr. Williams a thrashing. Picking up the receiver of her pink phone, she once again dialed their number for the second time that day. If he thought she was mad before, wait till she talked to him this time. Once again the line rang, incessantly as she waited for them to answer the line. Geez, she thought to herself, don’t they have more than one person to answer the phone. Of course not, they were morons! And morons never thought of stuff like that. Once again she drummed her fingers, waiting for someone to answer. Just as she was about to hang up, she heard the voice on the other end. “Banatelli’s, may I help you?” ”Yes you can” she screamed. “I want to talk to your store manager Mr. Williams.” ”Mr. Williams mam?“ ’I’m afraid, we don’t have a Mr. Williams here.” ” Of course you do, you idiot, I spoke to him earlier today.” “And he was supposed to call me back, and he didn’t.” ”Well I am sorry about that, but we have no Mr. Williams here. ” It was all Vicky could do, to keep from exploding…” Then connect me to someone else, you moron..“ ”Who, would you like to speak to mam?” ”Someone who can help me.” ”Very well, I’ll connect you to Mr. Johnson, I’m sure, he will be able to help you.” ”What ever, just do it.” “And do it now!” ”Yes mam.” Came the haggard reply on the other end. What a peon, she thought to herself and she hated dealing with peon’s. Again she found herself resigned to limo land, as the music droned on and it was not even good music, it was the crap they played in elevators. And she hated that too… Boy was she going to tell the jerk that answered a thing or to, if he answered. Once again, as she was about to give up, she heard a mans voice, come over the line.” Banatelli’s, this is Mr. Johnson, may I help you?” Though the guy on the other end had a sexy voice, she was not going to let that sway her. ”Yes you can,“ She screamed into the phone again.” “Some jerk calling himself, Mr. Williams and saying ,he was the store manager, was supposed to call me back and take care of a problem ,I am having with a package from, your store.” “ Mr. Williams, we have no Mr. Williams here. I am the store manager Mr. Johnson and you have not spoken to me.” “I know that you, jerk, tell me something, I don’t already know.” “Like how to get rid of this lousy package, I keep returning it to your store and it keeps coming back!” ”Very, well, I’ll see what I can do, about this package and the problem you are having with it.” ” Well, it’s about time.” ”Your not going to call me back are you?” ”No, we can take care of it now.” ”Do you have the package there?” “Yes I do.” Thank goodness she had, the foresight to have brought it, up stairs with her, otherwise, she would have had to tromp back down stairs and waste even more time. And she wanted this matter settled once and for all, as she was running out of time, her trip was scheduled in a matter of days. “Mam, are you still there?” ” Of course, I am, where else would I be?” ” I need you to open the package and give me the invoice number ,in it, so I can straighten this out for you.” ” But ,if I open it up, you won’t take it back.” ”No need to worry mam, we will send, you a new shipping label and take it back.”” Are you sure?” she asked. “Yes, I’m sure, just open the package and get the invoice number, so we can get to the bottom of this.” “Maybe it’s something, that was ordered for you and you won’t want to return it.” ” No it’s addressed to my deceased husband George. ”she replied, And that miser would not have bought her anything, he was to cheap. That’s why he was so rich, he hung on to every cent. She had not know that, when she had married him, she had expected to be showered with ,affection and wealth. And she had not gotten neither, that’s why she had killed the jerk. She had tired of waiting for him to die, to inherit his estate. “Do, you have the package?” “Yes, I have it.” “Then open it up and give me the number, so we can get this settled.” “I can’t help you, if you don’t open the package.” Picking up the package, Vicky proceeded to rip it open, but all she saw was lot’s of excelsior.” There’s nothing in here, but packing material.” “ I’m sure there is ,if it is from us, we do not send out empty packages.” ”Dig a little deeper, “ I’m Sure you will find the item.” Eager to get this over with, Vicky rammed her fingers down into, the package, searching for it’s contents. Suddenly she felt a painful prick on her finger, as she pulled out the packing, she couldn’t believe what she saw. A small black widow spider. ”No!” “No!” she screamed, she was allergic to spiders ,deadly allergic.” Mam, are you there?” ”Are you alright? “But all that came across the line was silence… Dead silence… ”Well ,our client, Dr. Reynolds and the children at the orphanage will be pleased .” Mr. Williams said as he turned to his secretary. “Well, Miss, Grey it looks like we have disposed of Mrs. Victoria Andrews, once and for all.” “And when they finally find her body and look in the box they will find nothing there, just an empty package, that someone forgot to put something in.” And since there in no such place as, Banatelli‘s ,there are no clues to lead them to us. All they will find is an empty warehouse.” “It’s like our moto says. ”Satisfaction Guaranteed.” Publication Date: July 14th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-melindadawnmardars

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Alexandre Dumas père Derues Celebrated Crimes DERUES One September afternoon in 1751, towards half-past five, about a score of small boys, chattering, pushing, and tumbling over one another like a covey of partridges, issued from one of the religious schools of Chartres. The joy of the little troop just escaped from a long and wearisome captivity was doubly great: a slight accident to one of the teachers had caused the class to be dismissed half an hour earlier than usual, and in consequence of the extra work thrown on the teaching staff the brother whose duty it was to see all the scholars safe home was compelled to omit that part of his daily task. Therefore not only thirty or forty minutes were stolen from work, but there was also unexpected, uncontrolled liberty, free from the surveillance of that black-cassocked overseer who kept order in their ranks. Thirty minutes! at that age it is a century, of laughter and prospective games! Each had promised solemnly, under pain of severe punishment, to return straight to his paternal nest without delay, but the air was so fresh and pure, the country smiled all around! The school, or preferably the cage, which had just opened, lay at the extreme edge of one of the suburbs, and it only required a few steps to slip under a cluster of trees by a sparkling brook beyond which rose undulating ground, breaking the monotony of a vast and fertile plain. Was it possible to be obedient, to refrain from the desire to spread one's wings? The scent of the meadows mounted to the heads of the steadiest among them, and intoxicated even the most timid. It was resolved to betray the confidence of the reverend fathers, even at the risk of disgrace and punishment next morning, supposing the escapade were discovered. A flock of sparrows suddenly released from a cage could not have flown more wildly into the little wood. They were all about the same age, the eldest might be nine. They flung off coats and waistcoats, and the grass became strewn with baskets, copy-books, dictionaries, and catechisms. While the crowd of fair-haired heads, of fresh and smiling faces, noisily consulted as to which game should be chosen, a boy who had taken no part in the general gaiety, and who had been carried away by the rush without being able to escape sooner, glided slyly away among the trees, and, thinking himself unseen, was beating a hasty retreat, when one of his comrades cried out-- "Antoine is running away!" Two of the best runners immediately started in pursuit, and the fugitive, notwithstanding his start, was speedily overtaken, seized by his collar, and brought back as a deserter. "Where were you going?" the others demanded. "Home to my cousins," replied the boy; "there is no harm in that." "You canting sneak!" said another boy, putting his fist under the captive's chin; "you were going to the master to tell of us." "Pierre," responded Antoine, "you know quite well I never tell lies." "Indeed!--only this morning you pretended I had taken a book you had lost, and you did it because I kicked you yesterday, and you didn't dare to kick me back again." Antoine lifted his eyes to heaven, and folding his arms on his breast-- "Dear Buttel," he said, "you are mistaken; I have always been taught to forgive injuries." "Listen, listen! he might be saying his prayers!" cried the other boys; and a volley of offensive epithets, enforced by cuffs, was hurled at the culprit. Pierre Buttel, whose influence was great, put a stop to this onslaught. "Look here, Antoine, you are a bad lot, that we all know; you are a sneak and a hypocrite. It's time we put a stop to it. Take off your coat and fight it out. If you like, we will fight every morning and evening till the end of the month." The proposition was loudly applauded, and Pierre, turning up his sleeves as far as his elbows, prepared to suit actions to words. The challenger assuredly did not realise the full meaning, of his words; had he done so, this chivalrous defiance would simply have been an act of cowardice on his part, for there could be no doubt as to the victor in such a conflict. The one was a boy of alert and gallant bearing, strong upon his legs, supple and muscular, a vigorous man in embryo; while the other, not quite so old, small, thin, of a sickly leaden complexion, seemed as if he might be blown away by a strong puff of wind. His skinny arms and legs hung on to his body like the claws of a spider, his fair hair inclined to red, his white skin appeared nearly bloodless, and the consciousness of weakness made him timid, and gave a shifty, uneasy look to his eyes. His whole expression was uncertain, and looking only at his face it was difficult at first sight to decide to which sex he belonged. This confusion of two natures, this indefinable mixture of feminine weakness without grace, and of abortive boyhood, seemed to stamp him as something exceptional, unclassable, and once observed, it was difficult to take one's eyes from him. Had he been endowed with physical strength he would have been a terror to his comrades, exercising by fear the ascendancy which Pierre owed to his joyous temper and unwearied gaiety, for this mean exterior concealed extraordinary powers of will and dissimulation. Guided by instinct, the other children hung about Pierre and willingly accepted his leadership; by instinct also they avoided Antoine, repelled by a feeling of chill, as if from the neighbourhood of a reptile, and shunning him unless to profit in some way by their superior strength. Never would he join their games without compulsion; his thin, colourless lips seldom parted for a laugh, and even at that tender age his smile had an unpleasantly sinister expression. "Will you fight?" again demanded Pierre. Antoine glanced hastily round; there was no chance of escape, a double ring enclosed him. To accept or refuse seemed about equally risky; he ran a good chance of a thrashing whichever way he decided. Although his heart beat loudly, no trace of emotion appeared on his pallid cheek; an unforeseen danger would have made him shriek, but he had had time to collect himself, time to shelter behind hypocrisy. As soon as he could lie and cheat he recovered courage, and the instinct of cunning, once roused, prevailed over everything else. Instead of answering this second challenge, he knelt down and said to Pierre-- "You are much stronger than I am." This submission disarmed his antagonist. "Get up," he replied; "I won't touch you, if you can't defend yourself. "Pierre," continued Antoine, still on his knees, "I assure you, by God and the Holy Virgin, I was not going to tell. I was going home to my cousins to learn my lessons for to-morrow; you know how slow I am. If you think I have done you any harm, I ask your forgiveness." Pierre held out his hand and made him get up. "Will you be a good fellow, Antoine, and play with us?" "Yes, I will." "All right, then; let us forget all about it." "What are we to play at?" asked Antoine, taking off his coat. "Thieves and archers," cried one of the boys.... "Splendid!" said Pierre; and using his acknowledged authority, he divided them into two sides--ten highwaymen, whom he was to command, and ten archers of the guard, who were to pursue them; Antoine was among the latter. The highwaymen, armed with swords and guns obtained from the willows which grew along the brook, moved off first, and gained the valleys between the little hills beyond the wood. The fight was to be serious, and any prisoner on either side was to be tried immediately. The robbers divided into twos and threes, and hid themselves in the ravines. A few minutes later the archers started in pursuit. There were encounters, surprises, skirmishes; but whenever it came to close quarters, Pierre's men, skilfully distributed, united on hearing his whistle, and the Army of justice had to retreat. But there came a time when this magic signal was no longer heard, and the robbers became uneasy, and remained crouching in their hiding-places. Pierre, over-daring, had undertaken to defend alone the entrance of a dangerous passage and to stop the whole hostile troop there. Whilst he kept them engaged, half of his men, concealed on the left, were to come round the foot of the hill and make a rush on hearing his whistle; the other half, also stationed at some, little distance, were to execute the same manoeuvre from above. The archers would be caught in a trap, and attacked both in front and rear, would be obliged to surrender at discretion. Chance, which not unfrequently decides the fate of a battle, defeated this excellent stratagem. Watching intently; Pierre failed to perceive that while his whole attention was given to the ground in front, the archers had taken an entirely different road from the one they ought to have followed if his combination were to succeed. They suddenly fell upon him from behind, and before he could blow his whistle, they gagged him with a handkerchief and tied his hands. Six remained to keep the field of battle and disperse the hostile band, now deprived of its chief; the remaining four conveyed Pierre to the little wood, while the robbers, hearing no signal, did not venture to stir. According to agreement, Pierre Buttel was tried by the archers, who promptly transformed themselves into a court of justice, and as he had been taken red-handed, and did not condescend to defend himself, the trial was not a long affair. He was unanimously sentenced to be hung, and the execution was then and there carried out, at the request of the criminal himself, who wanted the game to be properly played to the end, and who actually selected a suitable tree for his own execution. "But, Pierre," said one of the judges, "how can you be held up there?" "How stupid you are!" returned the captive. "I shall only pretend to be hung, of course. See here!" and he fastened together several pieces strong string which had tied some of the other boys' books, piled the latter together, and standing on tiptoe on this very insecure basis, fastened one end of the cord to a horizontal bough, and put his neck into a running knot at the other end, endeavouring to imitate the contortions of an actual sufferer. Shouts of laughter greeted him, and the victim laughed loudest of all. Three archers went to call the rest to behold this amusing spectacle; one, tired out, remained with the prisoner. "Ah, Hangman," said Pierre, putting out his tongue at him, "are the books firm? I thought I felt them give way." "No," replied Antoine; it was he who remained. "Don't be afraid, Pierre." "It is a good thing; for if they fell I don't think the cord is long enough." "Don't you really think so?" A horrible thought showed itself like a flash on the child's face. He resembled a young hyena scenting blood for the first time. He glanced at the pile of books Pierre was standing on, and compared it with the length of the cord between the branch and his neck. It was already nearly dark, the shadows were deepening in the wood, gleams of pale light penetrated between the trees, the leaves had become black and rustled in the wind. Antoine stood silent and motionless, listening if any sound could be heard near them. It would be a curious study for the moralist to observe how the first thought of crime develops itself in the recesses of the human heart, and how this poisoned germ grows and stifles all other sentiments; an impressive lesson might be gathered from this struggle of two opposing principles, however weak it may be, in perverted natures. In cases where judgment can discern, where there is power to choose between good and evil, the guilty person has only himself to blame, and the most heinous crime is only the action of its perpetrator. It is a human action, the result of passions which might have been controlled, and one's mind is not uncertain, nor one's conscience doubtful, as to the guilt. But how can one conceive this taste for murder in a young child, how imagine it, without being tempted to exchange the idea of eternal sovereign justice for that of blind-fatality? How can one judge without hesitation between the moral sense which has given way and the instinct which displays itself? how not exclaim that the designs of a Creator who retains the one and impels the other are sometimes mysterious and inexplicable, and that one must submit without understanding? "Do you hear them coming?" asked Pierre. "I hear nothing," replied Antoine, and a nervous shiver ran through all his members. "So much the worse. I am tired of being dead; I shall come to life and run after them. Hold the books, and I will undo the noose." "If you move, the books will separate; wait, I will hold them." And he knelt down, and collecting all his strength, gave the pile a violent push. Pierre endeavoured to raise his hands to his throat. "What are you doing?" he cried in a suffocating voice. "I am paying you out;" replied Antoine, folding his arms. Pierre's feet were only a few inches from the ground, and the weight of his body at first bent the bough for a moment; but it rose again, and the unfortunate boy exhausted himself in useless efforts. At every movement the knot grew tighter, his legs struggled, his arms sought vainly something to lay hold of; then his movements slackened, his limbs stiffened, and his hands sank down. Of so much life and vigour nothing remained but the movement of an inert mass turning round and round upon itself. Not till then did Antoine cry for help, and when the other boys hastened up they found him crying and tearing his hair. So violent indeed were his sobs and his despair that he could hardly be understood as he tried to explain how the books had given way under Pierre, and how he had vainly endeavoured to support him in his arms. This boy, left an orphan at three years old, had been brought up at first by a relation who turned him out for theft; afterwards by two sisters, his cousins, who were already beginning to take alarm at his abnormal perversity. This pale and fragile being, an incorrigible thief, a consummate hypocrite, and a cold-blooded assassin, was predestined to an immortality of crime, and was to find a place among the most execrable monsters for whom humanity has ever had to blush; his name was Antoine-Francois Derues. Twenty years had gone by since this horrible and mysterious event, which no one sought to unravel at the time it occurred. One June evening, 1771, four persons were sitting in one of the rooms of a modestly furnished, dwelling on the third floor of a house in the rue Saint-Victor. The party consisted of three women and an ecclesiastic, who boarded, for meals only, with the woman who tenanted the dwelling; the other two were near neighbours. They were all friends, and often met thus in the evening to play cards. They were sitting round the card-table, but although it was nearly ten o'clock the cards had not yet been touched. They spoke in low tones, and a half-interrupted confidence had, this evening, put a check on the usual gaiety. Someone knocked gently at the door, although no sound of steps on the creaking wooden staircase had been heard, and a wheedling voice asked for admittance. The occupier of the room, Madame Legrand, rose, and admitted a man of about six-and-twenty, at whose appearance the four friends exchanged glances, at once observed by the new-comer, who affected, however, not to see them. He bowed successively to the three women, and several times with the utmost respect to the abbe, making signs of apology for the interruption caused by his appearance; then, coughing several times, he turned to Madame Legrand, and said in a feeble voice, which seemed to betoken much suffering-- "My kind mistress, will you and these other ladies excuse my presenting myself at such an hour and in such a costume? I am ill, and I was obliged to get up." His costume was certainly singular enough: he was wrapped in a large dressing-gown of flowered chintz; his head was adorned by a nightcap drawn up at the top and surmounted by a muslin frill. His appearance did not contradict his complaint of illness; he was barely four feet six in height, his limbs were bony, his face sharp, thin, and pale. Thus attired, coughing incessantly, dragging his feet as if he had no strength to lift them, holding a lighted candle in one hand and an egg in the other, he suggested a caricature-some imaginary invalid just escaped from M. Purgon. Nevertheless, no one ventured to smile, notwithstanding his valetudinarian appearance and his air of affected humility. The perpetual blinking of the yellow eyelids which fell over the round and hollow eyes, shining with a sombre fire which he could never entirely suppress, reminded one of a bird of prey unable to face the light, and the lines of his face, the hooked nose, and the thin, constantly quivering, drawn-in lips suggested a mixture of boldness and baseness, of cunning and sincerity. But there is no book which can instruct one to read the human countenance correctly; and some special circumstance must have roused the suspicions of these four persons so much as to cause them to make these observations, and they were not as usual deceived by the humbug of this skilled actor, a past master in the art of deception. He continued after a moment's silence, as if he did not wish to interrupt their mute observation-- "Will you oblige me by a neighbourly kindness?" "What is it, Derues?" asked Madame Legrand. A violent cough, which appeared to rend his chest, prevented him from answering immediately. When it ceased, he looked at the abbe, and said, with a melancholy smile-- "What I ought to ask in my present state of health is your blessing, my father, and your intercession for the pardon of my sins. But everyone clings to the life which God has given him. We do not easily abandon hope; moreover, I have always considered it wrong to neglect such means of preserving our lives as are in our power, since life is for us only a time of trial, and the longer and harder the trial the greater our recompense in a better world. Whatever befalls us, our answer should be that of the Virgin Mary to the angel who announced the mystery of the Incarnation: 'Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be it unto me according to Thy word.'" "You are right," said the abbe, with a severe and inquisitorial look, under which Derues remained quite untroubled; "it is an attribute of God to reward and to punish, and the Almighty is not deceived by him who deceives men. The Psalmist has said, 'Righteous art Thou, O Lord, and upright are Thy judgments.'" "He has said also, 'The judgments of the Lord are true and righteous altogether,'" Derues promptly replied. This exchange of quotations from Scripture might have lasted for hours without his being at a loss, had the abbe thought fit to continue in this strain; but such a style of conversation, garnished with grave and solemn words, seemed almost sacrilegious in the mouth of a man of such ridiculous appearance--a profanation at once sad and grotesque. Derues seemed to comprehend the impression it produced, and tuning again to Madame Legrand, he said-- "We have got a long way from what I came to ask you, my kind friend. I was so ill that I went early to bed, but I cannot sleep, and I have no fire. Would you have the kindness to have this egg mulled for me?" "Cannot your servant do that for you?" asked Madame Legrand. "I gave her leave to go out this evening, and though it is late she has not yet returned. If I had a fire, I would not give you so much trouble, but I do not care to light one at this hour. You know I am always afraid of accidents, and they so easily happen!" "Very well, then," replied Madame Legrand; "go back to your room, and my servant will bring it to you." "Thank you," said Derues, bowing,--"many thanks." As he turned to depart, Madame Legrand spoke again. "This day week, Derues, you have to pay me half the twelve hundred livres due for the purchase of my business." "So soon as that?" "Certainly, and I want the money. Have you forgotten the date, then?" "Oh dear, I have never looked at the agreement since it was drawn up. I did not think the time was so near, it is the fault of my bad memory; but I will contrive to pay you, although trade is very bad, and in three days I shall have to pay more than fifteen thousand livres to different people." He bowed again and departed, apparently exhausted by the effort of sustaining so long a conversation. As soon as they were alone, the abbe exclaimed-- "That man is assuredly an utter rascal! May God forgive him his hypocrisy! How is it possible we could allow him to deceive us for so long?" "But, my father," interposed one of the visitors, "are you really sure of what you have just said?" "I am not now speaking of the seventy-nine Louis d'or which have been stolen from me, although I never mentioned to anyone but you, and he was then present, that I possessed such a sum, and although that very day he made a false excuse for coming to my rooms when I was out. Theft is indeed infamous, but slander is not less so, and he has slandered you disgracefully. Yes, he has spread a report that you, Madame Legrand, you, his former mistress and benefactress, have put temptation in his way, and desired to commit carnal sin with him. This is now whispered the neighbourhood all round us, it will soon be said aloud, and we have been so completely his dupes, we have helped him so much to acquire a reputation for uprightness, that it would now be impossible to destroy our own work; if I were to accuse him of theft, and you charged him with lying, probably neither of us would be believed. Beware, these odious tales have not been spread without a reason. Now that your eyes are open, beware of him." "Yes," replied Madame Legrand, "my brother-in-law warned me three years ago. One day Derues said to my sister-in-law,--I remember the words perfectly,--'I should like to be a druggist, because one would always be able to punish an enemy; and if one has a quarrel with anyone it would be easy to get rid of him by means of a poisoned draught.' I neglected these warnings. I surmounted the feeling of repugnance I first felt at the sight of him; I have responded to his advances, and I greatly fear I may have cause to repent it. But you know him as well as I do, who would not have thought his piety sincere?--who would not still think so? And notwithstanding all you have said, I still hesitate to feel serious alarm; I am unwilling to believe in such utter depravity." The conversation continued in this strain for some time, and then, as it was getting late, the party separated. Next morning early, a large and noisy crowd was assembled in the rue Saint-Victor before Derues' shop of drugs and groceries. There was a confusion of cross questions, of inquiries which obtained no answer, of answers not addressed to the inquiry, a medley of sound, a pell-mell of unconnected words, of affirmations, contradictions, and interrupted narrations. Here, a group listened to an orator who held forth in his shirt sleeves, a little farther there were disputes, quarrels, exclamations of "Poor man!" "Such a good fellow!" "My poor gossip Derues!" "Good heavens! what will he do now?" "Alas! he is quite done for; it is to be hoped his creditors will give him time!" Above all this uproar was heard a voice, sharp and piercing like a cat's, lamenting, and relating with sobs the terrible misfortune of last night. At about three in the morning the inhabitants of the rue St. Victor had been startled out of their sleep by the cry of "Fire, fire!" A conflagration had burst forth in Derues' cellar, and though its progress had been arrested and the house saved from destruction, all the goods stored therein had perished. It apparently meant a considerable loss in barrels of oil, casks of brandy, boxes of soap, etc., which Derues estimated at not less than nine thousand livres. By what unlucky chance the fire had been caused he had no idea. He recounted his visit to Madame Legrand, and pale, trembling, hardly able to sustain himself, he cried-- "I shall die of grief! A poor man as ill as I am! I am lost! I am ruined!" A harsh voice interrupted his lamentations, and drew the attention of the crowd to a woman carrying printed broadsides, and who forced a passage through the crowd up to the shop door. She unfolded one of her sheets, and cried as loudly and distinctly as her husky voice permitted-- "Sentence pronounced by the Parliament of Paris against John Robert Cassel, accused and convicted of Fraudulent Bankruptcy!" Derues looked up and saw a street-hawker who used to come to his shop for a drink, and with whom he had had a violent quarrel about a month previously, she having detected him in a piece of knavery, and abused him roundly in her own style, which was not lacking in energy. He had not seen her since. The crowd generally, and all the gossips of the quarter, who held Derues in great veneration, thought that the woman's cry was intended as an indirect insult, and threatened to punish her for this irreverence. But, placing one hand on her hip, and with the other warning off the most pressing by a significant gesture-- "Are you still befooled by his tricks, fools that you are? Yes, no doubt there was a fire in the cellar last night, no doubt his creditors will be geese enough to let him off paying his debts! But what you don't know is, that he didn't really lose by it at all!" "He lost all his goods!" the crowd cried on all sides. "More than nine thousand livres! Oil and brandy, do you think those won't burn? The old witch, she drinks enough to know! If one put a candle near her she would take fire, fast enough!" "Perhaps," replied the woman, with renewed gesticulations, "perhaps; but I don't advise any of you to try. Anyhow, this fellow here is a rogue; he has been emptying his cellar for the last three nights; there were only old empty casks in it and empty packing-cases! Oh yes! I have swallowed his daily lies like everybody else, but I know the truth by now. He got his liquor taken away by Michael Lambourne's son, the cobbler in the rue de la Parcheminerie. How do I know? Why, because the young man came and told me!" "I turned that woman out of my shop a month ago, for stealing," said Derues. Notwithstanding this retaliatory accusation, the woman's bold assertion might have changed the attitude of the crowd and chilled the enthusiasm, but at that moment a stout man pressed forward, and seizing the hawker by the arm, said-- "Go, and hold your tongue, backbiting woman!" To this man, the honour of Derues was an article of faith; he had not yet ceased to wonder at the probity of this sainted person, and to doubt it in the least was as good as suspecting his own. "My dear friend," he said, "we all know what to think of you. I know you well. Send to me tomorrow, and you shall have what goods you want, on credit, for as long as is necessary. Now, evil tongue, what do you say to that?" "I say that you are as great a fool as the rest. Adieu, friend Derues; go on as you have begun, and I shall be selling your 'sentence' some day," and dispersing the crowd with a few twirls of her right arm, she passed on, crying-- "Sentence pronounced by the Parliament of Paris against John Robert Cassel, accused and convicted of Fraudulent Bankruptcy!" This accusation emanated from too insignificant a quarter to have any effect on Derues' reputation. However resentful he may have been at the time, he got over it in consequence of the reiterated marks of interest shown by his neighbours and all the quarter on account of his supposed ruin, and the hawker's attack passed out of his mind, or probably she might have paid for her boldness with her life. But this drunken woman had none the less uttered a prophetic word; it was the grain of sand on which, later, he was to be shipwrecked. "All passions," says La Bruyere,--"all passions are deceitful; they disguise themselves as much as possible from the public eye; they hide from themselves. There is no vice which has not a counterfeit resemblance to some virtue, and which does not profit by it." The whole life of Derues bears testimony to the truth of this observation. An avaricious poisoner, he attracted his victims by the pretence of fervent and devoted piety, and drew them into the snare where he silently destroyed them. His terrible celebrity only began in 1777, caused by the double murder of Madame de Lamotte and her son, and his name, unlike those of some other great criminals, does not at first recall a long series of crimes, but when one examines this low, crooked, and obscure life, one finds a fresh stain at every step, and perhaps no one has ever surpassed him in dissimulation, in profound hypocrisy, in indefatigable depravity. Derues was executed at thirty-two, and his whole life was steeped in vice; though happily so short, it is full of horror, and is only a tissue of criminal thoughts and deeds, a very essence of evil. He had no hesitation, no remorse, no repose, no relaxation; he seemed compelled to lie, to steal, to poison! Occasionally suspicion is aroused, the public has its doubts, and vague rumours hover round him; but he burrows under new impostures, and punishment passes by. When he falls into the hands of human justice his reputation protects him, and for a few days more the legal sword is turned aside. Hypocrisy is so completely a part of his nature, that even when there is no longer any hope, when he is irrevocably sentenced, and he knows that he can no longer deceive anyone, neither mankind nor Him whose name he profanes by this last sacrilege, he yet exclaims, "O Christ! I shall suffer even as Thou." It is only by the light of his funeral pyre that the dark places of his life can be examined, that this bloody plot is unravelled, and that other victims, forgotten and lost in the shadows, arise like spectres at the foot of the scaffold, and escort the assassin to his doom. Let us trace rapidly the history of Derues' early years, effaced and forgotten in the notoriety of his death. These few pages are not written for the glorification of crime, and if in our own days, as a result of the corruption of our manners, and of a deplorable confusion of all notions of right and wrong, it has been sought to make him an object; of public interest, we, on our part, only wish to bring him into notice, and place him momentarily on a pedestal, in order to cast him still lower, that his fall may be yet greater. What has been permitted by God may be related by man. Decaying and satiated communities need not be treated as children; they require neither diplomatic handling nor precaution, and it may be good that they should see and touch the putrescent sores which canker them. Why fear to mention that which everyone knows? Why dread to sound the abyss which can be measured by everyone? Why fear to bring into the light of day unmasked wickedness, even though it confronts the public gaze unblushingly? Extreme turpitude and extreme excellence are both in the schemes of Providence; and the poet has summed up eternal morality for all ages and nations in this sublime exclamation-- "Abstulit hunc tandem Rufini poem tumultum." Besides, and we cannot insist too earnestly that our intention must not be mistaken, if we had wished to inspire any other sentiment than that of horror, we should have chosen a more imposing personage from the annals of crime. There have been deeds which required audacity, a sort of grandeur, a false heroism; there have been criminals who held in check all the regular and legitimate forces of society, and whom one regarded with a mixture of terror and pity. There is nothing of that in Derues, not even a trace of courage; nothing but a shameless cupidity, exercising itself at first in the theft of a few pence filched from the poor; nothing but the illicit gains and rascalities of a cheating shopkeeper and vile money-lender, a depraved cowardice which dared not strike openly, but slew in the dark. It is the story of an unclean reptile which drags itself underground, leaving everywhere the trail of its poisonous saliva. Such was the man whose life we have undertaken to narrate, a man who represents a complete type of wickedness, and who corresponds to the most hideous sketch ever devised by poet or romance-writer: Facts without importance of their own, which would be childish if recorded of anyone else, obtain a sombre reflection from other facts which precede them, and thenceforth cannot be passed over in silence. The historian is obliged to collect and note them, as showing the logical development of this degraded being: he unites them in sequence, and counts the successive steps of the ladder mounted by the criminal. We have seen the early exploit of this assassin by instinct; we find him, twenty years later, an incendiary and a fraudulent bankrupt. What had happened in the interval? With how much treachery and crime had he filled this space of twenty years? Let us return to his infancy. His unconquerable taste for theft caused him to be expelled by the relations who had taken charge of him. An anecdote is told which shows his impudence and incurable perversity. One day he was caught taking some money, and was soundly whipped by his cousins. When this was over, the child, instead of showing any sorrow or asking forgiveness, ran away with a sneer, and seeing they were out of breath, exclaimed-- "You are tired, are you? Well, I am not!" Despairing of any control over this evil disposition, the relations refused to keep him, and sent him to Chartres, where two other cousins agreed to have him, out of charity. They were simpleminded women, of great and sincere piety, who imagined that good example and religious teaching might have a happy influence on their young relation. The result was contrary to their expectation: the sole fruit of their teaching was that Derues learnt to be a cheat and a hypocrite, and to assume the mask of respectability. Here also repeated thefts insured him sound corrections. Knowing his cousins' extreme economy, not to say avarice, he mocked them when they broke a lath over his shoulders: "There now, I am so glad; that will cost you two farthings!" His benefactresses' patience becoming exhausted, he left their house, and was apprenticed to a tinman at Chartres. His master died, and an ironmonger of the same town took him as shop-boy, and from this he passed on to a druggist and grocer. Until now, although fifteen years old, he had shown no preference for one trade more than another, but it was now necessary he should choose some profession, and his share in the family property amounted to the modest sum of three thousand five hundred livres. His residence with this last master revealed a decided taste, but it was only another evil instinct developing itself: the poisoner had scented poison, being always surrounded with drugs which were health-giving or hurtful, according to the use made of them. Derues would probably have settled at Chartres, but repeated thefts obliged him to leave the town. The profession of druggist and grocer being one which presented most chances of fortune, and being, moreover, adapted to his tastes, his family apprenticed him to a grocer in the rue Comtesse d'Artois, paying a specified premium for him. Derues arrived in Paris in 1760. It was a new horizon, where he was unknown; no suspicion attached to him, and he felt much at his ease. Lost in the noise and the crowd of this immense receptacle for every vice, he had time to found on hypocrisy his reputation as an honest man. When his apprenticeship expired, his master proposed to place him with his sister-in-law, who kept a similar establishment in the rue St. Victor, and who had been a widow for several years. He recommended Derues as a young man whose zeal and intelligence might be useful in her business, being ignorant of various embezzlements committed by his late apprentice, who was always clever enough to cast suspicion on others. But the negotiation nearly fell through, because, one day, Derues so far forgot his usual prudence and dissimulation as to allow himself to make the observation recorded above to his mistress. She, horrified, ordered him to be silent, and threatened to ask her husband to dismiss him. It required a double amount of hypocrisy to remove this unfavourable impression; but he spared no pains to obtain the confidence of the sister-in-law, who was much influenced in his favour. Every day he inquired what could be done for her, every evening he took a basket-load of the goods she required from the rue Comtesse d'Artois; and it excited the pity of all beholders to see this weakly young man, panting and sweating under his heavy burden, refusing any reward, and labouring merely for the pleasure of obliging, and from natural kindness of heart! The poor widow, whose spoils he was already coveting, was completely duped. She rejected the advice of her brother-in-law, and only listened to the concert of praises sung by neighbours much edified by Derues' conduct, and touched by the interest he appeared to show her. Often he found occasion to speak of her, always with the liveliest expressions of boundless devotion. These remarks were repeated to the good woman, and seemed all the more sincere to her as they appeared to have been made quite casually, and she never suspected they were carefully calculated and thought out long before. Derues carried dishonesty as far as possible, but he knew how to stop when suspicion was likely to be aroused, and though always planning either to deceive or to hurt, he was never taken by surprise. Like the spider which spreads the threads of her web all round her, he concealed himself in a net of falsehood which one had to traverse before arriving at his real nature. The evil destiny of this poor woman, mother of four children, caused her to engage him as her shopman in the year 1767, thereby signing the warrant for her own ruin. Derues began life under his new mistress with a master-stroke. His exemplary piety was the talk of the whole quarter, and his first care had been to request Madame Legrand to recommend him a confessor. She sent him to the director of her late husband, Pere Cartault, of the Carmelite order, who, astonished at the devotion of his penitent, never failed, if he passed the shop, to enter and congratulate Madame Legrand on the excellent acquisition she had made in securing this young man, who would certainly bring her a blessing along with him. Derues affected the greatest modesty, and blushed at these praises, and often, when he saw the good father approaching, appeared not to see him, and found something to do elsewhere; whereby the field was left clear for his too credulous panegyrists. But Pere Cartault appeared too indulgent, and Derues feared that his sins were too easily pardoned; and he dared not find peace in an absolution which was never refused. Therefore, before the year was out, he chose a second confessor, Pere Denys, a Franciscan, consulting both alternately, and confiding his conscientious scruples to them. Every penance appeared too easy, and he added to those enjoined by his directors continual mortifications of his own devising, so that even Tartufe himself would have owned his superiority. He wore about him two shrouds, to which were fastened relics of Madame de Chantal, also a medal of St. Francois de Saps, and occasionally scourged himself. His mistress related that he had begged her to take a sitting at the church of St. Nicholas, in order that he might more easily attend service when he had a day out, and had brought her a small sum which he had saved, to pay half the expense. Moreover, he had slept upon straw during the whole of Lent, and took care that Madame Legrand heard of this through the servant, pretending at first to hide it as if it were something wrong. He tried to prevent the maid from going into his room, and when she found out the straw he forbade her to mention it--which naturally made her more anxious to relate her discovery. Such a piece of piety, combined with such meritorious humility, such dread of publicity, could only increase the excellent opinion which everyone already had of him. Every day was marked by some fresh hypocrisy. One of his sisters, a novice in the convent of the Ladies of the Visitation of the Virgin, was to take the veil at Easter. Derues obtained permission to be present at the ceremony, and was to start on foot on Good Friday. When he departed, the shop happened to be full of people, and the gossips of the neighbourhood inquired where he was going. Madame Legrand desired him to have a glass of liqueur (wine he never touched) and something to eat before starting. "Oh, madame!" he exclaimed, "do you think I could eat on a day like this, the day on which Christ was crucified! I will take a piece of bread with me, but I shall only eat it at the inn where I intend to sleep: I mean to fast the whole way." But this kind of thing was not sufficient. He wanted an opportunity to establish a reputation for honesty on a firm basis. Chance provided one, and he seized it immediately, although at the expense of a member of his own family. One of his brothers, who kept a public-house at Chartres, came to see him. Derues, under pretence of showing him the sights of Paris, which he did not know, asked his mistress to allow him to take in the brother for a few days, which she granted. The last evening of his stay, Derues went up to his room, broke open the box which contained his clothes, turned over everything it contained, examined the clothes, and discovering two new cotton nightcaps, raised a cry which brought up the household. His brother just then returned, and Derues called him an infamous thief, declaring that he had stolen the money for these new articles out of the shop the evening before. His brother defended himself, protesting his innocence, and, indignant at such incomprehensible treachery, endeavoured to turn the tables by relating some of Antoine's early misdeeds. The latter, however, stopped him, by declaring on his honour that he had seen his brother the evening before go to the till, slip his hand in, and take out some money. The brother was confounded and silenced by so audacious a lie; he hesitated, stammered, and was turned out of the house. Derues worthily crowned this piece of iniquity by obliging his mistress to accept the restitution of the stolen money. It cost him three livres, twelve sons, but the interest it brought him was the power of stealing unsuspected. That evening he spent in prayer for the pardon of his brother's supposed guilt. All these schemes had succeeded, and brought him nearer to the desired goal, for not a soul in the quarter ventured to doubt the word of this saintly individual. His fawning manners and insinuating language varied according to the people addressed. He adapted himself to all, contradicting no one, and, while austere himself, he flattered the tastes of others. In the various houses where he visited his conversation was serious, grave, and sententious; and, as we have seen, he could quote Scripture with the readiness of a theologian. In the shop, when he had to deal with the lower classes, he showed himself acquainted with their modes of expression, and spoke the Billingsgate of the market-women, which he had acquired in the rue Comtesse d'Artois, treating them familiarly, and they generally addressed him as "gossip Denies." By his own account he easily judged the characters of the various people with whom he came in contact. However, Pere Cartault's prophecy was not fulfilled: the blessing of Heaven did not descend on the Legrand establishment. There seemed to be a succession of misfortunes which all Derues' zeal and care as shopman could neither prevent nor repair. He by no means contented himself with parading an idle and fruitless hypocrisy, and his most abominable deceptions were not those displayed in the light of day. He watched by night: his singular organisation, outside the ordinary laws of nature, appeared able to dispense with sleep. Gliding about on tiptoe, opening doors noiselessly, with all the skill of an accomplished thief, he pillaged shop and cellar, and sold his plunder in remote parts of the town under assumed names. It is difficult to understand how his strength supported the fatigue of this double existence; he had barely arrived at puberty, and art had been obliged to assist the retarded development of nature. But he lived only for evil, and the Spirit of Evil supplied the physical vigour which was wanting. An insane love of money (the only passion he knew) brought him by degrees back to his starting-point of crime; he concealed it in hiding-places wrought in the thick walls, in holes dug out by his nails. As soon as he got any, he brought it exactly as a wild beast brings a piece of bleeding flesh to his lair; and often, by the glimmer of a dark lantern, kneeling in adoration before this shameful idol, his eyes sparkling with ferocious joy, with a smile which suggested a hyena's delight over its prey, he would contemplate his money, counting and kissing it. These continual thefts brought trouble into the Legrand affairs, cancelled all profits, and slowly brought on ruin. The widow had no suspicion of Derues' disgraceful dealings, and he carefully referred the damage to other causes, quite worthy of himself. Sometimes it was a bottle of oil, or of brandy, or some other commodity, which was found spilt, broken, or damaged, which accidents he attributed to the enormous quantity of rats which infested the cellar and the house. At length, unable to meet her engagements, Madame Legrand made the business over to him in February, 1770. He was then twenty-five years and six months old, and was accepted as a merchant grocer in August the same year. By an agreement drawn up between them, Derues undertook to pay twelve hundred livres for the goodwill, and to lodge her rent free during the remainder of her lease, which had still nine years to run. Being thus obliged to give up business to escape bankruptcy, Madame Legrand surrendered to her creditors any goods remaining in her warehouse; and Derues easily made arrangements to take them over very cheaply. The first step thus made, he was now able to enrich himself safely and to defraud with impunity under the cover of his stolen reputation. One of his uncles, a flour merchant at Chartres, came habitually twice a year to Paris to settle accounts with his correspondents. A sum of twelve hundred francs, locked up in a drawer, was stolen from him, and, accompanied by his nephew, he went to inform the police. On investigation being made, it was found that the chest of drawers had been broken at the top. As at the time of the theft of the seventy-nine Louis from the abbe, Derues was the only person known to have entered his uncle's room. The innkeeper swore to this, but the uncle took pains to justify his nephew, and showed his confidence shortly after by becoming surety for him to the extent of five thousand livres. Derues failed to pay when the time expired, and the holder of the note was obliged to sue the surety for it. He made use of any means, even the most impudent, which enabled him to appropriate other people's property. A provincial grocer on one occasion sent him a thousand-weight of honey in barrels to be sold on commission. Two or three months passed, and he asked for an account of the sale. Derues replied that he had not yet been able to dispose of it advantageously, and there ensued a fresh delay, followed by the same question and the same reply. At length, when more than a year had passed, the grocer came to Paris, examined his barrels, and found that five hundred pounds were missing. He claimed damages from Derues, who declared he had never received any more, and as the honey had been sent in confidence, and there was no contract and no receipt to show, the provincial tradesman could not obtain compensation. As though having risen by the ruin of Madame Legrand and her four children was not enough, Derues grudged even the morsel of bread he had been obliged to leave her. A few days after the fire in the cellar, which enabled him to go through a second bankruptcy, Madame Legrand, now undeceived and not believing his lamentations, demanded the money due to her, according to their agreement. Derues pretended to look for his copy of the contract, and could not find it. "Give me yours, madame," said he; "we will write the receipt upon it. Here is the money." The widow opened her purse and took out her copy; Derues snatched it, and tore it up. "Now," he exclaimed, "you are paid; I owe you nothing now. If you like, I will declare it on oath in court, and no one will disbelieve my word." "Wretched man," said the unfortunate widow, "may God forgive your soul; but your body will assuredly end on the gallows!" It was in vain that she complained, and told of this abominable swindle; Derues had been beforehand with her, and the slander he had disseminated bore its fruits. It was said that his old mistress was endeavouring by an odious falsehood to destroy the reputation of a man who had refused to be her lover. Although reduced to poverty, she left the house where she had a right to remain rent free, preferring the hardest and dreariest life to the torture of remaining under the same roof with the man who had caused her ruin. We might relate a hundred other pieces of knavery, but it must not be supposed that having begun by murder, Derues would draw back and remain contented with theft. Two fraudulent bankruptcies would have sufficed for most people; for him they were merely a harmless pastime. Here we must place two dark and obscure stories, two crimes of which he is accused, two victims whose death groans no one heard. The hypocrite's excellent reputation had crossed the Parisian bounds. A young man from the country, intending to start as a grocer in the capital, applied to Derues for the necessary information and begged for advice. He arrived at the latter's house with a sum of eight thousand livres, which he placed in Derues' hands, asking him for assistance in finding a business. The sight of gold was enough to rouse the instinct of crime in Derues, and the witches who hailed Macbeth with the promise of royalty did not rouse the latter's ambitious desires to a greater height than the chance of wealth did the greed of the assassin; whose hands, once closed over the eight thousand livres, were never again relaxed. He received them as a deposit, and hid them along with his previous plunder, vowing never to return them. Several days had elapsed, when one afternoon Derues returned home with an air of such unusual cheerfulness that the young man questioned him. "Have you heard some good news for me?" he asked, "or have you had some luck yourself?" "My young friend," answered Derues, "as for me, success depends on my own efforts, and fortune smiles on me. But I have promised to be useful to you, your parents have trusted me, and I must prove that their confidence is well founded. I have heard to-day of a business for disposal in one of the best parts of Paris. You can have it for twelve thousand livres, and I wish I could lend you the amount you want. But you must write to your father, persuade him, reason with him; do not lose so good a chance. He must make a little sacrifice, and he will be grateful to me later." In accordance with their son's request, the young man's parents despatched a sum of four thousand livres, requesting Derues to lose no time in concluding the purchase. Three weeks later, the father, very uneasy, arrived in Paris. He came to inquire about his son, having heard nothing from him. Derues received him with the utmost astonishment, appearing convinced that the young man had returned home. One day, he said, the youth informed him that he had heard from his father, who had given up all idea of establishing him in Paris, having arranged an advantageous marriage for him near home; and he had taken his twelve thousand livres, for which Derues produced a receipt, and started on his return journey. One evening, when nearly dark, Derues had gone out with his guest, who complained of headache and internal pains. Where did they go? No one knew; but Denies only returned at daybreak, alone, weary and exhausted, and the young man was never again heard of. One of his apprentices was the constant object of reproof. The boy was accused of negligence, wasting his time, of spending three hours over a task which might have been done in less than one. When Derues had convinced the father, a Parisian bourgeois, that his son was a bad boy and a good-for-nothing, he came to this man one day in a state of wild excitement. "Your son," he said, "ran away yesterday with six hundred livres, with which I had to meet a bill to-day. He knew where I kept this money, and has taken it." He threatened to go before a magistrate and denounce the thief, and was only appeased by being paid the sum he claimed to have lost. But he had gone out with the lad the evening before, and returned alone in the early hours of the morning. However, the veil which concealed the truth was becoming more and more transparent every day. Three bankruptcies had diminished the consideration he enjoyed, and people began to listen to complaints and accusations which till now had been considered mere inventions designed to injure him. Another attempt at trickery made him feel it desirable to leave the neighbourhood. He had rented a house close to his own, the shop of which had been tenanted for seven or eight years by a wine merchant. He required from this man, if he wished to remain where he was, a sum of six hundred livres as a payment for goodwill. Although the wine merchant considered it an exorbitant charge, yet on reflection he decided to pay it rather than go, having established a good business on these premises, as was well known. Before long a still mare arrant piece of dishonesty gave him an opportunity for revenge. A young man of good family, who was boarding with him in order to gain some business experience, having gone into Derues' shop to make some purchases, amused himself while waiting by idly writing his name on a piece of blank paper lying on the counter; which he left there without thinking more about it. Derues, knowing the young man had means, as soon as he had gone, converted the signed paper into a promissory note for two thousand livres, to his order, payable at the majority of the signer. The bill, negotiated in trade, arrived when due at the wine merchant's, who, much surprised, called his young boarder and showed him the paper adorned with his signature. The youth was utterly confounded, having no knowledge of the bill whatever, but nevertheless could not deny his signature. On examining the paper carefully, the handwriting was recognised as Derues'. The wine merchant sent for him, and when he arrived, made him enter a room, and having locked the door, produced the promissory note. Derues acknowledged having written it, and tried various falsehoods to excuse himself. No one listened to him, and the merchant threatened to place the matter in the hands of the police. Then Derues wept, implored, fell on his knees, acknowledged his guilt, and begged for mercy. He agreed to restore the six hundred livres exacted from the wine merchant, on condition that he should see the note destroyed and that the matter should end there. He was then about to be married, and dreaded a scandal. Shortly after, he married Marie-Louise Nicolais; daughter of a harness-maker at Melun. One's first impression in considering this marriage is one of profound sorrow and utmost pity for the young girl whose destiny was linked with that of this monster. One thinks of the horrible future; of youth and innocence blighted by the tainting breath of the homicide; of candour united to hypocrisy; of virtue to wickedness; of legitimate desires linked to disgraceful passions; of purity mixed with corruption. The thought of these contrasts is revolting, and one pities such a dreadful fate. But we must not decide hastily. Madame Denies has not been convicted of any active part in her husband's later crimes, but her history, combined with his, shows no trace of suffering, nor of any revolt against a terrible complicity. In her case the evidence is doubtful, and public opinion must decide later. In 1773, Derues relinquished retail business, and left the Saint Victor neighbourhood, having taken an apartment in the rue des Deux Boules, near the rue Bertin-Poiree, in the parish of St. Germain l'Auxerrois, where he had been married. He first acted on commission for the Benedictine-Camalduian fathers of the forest of Senart, who had heard of him as a man wholly given to piety; then, giving himself up to usury, he undertook what is known as "business affairs," a profession which, in such hands, could not fail to be lucrative, being aided by his exemplary morals and honest appearance. It was the more easy for him to impose on others, as he could not be accused of any of the deadly vices which so often end in ruin--gaming, wine, and women. Until now he had displayed only one passion, that of avarice, but now another developed itself, that of ambition. He bought houses and land, and when the money was due, allowed himself to be sued for it; he bought even lawsuits, which he muddled with all the skill of a rascally attorney. Experienced in bankruptcy, he undertook the management of failures, contriving to make dishonesty appear in the light of unfortunate virtue. When this demon was not occupied with poison, his hands were busy with every social iniquity; he could only live and breathe in an atmosphere of corruption. His wife, who had already presented him with a daughter, gave birth to a son in February 1774. Derues, in order to better support the airs of grandeur and the territorial title which he had assumed, invited persons of distinction to act as sponsors. The child was baptized Tuesday, February 15th. We give the text of the baptismal register, as a curiosity:-- "Antoine-Maximilian-Joseph, son of Antoine-Francois Derues, gentleman, seigneur of Gendeville, Herchies, Viquemont, and other places, formerly merchant grocer; and of Madame Marie-Louise Nicolais, his wife. Godfathers, T. H. and T. P., lords of, etc. etc. Godmothers, Madame M. Fr. C. D. V., etc. etc. "(Signed) A. F. DERUES, Senior." But all this dignity did not exclude the sheriff's officers, whom, as befitted so great a man, he treated with the utmost insolence, overwhelming them with abuse when they came to enforce an execution. Such scandals had several times aroused the curiosity of his neighbours, and did not redound to his credit. His landlord, wearied of all this clamour, and most especially weary of never getting any rent without a fight for it, gave him notice to quit. Derues removed to the rue Beaubourg, where he continued to act as commission agent under the name of Cyrano Derues de Bury. And now we will concern ourselves no more with the unravelling of this tissue of imposition; we will wander no longer in this labyrinth of fraud, of low and vile intrigue, of dark crime of which the clue disappears in the night, and of which the trace is lost in a doubtful mixture of blood and mire; we will listen no longer to the cry of the widow and her four children reduced to beggary, to the groans of obscure victims, to the cries of terror and the death-groan which echoed one night through the vaults of a country house near Beauvais. Behold other victims whose cries are yet louder, behold yet other crimes and a punishment which equals them in terror! Let these nameless ghosts, these silent spectres, lose themselves in the clear daylight which now appears, and make room for other phantoms which rend their shrouds and issue from the tomb demanding vengeance. Derues was now soon to have a chance of obtaining immortality. Hitherto his blows had been struck by chance, henceforth he uses all the resources of his infernal imagination; he concentrates all his strength on one point--conceives and executes his crowning piece of wickedness. He employs for two years all his science as cheat, forger, and poisoner in extending the net which was to entangle a whole family; and, taken in his own snare, he struggles in vain; in vain does he seek to gnaw through the meshes which confine him. The foot placed on the last rung of this ladder of crime, stands also on the first step by which he mounts the scaffold. About a mile from Villeneuve-le-Roi-les-Sens, there stood in 1775 a handsome house, overlooking the windings of the Yonne on one side, and on the other a garden and park belonging to the estate of Buisson-Souef. It was a large property, admirably situated, and containing productive fields, wood, and water; but not everywhere kept in good order, and showing something of the embarrassed fortune of its owner. During some years the only repairs had been those necessary in the house itself and its immediate vicinity. Here and there pieces of dilapidated wall threatened to fall altogether, and enormous stems of ivy had invaded and stifled vigorous trees; in the remoter portions of the park briers barred the road and made walking almost impossible. This disorder was not destitute of charm, and at an epoch when landscape gardening consisted chiefly in straight alleys, and in giving to nature a cold and monotonous symmetry, one's eye rested with pleasure on these neglected clumps, on these waters which had taken a different course to that which art had assigned to them, on these unexpected and picturesque scenes. A wide terrace, overlooking the winding river, extended along the front of the house. Three men were walking on it-two priests, and the owner of Buisson-Souef, Monsieur de Saint-Faust de Lamotte. One priest was the cure of Villeneuve-le-Roi-lez-Sens, the other was a Camaldulian monk, who had come to see the cure about a clerical matter, and who was spending some days at the presbytery. The conversation did not appear to be lively. Every now and then Monsieur de Lamotte stood still, and, shading his eyes with his hand from the brilliant sunlight which flooded the plain, and was strongly reflected from the water, endeavoured to see if some new object had not appeared on the horizon, then slowly resumed his walk with a movement of uneasy impatience. The tower clock struck with a noisy resonance. "Six o'clock already!" he exclaimed. "They will assuredly not arrive to-day." "Why despair?" said the cure. "Your servant has gone to meet them; we might see their boat any moment." "But, my father," returned Monsieur de Lamotte, "the long days are already past. In another hour the mist will rise, and then they would not venture on the river." "Well, if that happens, we shall have to be patient; they will stay all night at some little distance, and you will see them to-morrow morning." "My brother is right," said the other priest. "Come, monsieur; do not be anxious." "You both speak with the indifference of persons to whom family troubles are unknown." "What!" said the cure, "do you really think that because our sacred profession condemns us both to celibacy, we are therefore unable to comprehend an affection such as yours, on which I myself pronounced the hallowing benediction of the Church--if you remember--nearly fifteen years ago?" "Is it perhaps intentionally, my father, that you recall the date of my marriage? I readily admit that the love of one's neighbour may enlighten you as to another love to which you have yourself been a stranger. I daresay it seems odd to you that a man of my age should be anxious about so little, as though he were a love-sick youth; but for some time past I have had presentiments of evil, and I am really becoming superstitious!" He again stood still, gazing up the river, and, seeing nothing, resumed his place between the two priests, who had continued their walk. "Yes," he continued, "I have presentiments which refuse to be shaken off. I am not so old that age can have weakened my powers and reduced me to childishness, I cannot even say what I am afraid of, but separation is painful and causes an involuntary terror. Strange, is it not? Formerly, I used to leave my wife for months together, when she was young and my son only, an infant; I loved her passionately, yet I could go with pleasure. Why, I wonder, is it so different now? Why should a journey to Paris on business, and a few hours' delay, make, me so terribly uneasy? Do you remember, my father," he resumed, after a pause, turning to the cure, "do you remember how lovely Marie looked on our wedding-day? Do you remember her dazzling complexion and the innocent candour of her expression?--the sure token of the most truthful and purest of minds! That is why I love her so much now; we do not now sigh for one another, but the second love is stronger than the first, for it is founded on recollection, and is tranquil and confident in friendship.... It is strange that they have not returned; something must have happened! If they do not return this evening, and I do not now think it possible, I shall go to Paris myself to-morrow." "I think;" said the other priest, "that at twenty you must indeed have been excitable, a veritable tinder-box, to have retained so much energy! Come, monsieur, try to calm yourself and have patience: you yourself admit it can only be a few hours' delay." "But my son accompanied his mother, and he is our only one, and so delicate! He alone remains of our three children, and you do not realise how the affection of parents who feel age approaching is concentrated on an only child! If I lost Edouard I should die!" "I suppose, then, as you let him go, his presence at Paris was necessary?" "No; his mother went to obtain a loan which is needed for the improvements required on the estate." "Why, then, did you let him go?" "I would willingly have kept him here, but his mother wished to take him. A separation is as trying to her as to me, and we all but quarrelled over it. I gave way." "There was one way of satisfying all three--you might have gone also." "Yes, but Monsieur le cure will tell you that a fortnight ago I was chained to my arm-chair, swearing under my breath like a pagan, and cursing the follies of my youth!--Forgive me, my father; I mean that I had the gout, and I forgot that I am not the only sufferer, and that it racks the old age of the philosopher quite as much as that of the courtier." The fresh wind which often rises just at sunset was already rustling in the leaves; long shadows darkened the course of the Yonne and stretched across the plain; the water, slightly troubled, reflected a confused outline of its banks and the clouded blue of the sky. The three gentlemen stopped at the end of the terrace and gazed into the already fading distance. A black spot, which they had just observed in the middle of the river, caught a gleam of light in passing a low meadow between two hills, and for a moment took shape as a barge, then was lost again, and could not be distinguished from the water. Another moment, and it reappeared more distinctly; it was indeed a barge, and now the horse could be seen towing it against the current. Again it was lost at a bend of the river shaded by willows, and they had to resign themselves to incertitude for several minutes. Then a white handkerchief was waved on the prow of the boat, and Monsieur de Lamotte uttered a joyful exclamation. "It is indeed they!" he cried. "Do you see them, Monsieur le cure? I see my boy; he is waving the handkerchief, and his mother is with him. But I think there is a third person--yes, there is a man, is there not? Look well." "Indeed," said the cure, "if my bad sight does not deceive me, I should say there was someone seated near the rudder; but it looks like a child." "Probably someone from the neighbourhood, who has profited by the chance of a lift home." The boat was advancing rapidly; they could now hear the cracking of the whip with which the servant urged on the tow-horse. And now it stopped, at an easy landing-place, barely fifty paces from the terrace. Madame de Lamotte landed with her son and the stranger, and her husband descended from the terrace to meet her. Long before he arrived at the garden gate, his son's arms were around his neck. "Are you quite well, Edouard?" "Oh yes, perfectly." "And your mother?" "Quite well too. She is behind, in as great a hurry to meet you as I am. But she can't run as I do, and you must go half-way." "Whom have you brought with you?" "A gentleman from Paris." "From Paris?" "Yes, a Monsieur Derues. But mamma will tell you all about that. Here she is." The cure and the monk arrived just as Monsieur de Lamotte folded his wife in his arms. Although she had passed her fortieth year, she was still beautiful enough to justify her husband's eulogism. A moderate plumpness had preserved the freshness and softness of her skin; her smile was charming, and her large blue eyes expressed both gentleness and goodness. Seen beside this smiling and serene countenance, the appearance of the stranger was downright repulsive, and Monsieur de Lamotte could hardly repress a start of disagreeable surprise at the pitiful and sordid aspect of this diminutive person, who stood apart, looking overwhelmed by conscious inferiority. He was still more astonished when he saw his son take him by the hand with friendly kindness, and heard him say-- "Will you come with me, my friend? We will follow my father and mother." Madame de Lamotte, having greeted the cure, looked at the monk, who was a stranger to her. A word or two explained matters, and she took her husband's arm, declining to answer any questions until she reached the louse, and laughing at his curiosity. Pierre-Etienne de Saint-Faust de Lamotte, one of the king's equerries, seigneur of Grange-Flandre, Valperfond, etc., had married Marie-Francoise Perier in 1760. Their fortune resembled many others of that period: it was more nominal than actual, more showy than solid. Not that the husband and wife had any cause for self-reproach, or that their estates had suffered from dissipation; unstained by the corrupt manners of the period, their union had been a model of sincere affection, of domestic virtue and mutual confidence. Marie-Francoise was quite beautiful enough to have made a sensation in society, but she renounced it of her own accord, in order to devote herself to the duties of a wife and mother. The only serious grief she and her husband had experienced was the loss of two young children. Edouard, though delicate from his birth, had nevertheless passed the trying years of infancy and early adolescence; he was them nearly fourteen. With a sweet and rather effeminate expression, blue eyes and a pleasant smile, he was a striking likeness of his mother. His father's affection exaggerated the dangers which threatened the boy, and in his eyes the slightest indisposition became a serious malady; his mother shared these fears, and in consequence of this anxiety Edouard's education had been much neglected. He had been brought up at Buisson-Souef, and allowed to run wild from morning till night, like a young fawn, exercising the vigour and activity of its limbs. He had still the simplicity and general ignorance of a child of nine or ten. The necessity of appearing at court and suitably defraying the expenses of his office had made great inroads on Monsieur de Lamotte's fortune. He had of late lived at Buisson-Souef in the most complete retirement; but notwithstanding this too long deferred attention to his affairs, his property was ruining him, for the place required a large expenditure, and absorbed a large amount of his income without making any tangible return. He had always hesitated to dispose of the estate on account of its associations; it was there he had met, courted, and married his beloved wife; there that the happy days of their youth had been spent; there that they both wished to grow old together. Such was the family to which accident had now introduced Derues. The unfavourable impression made on Monsieur de Lamotte had not passed unperceived by him; but, being quite accustomed to the instinctive repugnance which his first appearance generally inspired, Derues had made a successful study of how to combat and efface this antagonistic feeling, and replace it by confidence, using different means according to the persons he had to deal with. He understood at once that vulgar methods would be useless with Monsieur de Lamotte, whose appearance and manners indicated both the man of the world and the man of intelligence, and also he had to consider the two priests, who were both observing him attentively. Fearing a false step, he assumed the most simple and insignificant deportment he could, knowing that sooner or later a third person would rehabilitate him in the opinion of those present. Nor did he wait long. Arrived at the drawing-room, Monsieur de Lamotte requested the company to be seated. Derues acknowledged the courtesy by a bow, and there was a moment of silence, while Edouard and his mother looked at each other and smiled. The silence was broken by Madame de Lamotte. "Dear Pierre," she said, "you are surprised to see us accompanied by a stranger, but when you hear what he has done for us you will thank me for having induced him to return here with us." "Allow me," interrupted Derues, "allow me to tell you what happened. The gratitude which madame imagines she owes me causes her to exaggerate a small service which anybody would have been delighted to render." "No, monsieur; let me tell it." "Let mamma tell the story," said Edouard. "What is it, then? What happened?" said Monsieur de Lamotte. "I am quite ashamed," answered Derues; "but I obey your wishes, madame." "Yes," replied Madame de Lamotte, "keep your seat, I wish it. Imagine, Pierre, just six days ago, an accident happened to Edouard and me which might have had serious consequences." "And you never wrote to me, Marie?" "I should only have made you anxious, and to no purpose. I had some business in one of the most crowded parts of Paris; I took a chair, and Edouard walked beside me. In the rue Beaubourg we were suddenly surrounded by a mob of low people, who were quarrelling. Carriages stopped the way, and the horses of one of these took fright in the confusion and uproar, and bolted, in spite of the coachman's endeavours to keep them in hand. It was a horrible tumult, and I tried to get out of the chair, but at that moment the chairmen were both knocked down, and I fell. It is a miracle I was not crushed. I was dragged insensible from under the horses' feet and carried into the house before which all this took place. There, sheltered in a shop and safe from the crowd which encumbered the doorway, I recovered my senses, thanks to the assistance of Monsieur Derues, who lives there. But that is not all: when I recovered I could not walk, I had been so shaken by the fright, the fall, and the danger I had incurred, and I had to accept his offer of finding me another chair when the crowd should disperse, and meanwhile to take shelter in his rooms with his wife, who showed me the kindest attention." "Monsieur--" said Monsieur de Lamotte, rising. But his wife stopped him. "Wait a moment; I have not finished yet. Monsieur Derues came back in an hour, and I was then feeling better; but before, I left I was stupid enough to say that I had been robbed in the confusion; my diamond earrings, which had belonged to my mother, were gone. You cannot imagine the trouble Monsieur Derues took to discover the thief, and all the appeals he made to the police--I was really ashamed!" Although Monsieur de Lamotte did not yet understand what motive, other than gratitude, had induced his wife to bring this stranger home with her, he again rose from his seat, and going to Derues, held out his hand. "I understand now the attachment my son shows for you. You are wrong in trying to lessen your good deed in order to escape from our gratitude, Monsieur Derues." "Monsieur Derues?" inquired the monk. "Do you know the name, my father?" asked Madame de Lamotte eagerly. "Edouard had already told me," said the monk, approaching Derues. "You live in the rue Beaubourg, and you are Monsieur Derues, formerly a retail grocer?" "The same, my brother." "Should you require a reference, I can give it. Chance, madame, has made you acquainted with a man whose reputation for piety and honour is well established; he will permit me to add my praises to yours." "Indeed, I do not know how I deserve so much honour." "I am, Brother Marchois, of the Camaldulian order. You see that I know you well." The monk then proceeded to explain that his community had confided their affairs to Derues' honesty, he undertaking to dispose of the articles manufactured by the monks in their retreat. He then recounted a number of good actions and of marks of piety, which were heard with pleasure and admiration by those present. Derues received this cloud of incense with an appearance of sincere modesty and humility, which would have deceived the most skilful physiognomist. When the eulogistic warmth of the good brother began to slacken it was already nearly dark, and the two priests had barely time to regain the presbytery without incurring the risk of breaking their necks in the rough road which led to it. They departed at once, and a room was got ready for Derues. "To-morrow," said Madame de Lamotte as they separated, "you can discuss with my husband the business on which you came: to-morrow, or another day, for I beg that you will make yourself at home here, and the longer you will stay the better it will please us." The night was a sleepless one for Derues, whose brain was occupied by a confusion of criminal plans. The chance which had caused his acquaintance with Madame de Lamotte, and even more the accident of Brother Marchois appearing in the nick of time, to enlarge upon the praises which gave him so excellent a character, seemed like favourable omens not to be neglected. He began to imagine fresh villanies, to outline an unheard-of crime, which as yet he could not definitely trace out; but anyhow there would be plunder to seize and blood to spill, and the spirit of murder excited and kept him awake, just as remorse might have troubled the repose of another. Meanwhile Madame de Lamotte, having retired with her husband, was saying to the latter-- "Well, now! what do you think of my protege, or rather, of the protector which Heaven sent me?" "I think that physiognomy is often very deceptive, for I should have been quite willing to hang him on the strength of his." "It is true that his appearance is not attractive, and it led me into a foolish mistake which I quickly regretted. When I recovered consciousness, and saw him attending on me, much worse and more carelessly dressed than he is to-day." "You were frightened?" "No, not exactly; but I thought I must be indebted to a man of the lowest class, to some poor fellow who was really starving, and my first effort at gratitude was to offer him a piece of gold." "Did he refuse it?" "No; he accepted it for the poor of the parish. Then he told me his name, Cyrano Derues de Bury, and told me that the shop and the goods it contained were his own property, and that he occupied an apartment in the house. I floundered in excuses, but he replied that he blessed the mistake, inasmuch as it would enable him to relieve some unfortunate people. I was so touched with his goodness that I offered him a second piece of gold." "You were quite right, my dear; but what induced you to bring him to Buisson? I should have gone to see and thank him the first time I went to Paris, and meanwhile a letter would have been sufficient. Did he carry his complaisance and interest so far as to offer you his escort?" "Ah! I see you cannot get over your first impression--honestly, is it not so?" "Indeed," exclaimed Monsieur de Lamotte, laughing heartily, "it is truly unlucky for a decent man to have such a face as that! He ought to give Providence no rest until he obtains the gift of another countenance." "Always these prejudices! It is not the poor man's fault that he was born like that." "Well, you said something about business we were to discuss together --what is it?" "I believe he can help us to obtain the money we are in want of." "And who told him that we wanted any?" "I did." "You! Come, it certainly seems that this gentleman is to be a family friend. And pray what induced you to confide in him to this extent?" "You would have known by now, if you did not interrupt. Let me tell you all in order. The day after my accident I went out with Edouard about midday, and I went to again express my gratitude for his kindness. I was received by Madame Derues, who told me her husband was out, and that he had gone to my hotel to inquire after me and my son, and also to see if anything had been heard of my stolen earrings. She appeared a simple and very ordinary sort of person, and she begged me to sit down and wait for her husband. I thought it would be uncivil not to do so, and Monsieur Derues appeared in about two hours. The first thing he did, after having saluted me and inquired most particularly after my health, was to ask for his children, two charming little things, fresh and rosy, whom he covered with kisses. We talked about indifferent matters, then he offered me his services, placed himself at my disposal, and begged me to spare neither his time nor his trouble. I then told him what had brought me to Paris, and also the disappointments I had encountered, for of all the people I had seen not one had given me a favourable answer. He said that he might possibly be of some use to me, and the very next day told 'me that he had seen a capitalist, but could do nothing without more precise information. Then I thought it might be better to bring him here, so that he might talk matters over with you. When I first asked him, he refused altogether, and only yielded to my earnest entreaties and Edouard's. This is the history, dear, of the circumstances under which I made Monsieur Derues' acquaintance. I hope you do not think I have acted foolishly?" "Very well," said Monsieur de Lamotte, "I will talk to him to-morrow, and in any case I promise you I will be civil to him. I will not forget that he has been useful to you." With which promise the conversation came to a close. Skilled in assuming any kind of mask and in playing every sort of part, Derues did not find it difficult to overcome Monsieur de Lamotte's prejudices, and in order to obtain the goodwill of the father he made a skilful use of the friendship which the son had formed with him. One can hardly think that he already meditated the crime which he carried out later; one prefers to believe that these atrocious plots were not invented so long beforehand. But he was already a prey to the idea, and nothing henceforth could turn him from it. By what route he should arrive at the distant goal which his greed foresaw, he knew not as yet, but he had said to himself, "One day this property shall be mine." It was the death-warrant of those who owned it. We have no details, no information as to Derues' first visit to Buisson-Souef, but when he departed he had obtained the complete confidence of the family, and a regular correspondence was carried on between him and the Lamottes. It was thus that he was able to exercise his talent of forgery, and succeeded in imitating the writing of this unfortunate lady so as to be able even to deceive her husband. Several months passed, and none of the hopes which Derues had inspired were realised; a loan was always on the point of being arranged, and regularly failed because of some unforeseen circumstance. These pretended negotiations were managed by Derues with so much skill and cunning that instead of being suspected, he was pitied for having so much useless trouble. Meanwhile, Monsieur de Lamotte's money difficulties increased, and the sale of Buisson-Souef became inevitable. Derues offered himself as a purchaser, and actually acquired the property by private contract, dated December, 1775. It was agreed between the parties that the purchase-money of one hundred and thirty thousand livres should not be paid until 1776, in order to allow Derues to collect the various sums at his disposal. It was an important purchase, which, he said, he only made on account of his interest in Monsieur de Lamotte, and his wish to put an end to the latter's difficulties. But when the period agreed on arrived, towards the middle of 1776, Derues found it impossible to pay. It is certain that he never meant to do so; and a special peculiarity of this dismal story is the avarice of the man, the passion for money which overruled all his actions, and occasionally caused him to neglect necessary prudence. Enriched by three bankruptcies, by continual thefts, by usury, the gold he acquired promptly seemed to disappear. He stuck at nothing to obtain it, and once in his grasp, he never let it go again. Frequently he risked the loss of his character for honest dealing rather than relinquish a fraction of his wealth. According to many credible people, it was generally believed by his contemporaries that this monster possessed treasures which he had buried in the ground, the hiding-place of which no one knew, not even his wife. Perhaps it is only a vague and unfounded rumour, which should be rejected; or is it; perhaps, a truth which failed to reveal itself? It would be strange if after the lapse of half a century the hiding-place were to open and give up the fruit of his rapine. Who knows whether some of this treasure, accidentally discovered, may not have founded fortunes whose origin is unknown, even to their possessors? Although it was of the utmost importance not to arouse Monsieur de Lamotte's suspicions just at the moment when he ought to be paying him so large a sum, Derues was actually at this time being sued by his creditors. But in those days ordinary lawsuits had no publicity; they struggled and died between the magistrates and advocates without causing any sound. In order to escape the arrest and detention with which he was threatened, he took refuge at Buisson-Souef with his family, and remained there from Whitsuntide till the end of November. After being treated all this time as a friend, Derues departed for Paris, in order, he said, to receive an inheritance which would enable him to pay the required purchase-money. This pretended inheritance was that of one of his wife's relations, Monsieur Despeignes-Duplessis, who had been murdered in his country house, near Beauvais. It has been strongly suspected that Derues was guilty of this crime. There are, however, no positive proofs, and we prefer only to class it as a simple possibility. Derues had made formal promises to Monsieur de Lamotte, and it was no longer possible for him to elude them. Either the payment must now be made, or the contract annulled. A new correspondence began between the creditors and the debtor; friendly letters were exchanged, full of protestations on one side and confidence on the other. But all Derues' skill could only obtain a delay of a few months. At length Monsieur de Lamotte, unable to leave Buisson-Souef himself, on account of important business which required his presence, gave his wife a power of attorney, consented to another separation, and sent her to Paris, accompanied by Edouard, and as if to hasten their misfortunes, sent notice of their coming to the expectant murderer. We have passed quickly over the interval between the first meeting of Monsieur de Lamotte and Derues, and the moment when the victims fell into the trap: we might easily have invented long conversations, and episodes which would have brought Derues' profound hypocrisy into greater relief; but the reader now knows all that we care to show him. We have purposely lingered in our narration in the endeavour to explain the perversities of this mysterious organisation; we have over-loaded it with all the facts which seem to throw any light upon this sombre character. But now, after these long preparations, the drama opens, the scenes become rapid and lifelike; events, long impeded, accumulate and pass quickly before us, the action is connected and hastens to an end. We shall see Derues like an unwearied Proteus, changing names, costumes, language, multiplying himself in many forms, scattering deceptions and lies from one end of France to the other; and finally, after so many efforts, such prodigies of calculation and activity, end by wrecking himself against a corpse. The letter written at Buisson-Souef arrived at Paris the morning of the 14th of December. In the course of the day an unknown man presented himself at the hotel where Madame de Lamotte and her son had stayed before, and inquired what rooms were vacant. There were four, and he engaged them for a certain Dumoulin, who had arrived that morning from Bordeaux, and who had passed through Paris in order to meet, at some little distance, relations who would return with him. A part of the rent was paid in advance, and it was expressly stipulated that until his return the rooms should not be let to anyone, as the aforesaid Dumoulin might return with his family and require them at any moment. The same person went to other hotels in the neighbourhood and engaged vacant rooms, sometimes for a stranger he expected, sometimes for friends whom he could not accommodate himself. At about three o'clock, the Place de Greve was full of people, thousands of heads crowded the windows of the surrounding houses. A parricide was to pay the penalty of his crime--a crime committed under atrocious circumstances, with an unheard-of refinement of barbarity. The punishment corresponded to the crime: the wretched man was broken on the wheel. The most complete and terrible silence prevailed in the multitude eager for ghastly emotions. Three times already had been heard the heavy thud of the instrument which broke the victim's limbs, and a loud cry escaped the sufferer which made all who heard it shudder with horror, One man only, who, in spite of all his efforts, could not get through the crowd and cross the square, remained unmoved, and looking contemptuously towards the criminal, muttered, "Idiot! he was unable to deceive anyone!" A few moments later the flames began to rise from the funeral pile, the crowd began to move, and the than was able to make his way through and reach one of the streets leading out of the square. The sky was overcast, and the grey daylight hardly penetrated the narrow lane, hideous and gloomy as the name it bore, and which; only a few years ago, still wound like a long serpent through the mire of this quarter. Just then it was deserted, owing to the attraction of the execution close by. The man who had just left the square proceeded slowly, attentively reading all the inscriptions on the doors. He stopped at Number 75, where on the threshold of a shop sat a stout woman busily knitting, over whom one read in big yellow letters, "Widow Masson." He saluted the woman, and asked-- "Is there not a cellar to let in this house?" "There is, master," answered the widow. "Can I speak to the owner?" "And that is myself, by your leave." "Will you show me the cellar? I am a provincial wine merchant, my business often brings me to Paris, and I want a cellar where I could deposit wine which I sell on commission." They went down together. After examining the place, and ascertaining that it was not too damp for the expensive wine which he wished to leave there, the man agreed about the rent, paid the first term in advance, and was entered on the widow Masson's books under the name of Ducoudray. It is hardly necessary to remark that it should have been Derues. When he returned home in the evening, his wife told him that a large box had arrived. "It is all right," he said, "the carpenter from whom I ordered it is a man of his word." Then he supped, and caressed his children. The next day being Sunday, he received the communion, to the great edification of the devout people of the neighbourhood. On Monday the 16th Madame de Lamotte and Edouard, descending from the Montereau stagecoach, were met by Derues and his wife. "Did my husband write to you, Monsieur Derues?" inquired Madame de Lamotte. "Yes, madame, two days ago; and I have arranged our dwelling for your reception." "What! but did not Monsieur de Lamotte ask you to engage the rooms I have had before at the Hotel de France?" "He did not say so, and if that was your idea I trust you will change it. Do not deprive me of the pleasure of offering you the hospitality which for so long I have accepted from you. Your room is quite ready, also one for this dear boy," and so saying he took Edouard's hand; "and I am sure if you ask his opinion, he will say you had better be content to stay with me." "Undoubtedly," said the boy; "and I do not see why there need be any hesitation between friends." Whether by accident, or secret presentiment, or because she foresaw a possibility of business discussions between them, Madame de Lamotte objected to this arrangement. Derues having a business appointment which he was bound to keep, desired his wife to accompany the Lamottes to the Hotel de France, and in case of their not being able to find rooms there, mentioned three others as the only ones in the quarter where they could be comfortably accommodated. Two hours later Madame de Lamotte and her son returned to his house in the rue Beaubourg. The house which Derues occupied stood opposite the rue des Menoriers, and was pulled down quite lately to make way for the rue Rambuteau. In 1776 it was one of the finest houses of the rue Beaubourg, and it required a certain income to be able to live there, the rents being tolerably high. A large arched doorway gave admittance to a passage, lighted at the other end by a small court, on the far side of which was the shop into which Madame de Lamotte had been taken on the occasion of the accident. The house staircase was to the right of the passage; and the Derues' dwelling on the entresol. The first room, lighted by a window looking into the court, was used as a dining room, and led into a simply furnished sitting-room, such as was generally found among the bourgeois and tradespeople of this period. To the right of the sitting-room was a large closet, which could serve as a small study or could hold a bed; to the left was a door opening into the Derues' bedroom, which had been prepared for Madame de Lamotte. Madame Derues would occupy one of the two beds which stood in the alcove. Derues had a bed made up in the sitting-room, and Edouard was accommodated in the little study. Nothing particular happened during the first few days which followed the Lamottes' arrival. They had not come to Paris only on account of the Buisson-Souef affairs. Edouard was nearly sixteen, and after much hesitation his parents had decided on placing him in some school where his hitherto neglected education might receive more attention. Derues undertook to find a capable tutor, in whose house the boy would be brought up in the religious feeling which the cure of Buisson and his own exhortations had already tended to develop. These proceedings, added to Madame de Lamotte's endeavours to collect various sums due to her husband, took some time. Perhaps, when on the point of executing a terrible crime, Derues tried to postpone the fatal moment, although, considering his character, this seems unlikely, for one cannot do him the honour of crediting him with a single moment of remorse, doubt, or pity. Far from it, it appears from all the information which can be gathered, that Derues, faithful to his own traditions, was simply experimenting on his unfortunate guests, for no sooner were they in his house than both began to complain of constant nausea, which they had never suffered from before. While he thus ascertained the strength of their constitution, he was able, knowing the cause of the malady, to give them relief, so that Madame de Lamotte, although she grew daily weaker, had so much confidence in him as to think it unnecessary to call in a doctor. Fearing to alarm her husband, she never mentioned her sufferings, and her letters only spoke of the care and kind attention which she received. On the 15th of January, 1777, Edouard was placed in a school in the rue de l'Homme Arme. His mother never saw him again. She went out once more to place her husband's power of attorney with a lawyer in the rue de Paon. On her return she felt so weak and broken-down that she was obliged to go to bed and remain there for several days. On January 29th the unfortunate lady had risen, and was sitting near the window which overlooked the deserted rue des Menetriers, where clouds of snow were drifting before the wind. Who can guess the sad thoughts which may have possessed her?--all around dark, cold, and silent, tending to produce painful depression and involuntary dread. To escape the gloomy ideas which besieged her, her mind went back to the smiling times of her youth and marriage. She recalled the time when, alone at Buisson during her husband's enforced absences, she wandered with her child in the cool and shaded walks of the park, and sat out in the evening, inhaling the scent of the flowers, and listening to the murmur of the water, or the sound of the whispering breeze in the leaves. Then, coming back from these sweet recollections to reality, she shed tears, and called on her husband and son. So deep was her reverie that she did not hear the room door open, did not perceive that darkness had come on. The light of a candle, dispersing the shadows, made her start; she turned her head, and saw Derues coming towards her. He smiled, and she made an effort to keep back the tears which were shining in her eyes, and to appear calm. "I am afraid I disturb you," he said. "I came to ask a favour, madame." "What is it, Monsieur Derues?" she inquired. "Will you allow me to have a large chest brought into this room? I ought to pack some valuable things in it which are in my charge, and are now in this cupboard. I am afraid it will be in your way." "Is it not your own house, and is it not rather I who am in the way and a cause of trouble? Pray have it brought in, and try to forget that I am here. You are most kind to me, but I wish I could spare you all this trouble and that I were fit to go back to Buisson. I had a letter from my husband yesterday----" "We will talk about that presently, if you wish it," said Derues. "I will go and fetch the servant to help me to carry in this chest. I have put it off hitherto, but it really must be sent in three days." He went away, and returned in a few minutes. The chest was carried in, and placed before the cupboard at the foot of the bed. Alas! the poor lady little thought it was her own coffin which stood before her! The maid withdrew, and Derues assisted Madame de Lamotte to a seat near the fire, which he revived with more fuel. He sat down opposite to her, and by the feeble light of the candle placed on a small table between them could contemplate at leisure the ravages wrought by poison on her wasted features. "I saw your son to-day," he said: "he complains that you neglect him, and have not seen him for twelve days. He does not know you have been ill, nor did I tell him. The dear boy! he loves you so tenderly." "And I also long to see him. My friend, I cannot tell you what terrible presentiments beset me; it seems as if I were threatened with some great misfortune; and just now, when you came in, I could think only of death. What is the cause of this languor and weakness? It is surely no temporary ailment. Tell me the truth: am I not dreadfully altered? and do you not think my husband will be shocked when he sees me like this?" "You are unnecessarily anxious," replied Derues; "it is rather a failing of yours. Did I not see you last year tormenting yourself about Edouard's health, when he was not even thinking of being ill? I am not so soon alarmed. My own old profession, and that of chemistry, which I studied in my youth, have given me some acquaintance with medicine. I have frequently been consulted, and have prescribed for patients whose condition was supposed to be desperate, and I can assure you I have never seen a better and stronger constitution than yours. Try to calm yourself, and do not call up chimeras; because a mind at ease is the greatest enemy of illness. This depression will pass, and then you will regain your strength." "May God grant it! for I feel weaker every day." "We have still some business to transact together. The notary at Beauvais writes that the difficulties which prevented his paying over the inheritance of my wife's relation, Monsieur Duplessis, have mostly disappeared. I have a hundred thousand livres at my disposal,--that is to say, at yours,--and in a month at latest I shall be able to pay off my debt. You ask me to be sincere," he continued, with a tinge of reproachful irony; "be sincere in your turn, madame, and acknowledge that you and your husband have both felt uneasy, and that the delays I have been obliged to ask for have not seemed very encouraging to you?" "It is true," she replied; "but we never questioned your good faith." "And you were right. One is not always able to carry out one's intentions; events can always upset our calculations; but what really is in our power is the desire to do right--to be honest; and I can say that I never intentionally wronged anyone. And now. I am happy in being able to fulfil my promises to you. I trust when I am the owner of Buisson-Souef you will not feel obliged to leave it." "Thank you; I should like to come occasionally, for all my happy recollections are connected with it. Is it necessary for me to accompany you to Beauvais?" "Why should you not? The change would do you good." She looked up at him and smiled sadly. "I am not in a fit state to undertake it." "Not if you imagine that you are unable, certainly. Come, have you any confidence in me?" "The most complete confidence, as you know." "Very well, then: trust to my care. This very evening I will prepare a draught for you to take to-morrow morning, and I will even now fix the duration of this terrible malady which frightens you so much. In two days I shall fetch Edouard from his school to celebrate the beginning of your convalescence, and we will start, at latest, on February 1st. You are astonished at what I say, but you shall see if I am not a good doctor, and much cleverer than many who pass for such merely because the have obtained a diploma." "Then, doctor, I will place myself in your hands." "Remember what I say. You will leave this on February 1st." "To begin this cure, can you ensure my sleeping to-night?" "Certainly. I will go now, and send my wife to you. She will bring a draught, which you must promise to take." "I will exactly follow your prescriptions. Goodnight, my friend." "Good-night, madame; and take courage;" and bowing low, he left the room. The rest of the evening was spent in preparing the fatal medicine. The next morning, an hour or two after Madame de Lamotte had swallowed it, the maid who had given it to her came and told Derues the invalid was sleeping very heavily and snoring, and asked if she ought to be awoke. He went into the room, and, opening the curtains, approached the bed. He listened for some time, and recognised that the supposed snoring was really he death-rattle. He sent the servant off into the country with a letter to one of his friends, telling her not to return until the Monday following, February 3rd. He also sent away his wife, on some unknown pretext, and remained alone with his victim. So terrible a situation ought to have troubled the mind of the most hardened criminal. A man familiar with murder and accustomed to shed blood might have felt his heart sink, and, in the absence of pity, might have experienced disgust at the sight of this prolonged and useless torture; but Derues, calm and easy, as if unconscious of evil, sat coolly beside the bed, as any doctor might have done. From time to time he felt the slackening pulse, and looked at the glassy and sightless eyes which turned in their orbits, and he saw without terror the approach of night, which rendered this awful 'tete-a-tete' even more horrible. The most profound silence reigned in the house, the street was deserted, and the only sound heard was caused by an icy rain mixed with snow driven against the glass, and occasionally the howl of the wind, which penetrated the chimney and scattered the ashes. A single candle placed behind the curtains lighted this dismal scene, and the irregular flicker of its flame cast weird reflections and dancing shadows an the walls of the alcove. There came a lull in the wind, the rain ceased, and during this instant of calm someone knocked, at first gently, and then sharply, at the outer door. Derues dropped the dying woman's hand and bent forward to listen. The knock was repeated, and he grew pale. He threw the sheet, as if it were a shroud, over his victim's head drew the curtains of the alcove, and went to the door. "Who is there?" he inquired. "Open, Monsieur Derues," said a voice which he recognised as that of a woman of Chartres whose affairs he managed, and who had entrusted him with sundry deeds in order that he might receive the money due to her. This woman had begun to entertain doubts as to Derues' honesty, and as she was leaving Paris the next day, had resolved to get the papers out of his hands. "Open the door," she repeated. "Don't you know my voice?" "I am sorry I cannot let you in. My servant is out: she has taken the key and locked the door outside." "You must let me in," the woman continued; "it is absolutely necessary I should speak to you." "Come to-morrow." "I leave Paris to-morrow, and I must have those papers to-night." He again refused, but she spoke firmly and decidedly. "I must come in. The porter said you were all out, but, from the rue des Menetriers I could see the light in your room. My brother is with me, and I left him below. I shall call him if you don't open the door." "Come in, then," said Derues; "your papers are in the sitting-room. Wait here, and I will fetch them." The woman looked at him and took his hand. "Heavens! how pale you are! What is the matter?" "Nothing is the matter: will you wait here?" But she would not release his arm, and followed him into the sitting-room, where Derues began to seek hurriedly among the various papers which covered a table. "Here they are," he said; "now you can go." "Really," said the woman, examining her deeds carefully, "never yet did I see you in such a hurry to give up things which don't belong to you. But do hold that candle steadily; your hand is shaking so that I cannot see to read." At that moment the silence which prevailed all round was broken by a cry of anguish, a long groan proceeding from the chamber to the right of the sitting-room. "What is that?" cried the woman. "Surely it is a dying person!" The sense of the danger which threatened made Derues pull himself together. "Do not be alarmed," he said. "My wife has been seized with a violent fever; she is quite delirious now, and that is why I told the porter to let no one come up." But the groans in the next room continued, and the unwelcome visitor, overcome by terror which she could neither surmount nor explain, took a hasty leave, and descended the staircase with all possible rapidity. As soon as he could close the door, Derues returned to the bedroom. Nature frequently collects all her expiring strength at the last moment of existence. The unhappy lady struggled beneath her coverings; the agony she suffered had given her a convulsive energy, and inarticulate sounds proceeded from her mouth. Derues approached and held her on the bed. She sank back on the pillow, shuddering convulsively, her hands plucking and twisting the sheets, her teeth chattering and biting the loose hair which fell over her face and shoulders. "Water! water!" she cried; and then, "Edouard,--my husband!--Edouard!--is it you?" Then rising with a last effort, she seized her murderer by the arm, repeating, "Edouard!--oh!" and then fell heavily, dragging Derues down with her. His face was against hers; he raised his head, but the dying hand, clenched in agony, had closed upon him like a vise. The icy fingers seemed made of iron and could not be opened, as though the victim had seized on her assassin as a prey, and clung to the proof of his crime. Derues at last freed himself, and putting his hand on her heart, "It is over," he remarked; "she has been a long time about it. What o'clock is it? Nine! She has struggled against death for twelve hours!" While the limbs still retained a little warmth, he drew the feet together, crossed the hands on the breast, and placed the body in the chest. When he had locked it up, he remade the bed, undressed himself, and slept comfortably in the other one. The next day, February 1st, the day he had fixed for the "going out" of Madame de Lamotte, he caused the chest to be placed on a hand-cart and carried at about ten o'clock in the morning to the workshop of a carpenter of his acquaintance called Mouchy, who dwelt near the Louvre. The two commissionaires employed had been selected in distant quarters, and did not know each other. They were well paid, and each presented with a bottle of wine. These men could never be traced. Derues requested the carpenter's wife to allow the chest to remain in the large workshop, saying he had forgotten something at his own house, and would return to fetch it in three hours. But, instead of a few hours, he left it for two whole days--why, one does not know, but it may be supposed that he wanted the time to dig a trench in a sort of vault under the staircase leading to the cellar in the rue de la Mortellerie. Whatever the cause, the delay might have been fatal, and did occasion an unforeseen encounter which nearly betrayed him. But of all the actors in this scene he alone knew the real danger he incurred, and his coolness never deserted him for a moment. The third day, as he walked alongside the handcart on which the chest was being conveyed, he was accosted at Saint Germain l'Auxerrois by a creditor who had obtained a writ of execution against him, and at the imperative sign made by this man the porter stopped. The creditor attacked Derues violently, reproaching him for his bad faith in language which was both energetic and uncomplimentary; to which the latter replied in as conciliatory a manner as he could assume. But it was impossible to silence the enemy, and an increasing crowd of idlers began to assemble round them. "When will you pay me?" demanded the creditor. "I have an execution against you. What is there in that box? Valuables which you cart away secretly, in order to laugh at my just claims, as you did two years ago?" Derues shuddered all over; he exhausted himself in protestations; but the other, almost beside himself, continued to shout. "Oh!" he said, turning to the crowd, "all these tricks and grimaces and signs of the cross are no good. I must have my money, and as I know what his promises are worth, I will pay myself! Come, you knave, make haste. Tell me what there is in that box; open it, or I will fetch the police." The crowd was divided between the creditor and debtor, and possibly a free fight would have begun, but the general attention was distracted by the arrival of another spectator. A voice heard above all the tumult caused a score of heads to turn, it was the voice of a woman crying: "The abominable history of Leroi de Valine, condemned to death at the age of sixteen for having poisoned his entire family!" Continually crying her wares, the drunken, staggering woman approached the crowd, and striking out right and left with fists and elbows, forced her way to Derues. "Ah! ah!" said she, after looking him well over, "is it you, my gossip Derues! Have you again a little affair on hand like the one when you set fire to your shop in the rue Saint-Victor?" Derues recognised the hawker who had abused him on the threshold of his shop some years previously, and whom he had never seen since. "Yes, yes," she continued, "you had better look at me with your little round cat's eyes. Are you going to say you don't know me?" Derues appealed to his creditor. "You see," he said, "to what insults you are exposing me. I do not know this woman who abuses me." "What!--you don't know me! You who accused me of being a thief! But luckily the Maniffets have been known in Paris as honest people for generations, while as for you----" "Sir," said Derues, "this case contains valuable wine which I am commissioned to sell. To-morrow I shall receive the money for it; to-morrow, in the course of the day, I will pay what I owe you. But I am waited for now, do not in Heaven's name detain me longer, and thus deprive me of the means of paying at all." "Don't believe him, my good man," said the hawker; "lying comes natural to him always." "Sir, I promise on my oath you shall be paid tomorrow; you had better trust the word of an honest man rather than the ravings of a drunken woman." The creditor still hesitated, but, another person now spoke in Derues' favour; it was the carpenter Mouchy, who had inquired the cause of the quarrel. "For God's sake," he exclaimed, "let the gentleman go on. That chest came from my workshop, and I know there is wine inside it; he told my wife so two days ago." "Will you be surety for me, my friend?" asked Derues. "Certainly I will; I have not known you for ten years in order to leave you in trouble and refuse to answer for you. What the devil are respectable people to be stopped like this in a public place? Come, sir, believe his word, as I do." After some more discussion, the porter was at last allowed to proceed with his hand-cart. The hawker wanted to interfere, but Mouchy warned her off and ordered her to be silent. "Ah! ah!" she cried, "what does it matter to me? Let him sell his wine if he can; I shall not drink any on his premises. This is the second time he has found a surety to my knowledge; the beggar must have some special secret for encouraging the growth of fools. Good-bye, gossip Derues; you know I shall be selling your history some day. Meanwhile---- "The abominable history of Leroi de Valine, condemned to death at the age of sixteen for having poisoned his entire family!" Whilst she amused the people by her grimaces and grotesque gestures, and while Mouchy held forth to some of them, Derues made his escape. Several times between Saint-Germain l'Auxerrois and the rue de la Mortellerie he nearly fainted, and was obliged to stop. While the danger lasted, he had had sufficient self-control to confront it coolly, but now that he calculated the depth of the abyss which for a moment had opened beneath his feet, dizziness laid hold on him. Other precautions now became necessary. His real name had been mentioned before the commissionaire, and the widow Masson, who owned the cellar, only knew him as Ducoudray. He went on in front, asked for the keys, which till then had been left with her, and the chest was got downstairs without any awkward questions. Only the porter seemed astonished that this supposed wine, which was to be sold immediately, should be put in such a place, and asked if he might come the next day and move it again. Derues replied that someone was coming for it that very day. This question, and the disgraceful scene which the man had witnessed, made it necessary to get rid of him without letting him see the pit dug under the staircase. Derues tried to drag the chest towards the hole, but all his strength was insufficient to move it. He uttered terrible imprecations when he recognised his own weakness, and saw that he would be obliged to bring another stranger, an informer perhaps, into this charnel-house, where; as yet, nothing betrayed his crimes. No sooner escaped from one peril than he encountered another, and already he had to struggle against his own deeds. He measured the length of the trench, it was too short. Derues went out and repaired to the place where he had hired the labourer who had dug it out, but he could not find the man, whom he had only seen once, and whose name he did not know. Two whole days were spent in this fruitless search, but on the third, as he was wandering on one of the quays at the time labourers were to be found there, a mason, thinking he was looking for someone, inquired what he wanted. Derues looked well at the man, and concluding from his appearance that he was probably rather simpleminded, asked-- "Would you like to earn a crown of three livres by an easy job?" "What a question, master!" answered the mason. "Work is so scarce that I am going back into the country this very evening." "Very well! Bring your tools, spade, and pickaxe, and follow me." They both went down to the cellar, and the mason was ordered to dig out the pit till it was five and a half feet deep. While the man worked, Derues sat beside the chest and read. When it was half done, the mason stopped for breath, and leaning on his spade, inquired why he wanted a trench of such a depth. Derues, who had probably foreseen the question, answered at once, without being disconcerted-- "I want to bury some bottled wine which is contained in this case." "Wine!" said the other. "Ah! you are laughing at me, because you think I look a fool! I never yet heard of such a recipe for improving wine." "Where do you come from?" "D'Alencon." "Cider drinker! You were brought up in Normandy, that is clear. Well, you can learn from me, Jean-Baptiste Ducoudray, a wine grower of Tours, and a wine merchant for the last ten years, that new wine thus buried for a year acquires the quality and characteristics of the oldest brands." "It is possible," said the mason, again taking his spade, "but all the same it seems a little odd to me." When he had finished, Derues asked him to help to drag the chest alongside the trench, so that it might be easier to take out the bottles and arrange them: The mason agreed, but when he moved the chest the foetid odour which proceeded from it made him draw back, declaring that a smell such as that could not possibly proceed from wine. Derues tried to persuade him that the smell came from drains under the cellar, the pipe of which could be seen. It appeared to satisfy him, and he again took hold of the chest, but immediately let it go again, and said positively that he could not execute Derues' orders, being convinced that the chest must contain a decomposing corpse. Then Derues threw himself at the man's feet and acknowledged that it was the dead body of a woman who had unfortunately lodged in his house, and who had died there suddenly from an unknown malady, and that, dreading lest he should be accused of having murdered her, he had decided to conceal the death and bury her here. The mason listened, alarmed at this confidence, and not knowing whether to believe it or not. Derues sobbed and wept at his feet, beat his breast and tore out his hair, calling on God and the saints as witnesses of his good faith and his innocence. He showed the book he was reading while the mason excavated: it was the Seven Penitential Psalms. "How unfortunate I am!" he cried. "This woman died in my house, I assure you--died suddenly, before I could call a doctor. I was alone; I might have been accused, imprisoned, perhaps condemned for a crime I did not commit. Do not ruin me! You leave Paris to-night, you need not be uneasy; no one would know that I employed you, if this unhappy affair should ever be discovered. I do not know your name, I do not wish to know it, and I tell you mine, it is Ducoudray. I give myself up to you, but have some pity!--if not for me, yet for my wife and my two little children--for these poor creatures whose only support I am!" Seeing that the mason was touched, Derues opened the chest. "Look," he said, "examine the body of this woman, does it show any mark of violent death? My God!" he continued, joining his hands and in tones of despairing agony,--"my God, Thou who readest all hearts, and who knowest my innocence, canst Thou not ordain a miracle to save an honest man? Wilt Thou not command this dead body to bear witness for me?" The mason was stupefied by this flow of language. Unable to restrain his tears, he promised to keep silence, persuaded that Derues was innocent, and that appearances only were against him. The latter, moreover, did not neglect other means of persuasion; he handed the mason two gold pieces, and between them they buried the body of Madame de Lamotte. However extraordinary this fact, which might easily be supposed imaginary, may appear, it certainly happened. In the examination at his trial. Derues himself revealed it, repeating the story which had satisfied the mason. He believed that this man had denounced him: he was mistaken, for this confidant of his crime, who might have been the first to put justice on his track, never reappeared, and but for Derues' acknowledgment his existence would have remained unknown. This first deed accomplished, another victim was already appointed. Trembling at first as to the consequences of his forced confession, Derues waited some days, paying, however, his creditor as promised. He redoubles his demonstrations of piety, he casts a furtive glance on everyone he meets, seeking for some expression of distrust. But no one avoids him, or points him out with a raised finger, or whispers on seeing him; everywhere he encounters the customary expression of goodwill. Nothing has changed; suspicion passes over his head without alighting there. He is reassured, and resumes his work. Moreover, had he wished to remain passive, he could not have done so; he was now compelled to follow that fatal law of crime which demands that blood must be effaced with blood, and which is compelled to appeal again to death in order to stifle the accusing voice already issuing from the tomb. Edouard de Lamotte, loving his mother as much as she loved him, became uneasy at receiving no visits, and was astonished at this sudden indifference. Derues wrote to him as follows: "I have at length some good news for you, my dear boy, but you must not tell your mother I have betrayed her secret; she would scold me, because she is planning a surprise for you, and the various steps and care necessary in arranging this important matter have caused her absence. You were to know nothing until the 11th or 12th of this month, but now that all is settled, I should blame myself if I prolonged the uncertainty in which you have been left, only you must promise me to look as much astonished as possible. Your mother, who only lives for you, is going to present you with the greatest gift a youth of your age can receive--that of liberty. Yes, dear boy, we thought we had discovered that you have no very keen taste for study, and that a secluded life will suit neither your character nor your health. In saying this I utter no reproach, for every man is born with his own decided tastes, and the way to success and happiness is-often-to allow him to follow these instincts. We have had long discussions on this subject--your mother and I--and we have thought much about your future; she has at last come to a decision, and for the last ten days has been at Versailles, endeavouring to obtain your admission as a royal page. Here is the mystery, this is the reason which has kept her from you, and as she knew you would hear it with delight, she wished to have the pleasure of telling you herself. Therefore, once again, when you see her, which will be very soon, do not let her see I have told you; appear to be greatly surprised. It is true that I am asking you to tell a lie, but it is a very innocent one, and its good intention will counteract its sinfulness--may God grant we never have worse upon our consciences! Thus, instead of lessons and the solemn precepts of your tutors, instead of a monotonous school-life, you are going to enjoy your liberty; also the pleasures of the court and the world. All that rather alarms me, and I ought to confess that I at first opposed this plan. I begged your mother to reflect, to consider that in this new existence you would run great risk of losing the religious feeling which inspires you, and which I have had the happiness, during my sojourn at Buisson-Souef, of further developing in your mind. I still recall with emotion your fervid and sincere aspirations towards the Creator when you approached the Sacred Table for the first time, and when, kneeling beside you, and envying the purity of heart and innocence of soul which appeared to animate your countenance as with a divine radiance, I besought God that, in default of my own virtue, the love for heavenly Truth with which I have inspired you might be reckoned to my account. Your piety is my work, Edouard, and I defended it against your mother's plans; but she replied that in every career a man is master of his own good or evil actions; and as I have no authority over you, and friendship only gives me the right to advise, I must give way. If this be your vocation, then follow it. "My occupations are so numerous (I have to collect from different sources this hundred thousand livres intended to defray the greater part of the Buisson purchase) that I have not a moment in which to come and see you this week. Spend the time in reflection, and write to me fully what you think about this plan. If, like me, you feel any scruples, you must tell them to your mother, who decidedly wants only to make you happy. Speak to me freely, openly. It is arranged that I am to fetch you on the 11th of this month, and escort you to Versailles, where Madame de Lamotte will be waiting to receive you with the utmost tenderness. Adieu, dear boy; write to me. Your father knows nothing as yet; his consent will be asked after your decision." The answer to this letter did not have to be waited for: it was such as Derues expected; the lad accepted joyfully. The answer was, for the murderer, an arranged plea of defence, a proof which, in a given case, might link the present with the past. On the morning of February 11th, Shrove Tuesday, he went to fetch the young de Lamotte from his school, telling the master that he was desired by the youth's mother to conduct him to Versailles. But, instead, he took him to his own house, saying that he had a letter from Madame de Lamotte asking them not to come till the next day; so they started on Ash Wednesday, Edouard having breakfasted on chocolate. Arrived at Versailles, they stopped at the Fleur-de-lys inn, but there the sickness which the boy had complained of during the journey became very serious, and the innkeeper, having young children, and believing that he recognised symptoms of smallpox, which just then was ravaging Versailles, refused to receive them, saying he had no vacant room. This might have disconcerted anyone but Derues, but his audacity, activity, and resource seemed to increase with each fresh obstacle. Leaving Edouard in a room on the ground floor which had no communication with the rest of the inn, he went at once to look for lodgings, and hastily explored the town. After a fruitless search, he found at last, at the junction of the rue Saint-Honore with that of the Orangerie, a cooper named Martin, who had a furnished room to spare. This he hired at thirty sous per day for himself and his nephew, who had been taken suddenly ill, under the name of Beaupre. To avoid being questioned later, he informed the cooper in a few words that he was a doctor; that he had come to Versailles in order to place his nephew in one of the offices of the town; that in a few days the latter's mother would arrive to join him in seeing and making application to influential persons about the court, to whom he had letters of introduction. As soon as he had delivered this fable with all the appearance of truth with which he knew so well how to disguise his falsehoods, he went back to the young de Lamotte, who was already so exhausted that he was hardly able to drag himself as far as the cooper's house. He fainted on arrival, and was carried into the hired room, where Derues begged to be left alone with him, and only asked for certain beverages which he told the people how to prepare. Whether it was that the strength of youth fought against the poison, or that Derues took pleasure in watching the sufferings of his victim, the agony of the poor lad was prolonged until the fourth day. The sickness continuing incessantly, he sent the cooper's wife for a medicine which he prepared and administered himself. It produced terrible pain, and Edouard's cries brought the cooper and his wife upstairs. They represented to Derues that he ought to call in a doctor and consult with him, but he refused decidedly, saying that a doctor hastily fetched might prove to be an ignorant person with whom he could not agree, and that he could not allow one so dear to him to be prescribed for and nursed by anyone but himself. "I know what the malady is," he continued, raising his eyes to heaven; "it is one that has to be concealed rather than acknowledged. Poor youth! whom I love as my own son, if God, touched by my tears and thy suffering, permits me to save thee, thy whole life will be too short for thy blessings and thy gratitude!" And as Madame Martin asked what this malady might be, he answered with hypocritical blushes-- "Do not ask, madame; there are things of which you do not know even the name." At another time, Martin expressed his surprise that the young man's mother had not yet appeared, who, according to Derues, was to have met him at Versailles. He asked how she could know that they were lodging in his house, and if he should send to meet her at any place where she was likely to arrive. "His mother," said Derues, looking compassionately at Edouard, who lay pale, motionless, and as if insensible,--"his mother! He calls for her incessantly. Ah! monsieur, some families are greatly to be pitied! My entreaties prevailed on her to decide on coming hither, but will she keep her promise? Do not ask me to tell you more; it is too painful to have to accuse a mother of having forgotten her duties in the presence of her son... there are secrets which ought not to be told--unhappy woman!" Edouard moved, extended his arms, and repeated, "Mother!... mother!" Derues hastened to his side and took his hands in his, as if to warm them. "My mother!" the youth repeated. "Why have I not seen her? She was to have met me." "You shall soon see her, dear boy; only keep quiet." "But just now I thought she was dead." "Dead!" cried Derues. "Drive away these sad thoughts. They are caused by the fever only." "No! oh no!... I heard a secret voice which said, 'Thy mother is dead!'... And then I beheld a livid corpse before me... It was she!... I knew her well! and she seemed to have suffered so much----" "Dear boy, your mother is not dead.... My God! what terrible chimeras you conjure up! You will see her again, I assure you; she has arrived already. Is it not so, madame?" he asked, turning towards the Martins, who were both leaning against the foot of the bed, and signing to them to support this pious falsehood, in order to calm the young man. "Did she not arrive and come to his bedside and kiss him while he slept, and she will soon come again?" "Yes, yes," said Madame Martin, wiping her eyes; "and she begged my husband and me to help your uncle to take great care of you--" The youth moved again, and looking round him with a dazed expression, said, "My uncle--?" "You had better go," said Derues in a whisper to the Martins. "I am afraid he is delirious again; I will prepare a draught, which will give him a little rest and sleep." "Adieu, then, adieu," answered Madame Martin; "and may Heaven bless you for the care you bestow on this poor young man!" On Friday evening violent vomiting appeared to have benefited the sufferer. He had rejected most of the poison, and had a fairly quiet night. But on the Saturday morning Derues sent the cooper's little girl to buy more medicine, which he prepared, himself, like the first. The day was horrible, and about six in the evening, seeing his victim was at the last gasp, he opened a little window overlooking the shop and summoned the cooper, requesting him to go at once for a priest. When the latter arrived he found Derues in tears, kneeling at the dying boy's bedside. And now, by the light of two tapers placed on a table, flanking the holy water-stoup, there began what on one side was an abominable and sacrilegious comedy, a disgraceful parody of that which Christians consider most sacred and most dear; on the other, a pious and consoling ceremony. The cooper and his wife, their eyes bathed in tears, knelt in the middle of the room, murmuring such prayers as they could remember. Derues gave up his place to the priest, but as Edouard did not answer the latter's questions, he approached the bed, and bending over the sufferer, exhorted him to confession. "Dear boy," he said, "take courage; your sufferings here will be counted to you above: God will weigh ahem in the scales of His infinite mercy. Listen to the words of His holy minister, cast your sins into His bosom, and obtain from Him forgiveness for your faults." "I am in such terrible pain!" cried Edouard. "Water! water! Extinguish the fire which consumes me!" A violent fit came on, succeeded by exhaustion and the death-rattle. Derues fell on his knees, and the priest administered extreme unction. There was then a moment of absolute silence, more impressive than cries and sobs. The priest collected himself for a moment, crossed himself, and began to pray. Derues also crossed himself, and repeated in a low voice, apparently choked by grief "Go forth, O Christian soul, from this world, in the name of God the Father Almighty, who created thee; in the name of Jesus Christ, the Son of the living God, who suffered for thee; in the name of the Holy Ghost, who was poured out upon thee." The youth struggled in his bed, and a convulsive movement agitated his limbs. Derues continued-- "When thy soul departs from this body may it be admitted to the holy Mountain of Sion, to the Heavenly Jerusalem, to the numerous company of Angels, and to the Church of the First-born, whose names are written in Heaven----" "Mother!... My mother!" cried Edouard. Derues resumed-- "Let God arise, and let the Powers of Darkness be dispersed! let the Spirits of Evil, who reign over the air, be put to flight; let them not dare to attack a soul redeemed by the precious blood of Jesus Christ." "Amen," responded the priest and the Martins. There was another silence, broken only by the stifled sobs of Derues. The priest again crossed himself and took up the prayer. "We beseech Thee, O beloved and only Son of God, by the merits of Thy sacred Passion, Thy Cross and Thy Death, to deliver this Thy servant from the pains of Hell, and to lead him to that happy place whither Thou didst vouchsafe to lead the thief, who, with Thee, was bound upon the Cross: Thou, who art God, living and reigning with the Father and the Holy Ghost." "Amen," repeated those present. Derues now took up the prayer, and his voice mingled with the dying gasps of the sufferer. "And there was a darkness over all the earth---- "To Thee, O Lord, we commend the soul of this Thy servant, that, being dead to the world, he may, live to Thee: and the sins he hath committed through the frailty of his mortal nature, do Thou in Thy most merciful goodness, forgive and wash away. Amen." After which all present sprinkled holy water on the body.... When the priest had retired, shown out by Madame Martin, Derues said to her husband-- "This unfortunate young man has died without the consolation of beholding his mother.... His last thought was for her.... There now remains the last duty, a very painful one to accomplish, but my poor nephew imposed it on me. A few hours ago, feeling that his end was near, he asked me, as a last mark of friendship, not to entrust these final duties to the hands of strangers." While he applied himself to the necessary work in presence of the cooper, who was much affected by the sight of such sincere and profound affliction, Derues added, sighing-- "I shall always grieve for this dear boy. Alas! that evil living should have caused his early death!" When he had finished laying out the body, he threw some little packets into the fire which he professed to have found in the youth's pockets, telling Martin, in order to support this assertion, that they contained drugs suitable to this disgraceful malady. He spent the night in the room with the corpse, as he had done in the case of Madame de Lamotte, and the next day, Sunday, he sent Martin to the parish church of St. Louis, to arrange for a funeral of the simplest kind; telling him to fill up the certificate in the name of Beaupre, born at Commercy, in Lorraine. He declined himself either to go to the church or to appear at the funeral, saying that his grief was too great. Martin, returning from the funeral, found him engaged in prayer. Derues gave him the dead youth's clothes and departed, leaving some money to be given to the poor of the parish, and for masses to be said for the repose of the soul of the dead. He arrived at home in the evening, found his wife entertaining some friends; and told them he had just come from Chartres, where he had been summoned on business. Everyone noticed his unusual air of satisfaction, and he sang several songs during supper. Having accomplished these two crimes, Derues did not remain idle. When the murderer's part of his nature was at rest, the thief reappeared. His extreme avarice now made him regret the expense' caused by the deaths of Madame de Lamotte and her son, and he wished to recoup himself. Two days after his return from Versailles, he ventured to present himself at Edouard's school. He told the master that he had received a letter from Madame de Lamotte, saying that she wished to keep her son, and asking him to obtain Edouard's belongings. The schoolmaster's wife, who was present, replied that that could not be; that Monsieur de Lamotte would have known of his wife's intention; that she would not have taken such a step without consulting him; and that only the evening before, they had received a present of game from Buisson-Souef, with a letter in which Monsieur de Lamotte entreated them to take great, care of his son. "If what you say is true," she continued, "Madame de Lamotte is no doubt acting on your advice in taking away her son. But I will write to Buisson." "You had better not do anything in the matter;" said Derues, turning to the schoolmaster. "It is quite possible that Monsieur de Lamotte does not know. I am aware that his wife does not always consult him. She is at Versailles, where I took Edouard to her, and I will inform her of your objection." To insure impunity for these murders, Derues had resolved on the death of Monsieur de Lamotte; but before executing this last crime, he wished for some proof of the recent pretended agreements between himself and Madame de Lamotte. He would not wait for the disappearance of the whole family before presenting himself as the lawful proprietor, of Buisson-Souef. Prudence required him to shelter himself behind a deed which should have been executed by that lady. On February 27th he appeared at the office of Madame de Lamotte's lawyer in the rue du Paon, and, with all the persuasion of an artful tongue, demanded the power of attorney on that lady's behalf, saying that he had, by private contract, just paid a hundred thousand livres on the total amount of purchase, which money was now deposited with a notary. The lawyer, much astonished that an affair of such importance should have been arranged without any reference to himself, refused to give up the deed to anyone but Monsieur or Madame de Lamotte, and inquired why the latter did not appear herself. Derues replied that she was at Versailles, and that he was to send the deed to her there. He repeated his request and the lawyer his refusal, until Derues retired, saying he would find means to compel him to give up the deed. He actually did, the same day, present a petition to the civil authority, in which Cyrano Derues de Bury sets forth arrangements, made with Madame de Lamotte, founded on the deed given by her husband, and requires permission to seize and withdraw said deed from the custody in which it remains at present. The petition is granted. The lawyer objects that he can only give up the deed to either Monsieur or Madame de Lamotte, unless he be otherwise ordered. Derues has the effrontery to again appeal to the civil authority, but, for the reasons given by that public officer, the affair is adjourned. These two futile efforts might have compromised Derues had they been heard of at Buisson-Souef; but everything seemed to conspire in the criminal's favour: neither the schoolmaster's wife nor the lawyer thought of writing to Monsieur de Lamotte. The latter, as yet unsuspecting, was tormented by other anxieties, and kept at home by illness. In these days, distance is shortened, and one can travel from Villeneuve-le-Roi-les-Sens to Paris in a few hours. This was not the case in 1777, when private industry and activity, stifled by routine and privilege, had not yet experienced the need of providing the means for rapid communication. Half a day was required to go from the capital to Versailles; a journey of twenty leagues required at least two days and a night, and bristled with obstacles ind delays of all kinds. These difficulties of transport, still greater during bad weather, and a long and serious attack of gout, explain why Monsieur ale Lamotte, who was so ready to take alarm, had remained separated from his wife from the middle of December to the end of February. He had received reassuring letters from her, written at first with freedom and simplicity; but he thought he noticed a gradual change in the later ones, which appeared to proceed more from the mind than the heart. A style which aimed at being natural was interspersed with unnecessary expressions of affection, unusual between married people well assured of their mutual love. Monsieur de Lamotte observed and exaggerated these peculiarities, and though endeavouring to persuade himself that he was mistaken, he could not forget them, or regain his usual tranquility. Being somewhat ashamed of his anxiety, he kept his fears to himself. One morning, as he was sunk in a large armchair by the fire, his sitting-room door opened, and the cure entered, who was surprised by his despondent, sad, and pale appearance. "What is the matter?" he inquired, "Have you had an extra bad night?" "Yes," answered Monsieur de Lamotte. "Well, have you any news from Paris?" "Nothing for a whole week: it is odd, is it not?" "I am always hoping that this sale may fall through; it drags on for so very long; and I believe that Monsieur Derues, in spite of what your wife wrote a month ago, has not as much money as he pretends to have. Do you know that it is said that Monsieur Despeignes-Duplessis, Madame Derues' relative, whose money they inherited, was assassinated?" "Where did you hear that?" "It is a common report in the country, and was brought here by a man who came recently from Beauvais." "Have the murderers been discovered?" "Apparently not; justice seems unable to discover anything at all." Monsieur de Lamotte hung his head, and his countenance assumed an expression of painful thought, as though this news affected him personally. "Frankly," resumed the cure, "I believe you will remain Seigneur du Buisson-Souef, and that I shall be spared the pain of writing another name over your seat in the church of Villeneuve." "The affair must be settled in a few days, for I can wait no longer; if the purchaser be not Monsieur Derues, it will have to be someone else. What makes you think he is short of money?" "Oh! oh!" said the cure, "a man who has money either pays his debts, or is a cheat. Now Heaven preserve me from suspecting Monsieur Derues' honesty!" "What do you know about him?" "Do you remember Brother Marchois of the Camaldulians, who came to see me last spring, and who was here the day Monsieur Derues arrived, with your wife and Edouard?" "Perfectly. Well?" "Well, I happened to tell him in one of my letters that Monsieur Derues had become the purchaser of Buisson-Souef, and that I believed the arrangements were concluded. Thereupon Brother Marchois wrote asking me to remind him that he owes them a sum of eight hundred livres, and that, so far, they have not seen a penny of it." "Ah!" said Monsieur de Lamotte, "perhaps I should have done better not to let myself be deluded by his fine promises. He certainly has money on his tongue, and when once one begins to listen to him, one can't help doing what he wants. All the same, I had rather have had to deal with someone else." "And is it this which worries you, and makes you seem so anxious?" "This and other things." "What, then?" "I am really ashamed to own it, but I am a credulous and timid as any old woman. Now do not laugh at me too much. Do you believe in dreams?" "Monsieur," said the cure, smiling, "you should never ask a coward whether he is afraid, you only risk his telling a lie. He will say 'No,' but he means 'Yes.'" "And are you a coward, my father?" "A little. I don't precisely believe all the nursery, tales, or in the favourable or unfavourable meaning of some object seen during our sleep, but--" A sound of steps interrupted them, a servant entered, announcing Monsieur Derues. On hearing the name, Monsieur de Lamotte felt troubled in spite of himself, but, overcoming the impression, he rose to meet the visitor. "You had better stay," he said to the cure, who was also rising to take leave. "Stay; we have probably nothing to say which cannot be said before you." Derues entered the room, and, after the usual compliments, sat down by the fire, opposite Monsieur de Lamotte. "You did not expect me," he said, "and I ought to apologise for surprising you thus." "Give me some news of my wife," asked Monsieur de Lamotte anxiously. "She has never been better. Your son is also to perfect health." "But why are you alone? Why does not Marie accompany you? It is ten weeks since she went to Paris." "She has not yet quite finished the business with which you entrusted her. Perhaps I am partly the cause of this long absence, but one cannot transact business as quickly as one would wish. But, you have no doubt heard from her, that all is finished, or nearly so, between us. We have drawn up a second private contract, which annuls the former agreement, and I have paid over a sum of one hundred thousand livres." "I do not comprehend," said Monsieur de Lamotte. "What can induce my wife not to inform me of this?" "You did not know?" "I know nothing. I was wondering just now with Monsieur le cure why I did not hear from her." "Madame de Lamotte was going to write to you, and I do not know what can have hindered her." "When did you leave her?" "Several days ago. I have not been at Paris; I am returning from Chartres. I believed you were informed of everything." Monsieur de Lamotte remained silent for some moments. Then, fixing his eyes upon Derues' immovable countenance, he said, with some emotion-- "You are a husband and father, sir; in the name of this double and sacred affection which is, not unknown to you, do not hide anything from me: I fear some misfortune has happened to my wife which you are concealing." Derues' physiognomy expressed nothing but a perfectly natural astonishment. "What can have suggested such ideas to you; dear sir?" In saying this he glanced at the cure; wishing to ascertain if this distrust was Monsieur de Lamotte's own idea, or had been suggested to him. The movement was so rapid that neither of the others observed it. Like all knaves, obliged by their actions to be continually on the watch, Derues possessed to a remarkable extent the art of seeing all round him without appearing to observe anything in particular. He decided that as yet he had only to combat a suspicion unfounded on proof, and he waited till he should be attacked more seriously. "I do not know," he said, "what may have happened during my absence; pray explain yourself, for you are making me share your disquietude." "Yes, I am exceedingly anxious; I entreat you, tell me the whole truth. Explain this silence, and this absence prolonged beyond all expectation. You finished your business with Madame de Lamotte several days ago: once again, why did she not write? There is no letter, either from her or my son! To-morrow I shall send someone to Paris." "Good heavens!" answered Derues, "is there nothing but an accident which could cause this delay?... Well, then," he continued, with the embarrassed look of a man compelled to betray a confidence,--"well, then, I see that in order to reassure you, I shall have to give up a secret entrusted to me." He then told Monsieur de Lamotte that his wife was no longer at Paris, but at Versailles, where she was endeavouring to obtain an important and lucrative appointment, and that, if she had left him in ignorance of her efforts in this direction; it was only to give him an agreeable surprise. He added that she had removed her son from the school, and hoped to place him either in the riding school or amongst the royal pages. To prove his words, he opened his paper-case, and produced the letter written by Edouard in answer to the one quoted above. All this was related so simply, and with such an appearance of good faith, that the cure was quite convinced. And to Monsieur de Lamotte the plans attributed to his wife were not entirely improbably. Derues had learnt indirectly that such a career for Edouard had been actually under consideration. However, though Monsieur de Lamotte's entire ignorance prevented him from making any serious objection, his fears were not entirely at rest, but for the present he appeared satisfied with the explanation. The cure resumed the conversation. "What you tell us ought to drive away gloomy ideas. Just now, when you were announced, Monsieur de Lamotte was confiding his troubles to me. I was as concerned as he was, and I could say nothing to help him; never did visitor arrive more apropos. Well, my friend, what now remains of your vain terrors? What was it you were saying just as Monsieur Derues arrived?... Ah! we were discussing dreams, you asked if I believed in them." Monsieur, de Lamotte, who had sunk back in his easy-chair and seemed lost in his reflections, started on hearing these words. He raised his head and looked again at Derues. But the latter had had time to note the impression produced by the cure's remark, and this renewed examination did not disturb him. "Yes," said Monsieur de Lamotte, "I had asked that question." "And I was going to answer that there are certain secret warnings which can be received by the soul long before they are intelligible to the bodily senses-revelations not understood at first, but which later connect themselves with realities of which they are in some way the precursors. Do you agree with me, Monsieur Derues?" "I have no opinion on such a subject, and must leave the discussion to more learned people than myself. I do not know whether such apparitions really mean anything or not, and I have not sought to fathom these mysteries, thinking them outside the realm of human intelligence." "Nevertheless," said the cure, "we are obliged to recognise their existence." "Yes, but without either understanding or explaining them, like many other eternal truths. I follow the rule given in the Imitation o f Jesus Christ: 'Beware, my son, of considering too curiously the things beyond thine intelligence.'" "And I also submit, and avoid too curious consideration. But has not the soul knowledge of many wondrous things which we can yet neither see nor touch? I repeat, there are things which cannot be denied." Derues listened attentively, continually on his guard; and afraid, he knew not why, of becoming entangled in this conversation, as in a trap. He carefully watched Monsieur de Lamotte, whose eyes never left him. The cure resumed-- "Here is an instance which I was bound to accept, seeing it happened to myself. I was then twenty, and my mother lived in the neighbourhood of Tours, whilst I was at the seminary of Montpellier. After several years of separation, I had obtained permission to go and see her. I wrote, telling her of this good news, and I received her answer--full of joy and tenderness. My brother and sister were to be informed, it was to be a family meeting, a real festivity; and I started with a light and joyous heart. My impatience was so great, that, having stopped for supper at a village inn some ten leagues from Tours, I would not wait till the next morning for the coach which went that way, but continued the journey on foot and walked all night. It was a long and difficult road, but happiness redoubled my strength. About an hour after sunrise I saw distinctly the smoke and the village roofs, and I hurried on to surprise my family a little sooner. I never felt more active, more light-hearted and gay; everything seemed to smile before and around me. Turning a corner of the hedge, I met a peasant whom I recognised. All at once it seemed as if a veil spread over my sight, all my hopes and joy suddenly vanished, a funereal idea took possession of me, and I said, taking the hand of the man, who had not yet spoken-- "'My mother is dead, I am convinced my mother is dead!' "He hung down his head and answered-- "'She is to be buried this morning!' "Now whence came this revelation? I had seen no one, spoken to no one; a moment before I had no idea of it!" Derues made a gesture of surprise. Monsieur de Lamotte put his hand to his eyes, and said to the cure-- "Your presentiments were true; mine, happily, are unfounded. But listen, and tell me if in the state of anxiety which oppressed me I had not good reason for alarm and for fearing some fatal misfortune." His eyes again sought Derues. "Towards the middle of last night I at length fell asleep, but, interrupted every moment, this sleep was more a fatigue than a rest; I seemed to hear confused noises all round me. I saw brilliant lights which dazzled me, and then sank back into silence and darkness. Sometimes I heard someone weeping near my bed; again plaintive voices called to me out of the darkness. I stretched out my arms, but nothing met them, I fought with phantoms; at length a cold hand grasped mine and led me rapidly forward. Under a dark and damp vault a woman lay on the ground, bleeding, inanimate--it was my wife! At the same moment, a groan made me look round, and I beheld a man striking my son with a dagger. I cried out and awoke, bathed in cold perspiration, panting under this terrible vision. I was obliged to get up, walk about, and speak aloud, in order to convince myself it was only a dream. I tried to go to sleep again, but the same visions still pursued me. I saw always the same man armed with two daggers streaming with blood; I heard always the cries of his two victims. When day came, I felt utterly broken, worn-out; and this morning, you, my father, could see by my despondency what an impression this awful night had made upon me." During this recital Derues' calmness never gave way for a single moment, and the most skilful physiognomist could only have discovered an expression of incredulous curiosity on his countenance. "Monsieur le cure's story," said he, "impressed me much; yours only brings back my uncertainty. It is less possible than ever to deliver any opinion on this serious question of dreams, since the second instance contradicts the first." "It is true," answered the cure, "no possible conclusion can be drawn from two facts which contradict each other, and the best thing we can do is to choose a less dismal subject of conversation." "Monsieur Derues;" asked Monsieur de Lamatte, "if you are not too tired with your journey, shall we go and look at the last improvements I have made? It is now your affair to decide upon them, since I shall shortly be only your guest here." "Just as I have been yours for long enough, and I trust you will often give me the opportunity of exercising hospitality in my turn. But you are ill, the day is cold and damp; if you do not care to go out, do not let me disturb you. Had you not better stay by the fire with Monsieur le cure? For me, Heaven be thanked! I require no assistance. I will look round the park, and come back presently to tell you what I think. Besides, we shall have plenty of time to talk about it. With your permission, I should like to stay two or three days." "I shall be pleased if you will do so." Derues went out, sufficiently uneasy in his mind, both on account of his reception of Monsieur de Lamotte's fears and of the manner in which the latter had watched him during the conversation. He walked quickly up and down the park-- "I have been foolish, perhaps; I have lost twelve or fifteen days, and delayed stupidly from fear of not foreseeing everything. But then, how was I to imagine that this simple, easily deceived man would all at once become suspicious? What a strange dream! If I had not been on my guard, I might have been disconcerted. Come, come, I must try to disperse these ideas and give him something else to think about." He stopped, and after a few minutes consideration turned back towards the house. As soon as he had left the room, Monsieur de Lamotte had bent over towards the cure, and had said-- "He did not show any emotion, did--he?" "None whatever." "He did not start when I spoke of the man armed with those two daggers?" "No. But put aside these ideas; you must see they are mistaken." "I did not tell everything, my father: this murderer whom I saw in my dream--was Derues himself! I know as well as you that it must be a delusion, I saw as well as you did that he remained quite calm, but, in spite of myself, this terrible dream haunts me.... There, do not listen to me, do not let me talk about it; it only makes me blush for myself." Whilst Derues remained at Buisson-Souef, Monsieur de Lamotte received several letters from his wife, some from Paris, some from Versailles. She remarked that her son and herself were perfectly well.... The writing was so well imitated that no one could doubt their genuineness. However, Monsieur de Lamotte's suspicions continually increased and he ended by making the cure share his fears. He also refused to go with Derues to Paris, in spite of the latter's entreaties. Derues, alarmed at the coldness shown him, left Buisson-Souef, saying that he intended to take possession about the middle of spring. Monsieur de Lamotte was, in spite of himself, still detained by ill-health. But a new and inexplicable circumstance made him resolve to go to Paris and endeavour to clear up the mystery which appeared to surround his wife and son. He received an unsigned letter in unknown handwriting, and in which Madame de Lamotte's reputation was attacked with a kind of would-be reticence, which hinted that she was an unfaithful wife and that in this lay the cause of her long absence. Her husband did not believe this anonymous denunciation, but the fate of the two beings dearest to him seemed shrouded in so much obscurity that he could delay no longer, and started for Paris. His resolution not to accompany Derues had saved his life. The latter could not carry out his culminating crime at Buisson-Souef; it was only in Paris that his victims would disappear without his being called to account. Obliged to leave hold of his prey, he endeavoured to bewilder him in a labyrinth where all trace of truth might be lost. Already, as he had arranged beforehand, he had called calumny to his help, and prepared the audacious lie which was to vindicate himself should an accusation fall upon his head. He had hoped that Monsieur de Lamotte would fall defenceless into his hands; but now a careful examination of his position, showing the impossibility of avoiding an explanation had become inevitable, made him change all his plans, and compelled him to devise an infernal plot, so skilfully laid that it bid fair to defeat all human sagacity. Monsieur de Lamotte arrived in Paris early in March. Chance decided that he should lodge in the rue de la Mortellerie, in a house not far from the one where his wife's body lay buried. He went to see Derues, hoping to surprise him, and determined to make him speak, but found he was not at home. Madame Derues, whether acting with the discretion of an accomplice or really ignorant of her husband's proceedings, could not say where he was likely to be found. She said that he told her nothing about his actions, and that Monsieur de Lamotte must have observed during their stay at Buisson (which was true) that she never questioned him, but obeyed his wishes in everything; and that he had now gone away without saying where he was going. She acknowledged that Madame de Lamotte had lodged with them for six weeks, and that she knew that lady had been at Versailles, but since then she had heard nothing. All Monsieur de Lamotte's questions, his entreaties, prayers, or threats, obtained no other answer. He went to the lawyer in the rue de Paon, to the schoolmaster, and found the same uncertainty, the same ignorance. His wife and his son had gone to Versailles, there the clue ended which ought to guide his investigations. He went to this town; no one could give him any information, the very name of Lamotte was unknown. He returned to Paris, questioned and examined the people of the quarter, the proprietor of the Hotel de France, where his wife had stayed on her former visit; at length, wearied with useless efforts, he implored help from justice. Then his complaints ceased; he was advised to maintain a prudent silence, and to await Derues' return. The latter thoroughly understood that, having failed to dissipate Monsieur de Lamotte's fears, there was no longer an instant to lose, and that the pretended private contract of February 12th would not of itself prove the existence of Madame de Lamotte. This is how he employed the time spent by the unhappy husband in fruitless investigation. On March 12th, a woman, her face hidden in the hood of her cloak, or "Therese," as it was then called, appeared in the office of Maitre N-----, a notary at Lyons. She gave her name as Marie Francoise Perffier, wife of Monsieur Saint-Faust de Lamotte, but separated, as to goods and estate, from him. She caused a deed to be drawn up, authorising her husband to receive the arrears of thirty thousand livres remaining from the price of the estate of Buisson-Souef, situated near Villeneuve-le-Roi-lez-Sens. The deed was drawn up and signed by Madame de Lamotte, by the notary, and one of his colleagues. This woman was Derues. If we remember that he only arrived at Buisson February 28th, and remained there for some days, it becomes difficult to understand how at that period so long a journey as that from Paris to Lyons could have been accomplished with such rapidity. Fear must have given him wings. We will now explain what use he intended to make of it, and what fable, a masterpiece of cunning and of lies, he had invented. On his arrival in Paris he found a summons to appear before the magistrate of police. He expected this, and appeared quite tranquil, ready to answer any questions. Monsieur de Lamotte was present. It was a formal examination, and the magistrate first asked why he had left Paris. "Monsieur," replied Derues, "I have nothing to hide, and none of my actions need fear the daylight, but before replying, I should like to understand my position. As a domiciled citizen I have a right to require this. Will you kindly inform me why I have been summoned to appear before you, whether on account of anything personal to myself, or simply to give information as to something which may be within my knowledge?" "You are acquainted with this gentleman, and cannot therefore be ignorant of the cause of the present inquiry." "I am, nevertheless, quite in ignorance of it." "Be good enough to answer my question. Why did you leave Paris? And where have you been?" "I was absent for business reasons." "What business?" "I shall say no more." "Take care! you have incurred serious suspicions, and silence will not tend to clear you." Derues hung down his head with an air of resignation; and Monsieur de Lamotte, seeing in this attitude a silent confession of crime, exclaimed, "Wretched man! what have you done with my wife and my son?" "Your son!--" said Derues slowly and with peculiar emphasis. He again cast down his eyes. The magistrate conducting the inquiry was struck by the expression of Derues' countenance and by this half answer, which appeared to hide a mystery and to aim at diverting attention by offering a bait to curiosity. He might have stopped Derues at the moment when he sought to plunge into a tortuous argument, and compelled him to answer with the same clearness and decision which distinguished Monsieur de Lamotte's question; but he reflected that the latter's inquiries, unforeseen, hasty, and passionate, were perhaps more likely to disconcert a prepared defence than cooler and more skilful tactics. He therefore changed his plans, contenting "himself for the moment with the part of an observer only, and watching a duel between two fairly matched antagonists. "I require: you to tell me what has become of them," repeated Monsieur de Lamotte. "I have been to Versailles, you assured me they were there." "And I told you the truth, monsieur." "No one has seen them, no one knows them; every trace is lost. Your Honour, this man must be compelled to answer, he must say what has become of my wife and son!" "I excuse your anxiety, I understand your trouble, but why appeal to me? Why am I supposed to know what may have happened to them?" "Because I confided them to your care." "As a friend, yes, I agree. Yes, it is quite true that last December I received a letter from you informing me of the impending arrival of your wife and son. I received them in my own house, and showed them the same hospitality which I had received from you. I saw them both, your son often, your wife every day, until the day she left me to go to Versailles. Yes, I also took Edouard to his mother, who was negotiating an appointment for him. I have already told you all this, and I repeat it because it is the truth. You believed me then: why do you not believe me now? Why has what I say become strange and incredible? If your wife and your son have disappeared, am I responsible? Did you transmit your authority to me? And now, in what manner are you thus calling me to account? Is it to the friend who might have pitied, who might have aided your search, that you thus address yourself? Have you come to confide in me, to ask for advice, for consolation? No, you accuse me; very well! then I refuse to speak, because, having no proofs, you yet accuse an honest man; because your fears, whether real or imaginary, do not excuse you for casting, I know not what odious suspicions, on a blameless reputation, because I have the right to be offended. Monsieur," he continued, turning to the magistrate, "I believe you will appreciate my moderation, and will allow me to retire. If charges are brought against me, I am quite ready to meet them, and to show what they are really worth. I shall remain in Paris, I have now no business which requires my presence elsewhere." He emphasised these last words, evidently intending to draw attention to them. It did not escape the magistrate, who inquired-- "What do you mean by that?" "Nothing beyond my words, your Honour, Have I your permission to retire?" "No, remain; you are pretending not to understand." "I do not understand these insinuations so covertly made." Monsieur de Lamotte rose, exclaiming-- "Insinuations! What more can I say to compel you to answer? My wife and son have disappeared. It is untrue that, as you pretend, they have been at Versailles. You deceived me at Buisson-Souef, just as you are deceiving me now, as you are endeavouring to deceive justice by inventing fresh lies. Where are they? What has become of them? I am tormented by all the fears possible to a husband and father; I imagine all the most terrible misfortunes, and I accuse you to your face of having caused their death! Is this sufficient, or do you still accuse me of covert insinuations?" Derues turned to the magistrate. "Is this charge enough to place me in the position of a criminal if I do not give a satisfactory explanation?" "Certainly; you should have thought of that sooner." "Then," he continued, addressing Monsieur de Lamotte, "I understand you persist in this odious accusation?" "I certainly persist in it." "You have forgotten our friendship, broken all bonds between us: I am in your eyes only a miserable assassin? You consider my silence as guilty, you will ruin me if I do not speak?" "It is true." "There is still time for reflection; consider what you are doing; I will forget your insults and your anger. Your trouble is great enough without my reproaches being added to it. But you desire that I should speak, you desire it absolutely?" "I do desire it." "Very well, then; it shall be as you wish." Derues surveyed Monsieur de Lamotte with a look which seemed to say, "I pity you." He then added, with a sigh-- "I am now ready to answer. Your Honour, will you have the kindness to resume my examination?" Derues had succeeded in taking up an advantageous position. If he had begun narrating the extraordinary romance he had invented, the least penetrating eye must have perceived its improbability, and one would have felt it required some support at every turn. But since he had resisted being forced to tell it, and apparently only ceded to Monsieur de Lamotte's violent persistency, the situation was changed; and this refusal to speak, coming from a man who thereby compromised his personal safety, took the semblance of generosity, and was likely to arouse the magistrate's curiosity and prepare his mind for unusual and mysterious revelations. This was exactly what Derues wanted, and he awaited the interrogation with calm and tranquillity. "Why did you leave Paris?" the magistrate demanded a second time. "I have already had the honour to inform you that important business necessitated my absence." "But you refused to explain the nature of this business. Do you still persist in this refusal?" "For the moment, yes. I will explain it later." "Where have you been? Whence do you return?" "I have been to Lyons, and have returned thence." "What took you there? "I will tell you later." "In the month of December last, Madame de Lamotte and her son came to Paris? "That is so." "They both lodged in your house?" "I have no reason to deny it." "But neither she herself, nor Monsieur de Lamotte, had at first intended that she should accept a lodging in the house which you occupied." "That is quite true. We had important accounts to settle, and Madame de Lamotte told me afterwards that she feared some dispute on the question of money might arise between us--at least, that is the reason she gave me. She was mistaken, as the event proved, since I always intended to pay, and I have paid. But she may have had another reason which she preferred not to give." "It was the distrust of this man which she felt," exclaimed Monsieur de Lamotte. Derues answered only with a melancholy smile. "Silence, monsieur," said the magistrate, "silence; do not interrupt." Then addressing Derues-- "Another motive? What motive do you suppose?" "Possibly she preferred to be more free, and able to receive any visitor she wished." "What do you mean?" "It is only supposition on my part, I do not insist upon it." "But the supposition appears to contain a hint injurious to Madame de Lamotte's reputation?" "No, oh no!" replied Derues, after a moment's silence. This sort of insinuation appeared strange to the magistrate, who resolved to try and force Derues to abandon these treacherous reticences behind which he sheltered himself. Again recommending silence to Monsieur de Lamotte, he continued to question Derues, not perceiving that he was only following the lead skilfully given by the latter, who drew him gradually on by withdrawing himself, and that all the time thus gained was an advantage to the accused. "Well," said the magistrate, "whatever Madame de Lamotte's motives may have been, it ended in her coming to stay with you. How did you persuade her to take this step?" "My wife accompanied her first to the Hotel de France, and then to other hotels. I said no more than might be deemed allowable in a friend; I could not presume to persuade her against her will. When I returned home, I was surprised to find her there with her son. She could not find a disengaged room in any of the hotels she tried, and she then accepted my offer." "What date was this?" "Monday, the 16th of last December." "And when did she leave your house?" "On the 1st of February." "The porter cannot remember having seen her go out on that day." "That is possible. Madame de Lamotte went and came as her affairs required. She was known, and no more attention would be paid to her than to any other inmate." "The porter also says that for several days before this date she was ill, and obliged to keep her room?" "Yes, it was a slight indisposition, which had no results, so slight that it seemed unnecessary to call in a doctor. Madame de Lamotte appeared preoccupied and anxious. I think her mental attitude influenced her health." "Did you escort her to Versailles?" "No; I went there to see her later." "What proof can you give of her having actually stayed there?" "None whatever, unless it be a letter which I received from her." "You told Monsieur de, Lamotte that she was exerting herself to procure her son's admission either as a king's page or into the riding school. Now, no one at Versailles has seen this lady, or even heard of her." "I only repeated what she told me." "Where was she staying?" "I do not know." "What! she wrote to you, you went to see her, and yet you do not know where she was lodging?" "That is so." "But it is impossible." "There are many things which would appear impossible if I were to relate them, but which are true, nevertheless." "Explain yourself." "I only received one letter from Madame de Lamotte, in which she spoke of her plans for Edouard, requesting me to send her her son on a day she fixed, and I told Edouard of her projects. Not being able to go to the school to see him, I wrote, asking if he would like to give up his studies and become a royal page. When I was last at Buisson-Souef, I showed his answer to Monsieur de Lamotte; it is here." And he handed over a letter to the magistrate, who read it, and passing it on to Monsieur de Lamotte, inquired-- "Did you then, and do you now, recognise your son's handwriting?" "Perfectly, monsieur." "You took Edouard to Versailles?" "I did." "On what day?" "February 11th, Shrove Tuesday. It is the only time I have been to Versailles. The contrary might be supposed; for I have allowed it to be understood that I have often seen Madame de Lamotte since she left my house, and was acquainted with all her actions, and that the former confidence and friendship still existed between us. In allowing this, I have acted a lie, and transgressed the habitual sincerity of my whole life." This assertion produced a bad impression on the magistrate. Derues perceived it, and to avert evil consequences, hastened to add-- "My conduct can only be appreciated when it is known in entirety. I misunderstood the meaning of Madame de Lamotte's letter. She asked me to send her her son, I thought to oblige her by accompanying him, and not leaving him to go alone. So we travelled together, and arrived at Versailles about midday. As I got down from the coach I saw Madame de Lamotte at the palace gate, and observed, to my astonishment, that my presence displeased her. She was not alone." He stopped, although he had evidently reached the most interesting point of his story. "Go on," said the magistrate; "why do you stop now?" "Because what I have to say is so painful--not to me, who have to justify myself, but for others, that I hesitate." "Go on." "Will you then interrogate me, please?" "Well, what happened in this interview?" Derues appeared to collect himself for a moment, and then said with the air of a man who has decide on speaking out at last-- "Madame de Lamotte was not alone; she was attended by a gentleman whom I did not know, whom I never saw either at Buisson-Souef or in Paris, and whom I have never seen again since. I will ask you to allow me to recount everything; even to the smallest details. This man's face struck me at once, on account of a singular resemblance; he paid no attention to me at first, and I was able to examine him at leisure. His manners were those of a man belonging to the highest classes of society, and his dress indicated wealth. On seeing Edouard, he said to Madame de Lamotte-- "'So this is he?' and he then kissed him tenderly. This and the marks of undisguised pleasure which he evinced surprised me, and I looked at Madame de Lamotte, who then remarked with some asperity-- "'I did not expect to see you, Monsieur Derues. I had not asked you to accompany my son.' "Edouard seemed quite as much surprised as I was. The stranger gave me a look of haughty annoyance, but seeing I did not avoid his glance his countenance assumed a more gentle expression, and Madame de Lamotte introduced him as a person who took great interest in Edouard." "It is a whole tissue of imposture!" exclaimed Monsieur de Lamotte. "Allow me to finish," answered Derues. "I understand your doubts, and that you are not anxious to believe what I say, but I have been brought here by legal summons to tell the truth, and I am going to tell it. You can then weigh the two accusations in the balance, and choose between them. The reputation of an honourable man is as sacred, as important, as worthy of credit as the reputation of a woman, and I never heard that the virtue of the one was more fragile than that of the other." Monsieur de Lamotte, thunderstruck by such a revelation, could not contain his impatience and indignation. "This, then," he said, "is the explanation of an anonymous letter which I received, and of the injurious suggestions' concerning my wife's honour which it contained; it was written to give an appearance of probability to this infamous legend. The whole thing is a disgraceful plot, and no doubt Monsieur Derues wrote the letter himself." "I know nothing about it," said Derues unconcernedly, "and the explanation which you profess to find in it I should rather refer to something else I am going to mention. I did not know a secret warning had been sent to you: I now learn it from you, and I understand perfectly that such a letter, may have been written. But that you have received such a warning ought surely to be a reason for listening patiently and not denouncing all I say as imposture." While saying this Derues mentally constructed the fresh falsehood necessitated by the interruption, but no variation of countenance betrayed his thought. He had an air of dignity natural to his position. He saw that, in spite of clear-headedness and long practice in studying the most deceptive countenances, the magistrate so far had not scented any of his falsehoods, and was getting bewildered in the windings of this long narrative, through which Derues led him as he chose; and he resumed with confidence-- "You know that I made Monsieur de Lamotte's acquaintance more than a year ago, and I had reason to believe his friendship as sincere as my own. As a friend, I could not calmly accept the suspicion which then entered my mind, nor could I conceal my surprise. Madame de Lamotte saw this, and understood from my looks that I was not satisfied with the explanation she wished me to accept. A glance of intelligence passed between her and her friend, who was still holding Edouard's hand. The day, though cold, was fine, and she proposed a walk in the park. I offered her my arm, and the stranger walked in front with Edouard. We had a short conversation, which has remained indelibly fixed in my memory. "'Why did you come?' she inquired. "I did not answer, but looked sternly at her, in order to discompose her. At length I said-- "'You should have written, madame, and warned me that my coming would be indiscreet.' "She seemed much disconcerted, and exclaimed-- "'I am lost! I see you guess everything, and will tell my husband. I am an unhappy woman, and a sin once committed can never be erased from the pages of a woman's life! Listen, Monsieur Derues, listen, I implore you! You see this man, I shall not tell you who he is, I shall not give his name... but I loved him long ago; I should have been his wife, and had he not been compelled to leave France, I should have married no one else.'" Monsieur de Lamotte started, and grew pale. "What is the matter?" the magistrate inquired. "Oh! this dastardly wretch is profiting by his knowledge of secrets which a long intimacy has enabled him to discover. Do not believe him, I entreat you, do not believe him!" Derues resumed. "Madame de Lamotte continued: 'I saw him again sixteen years ago, always in hiding, always proscribed. To-day he reappears under a name which is not his own: he wishes to link my fate with his; he has insisted on seeing Edouard. But I shall escape him. I have invented this fiction of placing my son among the royal pages to account for my stay here. Do not contradict me, but help me; for a little time ago I met one of Monsieur de Lamotte's friends, I am afraid he suspected something. Say you have seen me several times; as you have come, let it be known that you brought Edouard here. I shall return to Buisson as soon as possible, but will you go first, see my husband, satisfy him if he is anxious? I am in your hands; my honour, my reputation, my very life, are at your mercy; you can either ruin or help to save me. I may be guilty, but I am not corrupt. I have wept for my sin day after day, and I have already cruelly expiated it.'" This execrable calumny was not related without frequent interruptions on the part of Monsieur de Lamotte. He was, however, obliged to own to himself that it was quite true that Marie Perier had really been promised to a man whom an unlucky affair had driven into exile, and whom he had supposed to be dead. This revelation, coming from Derues, who had the strongest interest in lying, by no means convinced him of his wife's dishonour, nor destroyed the feelings of a husband and father; but Derues was not speaking for him lone, and what appeared incredible to Monsieur de Lamotte might easily seem less improbable to the colder and less interested judgment of the magistrate. "I was wrong," Derues continued, "in allowing myself to be touched by her tears, wrong in believing in her repentance, more wrong still in going to Buisson to satisfy her husband. But I only consented on conditions: Madame de Lamotte promised me to return shortly to Paris, vowing that her son should never know the truth, and that the rest of her life should be devoted to atoning for her sin by a boundless devotion. She then begged me to leave her, and told me she would write to me at Paris to fix the day of her return. This is what happened, and this is why I went to Buissan and gave my support to a lying fiction. With one word I might have destroyed the happiness of seventeen years. I did not wish to do so. I believed in the remorse; I believe in it still, in spite of all appearances; I have refused to speak this very day, and made every effort to prolong an illusion which I know it will be terrible to lose." There was a moment of silence. This fable, so atrociously ingenious, was simply and impressively narrated, and with an air of candour well contrived to impose on the magistrate, or, at least, to suggest grave doubts to his mind. Derues, with his usual cunning, had conformed his language to the quality of his listener. Any tricks, profession of piety, quotations from sacred books, so largely indulged in when he wished to bamboozle people of a lower class, would here have told against him. He knew when to abstain, and carried the art of deception far enough to be able to lay aside the appearance of hypocrisy. He had described all the circumstances without affectation, and if this unexpected accusation was wholly unproved, it yet rested on a possible fact, and did not appear absolutely incredible. The magistrate went through it all again, and made him repeat every detail, without being able to make him contradict himself or show the smallest embarrassment. While interrogating Derues, he kept his eyes fixed upon him; and this double examination being quite fruitless, only increased his perplexity. However, he never relaxed the incredulous severity of his demeanour, nor the imperative and threatening tone of his voice. "You acknowledge having been at Lyons?" he asked. "I have been there." "At the beginning of this examination you said you would explain the reason of this journey later." "I am ready to do so, for the journey is connected with the facts I have just narrated; it was caused by them." "Explain it." "I again ask permission to relate fully. I did not hear from Versailles: I began to fear Monsieur de Lamotte's anxiety would bring him to Paris. Bound by the promise I had made to his wife to avert all suspicion and to satisfy any doubts he might conceive, and, must I add, also remembering that it was important for me to inform him of our new arrangements, and of this payment of a hundred thousand livres." "That payment is assuredly fictitious," interrupted Monsieur de Lamotte; "we must have some proof of it." "I will prove it presently," answered Derues. "So I went to Buisson, as I have already told you. On my return I found a letter from Madame de Lamotte, a letter with a Paris stamp, which had arrived that morning. I was surprised that she should write, when actually in Paris; I opened the letter, and was still more surprised. I have not the letter with me, but I recollect the sense of it perfectly, if not the wording, and I can produce it if necessary. Madame de Lamotte was at Lyons with her son and this person whose name I do not know, and whom I do not care to mention before her husband. She had confided this letter to a person who was coming to Paris, and who was to bring it me; but this individual, whose name was Marquis, regretted that having to start again immediately, he was obliged to entrust it to the post. This is the sense of its contents. Madame de Lamotte wrote that she found herself obliged to follow this nameless person to Lyons; and she begged me to send her news of her husband and of the state of his affairs, but said not one single word of any probable return. I became very uneasy at the news of this clandestine departure. I had no security except a private contract annulling our first agreement on the payment of one hundred thousand livres, and that this was not a sufficient and regular receipt I knew, because the lawyer had already refused to surrender Monsieur de Lamotte's power of attorney. I thought over all the difficulties which this flight, which would have to be kept secret, was likely to produce, and I started for Lyons without writing or giving any notice of my intention. I had no information, I did not even know whether Madame de Lamotte was passing by another name, as at Versailles, but chance decreed that I met her the very day of my arrival. She was alone, and complained bitterly of her fate, saying she had been compelled to follow this individual to Lyons, but that very soon she would be free and would return to Paris. But I was struck by the uncertainty of her manner, and said I should not leave her without obtaining a deed in proof of our recent arrangements. She refused at first, saying it was unnecessary, as she would so soon return; but I insisted strongly. I told her I had already com promised myself by telling Monsieur de Lamotte that she was at Versailles, endeavouring to procure an appointment for her son; that since she had been compelled to come to Lyons, the same person might take her elsewhere, so that she might disappear any day, might leave France without leaving any trace, without any written acknowledgment of her own dishonour; and that when all these falsehoods were discovered, I should appear in the light of an accomplice. I said also that, as she had unfortunately lodged in my house in Paris, and had requested me to remove her son from his school, explanations would be required from me, and perhaps I should be accused of this double disappearance. Finally, I declared that if she did not give me some proofs of her existence, willingly or unwillingly, I would go at once to a magistrate. My firmness made her reflect. 'My good Monsieur Derues,' she said, 'I ask your forgiveness for all the trouble I have caused you. I will give you this deed to-morrow, to-day it is too late; but come to this same place to-morrow, and you shall see me again.' I hesitated, I confess, to let her go. 'Ah,' she said, grasping my hands, 'do not suspect me of intending to deceive you! I swear that I will meet you here at four o'clock. It is enough that I have ruined myself, and perhaps my son, without also entangling you in my unhappy fate. Yes, you are right; this deed is important, necessary for you, and you shall have it. But do not show yourself here; if you were seen, I might not be able to do what I ought to do. To-morrow you shall see me again, I swear it.' She then left me. The next day, the 12th, of March, I was exact at the rendezvous, and Madame de Lamotte arrived a moment later. She gave me a deed, authorising her husband to receive the arrears of thirty thousand livres remaining from the purchase-money of Buisson-Souef. I endeavoured again to express my opinion of her conduct; she listened in silence, as if my words affected her deeply. We were walking together, when she told me she had some business in a house we were passing, and asked me to wait for her. I waited more than an hour, and then discovered that this house, like many others in Lyons, had an exit in another street; and I understood that Madame de Lamotte had escaped by this passage, and that I might wait in vain. Concluding that trying to follow her would be useless, and seeing also that any remonstrance would be made in vain, I returned to Paris, deciding to say nothing as yet, and to conceal the truth as long as possible. I still had hopes, and I did not count on being so soon called on to defend myself: I thought that when I had to speak, it would be as a friend, and not as an accused person. This, sir, is the explanation of my conduct, and I regret that this justification, so easy for myself, should be so cruelly painful for another. You have seen the efforts which I made to defer it." Monsieur de Lamotte had heard this second part of Derues' recital with a more silent indignation, not that he admitted its probability, but he was confounded by this monstrous imposture, and, as it were, terror-stricken by such profound hypocrisy. His mind revolted at the idea of his wife being accused of adultery; but while he repelled this charge with decision, he saw the confirmation of his secret terrors and presentiments, and his heart sank within him at the prospect of exploring this abyss of iniquity. He was pale, gasping for breath, as though he himself had been the criminal, while scorching tears furrowed his cheeks. He tried to speak, but his voice failed; he wanted to fling back at Derues the names of traitor and assassin, and he was obliged to bear in silence the look of mingled grief and pity which the latter bestowed upon him. The magistrate, calmer, and master of his emotions, but tolerably bewildered in this labyrinth of cleverly connected lies, thought it desirable to ask some further questions. "How," said he, "did you obtain this sum of a hundred thousand livres which you say you paid over to Madame de Lamotte?" "I have been engaged in business for several years, and have acquired some fortune." "Nevertheless, you have postponed the obligation of making this payment several times, so that Monsieur de Lamotte had begun to feel uneasiness on the subject. This was the chief reason of his wife's coming to Paris." "One sometimes experiences momentary difficulties, which presently disappear." "You say you have a deed given you at Lyons by Madame de Lamotte, which you were to give to her husband?" "It is here." The magistrate examined the deed carefully, and noted the name of the lawyer in whose office it had been drawn up. "You may go," he said at last. "What!" exclaimed Monsieur de Lamotte. Derues stopped, but the magistrate signed to him to go, intimating, however, that he was on no account to leave Paris. "But," said Monsieur de Lamotte, when they were alone, "this man is indeed guilty. My wife has not betrayed me! She!--forget her duties as a wife! she was virtue incarnate! Ah! I assure you these terrible calumnies are invented to conceal double crime! I throw myself at your feet,--I implore your justice!" "Rise, monsieur. This is only a preliminary examination, and I confess that, so far, he comes well out of it, for imagination can hardly understand such a depth of deceit. I watched him closely the whole time, and I could discover no sign of alarm, no contradiction, in either face or language; if guilty, he must be the greatest hypocrite that ever existed. But I shall neglect nothing: if a criminal is allowed to flatter himself with impunity, he frequently forgets to be prudent, and I have seen many betray themselves when they thought they had nothing to fear. Patience, and trust to the justice of both God and man." Several days passed, and Derues flattered him self the danger was over: his every action mean while was most carefully watched, but so that he remained unaware of the surveillance. A police officer named Mutel, distinguished for activity and intelligence beyond his fellows, was charged with collecting information and following any trail. All his bloodhounds were in action, and hunted Paris thoroughly, but could trace nothing bearing on the fate of Madame de Lamotte and her son. Mutel, however, soon discovered that in the rue Saint Victor, Derues had failed--three successive times, that he had been pursued by numerous creditors, and been often near imprisonment for debt, and that in 1771 he had been publicly accused of incendiarism. He reported on these various circumstances, and then went himself to Derues' abode, where he obtained no results. Madame Derues declared that she knew nothing whatever, and the police, having vainly searched the whole house, had to retire. Derues himself was absent; when he returned he found another order to appear before the magistrate. His first success had encouraged him. He appeared before the magistrate accompanied by a lawyer and full of confidence, complaining loudly that the police, in searching during his absence, had offended against the rights of a domiciled burgess, and ought to have awaited his return. Affecting a just indignation at Monsieur de Lamotte's conduct towards him, he presented a demand that the latter should be declared a calumniator, and should pay damages for the injury caused to his reputation. But this time his effrontery and audacity were of little avail, the magistrate easily detected him in flagrant lies. He declared at first that he had paid the hundred thousand livres with his own money but when reminded of his various bankruptcies, the claims of his creditors, and the judgments obtained against him as an insolvent debtor, he made a complete volte-face, and declared he had borrowed the money from an advocate named Duclos, to whom he had given a bond in presence of a notary. In spite of all his protestations, the magistrate committed him to solitary confinement at Fort l'Eveque. As yet, nothing was publicly known; but vague reports and gossip, carried from shop to shop, circulated among the people, and began to reach the higher classes of society. The infallible instinct which is aroused among the masses is truly marvellous; a great crime is committed, which seems at first likely to defeat justice, and the public conscience is aroused. Long before the tortuous folds which envelop the mystery can be penetrated, while it is still sunk in profound obscurity, the voice of the nation, like an excited hive, buzzes around the secret; though the magistrates doubt, the public curiosity fixes itself, and never leaves go; if the criminal's hiding-place is changed, it follows the track, points it out, descries it in the gloom. This is what happened on the news of Derues' arrest. The affair was everywhere discussed, although the information was incomplete, reports inexact, and no real publicity to be obtained. The romance which Derues had invented by way of defence, and which became known as well as Monsieur de Lamotte's accusation, obtained no credence whatever; on the contrary, all the reports to his discredit were eagerly adopted. As yet, no crime could be traced, but the public presentiment divined an atrocious one. Have we not often seen similar agitations? The names of Bastide, of Castaing, of Papavoine, had hardly been pronounced before they completely absorbed all the public attention, and this had to be satisfied, light had to be thrown on the darkness: society demanded vengeance. Derues felt some alarm in his dungeon, but his presence of mind and his dissimulation in no wise deserted him, and he swore afresh every day to the truth of his statements. But his last false assertion turned against him: the bond for a hundred thousand livres which he professed to have given to Duclos was a counterfeit which Duclos had annulled by a sort of counter declaration made the same day. Another circumstance, intended to ensure his safety, only redoubled suspicion. On April 8th, notes payable to order to the amount of seventy-eight thousand livres, were received by Monsieur de Lamotte's lawyer, as if coming from Madame de Lamotte. It appeared extraordinary that these notes, which arrived in an ordinary stamped envelope, should not be accompanied by any letter of advice, and suspicion attached to Madame Derues, who hitherto had remained unnoticed. An inquiry as to where the packet had been posted soon revealed the office, distinguished by a letter of the alphabet, and the postmaster described a servant-maid who had brought the letter and paid for it. The description resembled the Derues' servant; and this girl, much alarmed, acknowledged, after a great deal of hesitation, that she had posted the letter in obedience to her mistress's orders. Whereupon Madame Derues was sent as a prisoner to Fort l'Eveque, and her husband transferred to the Grand-Chatelet. On being interrogated, she at length owned that she had sent these notes to Monsieur de Lamotte's lawyer, and that her husband had given them her in an envelope hidden in the soiled linen for which she had brought him clean in exchange. All this certainly amounted to serious presumptive evidence of guilt, and if Derues had shown himself to the multitude, which followed every phase of the investigation with increasing anxiety, a thousand arms would have willingly usurped the office of the executioner; but the distance thence to actual proof of murder was enormous for the magistracy. Derues maintained his tranquillity, always asserting that Madame de Lamotte and her son were alive, and would clear him by their reappearance. Neither threats nor stratagems succeeded in making him contradict himself, and his assurance shook the strongest conviction. A new difficulty was added to so much uncertainty. A messenger had been sent off secretly with all haste to Lyons; his return was awaited for a test which it was thought would be decisive. One morning Derues was fetched from his prison and taken to a lower hall of the Conciergerie. He received no answers to the questions addressed to his escort, and this silence showed him the necessity of being on his guard and preserving his imperturbable demeanour whatever might happen. On arriving, he found the commissioner of police, Mutel, and some other persons. The hall being very dark, had been illuminated with several torches, and Derues was so placed that the light fell strongly on his face, and was then ordered to look towards a particular part of the hall. As he did so, a door opened, and a man entered. Derues beheld him with indifference, and seeing that the stranger was observing him attentively, he bowed to him as one might bow to an unknown person whose curiosity seems rather unusual. It was impossible to detect the slightest trace of emotion, a hand placed on his heart would not have felt an increased pulsation, yet this stranger's recognition would be fatal! Mutel approached the new-comer and whispered-- "Do you recognise him?" "No, I do not." "Have the kindness to leave the room for a moment; we will ask you to return immediately." This individual was the lawyer in whose office at Lyons the deed had been drawn up which Derues had signed, disguised as a woman, and under the name of Marie-Francoise Perier, wife of the Sieur de Lamotte. A woman's garments were brought in, and Derues was ordered to put them on, which he did readily, affecting much amusement. As he was assisted to disguise himself, he laughed, stroked his chin and assumed mincing airs, carrying effrontery so far as to ask for a mirror. "I should like to see if it is becoming," he said; "perhaps I might make some conquests." The lawyer returned: Derues was made to pass before him, to sit at a table, sign a paper, in fact to repeat everything it was imagined he might have said or done in the lawyer's office. This second attempt at identification succeeded no better than the first. The lawyer hesitated; then, understanding all the importance of his deposition, he refused to swear to anything, and finally declared that this was not the person who had come to him at Lyons. "I am sorry, sir," said Derues, as they removed him, "that you should have been troubled by having to witness this absurd comedy. Do not blame me for it; but ask Heaven to enlighten those who do not fear to accuse me. As for me, knowing that my innocence will shortly be made clear, I pardon them henceforth." Although justice at this period was generally expeditious, and the lives of accused persons were by no means safe-guarded as they now are, it was impossible to condemn Derues in the absence of any positive proofs of guilt. He knew this, and waited patiently in his prison for the moment when he should triumph over the capital accusation which weighed against him. The storm no longer thundered over his head, the most terrible trials were passed, the examinations became less frequent, and there were no more surprises to dread. The lamentations of Monsieur de Lamotte went to the hearts of the magistrates, but his certainty could not establish theirs, and they pitied, but could not avenge him. In certain minds a sort of reaction favourable to the prisoner began to set in. Among the dupes of Derues' seeming piety, many who at first held their peace under these crushing accusations returned to their former opinion. The bigots and devotees, all who made a profession of kneeling in the churches, of publicly crossing themselves and dipping their fingers in the holy water, and who lived on cant and repetitions of "Amen" and "Alleluia" talked of persecution, of martyrdom, until Derues nearly became a saint destined by the Almighty to find canonisation in a dungeon. Hence arose quarrels and arguments; and this abortive trial, this unproved accusation, kept the public imagination in a constant ferment. To the greater part of those who talk of the "Supreme Being," and who expect His intervention in human affairs, "Providence" is only a word, solemn and sonorous, a sort of theatrical machine which sets all right in the end, and which they glorify with a few banalities proceeding from the lips, but not from the heart. It is true that this unknown and mysterious Cause which we call "God" or "Chance" often appears so exceedingly blind and deaf that one may be permitted to wonder whether certain crimes are really set apart for punishment, when so many others apparently go scot-free. How many murders remain buried in the night of the tomb! how many outrageous and avowed crimes have slept peacefully in an insolent and audacious prosperity! We know the names of many criminals, but who can tell the number of unknown and forgotten victims? The history of humanity is twofold, and like that of the invisible world, which contains marvels unexplored by the science of the visible one, the history recounted in books is by no means the most curious and strange. But without delaying over questions such as these, without protesting here against sophistries which cloud the conscience and hide the presence of an avenging Deity, we leave the facts to the general judgment, and have now to relate the last episode in this long and terrible drama. Of all the populous quarters of Paris which commented on the "affaire Derues," none showed more excitement than that of the Greve, and amongst all the surrounding streets none could boast more numerous crowds than the rue de la Mortellerie. Not that a secret instinct magnetised the crowd in the very place where the proof lay buried, but that each day its attention was aroused by a painful spectacle. A pale and grief-stricken man, whose eyes seemed quenched in tears, passed often down the street, hardly able to drag himself along; it was Monsieur de Lamotte, who lodged, as we have said, in the rue de la Mortellerie, and who seemed like a spectre wandering round a tomb. The crowd made way and uncovered before him, everybody respected such terrible misfortune, and when he had passed, the groups formed up again, and continued discussing the mystery until nightfall. On April 17th, about four in the afternoon, a score of workmen and gossiping women had collected in front of a shop. A stout woman, standing on the lowest step, like an orator in the tribune, held forth and related for the twentieth time what she knew, or rather, did not know. There were listening ears and gaping mouths, even a slight shudder ran through the group; for the widow Masson, discovering a gift of eloquence at the age of sixty, contrived to mingle great warmth and much indignation in her recital. All at once silence fell on the crowd, and a passage was made for Monsieur de Lamotte. One man ventured to ask-- "Is there anything fresh to-day?" A sad shake of the head was the only answer, and the unhappy man continued his way. "Is that Monsieur de Lamotte?" inquired a particularly dirty woman, whose cap, stuck on the side of her, head, allowed locks of grey hair to straggle from under it. "Ah! is that Monsieur de Lamotte?" "Dear me!" said a neighbour, "don't you know him by this time? He passes every day." "Excuse me! I don't belong to this quarter, and--no offence--but it is not so beautiful as to bring one out of curiosity! Nothing personal--but it is rather dirty." "Madame is probably accustomed to use a carriage." "That would suit you better than me, my dear, and would save your having to buy shoes to keep your feet off the ground!" The crowd seemed inclined to hustle the speaker,-- "Wait a moment!" she continued, "I didn't mean to offend anyone. I am a poor woman, but there's no disgrace in that, and I can afford a glass of liqueur. Eh, good gossip, you understand, don't you? A drop of the best for Mother Maniffret, and if my fine friend there will drink with me to settle our difference, I will stand her a glass." The example set by the old hawker was contagious, and instead of filling two little glasses only, widow Masson dispensed a bottleful. "Come, you have done well," cried Mother Maniffret; "my idea has brought you luck." "Faith! not before it was wanted, either!" "What! are you complaining of trade too?" "Ah! don't mention it; it is miserable!" "There's no trade at all. I scream myself hoarse all day, and choke myself for twopence halfpenny. I don't know what's to come of it all. But you seem to have a nice little custom." "What's the good of that, with a whole house on one's hands? It's just my luck; the old tenants go, and the new ones don't come." "What's the matter, then?" "I think the devil's in it. There was a nice man on the first floor-gone; a decent family on the third, all right except that the man beat his wife every night, and made such a row that no one could sleep--gone also. I put up notices--no one even looks at them! A few months ago--it was the middle of December, the day of the last execution--" "The 15th, then," said the hawker. "I cried it, so I know; it's my trade, that." "Very well, then, the 15th," resumed widow Masson. "On that day, then, I let the cellar to a man who said he was a wine merchant, and who paid a term in advance, seeing that I didn't know him, and wouldn't have lent him a farthing on the strength of his good looks. He was a little bit of a man, no taller than that,"--contemptuously holding out her hand,--"and he had two round eyes which I didn't like at, all. He certainly paid, he did that, but we are more than half through the second term and I have no news of my tenant." "And have you never seen him since?" "Yes, once--no, twice. Let's see--three times, I am sure. He came with a hand-cart and a commissionaire, and had a big chest taken downstairs--a case which he said contained wine in bottles.... "No, he came before that, with a workman I think. "Really, I don't know if it was before or after--doesn't matter. Anyhow, it was bottled wine. The third time he brought a mason, and I am sure they quarreled. I heard their voices. He carried off the key, and I have seen neither him nor his wine again. I have another key, and I went down one day; perhaps the rats have drunk the wine and eaten the chest, for there certainly is nothing there any more than there is in my hand now. Nevertheless, I saw what I saw. A big chest, very big, quite new, and corded all round with strong rope." "Now, what day was that?" asked the hawker. "What day? Well, it was--no, I can't remember." "Nor I either; I am getting stupid. Let's have another little glass-shall we? just to clear our memories!" The expedient was not crowned with success, the memories failed to recover themselves. The crowd waited, attentive, as may be supposed. Suddenly the hawker exclaimed: "What a fool I am! I am going to find that, if only I have still got it." She felt eagerly in the pocket of her underskirt, and produced several pieces of dirty, crumpled paper. As she unfolded one after another, she asked: "A big chest, wasn't it?" "Yes, very big." "And quite new?" "Quite new." "And corded?" "Yes, I can see it now." "So can I, good gracious! It was the day when I sold the history of Leroi de Valines, the 1st of February." "Yes, it was a Saturday; the next day was Sunday." "That's it, that's it!--Saturday, February 1st. Well, I know that chest too! I met your wine merchant on the Place du Louvre, and he wasn't precisely enjoying himself: one of his creditors wanted to seize the chest, the wine, the whole kettle of fish! A little man, isn't he?--a scarecrow?" "Just SO." "And has red hair?" "That's the man." "And looks a hypocrite?" "You've hit it exactly." "And he is a hypocrite! enough to make one shudder! No doubt he can't pay his rent! A thief, my dears, a beggarly thief, who set fire to his own cellar, and who accused me of trying to steal from him, while it was he who cheated me, the villain, out of a piece of twenty-four sous. It's lucky I turned up here! Well, well, we shall have some fun! Here's another little business on your hands, and you will have to say where that wine has got to, my dear gossip Derues." "Derues!" cried twenty voices all at once. "What! Derues who is in Prison?" "Why, that's Monsieur de Lamotte's man." "The man who killed Madame de Lamotte?" "The man who made away with her son?" "A scoundrel, my dears, who accused me of stealing, an absolute monster!" "It is just a little unfortunate," said widow Masson, "that it isn't the man. My tenant calls himself Ducoudray. There's his name on the register." "Confound it, that doesn't look like it at all," said the hawker: "now that's a bore! Oh yes, I have a grudge against that thief, who accused me of stealing. I told him I should sell his history some day. When that happens, I'll treat you all round." As a foretaste of the fulfilment of this promise, the company disposed of a second bottle of liqueur, and, becoming excited, they chattered at random for some time, but at length slowly dispersed, and the street relapsed into the silence of night. But, a few hours later, the inhabitants were surprised to see the two ends occupied by unknown people, while other sinister-looking persons patrolled it all night, as if keeping guard. The next morning a carriage escorted by police stopped at the widow Masson's door. An officer of police got out and entered a neighbouring house, whence he emerged a quarter of an hour later with Monsieur de Lamotte leaning on his arm. The officer demanded the key of the cellar which last December had been hired from the widow Masson by a person named Ducoudray, and went down to it with Monsieur de Lamotte and one of his subordinates. The carriage standing at the door, the presence of the commissioner Mutel, the chatter of the previous evening, had naturally roused everybody's imagination. But this excitement had to be kept for home use: the whole street was under arrest, and its inhabitants were forbidden to leave their houses. The windows, crammed with anxious faces, questioning each other, in the expectation of something wonderful, were a curious sight; and the ignorance in which they remained, these mysterious preparations, these orders silently executed, doubled the curiosity, and added a sort of terror: no one could see the persons who had accompanied the police officer; three men remained in the carriage, one guarded by the two others. When the heavy coach turned into the rue de la Mortellerie, this man had bent towards the closed window and asked-- "Where are we?" And when they answered him, he said-- "I do not know this street; I was never in it." After saying this quite quietly, he asked-- "Why am I brought here?" As no one replied, he resumed his look of indifference, and betrayed no emotion, neither when the carriage stopped nor when he saw Monsieur de Lamotte enter the widow Masson's house. The officer reappeared on the threshold, and ordered Derues to be brought in. The previous evening, detectives, mingling with the crowd, had listened to the hawker's story of having met Derues near the Louvre escorting a large chest. The police magistrate was informed in the course of the evening. It was an indication, a ray of light, perhaps the actual truth, detached from obscurity by chance gossip; and measures were instantly taken to prevent anyone either entering or leaving the street without being followed and examined. Mutel thought he was on the track, but the criminal might have accomplices also on the watch, who, warned in time, might be able to remove the proofs of the crime, if any existed. Derues was placed between two men who each held an arm. A third went before, holding a torch. The commissioner, followed by men also carrying torches, and provided with spades and pickaxes, came behind, and in this order they descended to the vault. It was a dismal and terrifying procession; anyone beholding these dark and sad countenances, this pale and resigned man, passing thus into these damp vaults illuminated by the flickering glare of torches, might well have thought himself the victim of illusion and watching some gloomy execution in a dream. But all was real and when light penetrated this dismal charnel-house it seemed at once to illuminate its secret depths, so that the light of truth might at length penetrate these dark shadows, and that the voice of the dead would speak from the earth and the walls. "Wretch!" exclaimed Monsieur de Lamotte, when he saw Derues appear, "is it here that you murdered my wife and my son?" Derues looked calmly at him, and replied-- "I beg you, sir, not to add insult to the misfortunes you have already caused. If you stood in my place and I were in yours, I should feel some pity and respect for so terrible a position. What do you want me? and why am I brought here?" He did not know the events of last evening, and could only mentally accuse the mason who had helped to bury the chest. He felt that he was lost, but his audacity never forsook him. "You are here, in the first place, to be confronted with this woman," said the officer, causing the widow Masson to stand opposite to him. "I do not know her." "But I know you, and know you well. It was you who hired this cellar under the name of Ducoudray." Derues shrugged his shoulders and answered bitterly-- "I can understand a man being condemned to the torture if he is guilty, but that in order to accomplish one's mission as accuser, and to discover a criminal, false witnesses who can give no evidence should be brought a hundred leagues, that the rabble should be roused up, that divers faces and imaginary names should be bestowed on an innocent man, in order to turn a movement of surprise or an indignant gesture to his disadvantage, all this is iniquitous, and goes beyond the right of judgment bestowed upon men by God. I do not know this woman, and no matter what she says or does, I shall say no more." Neither the skill nor threats of the police officer could shake this resolution. It was to no purpose that the widow Masson repeated and asseverated that she recognised him as her tenant Ducoudray, and that he had had a large case of wine taken down into the cellar; Derues folded his arms, and remained as motionless as if he had been blind and deaf. The walls were sounded, the stones composing them carefully examined, the floor pierced in several places, but nothing unusual was discovered. Would they have to give it up? Already the officer was making signs to this effect, when the man who had remained at first below with Monsieur de Lamotte, and who, standing in shadow, had carefully watched Derues when he was brought down, came forward, and pointing to the recess under the stairs, said-- "Examine this corner. The prisoner glanced involuntarily in this direction when he came down; I have watched him, and it is the only sign he has given. I was the only person who could see him, and he did not see me. He is very clever, but one can't be for ever on one's guard, and may the devil take me if I haven't scented the hiding-place." "Wretch!" said Derues to himself, "then you have had your hand on me for a whole hour, and amused yourself by prolonging my agony! Oh! I ought to have known it; I have found my master. Never mind, you shall learn nothing from my face, nor yet from the decaying body you will find; worms and poison can only have left an unrecognisable corpse." An iron rod sunk into the ground, encountered a hard substance some four feet below. Two men set to work, and dug with energy. Every eye was fixed upon this trench increasing in depth with every shovelful of earth which the two labourers cast aside. Monsieur de Lamotte was nearly fainting, and his emotion impressed everyone except Derues. At length the silence was broken by the spades striking heavily on wood, and the noise made everyone shudder. The chest was uncovered and hoisted out of the trench; it was opened, and the body of a woman was seen, clad only in a chemise, with a red and white headband, face downwards. The body was turned over, and Monsieur de Lamotte recognised his wife, not yet disfigured. The feeling of horror was so great that no one spoke or uttered a sound. Derues, occupied in considering the few chances which remained to him, had not observed that, by the officer's order, one of the guards had left the cellar before the men began to dig. Everybody had drawn back both from the corpse and the murderer, who alone had not moved, and who was repeating prayers. The flame of the torches placed on the ground cast a reddish light on this silent and terrible scene. Derues started and turned round on hearing a terrified cry behind him. His wife had just been brought to the cellar. The commissioner seized her with one hand, and taking a torch in the other, compelled her to look down on the body. "It is Madame de Lamotte!" she exclaimed. "Yes, yes," she answered, overwhelmed with terror,--"yes, I recognise her!" Unable to support the sight any longer, she grew pale and fainted away. She and her husband were removed separately. One would have supposed the discovery was already known outside, for the people showered curses and cries of "Assassin!" and "Poisoner!" on the carriage which conveyed Derues. He remained silent during the drive, but before re-entering his dungeon, he said-- "I must have been mad when I sought to hide the death and burial of Madame de Lamotte from public knowledge. It is the only sin I have committed, and, innocent of aught else, I resign myself as a Christian to the judgment of God." It was the only line of defence which remained open to him, and he clung to it, with the hope of imposing on the magistrates by redoubled hypocrisy and pious observances. But all this laboriously constructed scaffolding of lies was shaken to its base and fell away piece by piece. Every moment brought fresh and overwhelming revelations. He professed that Madame de Lamotte had died suddenly in his house, and that, fearing suspicion, he had buried her secretly. But the doctors called on to examine the body declared that she had been poisoned with corrosive sublimate and opium. The pretended payment was clearly an odious imposture, the receipt a forgery! Then, like a threatening spectre, arose another question, to which he found no reply, and his own invention turned against him. Why, knowing his mother was no more, had he taken young de Lamotte to Versailles? What had become of the youth? What had befallen, him? Once on the track, the cooper with whom he had lodged on the 12th of February was soon discovered, and an Act of Parliament ordered the exhumation of the corpse buried under the name of Beaupre, which the cooper identified by a shirt which he had given for the burial. Derues, confounded by the evidence, asserted that the youth died of indigestion and venereal disease. But the doctors again declared the presence of corrosive sublimate and opium. All this evidence of guilt he met with assumed resignation, lamenting incessantly for Edouard, whom he declared he had loved as his own son. "Alas!" he said, "I see that poor boy every night! But it softens my grief to know that he was not deprived of the last consolations of religion! God, who sees me, and who knows my innocence, will enlighten the magistrates, and my honour will be vindicated." The evidence being complete, Derues was condemned by sentence of the Chatelet, pronounced April 30th, and confirmed by Parliament, May 5th. We give the decree as it is found in the archives: "This Court having considered the trial held before the Provost of Paris, or his Deputy-Lieutenant at the Chatelet, for the satisfaction of the aforesaid Deputy at the aforesaid Chatelet, at the request of the Deputy of the King's Attorney General at the aforesaid Court, summoner and plaintiff, against Antoine-Francois Derues, and Marie-Louise Nicolais, his wife, defendants and accused, prisoners in the prisons of the Conciergerie of the Palace at Paris, who have appealed from the sentence given at the aforesaid trial, the thirtieth day of April 1777, by which the aforesaid Antoine-Francois Derues has been declared duly attainted and convicted of attempting unlawfully to appropriate without payment, the estate of Buissony Souef, belonging to the Sieur and Dame de Saint Faust de Lamotte, from whom he had bought the said estate by private contract on the twenty-second day of December 1775, and also of having unworthily abused the hospitality shown by him since the sixteenth day of December last towards the aforesaid Dame de Lamotte, who arrived in Paris on the aforesaid day in order to conclude with him the bargain agreed on in December 1775, and who, for this purpose, and at his request, lodged with her son in the house of the said Derues, who of premeditated design poisoned the said Dame de Lamotte, whether by a medicine composed and prepared by him on the thirtieth day of January last, or by the beverages and drinks administered by him after the aforesaid medicine (he having taken the precaution to send his servant into the country for two or three days), and to keep away strangers from the room where the said Dame de Lamotte was lying), from the effects of which poison the said Dame de Lamotte died on the night of the said thirty-first day of January last; also of having kept her demise secret, and of having himself enclosed in a chest the body of the said Dame de Lamotte, which he then caused to be secretly transported to a cellar in the rue de la Mortellerie hired by him for this purpose, under the assumed name of Ducoudray, wherein he buried it himself, or caused it to be buried; also of having persuaded the son of the above Dame de Lamotte (who, with his mother, had lodged in his house from the time of their arrival in Paris until the fifteenth day of January, last,--and who had then been placed in a school that the aforesaid Dame de Lamotte was at Versailles and desired him to join her there, and, under this pretence, of having conducted the said younger Sieur de Lamotte, the twelfth day of February (after having given him some chocolate), to the aforesaid town of Versailles, to a lodging hired at a cooper's, and of having there wilfully poisoned him, either in the chocolate taken by the said younger Sieur de Lamotte before starting, or in beverages and medicaments which the said Derues himself prepared, mixed, and administered to the aforesaid Sieur de Lamotte the younger, during the eleventh, twelfth, thirteenth, and fourteenth days of February last, having kept him lying ill in the aforesaid hired room, and having refused to call in physicians or surgeons, notwithstanding the progress of the malady, and the representations made to him on the subject, saying that he himself was a physician and surgeon; from which poison the said Sieur de Lamotte the younger died on the fifteenth day of February last, at nine o'clock in the evening, in the arms of the aforesaid Derues, who, affecting the deepest grief, and shedding tears, actually exhorted the aforesaid Sieur de Lamotte to confession, and repeated the prayers for the dying; after which he himself laid out the body for burial, saying that the deceased had begged him to do so, and telling the people of the house that he had died of venereal disease; also of having caused him to be buried the next day in the churchyard of the parish church of Saint Louis at the aforesaid Versailles, and of having entered the deceased in the register of the said parish under a false birthplace, and the false name of Beaupre, which name the said Derues had himself assumed on arriving at the said lodging, and had given to the said Sieur de Lamotte the younger, whom he declared to be his nephew. Also, to cover these atrocities, and in order to appropriate to himself the aforesaid estate of Buisson-Souef, he is convicted of having calumniated the aforesaid Dame de Lamotte, and of having used various manoeuvres and practised several deceptions, to wit-- "First, in signing, or causing to be signed, the names of the above Dame de Lamotte to a deed of private contract between the said Derues and his wife on one side and the aforesaid Dame de Lamotte by right of a power of attorney given by her husband on the other (the which deed is dated the twelfth day of February, and was therefore written after the decease of the said Dame de Lamotte); by which deed the said Dame de Lamotte appears to change the previous conventions agreed on in the first deed of the twenty-second of December in the year 1775, and acknowledges receipt from the said Derues of a sum of one hundred thousand livres, as being the price of the estate of Buisson; "Secondly, in signing before a notary, the ninth day of February last, a feigned acknowledgment for a third part of a hundred thousand livres, in order to give credence to the pretended payment made by him; "Thirdly, in announcing and publishing, and attesting even by oath at the time of an examination before the commissioner Mutel, that he had really paid in cash to the aforesaid Dame de Lamotte the aforesaid hundred thousand livres, and that she, being provided with this money, had fled with her son and a certain person unknown; "Fourthly, in depositing with a notary the deed of private contract bearing the pretended receipt for the above sum of one hundred thousand livres, end pursuing at law the execution of this deed and of his claim to the possession of the said estate; "Fifthly, in signing or causing to be signed by another person, before the notaries of the town of Lyons, whither he had gone for this purpose, a deed dated the twelfth day of March, by which the supposed Dame de Lamotte appeared to accept the payment of the hundred thousand livres, and to give authority to the Sieur de Lamotte, her husband, to receive the arrears of the remainder of the price of the said estate, the which deed he produced as a proof of the existence of the said Dame de Lamotte; "Sixthly, in causing to be sent, by other hands, under the name of the aforesaid Dame de Lamotte, to a lawyer, on the eighth day o f April 1777 (at a time when he was in prison, and had been compelled to abandon the fable that he had paid the aforesaid sum of one hundred thousand livres in hard cash, and had substituted a pretended payment made in notes), the notes pretended to have been given by him in payment to the said Dame de Lamotte; "Seventh, and finally, in maintaining constantly, until the discovery of the body of the aforesaid Dame de Lamotte, that the said Dame was still alive, and that he had seen her at the town of Lyons, as has been stated above. "In atonement has been condemned, etc. etc. etc. "His goods are hereby declared acquired and confiscated to the King, or to whomsoever His Majesty shall appoint, first deducting the sum of two hundred livres as fine for the King, in case the confiscation is not to the sole profit of His Majesty; and also the sum of six hundred livres for masses to be said for the repose of the souls of the aforesaid Dame de Lamotte and her son. And, before being executed, the said Antoine-Francois Derues shall suffer the question ordinary and extraordinary, in order that from his mouth may be learned the truth of these facts, and also the names of his accomplices. And the decision of the judges in the proceedings with regard to the above-mentioned Marie-Louise Nicolais, wife of Derues, is delayed until after the execution of the above sentence. It is also decreed that the mortuary act of the aforesaid de Lamotte the younger, dated the sixteenth day of February last, in the register of deaths belonging to the parish church of Saint-Louis at Versailles, be amended, and his correct names be substituted, in order that the said Sieur de Lamotte, the father, and other persons interested, may produce said names before the magistrates if required. And it is also decreed that this sentence be printed and published by the deputy of the Attorney-General at the Chatelet, and affixed to the walls in the usual places and cross roads of the town, provostship and viscounty of Paris, and wherever else requisite. "With regard to the petition of Pierre-Etienne de Saint-Faust de Lamotte, a Royal Equerry, Sieur de Grange-Flandre, Buisson-Souef, Valperfond, and other places, widower and inheritor of Marie Francois Perier, his wife, according to their marriage contract signed before Baron and partner, notaries at Paris, the fifth day of September 1762, whereby he desires to intervene in the action brought against Derues and his accomplices, concerning the assassination and poisoning committed on the persons of the wife and son of the said Sieur de Saint-Faust de Lamotte, on the accusation made by him to the Deputy Attorney-General of the King at the Chatelet at present pending in the Court, on the report of the final judgment given in the said action the 30th of April last, and which allowed the intervention; it is decreed that there shall be levied on the goods left by the condemned, before the rights of the Treasury, and separate from them, the sum of six thousand livres, or such other sum as it shall please the Court to award; from which sum the said Saint-Faust de Lamotte shall consent to deduct the sum of two thousand seven hundred and forty-eight livres, which he acknowledges has been sent or remitted to him by the said Derues and his wife at different times; which first sum of six thousand livres, or such other, shall be employed by the said Sieur de Saint-Faust de Lamotte, who is authorised to found therewith, in the parish church of Saint Nicholas de Villeneuve-le-Roy, in which parish the estate of Buisson-Souef is situate, and which is mentioned in the action, an annual and perpetual service for the repose of the souls of the wife and son of the said Sieur de Saint-Faust de Lamotte, of which an act shall be inserted in the decree of intervention, and a copy of this act or decree shall be inscribed upon a stone which shall be set in the wall of the said church of Saint Nicholas de Villeneuve-le-Roy, in such place as is expedient. And the deed of contract for private sale, made between the late spouse of the said Sieur de Saint-Faust de Lamotte and the above-named Derues and his wife, is hereby declared null and void, as having had no value in absence of any payment or realisation of contract before a notary; and the pretended agreement of the twelfth day of February last, as also all other deeds fabricated by the said Derues or others, named in the above action, as also any which may hereafter be presented, are hereby declared to be null and void. "The Court declares the judgment pronounced by the magistrates of the Chatelet against the above named Derues to be good and right, and his appeal against the same to be bad and ill-founded. "It is decreed that the sentence shall lose its full and entire effect with regard to Marie-Louise Nicolais, who is condemned to the ordinary fine of twelve livres. The necessary relief granted on the petition of Pierre-Etienne de Saint-Faust de Lamotte, the second day of May this present month, and delay accorded until after the suspended judgment pronounced with regard to the said Marie-Louise Nicolais. "(Signed) De Gourgues, President. "OUTREMONT, Councillor." Derues' assurance and calmness never deserted him for one moment. For three-quarters of an hour he harangued the Parliament, and his defence was remarkable both for its presence of mind and the art with which he made the most of any circumstances likely to suggest doubts to the magistrates and soften the severity of the first sentence. Found guilty on every point, he yet protested that he was innocent of poisoning. Remorse, which often merely means fear of punishment, had no place in his soul, and torture he seemed not to dread. As strong in will as he was weak in body, he desired to die like a martyr in the faith of his religion, which was hypocrisy, and the God whom he gloried on the scaffold was the god of lies. On May 6th, at seven in the morning, the sentence of execution was read to him. He listened calmly, and when it was finished, remarked: "I had not anticipated so severe a sentence." A few hours later the instruments of torture were got ready. He was told that this part of his punishment would be remitted if he would confess his crimes and the names of his accomplices. He replied: "I have no more to say. I know what terrible torture awaits me, I know I must die to-day, but I have nothing to confess." He made no resistance when his knees and legs were bound, and endured the torture courageously. Only, in a moment of agony, he exclaimed: "Accursed money! has thou reduced me to this?" Thinking that pain would overcome his resolution, the presiding magistrate bent towards him, and said: "Unhappy man! confess thy crime, since death is near at hand." He recovered his firmness, and, looking at the magistrate, replied: "I know it, monseigneur; I have perhaps not three hours to live." Thinking that his apparently feeble frame could not endure the last wedges, the executioner was ordered to stop. He was unbound and laid on a mattress, and a glass of wine was brought, of which he only drank a few drops; after this, he made his confession to the priest. For, dinner, they brought him soup and stew, which he ate eagerly, and inquiring of the gaoler if he could have something more, an entree was brought in addition. One might have thought that this final repast heralded, not death but deliverance. At length three o'clock struck the hour appointed for leaving the prison. According to the report of credible persons whom we have consulted, Paris on this occasion presented a remarkable appearance, which those who saw it were never able to forget. The great anthill was troubled to its very lowest depth. Whether by accident or design, the same day had been fixed for a function which ought to have proved a considerable counter attraction. A great festival in honour of a German prince was given on the Plaine de Grenelle, at which all the court was present; and probably more than one great lady regretted missing the emotions of the Place de Greve, abandoned to the rabble and the bourgeoisie. The rest of the city was deserted, the streets silent, the houses closed. A stranger transported suddenly into such a solitude might have reasonably thought that during the night the town had been smitten by the Angel of Death, and that only a labyrinth of vacant buildings remained, testifying to the life and turmoil of the preceding day. A dark and dense atmosphere hung over the abandoned town; lightning furrowed the heavy motionless clouds; in the distance the occasional rumble of thunder was heard, answered by the cannon of the royal fete. The crowd was divided between the powers of heaven and earth: the terrible majesty of the Eternal on one side, on the other the frivolous pomp of royalty--eternal punishment and transient grandeur in opposition. Like the waters of a flood leaving dry the fields which they have covered, so the waves of the multitude forsook their usual course. Thousands of men and women crowded together along the route which the death-cart would take; an ocean of heads undulated like the ears in a wheatfield. The old houses, hired at high rates, quivered under the weight of eager spectators, and the window sashes had been removed to afford a better view. Attired in the shirt worn by condemned criminals, and bearing a placard both in front and behind, with the words "Wilful Poisoner," Derues descended the great staircase of the Chatelet with a firm step. It was at this moment, on seeing the crucifix, that he exclaimed, "O Christ, I shall suffer like Thee!" He mounted the tumbril, looking right and left amongst the crowd. During the progress he recognised and bowed to several of his old associates, and bade adieu in a clear voice to the former mistress of his 'prentice days, who has recorded that she never saw him look so pleasant. Arrived at the door of Notre Dame, where the clerk was awaiting him, he descended from the tumbril without assistance, took a lighted wax taper weighing two pounds in his hand, and did penance, kneeling, bareheaded and barefooted, a rope round his neck, repeating the words of the death-warrant. He then reascended the cart in the midst of the cries and execrations of the populace, to which he appeared quite insensible. One voice only, endeavouring to dominate the tumult, caused him to turn his head: it was that of the hawker who was crying his sentence, and who broke off now and then to say-- "Well! my poor gossip Derues, how do you like that fine carriage you're in? Oh yes, mutter your prayers and look up to heaven as much as you like, you won't take us in now. Ah! thief who said I stole from you! Wasn't I right when I said I should be selling your sentence some day?" Then, adding her own wrongs to the list of crimes, she declared that the Parliament had condemned him as much for having falsely accused her of theft as for having poisoned Madame de Lamotte and her son! When arrived at the scaffold, he gazed around him, and a sort of shiver of impatience ran through the crowd. He smiled, and as if anxious to trick mankind for the last time, asked to be taken to the Hotel de Ville, which was granted, in the hope that he would at last make some confession; but he only persisted in saying that he was guiltless of poisoning. He had an interview with his wife, who nearly fainted on seeing him, and remained for more than a quarter of an hour unable to say a word. He lavished tender names upon her, and professed much affliction at seeing her in so miserable a condition. When she was taken away, he asked permission to embrace her, and took a most touching farewell. His last words have been preserved. "My dear wife," he said, "I recommend our beloved children to your care: bring them up in the fear of God. You must go to Chartres, you will there see the bishop, on whom I had the honour of waiting when I was there last, and who has always been kind to me; I believe he has thought well of me, and that I may hope he will take pity on you and on our children." It was now seven in the evening, and the crowd began to murmur at the long delay. At length the criminal reappeared. An onlooker who saw him go to the Hotel de Ville, and who was carried by the movement of the crowd to the foot of the scaffold, says that when handed over to the executioner he took off his clothes himself. He kissed the instrument of punishment with devotion, then extended himself on the St. Andrew's cross, asking with a resigned smile that they would make his sufferings as short as possible. As soon as his head was covered, the executioner gave the signal. One would have thought a very few blows would have finished so frail a being, but he seemed as hard to kill as the venomous reptiles which must be crushed and cut to pieces before life is extinct, and the coup de grace was found necessary. The executioner uncovered his head and showed the confessor that the eyes were closed and that the heart had ceased to beat. The body was then removed from the cross, the hands and feet fastened together, and it was thrown on the funeral pile. While the execution was proceeding the people applauded. On the morrow they bought up the fragments of bone, and hastened to buy lottery tickets, in the firm conviction that these precious relics would bring luck to the fortunate possessors! In 1777, Madame Derues was sentenced to perpetual imprisonment, and confined at the Salpetriere. She was one of the first victims who perished in the prison massacres. Publication Date: May 27th 2010 https://www.bookrix.com/-bx.dumas

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Alexandre Dumas père Nisida Celebrated Crimes NISIDA--1825 If our readers, tempted by the Italian proverb about seeing Naples and then dying, were to ask us what is the most favourable moment for visiting the enchanted city, we should advise them to land at the mole, or at Mergellina, on a fine summer day and at the hour when some solemn procession is moving out of the cathedral. Nothing can give an idea of the profound and simple-hearted emotion of this populace, which has enough poetry in its soul to believe in its own happiness. The whole town adorns herself and attires herself like a bride for her wedding; the dark facades of marble and granite disappear beneath hangings of silk and festoons of flowers; the wealthy display their dazzling luxury, the poor drape themselves proudly in their rags. Everything is light, harmony, and perfume; the sound is like the hum of an immense hive, interrupted by a thousandfold outcry of joy impossible to describe. The bells repeat their sonorous sequences in every key; the arcades echo afar with the triumphal marches of military bands; the sellers of sherbet and water-melons sing out their deafening flourish from throats of copper. People form into groups; they meet, question, gesticulate; there are gleaming looks, eloquent gestures, picturesque attitudes; there is a general animation, an unknown charm, an indefinable intoxication. Earth is very near to heaven, and it is easy to understand that, if God were to banish death from this delightful spot, the Neapolitans would desire no other paradise. The story that we are about to tell opens with one of these magical pictures. It was the Day of the Assumption in the year 1825; the sun had been up some four or five hours, and the long Via da Forcella, lighted from end to end by its slanting rays, cut the town in two, like a ribbon of watered silk. The lava pavement, carefully cleaned, shone like any mosaic, and the royal troops, with their proudly waving plumes, made a double living hedge on each side of the street. The balconies, windows, and terraces, the stands with their unsubstantial balustrades, and the wooden galleries set up during the night, were loaded with spectators, and looked not unlike the boxes of a theatre. An immense crowd, forming a medley of the brightest colours, invaded the reserved space and broke through the military barriers, here and there, like an overflowing torrent. These intrepid sightseers, nailed to their places, would have waited half their lives without giving the least sign of impatience. At last, about noon, a cannon-shot was heard, and a cry of general satisfaction followed it. It was the signal that the procession had crossed the threshold of the church. In the same moment a charge of carabineers swept off the people who were obstructing the middle of the street, the regiments of the line opened floodgates for the overflowing crowd, and soon nothing remained on the causeway but some scared dog, shouted at by the people, hunted off by the soldiers, and fleeing at full speed. The procession came out through the Via di Vescovato. First came the guilds of merchants and craftsmen, the hatters, weavers, bakers, butchers, cutlers, and goldsmiths. They wore the prescribed dress: black coats, knee breeches, low shoes and silver buckles. As the countenances of these gentlemen offered nothing very interesting to the multitude, whisperings arose, little by little, among the spectators, then some bold spirits ventured a jest or two upon the fattest or the baldest of the townsmen, and at last the boldest of the lazzaroni slipped between the soldiers' legs to collect the wax that was running down from the lighted tapers. After the craftsmen, the religious orders marched past, from the Dominicans to the Carthusians, from the Carmelites to the Capuchins. They advanced slowly, their eyes cast down, their step austere, their hands on their hearts; some faces were rubicund and shining, with large cheek-hones and rounded chins, herculean heads upon bullnecks; some, thin and livid, with cheeks hollowed by suffering and penitence, and with the look of living ghosts; in short, here were the two sides of monastic life. At this moment, Nunziata and Gelsomina, two charming damsels, taking advantage of an old corporal's politeness, pushed forward their pretty heads into the first rank. The break in the line was conspicuous; but the sly warrior seemed just a little lax in the matter of discipline. "Oh, there is Father Bruno!" said Gelsomina suddenly. "Good-day, Father Bruno." "Hush, cousin! People do not talk to the procession." "How absurd! He is my confessor. May I not say good-morning to my confessor?" "Silence, chatterboxes!" "Who was that spoke?" "Oh, my dear, it was Brother Cucuzza, the begging friar." "Where is he? Where is he?" "There he is, along there, laughing into his beard. How bold he is!" "Ah, God in heaven! If we were to dream of him---" While the two cousins were pouring out endless comments upon the Capuchins and their beards, the capes of the canons and the surplices of the seminarists, the 'feroci' came running across from the other side to re-establish order with the help of their gun-stocks. "By the blood of my patron saint," cried a stentorian voice, "if I catch you between my finger and thumb, I will straighten your back for the rest of your days." "Who are you falling out with, Gennaro?" "With this accursed hunchback, who has been worrying my back for the last hour, as though he could see through it." "It is a shame," returned the hunchback in a tone of lamentation; "I have been here since last night, I slept out of doors to keep my place, and here is this abominable giant comes to stick himself in front of me like an obelisk." The hunchback was lying like a Jew, but the crowd rose unanimously against the obelisk. He was, in one way, their superior, and majorities are always made up of pigmies. "Hi! Come down from your stand!" "Hi! get off your pedestal!" "Off with your hat!" "Down with your head!" "Sit down!" "Lie down!" This revival of curiosity expressing itself in invectives evidently betokened the crisis of the show. And indeed the chapters of canons, the clergy and bishops, the pages and chamberlains, the representatives of the city, and the gentlemen of the king's chamber now appeared, and finally the king himself, who, bare-headed and carrying a taper, followed the magnificent statue of the Virgin. The contrast was striking: after the grey-headed monks and pale novices came brilliant young captains, affronting heaven with the points of their moustaches, riddling the latticed windows with killing glances, following the procession in an absent-minded way, and interrupting the holy hymns with scraps of most unorthodox conversation. "Did you notice, my dear Doria, how like a monkey the old Marchesa d'Acquasparta takes her raspberry ice?" "Her nose takes the colour of the ice. What fine bird is showing off to her?" "It is the Cyrenian." "I beg your pardon! I have not seen that name in the Golden Book." "He helps the poor marquis to bear his cross." The officer's profane allusion was lost in the prolonged murmur of admiration that suddenly rose from the crowd, and every gaze was turned upon one of the young girls who was strewing flowers before the holy Madonna. She was an exquisite creature. Her head glowing in the sun shine, her feet hidden amid roses and broom-blossom, she rose, tall and fair, from a pale cloud of incense, like some seraphic apparition. Her hair, of velvet blackness, fell in curls half-way down her shoulders; her brow, white as alabaster and polished as a mirror, reflected the rays of the sun; her beautiful and finely arched black eye-brows melted into the opal of her temples; her eyelids were fast down, and the curled black fringe of lashes veiled a glowing and liquid glance of divine emotion; the nose, straight, slender, and cut by two easy nostrils, gave to her profile that character of antique beauty which is vanishing day by day from the earth. A calm and serene smile, one of those smiles that have already left the soul and not yet reached the lips, lifted the corners of her mouth with a pure expression of infinite beatitude and gentleness. Nothing could be more perfect than the chin that completed the faultless oval of this radiant countenance; her neck of a dead white, joined her bosom in a delicious curve, and supported her head gracefully like the stalk of a flower moved by a gentle breeze. A bodice of crimson velvet spotted with gold outlined her delicate and finely curved figure, and held in by means of a handsome gold lace the countless folds of a full and flowing skirt, that fell to her feet like those severe robes in which the Byzantine painters preferred to drape their angels. She was indeed a marvel, and so rare and modest of beauty had not been seen within the memory of man. Among those who had gazed most persistently at her was observed the young Prince of Brancaleone, one of the foremost nobles of the kingdom. Handsome, rich, and brave, he had, at five-and-twenty, outdone the lists of all known Don Juans. Fashionable young women spoke very ill of him and adored him in secret; the most virtuous made it their rule to fly from him, so impossible did resistance appear. All the young madcaps had chosen him for their model; for his triumphs robbed many a Miltiades of sleep, and with better cause. In short, to get an idea of this lucky individual, it will be enough to know that as a seducer he was the most perfect thing that the devil had succeeded in inventing in this progressive century. The prince was dressed out for the occasion in a sufficiently grotesque costume, which he wore with ironic gravity and cavalier ease. A black satin doublet, knee breeches, embroidered stockings, and shoes with gold buckles, formed the main portions of his dress, over which trailed a long brocaded open-sleeved robe lined with ermine, and a magnificent diamond-hilted sword. On account of his rank he enjoyed the rare distinction of carrying one of the six gilded staves that supported the plumed and embroidered canopy. As soon as the procession moved on again, Eligi of Brancaleone gave a side glance to a little man as red as a lobster, who was walking almost at his side, and carrying in his right hand, with all the solemnity that he could muster, his excellency's hat. He was a footman in gold-laced livery, and we beg leave to give a brief sketch of his history. Trespolo was the child of poor but thieving parents, and on that account was early left an orphan. Being at leisure, he studied life from an eminently social aspect. If we are to believe a certain ancient sage, we are all in the world to solve a problem: as to Trespolo, he desired to live without doing anything; that was his problem. He was, in turn, a sacristan, a juggler, an apothecary's assistant, and a cicerone, and he got tired of all these callings. Begging was, to his mind, too hard work, and it was more trouble to be a thief than to be an honest man. Finally he decided in favour of contemplative philosophy. He had a passionate preference for the horizontal position, and found the greatest pleasure in the world in watching the shooting of stars. Unfortunately, in the course of his meditations this deserving man came near to dying of hunger; which would have been a great pity, for he was beginning to accustom himself not to eat anything. But as he was predestined by nature to play a small part in our story, God showed him grace for that time, and sent to his assistance--not one of His angels, the rogue was not worthy of that, but--one of Brancaleone's hunting dogs. The noble animal sniffed round the philosopher, and uttered a little charitable growl that would have done credit to one of the brethren of Mount St. Bernard. The prince, who was returning in triumph from hunting, and who, by good luck, had that day killed a bear and ruined a countess, had an odd inclination to do a good deed. He approached the plebeian who was about to pass into the condition of a corpse, stirred the thing with his foot, and seeing that there was still a little hope, bade his people bring him along. From that day onward, Trespolo saw the dream of his life nearly realised. Something rather above a footman and rather below a house steward, he became the confidant of his master, who found his talents most useful; for this Trespolo was as sharp as a demon and almost as artful as a woman. The prince, who, like an intelligent man as he was, had divined that genius is naturally indolent, asked nothing of him but advice; when tiresome people wanted thrashing, he saw to that matter himself, and, indeed, he was the equal of any two at such work. As nothing in this lower world, however, is complete, Trespolo had strange moments amid this life of delights; from time to time his happiness was disturbed by panics that greatly diverted his master; he would mutter incoherent words, stifle violent sighs, and lose his appetite. The root of the matter was that the poor fellow was afraid of going to hell. The matter was very simple: he was afraid of everything; and, besides, it had often been preached to him that the Devil never allowed a moment's rest to those who were ill-advised enough to fall into his clutches. Trespolo was in one of his good moods of repentance, when the prince, after gazing on the young girl with the fierce eagerness of a vulture about to swoop upon its prey, turned to speak to his intimate adviser. The poor servant understood his master's abominable design, and not wishing to share the guilt of a sacrilegious conversation, opened his eyes very wide and turned them up to heaven in ecstatic contemplation. The prince coughed, stamped his foot, moved his sword so as to hit Trespolo's legs, but could not get from him any sign of attention, so absorbed did he appear in celestial thoughts. Brancaleone would have liked to wring his neck, but both his hands were occupied by the staff of the canopy; and besides, the king was present. At last they were drawing nearer to the church of St. Clara, where the Neapolitan kings were buried, and where several princesses of the blood, exchanging the crown for the veil, have gone to bury themselves alive. The nuns, novices, and abbess, hidden behind shutters, were throwing flowers upon the procession. A bunch fell at the feet of the Prince of Brancaleone. "Trespolo, pick up that nosegay," said the prince, so audibly that his servant had no further excuse. "It is from Sister Theresa," he added, in a low voice; "constancy is only to be found, nowadays, in a convent." Trespolo picked up the nosegay and came towards his master, looking like a man who was being strangled. "Who is that girl?" the latter asked him shortly. "Which one?" stammered the servant. "Forsooth! The one walking in front of us." "I don't know her, my lord." "You must find out something about her before this evening." "I shall have to go rather far afield." "Then you do know her, you intolerable rascal! I have half a mind to have you hanged like a dog." "For pity's sake, my lord, think of the salvation of your soul, of your eternal life." "I advise you to think of your temporal life. What is her name?" "She is called Nisida, and is the prettiest girl in the island that she is named after. She is innocence itself. Her father is only a poor fisherman, but I can assure your excellency that in his island he is respected like a king." "Indeed!" replied the prince, with an ironical smile. "I must own, to my great shame, that I have never visited the little island of Nisida. You will have a boat ready for me to-morrow, and then we will see." He interrupted himself suddenly, for the king was looking at him; and calling up the most sonorous bass notes that he could find in the depths of his throat, he continued with an inspired air, "Genitori genitoque laus et jubilatio." "Amen," replied the serving-man in a ringing voice. Nisida, the beloved daughter of Solomon, the fisherman, was, as we have said, the loveliest flower of the island from which she derived her name. That island is the most charming spot, the most delicious nook with which we are acquainted; it is a basket of greenery set delicately amid the pure and transparent waters of the gulf, a hill wooded with orange trees and oleanders, and crowned at the summit by a marble castle. All around extends the fairy-like prospect of that immense amphitheatre, one of the mightiest wonders of creation. There lies Naples, the voluptuous syren, reclining carelessly on the seashore; there, Portici, Castellamare, and Sorrento, the very names of which awaken in the imagination a thousand thoughts of poetry and love; there are Pausilippo, Baiae, Puozzoli, and those vast plains, where the ancients fancied their Elysium, sacred solitudes which one might suppose peopled by the men of former days, where the earth echoes under foot like an empty grave, and the air has unknown sounds and strange melodies. Solomon's hut stood in that part of the island which, turning its back to the capital, beholds afar the blue crests of Capri. Nothing could be simpler or brighter. The brick walls were hung with ivy greener than emeralds, and enamelled with white bell-flowers; on the ground floor was a fairly spacious apartment, in which the men slept and the family took their meals; on the floor above was Nisida's little maidenly room, full of coolness, shadows, and mystery, and lighted by a single casement that looked over the gulf; above this room was a terrace of the Italian kind, the four pillars of which were wreathed with vine branches, while its vine-clad arbour and wide parapet were overgrown with moss and wild flowers. A little hedge of hawthorn, which had been respected for ages, made a kind of rampart around the fisherman's premises, and defended his house better than deep moats and castellated walls could have done. The boldest roisterers of the place would have preferred to fight before the parsonage and in the precincts of the church rather than in front of Solomon's little enclosure. Otherwise, this was the meeting place of the whole island. Every evening, precisely at the same hour, the good women of the neighbourhood came to knit their woollen caps and tell the news. Groups of little children, naked, brown, and as mischievous as little imps, sported about, rolling on the grass and throwing handfuls of sand into the other's eyes, heedless of the risk of blinding, while their mothers were engrossed in that grave gossip which marks the dwellers in villages. These gatherings occurred daily before the fisherman's house; they formed a tacit and almost involuntary homage, consecrated by custom, and of which no one had ever taken special account; the envy that rules in small communities would soon have suppressed them. The influence which old Solomon had over his equals had grown so simply and naturally, that no one found any fault with it, and it had only attracted notice when everyone was benefiting by it, like those fine trees whose growth is only observed when we profit by their shade. If any dispute arose in the island, the two opponents preferred to abide by the judgment of the fisherman instead of going before the court; he was fortunate enough or clever enough to send away both parties satisfied. He knew what remedies to prescribe better than any physician, for it seldom happened that he or his had not felt the same ailments, and his knowledge, founded on personal experience, produced the most excellent results. Moreover, he had no interest, as ordinary doctors have, in prolonging illnesses. For many years past the only formality recognised as a guarantee for the inviolability of a contract had been the intervention of the fisherman. Each party shook hands with Solomon, and the thing was done. They would rather have thrown themselves into Vesuvius at the moment of its most violent eruption than have broken so solemn an agreement. At the period when our story opens, it was impossible to find any person in the island who had not felt the effects of the fisherman's generosity, and that without needing to confess to him any necessities. As it was the custom for the little populace of Nisida to spend its leisure hours before Solomon's cottage, the old man, while he walked slowly among the different groups, humming his favourite song, discovered moral and physical weaknesses as he passed; and the same evening he or his daughter would certainly be seen coming mysteriously to bestow a benefit upon every sufferer, to lay a balm upon every wound. In short, he united in his person all those occupations whose business is to help mankind. Lawyers, doctors, and the notary, all the vultures of civilisation, had beaten a retreat before the patriarchal benevolence of the fisherman. Even the priest had capitulated. On the morrow of the Feast of the Assumption, Solomon was sitting, as his habit was, on a stone bench in front of his house, his legs crossed and his arms carelessly stretched out. At the first glance you would have taken him for sixty at the outside, though he was really over eighty. He had all his teeth, which were as white as pearls, and showed them proudly. His brow, calm and restful beneath its crown of abundant white hair, was as firm and polished as marble; not a wrinkle ruffled the corner of his eye, and the gem-like lustre of his blue orbs revealed a freshness of soul and an eternal youth such as fable grants to the sea-gods. He displayed his bare arms and muscular neck with an old man's vanity. Never had a gloomy idea, an evil prepossession, or a keen remorse, arisen to disturb his long and peaceful life. He had never seen a tear flow near him without hurrying to wipe it; poor though he was, he had succeeded in pouring out benefits that all the kings of the earth could not have bought with their gold; ignorant though he was, he had spoken to his fellows the only language that they could understand, the language of the heart. One single drop of bitterness had mingled with his inexhaustible stream of happiness; one grief only had clouded his sunny life--the death of his wife--and moreover he had forgotten that. All the affections of his soul were turned upon Nisida, whose birth had caused her mother's death; he loved her with that immoderate love that old people have for the youngest of their children. At the present moment he was gazing upon her with an air of profound rapture, and watching her come and go, as she now joined the groups of children and scolded them for games too dangerous or too noisy; now seated herself on the grass beside their mothers and took part with grave and thoughtful interest in their talk. Nisida was more beautiful thus than she had been the day before; with the vaporous cloud of perfume that had folded her round from head to foot had disappeared all that mystic poetry which put a sort of constraint upon her admirers and obliged them to lower their glances. She had become a daughter of Eve again without losing anything of her charm. Simply dressed, as she usually was on work-days, she was distinguishable among her companions only by her amazing beauty and by the dazzling whiteness of her skin. Her beautiful black hair was twisted in plaits around the little dagger of chased silver, that has lately been imported into Paris by that right of conquest which the pretty women of Paris have over the fashions of all countries, like the English over the sea. Nisida was adored by her young friends, all the mothers had adopted her with pride; she was the glory of the island. The opinion of her superiority was shared by everyone to such a degree, that if some bold young man, forgetting the distance which divided him from the maiden, dared speak a little too loudly of his pretensions, he became the laughing-stock of his companions. Even the past masters of tarentella dancing were out of countenance before the daughter of Solomon, and did not dare to seek her as a partner. Only a few singers from Amalfi or Sorrento, attracted by the rare beauty of this angelic creature, ventured to sigh out their passion, carefully veiled beneath the most delicate allusions. But they seldom reached the last verse of their song; at every sound they stopped short, threw down their triangles and their mandolines, and took flight like scared nightingales. One only had courage enough or passion enough to brave the mockery; this was Bastiano, the most formidable diver of that coast. He also sang, but with a deep and hollow voice; his chant was mournful and his melodies full of sadness. He never accompanied himself upon any instrument, and never retired without concluding his song. That day he was gloomier than usual; he was standing upright, as though by enchantment, upon a bare and slippery rock, and he cast scornful glances upon the women who were looking at him and laughing. The sun, which was plunging into the sea like a globe of fire, shed its light full upon his stern features, and the evening breeze, as it lightly rippled the billows, set the fluttering reeds waving at his feet. Absorbed by dark thoughts, he sang, in the musical language of his country, these sad words:-- "O window, that wert used to shine in the night like an open eye, how dark thou art! Alas, alas! my poor sister is ill. "Her mother, all in tears, stoops towards me and says, 'Thy poor sister is dead and buried.' "Jesus! Jesus! Have pity on me! You stab me to the heart. "Tell me, good neighbours, how it happened; repeat to me her last words. "She had a burning thirst, and refused to drink because thou wast not there to give her water from thy hand. "Oh, my sister! Oh, my sister! "She refused her mother's kiss, because thou wast not there to embrace her. "Oh, my sister! Oh, my sister! "She wept until her last breath, because thou wast not there to dry her tears. "Oh, my sister! Oh, my sister! "We placed on her brow her wreath of orangeflowers, we covered her with a veil as white as snow; we laid her gently in her coffin. "Thanks, good neighbours. I will go and be with her. "Two angels came down from heaven and bore her away on their wings. Mary Magdalene came to meet her at the gate of heaven. "Thanks, good neighbours. I will go and be with her. "There, she was seated in a place of glory, a chaplet of rubies was given to her, and she is singing her rosary with the Virgin. "Thanks, good neighbours. I will go and be with her." As he finished the last words of his melancholy refrain, he flung himself from the top of his rock into the sea, as though he really desired to engulf himself. Nisida and the other women gave a cry of terror, for during some minutes the diver failed to reappear upon the surface. "Are you out of your senses?" cried a young man who had suddenly appeared, unobserved among the women. "Why, what are you afraid of? You know very well that Bastiano is always doing things of this sort. But do not be alarmed: all the fishes in the Mediterranean will be drowned before any harm comes to him. Water is his natural element. Good-day, sister; good-day, father." The young fisherman kissed Nisida on the forehead, drew near to his father, and, bowing his handsome head before him, took off his red cap and respectfully kissed the old man's hand. He came thus to ask his blessing every evening before putting out to sea, where he often spent the night fishing from his boat. "May God bless thee, my Gabriel!" said the old man in a tone of emotion, as he slowly passed his hand over his son's black curls, and a tear came into his eye. Then, rising solemnly and addressing the groups around him, he added in a voice full of dignity and of gentleness. "Come, my children, it is time to separate. The young to work, the old to rest. There is the angelus ringing." Everybody knelt, and after a short prayer each went on his way. Nisida, after having given her father the last daily attentions, went up to her room, replenished the oil in the lamp that burned day and night before the Virgin, and, leaning her elbow on the window ledge, divided the branches of jasmine which hung like perfumed curtains, began to gaze out at the sea, and seemed lost in a deep, sweet reverie. At this very time, a little boat, rowed silently by two oarsmen, touched shore on the other side of the island. It had become quite dark. A little man first landed cautiously, and respectfully offered his hand to another individual, who, scorning that feeble support, leapt easily ashore. "Well, knave," he cried, "are my looks to your taste?" "Your lordship is perfect." "I flatter myself I am. It is true that, in order to make the transformation complete, I chose the very oldest coat that displayed its rags in a Jew's shop." "Your lordship looks like a heathen god engaged in a love affair. Jupiter has sheathed his thunderbolts and Apollo has pocketed his rays." "A truce to your mythology. And, to begin with, I forbid you to call me 'your lordship.'" "Yes, your lordship." "If my information that I have procured during the day is correct, the house must be on the other side of the island, in a most remote and lonely spot. Walk at a certain distance, and do not trouble yourself about me, for I know my part by heart." The young Prince of Brancaleone, whom, in spite of the darkness of the night, our readers will already have recognised, advanced towards the fisherman's house, with as little noise as possible, walked up and down several times upon the shore, and, after having briefly reconnoitred the place that he wished to attack, waited quietly for the moon to rise and light up the scene that he had prepared. He was not obliged to exercise his patience very long, for the darkness gradually disappeared, and Solomon's little house was bathed in silvery light. Then he approached with timid steps, lifted towards the casement a look of entreaty, and began to sigh with all the power of his lungs. The young girl, called suddenly from her meditations by the appearance of this strange person, raised herself sharply and prepared to close the shutters. "Stay, charming Nisida!" cried the prince, in the manner of a man overcome by irresistible passion. "What do you want with me, signor?" answered the maiden, amazed to hear herself called by name. "To adore you as a Madonna is adored, and to make you aware of my sighs." Nisida looked at him steadily, and, after a moment or two of reflection, asked suddenly, as though in response to some secret thought, "Do you belong to this country, or are you a foreigner?" "I arrived in this island," replied the prince without hesitation, "at the moment when the sun was writing his farewell to the earth and dipping the rays that serves as his pen into the shadow that serves as his inkstand." "And who are you?" returned the young girl, not at all understanding these strange words. "Alas! I am but a poor student, but I may become a great poet like Tasso, whose verses you often hear sung by a departing fisherman who sends his thrilling music as a last farewell that returns to die on the beach." "I do not know whether I am doing wrong to speak to you, but at least I will be frank with you," said Nisida, blushing; "I have the misfortune to be the richest girl on the island." "Your father will not be inexorable," returned the prince ardently; "one word from you, light of my eyes, goddess of my heart, and I will work night and day, never pausing nor slackening, and will render myself worthy to possess the treasure that God has revealed to my dazzled eyes, and, from being poor and obscure as you see me, I will become rich and powerful." "I have stayed too long listening to talk that a maiden should not hear; permit me, signor, to withdraw." "Have pity on me, my cruel enemy! What have I done to you that you should thus leave me with death in my soul? You do not know that, for months past, I have been following you everywhere like a shadow, that I prowl round your home at night, stifling my sighs lest they should disturb your peaceful slumber. You are afraid, perhaps, to let yourself be touched, at a first meeting, by a poor wretch who adores you. Alas! Juliet was young and beautiful like you, and she did not need many entreaties to take pity on Romeo." Nisida suffered a sad and thoughtful look to fall upon this handsome young man who spoke to her in so gentle a voice, and withdrew without further reply, that she might not humiliate his poverty. The prince made great efforts to suppress a strong inclination towards laughter, and, very well satisfied with this opening, turned his steps towards the spot where he had left his servant. Trespolo, after having emptied a bottle of lacryma with which he had provided himself for any emergency, had looked long around him to choose a spot where the grass was especially high and thick, and had laid himself down to a sound sleep, murmuring as he did so, this sublime observation, "O laziness, but for the sin of Adam you would be a virtue!" The young girl could not close her eyes during the whole night after the conversation that she had held with the stranger. His sudden appearance, his strange dress and odd speech, had awakened in her an uncertain feeling that had been lying asleep in the bottom of her heart. She was at this time in all the vigour of her youth and of her resplendent beauty. Nisida was not one of the weak and timid natures that are broken by suffering or domineered over by tyranny. Far otherwise: everything around her had contributed towards shaping for her a calm and serene destiny; her simple, tender soul had unfolded in an atmosphere of peace and happiness. If she had not hitherto loved, it was the fault, not of her coldness but of the extreme timidity shown by the inhabitants of her island. The blind depth of respect that surrounded the old fisherman had drawn around his daughter a barrier of esteem and submission that no one dared to cross. By means of thrift and labour Solomon had succeeded in creating for himself a prosperity that put the poverty of the other fishermen to the blush. No one had asked for Nisida because no one thought he deserved her. The only admirer who had dared to show his passion openly was Bastiano, the most devoted and dearest friend of Gabriel; but Bastiano did not please her. So, trusting in her beauty, upheld by the mysterious hope that never deserts youth, she had resigned herself to wait, like some princess who knows that her betrothed will come from a far country. On the day of the Assumption she had left her island for the first time in her life, chance having chosen her among the maidens of the kingdom vowed by their mothers to the special protection of the Virgin. But, overwhelmed by the weight of a position so new to her, blushing and confused under the eyes of an immense crowd, she had scarcely dared to raise her wondering looks, and the splendours of the town had passed before her like a dream, leaving but a vague remembrance. When she perceived the presence of this handsome young man, so slenderly and elegantly built, whose noble and calm demeanour contrasted with the timidity and awkwardness of her other admirers, she felt herself inwardly disturbed, and no doubt she would have believed that her prince had come, if she had been unpleasantly struck by the poverty of his dress. She had, nevertheless, allowed herself to listen to him longer than she ought to have done, and she drew back with her bosom heavy, her cheek on fire, and her heart rent by an ache that was both dull and sharp. "If my father does not wish me to marry him," she said to herself, tormented by the first remorseful feeling of her life. "I shall have done wrong to speak to him. And yet he is so handsome!" Then she knelt before the Virgin, who was her only confidante, the poor child having never known her mother, and tried to tell her the torments of her soul; but she could not achieve her prayer. The thoughts became entangled within her brain, and she surprised herself uttering strange words. But, assuredly, the Holy Virgin must have taken pity upon her lovely devotee, for she rose with the impression of a consoling thought, resolved to confide everything to her father. "I cannot have a moment's doubt," she said to herself, as she unlaced her bodice, "of my father's affection. Well, then, if he forbids me to speak to him, it will be for my good. And indeed, I have seen him but this once," she added, as she threw herself upon the bed, "and now I think of it, I consider him very bold to dare to speak to me. I am almost inclined to laugh at him. How confidently he brought out his nonsense, how absurdly he rolled his eyes! They are really very fine, those eyes of his, and so is his mouth, and his forehead and his hair. He does not suspect that I noticed his hands, which are really very white, when he raised them to heaven, like a madman, as he walked up and down by the sea. Come, come, is he going to prevent my sleeping? I will not see him again!" she cried, drawing the sheet over her head like an angry child. Then she began to laugh to herself over her lover's dress, and meditated long upon what her companions would say to it. Suddenly her brow contracted painfully, a frightful thought had stolen into her mind, she shuddered from head to foot. "Suppose he were to think someone else prettier than me? Men are so foolish! Certainly, it is too hot, and I shall not sleep to-night." Then she sat up in her bed, and continued her monologue--which we will spare the reader--till the morning. Scarcely had the first rays of light filtered through the interlacing branches of jasmine and wavered into the room, when Nisida dressed herself hurriedly, and went as usual to present her forehead to her father's kiss. The old man at once observed the depression and weariness left by a sleepless night upon his daughter's face, and parting with an eager and anxious hand the beautiful black hair that fell over her cheeks, he asked her, "What is the matter, my child? Thou hast not slept well?" "I have not slept at all," answered Nisida, smiling, to reassure her father; "I am perfectly well, but I have something to confess to you." "Speak quickly, child; I am dying with impatience." "Perhaps I have done wrong; but I want you to promise beforehand not to scold me." "You know very well that I spoil you," said the old man, with a caress; "I shall not begin to be stern to-day." "A young man who does not belong to this island, and whose name I do not know, spoke to me yesterday evening when I was taking the air at my window." "And what was he so eager to say to you, my dear Nisida?" "He begged me to speak to you in his favour." "I am listening. What can I do for him?" "Order me to marry him." "And should you obey willingly?" "I think so, father," the girl candidly replied. "As to other things, you yourself must judge in your wisdom; for I wanted to speak to you before coming to know him, so as not to go on with a conversation that you might not approve. But there is a hindrance." "You know that I do not recognise any when it is a question of making my daughter happy." "He is poor, father." "Well, all the more reason for me to like him. There is work here for everybody, and my table can spare a place for another son. He is young, he has arms; no doubt he has some calling." "He is a poet." "No matter; tell him to come and speak to me, and if he is an honest lad, I promise you, my child, that I will do anything in the world to promote your happiness." Nisida embraced her father effusively, and was beside herself with joy all day, waiting impatiently for the evening in order to give the young man such splendid news. Eligi Brancaleone was but moderately flattered, as you will easily believe, by the fisherman's magnanimous intentions towards him; but like the finished seducer that he was, he appeared enchanted at them. Recollecting his character as a fantastical student and an out-at-elbows poet, he fell upon his knees and shouted a thanksgiving to the planet Venus; then, addressing the young girl, he added, in a calmer voice, that he was going to write immediately to his own father, who in a week's time would come to make his formal proposal; until then, he begged, as a favour, that he might not present himself to Solomon nor to any person at all in the island, and assigned as a pretext a certain degree of shame which he felt on account of his old clothes, assuring his beloved that his father would bring him a complete outfit for the wedding-day. While the ill-starred girl was thus walking in terrifying security at the edge of the precipice, Trespolo, following his master's wishes, had established himself in the island as a pilgrim from Jerusalem. Playing his part and sprinkling his conversation with biblical phrases, which came to him readily, in his character of ex-sacristan, he distributed abundance of charms, wood of the true Cross and milk of the Blessed Virgin, and all those other inexhaustible treasures on which the eager devotion of worthy people daily feeds. His relics were the more evidently authentic in that he did not sell any of them, and, bearing his poverty in a holy manner, thanked the faithful and declined their alms. Only, out of regard for the established virtue of Solomon, he had consented to break bread with the fisherman, and went to take meals with him with the regularity of a cenobite. His abstinence aroused universal surprise: a crust dipped in water, a few nuts or figs sufficed to keep this holy man alive--to prevent him, that is to say, from dying. Furthermore, he entertained Nisida by his tales of his travels and by his mysterious predictions. Unfortunately, he only appeared towards evening; for he spent the rest of the day in austerities and in prayers--in other words, in drinking like a Turk and snoring like a buffalo. On the morning of the seventh day, after the promise given by the prince to the fisherman's daughter, Brancaleone came into his servant's room, and, shaking hint roughly, cried in his ear, "Up, odious marmot!" Trespolo, awakened suddenly, rubbed his eyes in alarm. The dead, sleeping peacefully at the bottom of their coffins, will be less annoyed at the last day when the trump of Judgment comes to drag them from their slumbers. Fear having, however, immediately dispersed the dark clouds that overspread his countenance, he sat up, and asked with an appearance of bewilderment-- "What is the matter, your excellency?" "The matter is that I will have you flayed alive a little if you do not leave off that execrable habit of sleeping twenty hours in the day." "I was not asleep, prince!" cried the servant boldly, as he sprang out of bed; "I was reflecting---" "Listen to me," said the prince in a severe tone; "you were once employed, I believe, in a chemist's shop?" "Yes, my lord, and I left because my employer had the scandalous barbarity to make me pound drugs, which tired my arms horribly." "Here is a phial containing a solution of opium." "Mercy!" cried Trespolo, falling on his knees. "Get up, idiot, and pay great attention to what I am going to say to you. This little fool of a Nisida persists in wanting me to speak to her father. I made her believe that I was going away this evening to fetch my papers. There is no time to lose. They know you very well at the fisherman's. You will pour this liquid into their wine; your life will answer for your not giving them a larger dose than enough to produce a deep sleep. You will take care to prepare me a good ladder for to-night; after which you will go and wait for me in my boat, where you will find Numa and Bonaroux. They have my orders. I shall not want you in scaling the fortress; I have my Campo Basso dagger." "But, my lord---" stammered Trespolo, astounded. "No difficulties!" cried the prince, stamping his foot furiously, "or, by my father's death, I will cure you, once for all, of your scruples." And he turned on his heel with the air of a man who is certain that people will be very careful not to disobey his orders. The unhappy Trespolo fulfilled his master's injunctions punctually. With him fear was the guiding principle. That evening the fisherman's supper table was hopelessly dull, and the sham pilgrim tried in vain to enliven it by factitious cheerfulness. Nisida was preoccupied by her lover's departure, and Solomon, sharing unconsciously in his daughter's grief, swallowed but a drop or two of wine, to avoid resisting the repeated urgency of his guest. Gabriel had set out in the morning for Sorrento and was not to return for two or three days; his absence tended to increase the old man's melancholy. As soon as Trespolo had retired, the fisherman yielded to his fatigue. Nisida, with her arms hanging by her sides, her head heavy and her heart oppressed by a sad presentiment, had scarcely strength to go up to her room, and after having mechanically trimmed the lamp, sank on her bed as pale and stiff as a corpse. The storm was breaking out with violence; one of those terrible storms seen only in the South, when the congregated clouds, parting suddenly, shed torrents of rain and of hail, and threaten another deluge. The roar of the thunder drew nearer and was like the noise of a cannonade. The gulf, lately so calm and smooth that the island was reflected as in a mirror, had suddenly darkened; the furiously leaping waves flung themselves together like wild horses; the island quaked, shaken by terrible shocks. Even the boldest fishermen had drawn their boats ashore, and, shut within their cabins, encouraged as best they could their frightened wives and children. Amid the deep darkness that overspread the sea Nisida's lamp could be seen gleaming clear and limpid, as it burned before the Madonna. Two boats, without rudders, sails, or oars, tossed by the waves, beaten by the winds, were whirling above the abyss; two men were in these two boats, their muscles tense, their breasts bare, their hair flying. They gazed haughtily on the sea, and braved the tempest. "Once more, I beg you," cried one of these men, "fear not for me, Gabriel; I promise you that with my two broken oars and a little perseverance I shall get to Torre before daybreak." "You are mad, Bastiano; we have not been able ever since the morning to get near Vico, and have been obliged to keep tacking about; your skill and strength have been able to do nothing against this frightful hurricane which has driven us back to this point." "It is the first time you have ever refused to go with me," remarked the young man. "Well, yes, my dear Bastiano, I do not know how it is, but to-night I feel drawn to the island by an irresistible power. The winds have been unchained to bring me back to it in spite of myself, and I will own to you, even though it should make me seem like a madman in your eyes, that this simple and ordinary event appears to me like an order from heaven. Do you see that lamp shining over there?" "I know it," answered Bastiano, suppressing a sigh. "It was lighted before the Virgin one the day when my sister was born, and for eighteen year it has never ceased to burn, night and day. It was my mother's vow. You do not know, my dear Bastiano, you cannot know how many torturing thoughts that vow recalls to me. My poor mother called me to her deathbed and told me a frightful tale, a horrible secret, which weighs on my soul like a cloak of lead, and of which I can only relieve myself by confiding it to a friend. When her painful story was ended she asked to see and to embrace my sister, who was just born; then with her trembling hand, already chilled by the approach of death, she desired to light the lamp herself. 'Remember,' these were her last words, 'remember, Gabriel, that your sister is vowed to the Madonna. As long as this light shines before the blessed image of the Virgin, your sister will be in no danger.' You can understand now why, at night, when we are crossing the gulf, my eyes are always fixed on that lamp. I have a belief that nothing could shake, which is that on the day that light goes out my sister's soul will have taken flight to heaven." "Well," cried Bastiano in an abrupt tone that betrayed the emotion of his heart, "if you prefer to stay, I will go alone." "Farewell," said Gabriel, without turning aside his eyes from the window towards which he felt himself drawn by a fascination for which he could not account. Bastiano disappeared, and Nisida's brother, assisted by the waves, was drawing nearer and nearer to the shore, when, at all once, he uttered a terrible cry which sounded above the noise of the tempest. The star had just been extinguished; the lamp had been blown out. "My sister is dead!" cried Gabriel and, leaping into the sea, he cleft the waves with the rapidity of lightning. The storm had redoubled its intensity; long lines of lightning, rending the sides of the clouds, bathed everything in their tawny and intermittent light. The fisherman perceived a ladder leaning against the front of his home, seized it with a convulsive hand, and in three bounds flung himself into the room. The prince felt himself strangely moved on making his way into this pure and silent retreat. The calm and gentle gaze of the Virgin who seemed to be protecting the rest of the sleeping girl, that perfume of innocence shed around the maidenly couch, that lamp, open-eyed amid the shadows, like a soul in prayer, had inspired the seducer with an unknown distress. Irritated by what he called an absurd cowardice, he had extinguished the obtrusive light, and was advancing towards the bed, and addressing unspoken reproaches to himself, when Gabriel swooped upon him with a wounded tiger's fierce gnashing of the teeth. Brancaleone, by a bold and rapid movement that showed no common degree of skill and bravery, while struggling in the grasp of his powerful adversary, drew forth in his right hand a long dagger with a fine barbed blade. Gabriel smiled scornfully, snatched the weapon from him, and even as he stooped to break it across his knee, gave the prince a furious blow with his head that made him stagger and sent him rolling on the floor, three paces away; then, leaning over his poor sister and gazing on her with hungry eyes, by the passing gleam of a flash, "Dead!" he repeated, wringing his arms in despair,--"dead!" In the fearful paroxysm that compressed his throat he could find no other words to assuage his rage or to pour forth his woe. His hair, which the storm had flattened, rose on his head, the marrow of his bones was chilled, and he felt his tears rush back upon his heart. It was a terrible moment; he forgot that the murderer still lived. The prince, however, whose admirable composure did not for a moment desert him, had risen, bruised and bleeding. Pale and trembling with rage, he sought everywhere for a weapon with which to avenge himself. Gabriel returned towards him gloomier and more ominous than ever, and grasping his neck with an iron hand, dragged him into the room where the old man was sleeping. "Father! father! father!" he cried in a piercing voice, "here is the Bastard who Has just murdered Nisida!" The old man, who had drunk but a few drops of the narcotic potion, was awakened by this cry which echoed through his soul; he arose as though moved by a spring, flung off his coverings, and with that promptitude of action that God has bestowed upon mothers in moments of danger, event up to his daughter's room, found a light, knelt on the edge of the bed, and began to test his child's pulse and watch her breathing with mortal anxiety. All! this had passed in less time than we have taken in telling it. Brancaleone by an unheard-of effort had freed himself from the hands of the young fisherman, and suddenly resuming his princely pride, said in a loud voice, "You shall not kill me without listening to me." Gabriel would have overwhelmed him with Bitter reproaches, but, unable to utter a single word, he burst into tears. "Your sifter is not dead," said the prince, with cold dignity; "she is merely asleep. You can assure yourself of it, and meanwhile I undertake, upon my Honour, not to move a single step away." These words were pronounced with such an accent of truth that the fisherman was struck by them. An unexpected gleam of hope suddenly dawned in his thoughts; he cast upon the stranger a glance of hate and distrust, and muttered in a muffled voice, "Do not flatter yourself, in any case, that you will be able to escape me." Then he went up to his sister's room, and approaching the old man, asked tremblingly, "Well, father?" Solomon thrust him gently aside with the solicitude of a mother removing some buzzing insect from her child's cradle, and, making a sign to enjoin silence, added in a low voice, "She is neither dead nor poisoned. Some philtre has been given to her for a bad purpose. Her breathing is even, and she cannot fail to recover from her lethargy." Gabriel, reassured about Nisida's life, returned silently to the ground floor where he had left the seducer. His manner was grave and gloomy; he was coming now not to rend the murderer of his sister with his hands, but to elucidate a treacherous and infamous mystery, and to avenge his honour which had been basely attacked. He opened wide the double entrance door that admitted daylight to the apartment in which, on the few nights that he spent at home, he was accustomed to sleep with his father. The rain had just stopped, a ray of moonlight pierced the clouds, and all at once made its way into the room. The fisherman adjusted his dripping garments, walked towards the stranger, who awaited him without stirring, and after having gazed upon him haughtily, said, "Now you are going to explain your presence in our house." "I confess," said the prince, in an easy tone and with the most insolent assurance, "that appearances are against me. It is the fate of lovers to be treated as thieves. But although I have not the advantage of being known to you, I am betrothed to the fair Nisida--with your father's approval, of course. Now, as I have the misfortune to possess very hardhearted parents, they have had the cruelty to refuse me their consent. Love led me astray, and I was about to be guilty of a fault for which a young man like you ought to have some indulgence. Furthermore, it was nothing but a mere attempt at an abduction, with the best intentions in the world, I swear, and I am ready to atone for everything if you will agree to give me your hand and call me your brother." "I will agree to call you a coward and a betrayer!" replied Gabriel, whose face had begun to glow, as he heard his sister spoken of with such impudent levity. "If it is thus that insults are avenged in towns, we fishers have a different plan. Ah! so you flattered yourself with the thought of bringing desolation aid disgrace into our home, and of paying infamous assassins to come and share an old man's bread so as to poison his daughter, of stealing by night, like a brigand, armed with a dagger, into my sister's room, and of being let off by marrying the most beautiful woman in the kingdom!" The prince made a movement. "Listen," continued Gabriel: "I could break you as I broke your dagger just now; but I have pity on you. I see that you can do nothing with your hands, neither defend yourself nor work. Go, I begin to understand; you are a braggart, my fine sir; your poverty is usurped; you have decked yourself in these poor clothes, but you are unworthy of them." He suffered a glance of crushing contempt to fall upon the prince, then going to a cupboard hidden in the wall, he drew out a rifle and an axe. "Here," said he, "are all the weapons in the house; choose." A flash of joy illuminated the countenance of the prince, who had hitherto suppressed his rage. He seized the rifle eagerly, drew three steps backward, and drawing himself up to his full height, said, "You would have done better to lend me this weapon at the beginning; for then I would have been spared from witnessing your silly vapourings and frantic convulsions. Thanks, young-man; one of my servants will bring you back your gun. Farewell." And he threw him his purse, which fell heavily at the fisherman's feet. "I lent you that rifle to fight with me," cried Gabriel, whom surprise had rooted to the spot. "Move aside, my lad; you are out of your senses," said the prince, taking a step towards the door. "So you refuse to defend yourself?" asked Gabriel in a determined voice. "I have told you already that I cannot fight with you." "Why not?" "Because such is the will of God; because you were born to crawl and I to trample you under my feet; because all the blood that I could shed in this island would not purchase one drop of my blood; because a thousand lives of wretches like you are not equal to one hour of mine; because you will kneel at my name that I, am now going to utter; because, in short, you are but a poor fisherman and my name is Prince of Brancaleone." At this dreaded name, which the young nobleman flung, like a thunderbolt, at his head, the fisherman bounded like a lion. He drew a deep breath, as though he had lifted a weight that had long rested on his heart. "Ah!" he cried, "you have given yourself into my hands, my lord! Between the poor fisherman and the all-powerful prince there is a debt of blood. You shall pay for yourself and for your father. We are going to settle our accounts, your excellency," he added, rising his axe over the head of the prince, who was aiming at him. "Oh! you were in too great haste to choose: the rifle is not loaded." The prince turned pale. "Between our two families," Gabriel continued, "there exists a horrible secret which my mother confided to me on the brink of the grave, of which my father himself is unaware, and that no man in the world must learn. You are different, you are going to die." He dragged him into the space outside the house. "Do you know why my sister, whom you wished to dishonour, was vowed to the Madonna? Because your father, like you, wished to dishonour my mother. In your accursed house there is a tradition of infamy. You do not know what slow and terrible torments my poor mother endured-torments that broke her strength and caused her to die in early youth, and that her angelic soul dared confide to none but her son in that supreme hour and in order to bid me watch over my sister." The fisherman wiped away a burning tear. "One day, before we were born, a fine lady, richly dressed, landed in our island from a splendid boat; she asked to see my mother, who was as young and beautiful as my Nisida is to-day. She could not cease from admiring her; she blamed the blindness of fate which had buried this lovely jewel in the bosom of an obscure island; she showered praises, caresses, and gifts upon my mother, and after many indirect speeches, finally asked her parents for her, that she might make her her lady-in-waiting. The poor people, foreseeing in the protection of so great a lady a brilliant future for their daughter, were weak enough to yield. That lady was your mother; and do you know why she came thus to seek that poor innocent maiden? Because your mother had a lover, and because she wished to make sure, in this infamous manner, of the prince's indulgence." "Silence, wretch!" "Oh, your excellency will hear me out. At the beginning, my poor mother found herself surrounded by the tenderest care: the princess could not be parted from her for a moment; the most flattering words, the finest clothes, the richest ornaments were hers; the servants paid her as much respect as though she were a daughter of the house. When her parents went to see her and to inquire whether she did not at all regret having left them, they found her so lovely and so happy, that they blessed the princess as a good angel sent them from God. Then the prince conceived a remarkable affection for my mother; little by little his manners became more familiar and affectionate. At last the princess went away for a few days, regretting that she could not take with her her dear child, as she called her. Then the prince's brutality knew no further barriers; he no longer concealed his shameful plans of seduction; he spread before the poor girl's eyes pearl necklaces and caskets of diamonds; he passed from the most glowing passion to the blackest fury, from the humblest prayers to the most horrible threats. The poor child was shut up in a cellar where there was hardly a gleam of daylight, and every morning a frightful gaoler came and threw her a bit of black bread, repeating with oaths that it only depended upon herself to alter all this by becoming the prince's mistress. This cruelty continued for two years. The princess had gone on a long journey, and my mother's poor parents believed that their daughter was still happy with her protectress. On her return, having; no doubt fresh sins for which she needed forgiveness, she took my mother from her dungeon, assumed the liveliest indignation at this horrible treatment, about which she appeared to have known nothing, wiped her tears, and by an abominable refinement of perfidy received the thanks of the victim whom she was about to sacrifice. "One evening--I have just finished, my lord--the princess chose to sup alone with her lady-in-waiting: the rarest fruits, the most exquisite dishes, and the most delicate wines were served to my poor mother, whose prolonged privations had injured her health and weakened her reason; she gave way to a morbid gaiety. Diabolical philtres were poured into her cup; that is another tradition in your family. My mother felt uplifted, her eyes shone with feverish brilliance, her cheeks were on fire. Then the prince came in--oh! your excellency will see that God protects the poor. My darling mother, like a frightened dove, sheltered herself in the bosom of the princess, who pushed her away, laughing. The poor distraught girl, trembling, weeping, knelt down in the midst of that infamous room. It was St. Anne's Day; all at once the house shook, the walls cracked, cries of distress rang out in the streets. My mother was saved. It was the earthquake that destroyed half Naples. You know all about it, my lord, since your old palace is no longer habitable." "What are you driving at?" cried Brancaleone in terrible agitation. "Oh, I merely wish to persuade you that you must fight with me," answered the fisherman coldly, as he offered him a cartridge. "And now," he added, in an excited tone, "say your prayers, my lord; for I warn you, you will die by my hand; justice must be done." The prince carefully examined the powder and shot, made sure that his rifle was in good condition; loaded it, and, eager to make an end, took aim at the fisherman; but, either because he had been so much disturbed by his opponent's terrible tale, or, because the grass was wet from the storm, at the moment when he put forward his left foot to steady his shot, he slipped, lost his balance and fell on one knee. He fired into the air. "That does not count, my lord," cried Gabriel instantly, and handed him a second charge. At the noise of the report Solomon had appeared at the window, and, understanding what was going on, had lifted his hands to heaven, in order to address to God a dumb and fervent prayer. Eligi uttered a frightful inprecation, and hastily reloaded his rifle; but, struck by the calm confidence of the young man, who stood motionless before him, and by the old man, who, impassive and undisturbed, seemed to be conjuring God in the name of a father's authority, disconcerted by his fall, his knees shaking and his arm jarred, he felt the chills of death running in his veins. Attempting, nevertheless, to master his emotion, he took aim a second time; the bullet whistled by the fisherman's ear and buried itself in the stem of a poplar. The prince, with the energy of despair, seized the barrel of his weapon in both hands; but Gabriel was coming forward with his axe, a terrible foe, and his first stroke carried away the butt of the rifle. He was still hesitating, however, to kill a defenceless man, when two armed servants appeared at the end of the pathway. Gabriel did not see them coming; but at the moment when they would have seized him by the shoulders, Solomon uttered a cry and rushed to his son's assistance. "Help, Numa! help, Bonaroux! Death to the ruffians! They want to murder me." "You lie, Prince of Brancaleone!" cried Gabriel, and with one blow of the axe he cleft his skull. The two bravoes who were coming to their master's assistance, when they saw him fall, took flight; Solomon and his son went up to Nisida's room. The young girl had just shaken off her heavy slumber; a slight perspiration moistened her brow, and she opened her eyes slowly to the dawning day. "Why are you looking at me in that way, father?" she said, her mind still wandering a littler and she passed her hand over her forehead. The old man embraced her tenderly. "You have just passed through a great danger, my poor Nisida," said he; "arise, and let us give thanks to the Madonna." Then all three, kneeling before the sacred image of the Virgin, began to recite litanies. But at that very instant a noise of arms sounded in the enclosure, the house was surrounded by soldiers, and a lieutenant of gendarmes, seizing Gabriel, said in a loud voice, "In the name of the law, I arrest you for the murder that you have just committed upon the person of his excellency and illustrious lordship, the Prince of Brancaleone." Nisida, struck by these words, remained pale and motionless like a marble statue kneeling on a tomb; Gabriel was already preparing to make an unreasoning resistance, when a gesture from his father stopped him. "Signor tenente," said the old man, addressing himself to the officer, "my son killed the prince in lawful defence, for the latter had scaled our house and made his way in at night and with arms in his hand. The proofs are before your eyes. Here is a ladder set up against the window; and here," he proceeded, picking up the two pieces of the broken blade, "is a dagger with the Brancaleone arms. However, we do not refuse to follow you." The last words of the fisherman were drowned by cries of "Down with the sbirri! down with the gendarmes!" which were repeated in every direction. The whole island was up in arms, and the fisher-folk would have suffered themselves to be cut up to the last man before allowing a single hair of Solomon or of his son to be touched; but the old man appeared upon his threshold, and, stretching out his arm with a calm and grave movement that quieted the anger of the crowd, he said, "Thanks, my children; the law must be respected. I shall be able, alone, to defend the innocence of my son before the judges." Hardly three months have elapsed since the day upon which we first beheld the old fisherman of Nisida sitting before the door of his dwelling, irradiated by all the happiness that he had succeeded in creating around him, reigning like a king, on his throne of rock, and blessing his two children, the most beautiful creatures in the island. Now the whole existence of this man, who was once so happy and so much envied, is changed. The smiling cottage, that hung over the gulf like a swan over a transparent lake, is sad and desolate; the little enclosure, with its hedges of lilac and hawthorn, where joyous groups used to come and sit at the close of day, is silent and deserted. No human sound dares to trouble the mourning of this saddened solitude. Only towards evening the waves of the sea, compassionating such great misfortunes, come to murmur plaintive notes upon the beach. Gabriel has been condemned. The news of the high-born Prince of Brancaleone's death, so young, so handsome, and so universally adored, not only fluttered the aristocracy of Naples, but excited profound indignation in all classes of people. He was mourned by everybody, and a unanimous cry for vengeance was raised against the murderer. The authorities opened the inquiry with alarming promptness. The magistrates whom their office called to judge this deplorable affair displayed, however, the most irreproachable integrity. No consideration outside their duty, no deference due to so noble and powerful a family, could shake the convictions of their conscience. History has kept a record of this memorable trial; and has, no reproach to make to men which does not apply equally to the imperfection of human laws. The appearance of things, that fatal contradiction which the genius of evil so often here on earth gives to truth, overwhelmed the poor fisherman with the most evident proofs. Trespolo, in whom fear had destroyed all scruples, being first examined, as having been the young prince's confidant, declared with cool impudence that, his master having shown a wish to escape for a few days from the importunities of a young married lady whose passion was beginning to tire him, had followed him to the island with three or four of his most faithful servants, and that he himself had adopted the disguise of a pilgrim, not wishing to betray his excellency's incognito to the fisher-people, who would certainly have tormented so powerful a person by all sorts of petitions. Two local watch men, who had happened to be on the hillside at the moment of the crime, gave evidence that confirmed the valet's lengthy statement; hidden by some under wood, they had seen Gabriel rush upon the prince, and had distinctly heard the last words of the dying man; calling "Murder!" All the witnesses, even those summoned at the request of the prisoner, made his case worse by their statements, which they tried to make favourable. Thus the court, with its usual perspicacity and its infallible certainty, succeeded in establishing the fact that Prince Eligi of Brancaleone, having taken a temporary dislike to town life, had retired to the little island of Nisida, there to give himself up peaceably to the pleasure of fishing, for which he had at all times had a particular predilection (a proof appeared among the documents of the case that the prince had regularly been present every other year at the tunny-fishing on his property at Palermo); that when once he was thus hidden in the island, Gabriel might have recognised him, having gone with his sister to the procession, a few days before, and had, no doubt, planned to murder him. On the day before the night of the crime, the absence of Gabriel and the discomposure of his father and sister had been remarked. Towards evening the prince had dismissed his servant, and gone out alone, as his custom was, to walk by the seashore. Surprised by the storm and not knowing the byways of the island, he had wandered round the fisherman's house, seeking a shelter; then Gabriel, encouraged by the darkness and by the noise of the tempest, which seemed likely to cover the cries of his victim, had, after prolonged hesitation, resolved to commit his crime, and having fired two shots at the unfortunate young man without succeeding in wounding him, had put an end to him by blows of the axe; lastly, at the moment when, with Solomon's assistance, he was about to throw the body into the sea, the prince's servants having appeared, they had gone up to the girl's room, and, inventing their absurd tale, had cast themselves on their knees before the Virgin, in order to mislead the authorities. All the circumstances that poor Solomon cited in his son's favour turned against him: the ladder at Nisida's window belonged to the fisherman; the dagger which young Brancaleone always carried upon him to defend himself had evidently been taken from him after his death, and Gabriel had hastened to break it, so as to destroy, to the best of his power, the traces of his crime. Bastiano's evidence did not receive a minute's consideration: he, to destroy the idea of premeditation, declared that the young fisherman had left him only at the moment when the storm broke over the island; but, in the first place, the young diver was known to be Gabriel's most devoted friend and his sister's warmest admirer, and, in the second, he had been seen to land at Torre during the same hour in which he had affirmed that he was near to Nisida. As for the prince's passion for the poor peasant girl, the magistrates simply shrugged their shoulders at the ridiculous assertion of that, and especially at the young girl's alleged resistance and the extreme measures to which the prince was supposed to have resorted to conquer the virtue of Nisida. Eligi of Brancaleone was so young, so handsome, so seductive, and at the same time so cool amid his successes, that he had never been suspected of violence, except in getting rid of his mistresses. Finally, an overwhelming and unanswerable proof overthrew all the arguments for the defence: under the fisherman's bed had been found a purse with the Brancaleone arms, full of gold, the purse which, if our readers remember, the prince had flung as a last insult at Gabriel's feet. The old man did not lose heart at this fabric of lies; after the pleadings of the advocates whose ruinous eloquence he had bought with heavy gold, he defended his son himself, and put so much truth, so much passion, and so many tears into his speech, that the whole audience was moved, and three of the judges voted for an acquittal; but the majority was against it, and the fatal verdict was pronounced. The news at once spread throughout the little island, and caused the deepest dejection there. The fishers who, at the first irruption of force, had risen as one man to defend their comrade's cause, bowed their heads without a murmur before the unquestioned authority of a legal judgment. Solomon received unflinchingly the stab that pierced his heart. No sigh escaped his breast; no tear came to his eyes; his wound did not bleed. Since his son's arrest he had sold all he possessed in the world, even the little silver cross left by his wife at her death, even the pearl necklace that flattered his fatherly pride by losing its whiteness against his dear Nisida's throat; the pieces of gold gained by the sale of these things he had sewn into his coarse woollen cap, and had established himself in the city. He ate nothing but the bread thrown to him by the pity of passers-by, and slept on the steps of churches or at the magistrates' door. To estimate at its full value the heroic courage of this unhappy father, one must take a general view of the whole extent of his misfortune. Overwhelmed by age and grief, he looked forward with solemn calmness to the terrible moment which would bear his son, a few days before him, to the grave. His sharpest agony was the thought of the shame that would envelop his family. The first scaffold erected in that gently mannered island would arise for Gabriel, and that ignominious punishment tarnish the whole population and imprint upon it the first brand of disgrace. By a sad transition, which yet comes so easily in the destiny of man, the poor father grew to long for those moments of danger at which he had formerly trembled, those moments in which his son might have died nobly. And now all was lost: a long life of work, of abnegation, and of good deeds, a pure and stainless reputation that had extended beyond the gulf into distant countries, and the traditional admiration, rising almost to worship, of several generations; all these things only served to deepen the pit into which the fisherman had fallen, at one blow, from his kingly height. Good fame, that divine halo without which nothing here on earth is sacred, had disappeared. Men no longer dared to defend the poor wretch, they pitied him. His name would soon carry horror with it, and Nisida, poor orphan, would be nothing to anyone but the sister of a man who had been condemned to death. Even Bastiano turned away his face and wept. Thus, when every respite was over, when poor Solomon's every attempt had failed, people in the town who saw him smile strangely, as though under the obsession of some fixed idea, said to one another that the old man had lost his reason. Gabriel saw his last day dawn, serenely and calmly. His sleep had been deep; he awoke full of unknown joy; a cheerful ray of sunlight, falling through the loophole, wavered over the fine golden straw in his cell; an autumn breeze playing around him, brought an agreeable coolness to his brow, and stirred in his long hair. The gaoler, who while he had had him in his charge had always behaved humanely, struck by his happy looks, hesitated to announce the priest's visit, in fear of calling the poor prisoner from his dream. Gabriel received the news with pleasure; he conversed for two hours with the good priest, and shed sweet tears on receiving the last absolution. The priest left the prison with tears in his eyes, declaring aloud that he had never in his life met with a more beautiful, pure, resigned, and courageous spirit. The fisherman was still under the influence of this consoling emotion when his sister entered. Since the day when she had been carried, fainting, from the room where her brother had just been arrested, the poor girl, sheltered under the roof of an aunt, and accusing herself of all the evil that had befallen, had done nothing but weep at the feet of her holy protectress. Bowed by grief like a young lily before the storm, she would spend whole hours, pale, motionless, detached from earthly things, her tears flowing silently upon her beautiful clasped hands. When the moment came to go and embrace her brother for the last time, Nisida arose with the courage of a saint. She wiped away the traces of her tears, smoothed her beautiful black hair, and put on her best white dress. Poor child, she tried to hide her grief by an angelic deception. She had the strength to smile! At the sight of her alarming pallor Gabriel felt his heart wrung, a cloud passed over his eyes; he would have run to meet her, but, held back by the chain which fettered him to a pillar of his prison, stepped back sharply and stumbled. Nisida flew to her brother and upheld him in her arms. The young girl had understood him; she assured him that she was well. Fearing to remind him of his terrible position, she spoke volubly of all manner of things--her aunt, the weather, the Madonna. Then she stopped suddenly, frightened at her own words, frightened at her own silence; she fixed her burning gaze upon her brother's brow as though to fascinate him. Little by little animation returned to her; a faint colour tinted her hollowed cheeks, and Gabriel, deceived by the maiden's super human efforts, thought her still beautiful, and thanked God in his heart for having spared this tender creature. Nisida, as though she had followed her brother's secret thoughts, came close to him, pressed his hand with an air of understanding, and murmured low in his ear, "Fortunately our father has been away for two days; he sent me word that he would be detained in town. For us, it is different; we are young, we have courage!" The poor young girl was trembling like a leaf. "What will become of you, my poor Nisida?" "Bah! I will pray to the Madonna. Does she not watch over us?" The girl stopped, struck by the sound of her own words, which the circumstances so cruelly contradicted. But looking at her brother, she went on in a low tone: "Assuredly she does watch over us. She appeared to me last night in a dream. She held her child Jesus on her arm, and looked at me with a mother's tenderness. She wishes to make saints of us, for she loves us; and to be a saint, you see, Gabriel, one must suffer." "Well, go and pray for me, my kind sister; go away from the view of this sad place, which will eventually shake your firmness, and perhaps mine. Go; we shall see each other again in heaven above, where our mother is waiting for us--our mother whom you have not known, and to whom I shall often speak of you. Farewell, my sister, until we meet again!" And he kissed her on the forehead. The young girl called up all her strength into her heart for this supreme moment; she walked with a firm step; having reached the threshold, she turned round and waved him a farewell, preventing herself by a nervous contraction from bursting into tears, but as soon as she was in the corridor, a sob broke from her bosom, and Gabriel, who heard it echo from the vaulted roof, thought that his heart would break. Then he threw himself on his knees, and, lifting his hands to heaven, cried, "I have finished suffering; I have nothing more that holds me to life. I thank Thee, my God! Thou hast kept my father away, and hast been willing to spare the poor old man a grief that would have been beyond his strength." It was at the hour of noon, after having exhausted every possible means, poured out his gold to the last piece, and embraced the knees of the lowest serving man, that Solomon the fisherman took his way to his son's prison. His brow was so woebegone that the guards drew back, seized with pity, and the gaoler wept as he closed the door of the cell upon him. The old man remained some moments without advancing a step, absorbed in contemplation of his son. By the tawny gleam of his eye might be divined that the soul of the man was moved at that instant by some dark project. He seemed nevertheless struck by the-beauty of Gabriel's face. Three months in prison had restored to his skin the whiteness that the sun had turned brown; his fine dark hair fell in curls around his neck, his eyes rested on his father with a liquid and brilliant gaze. Never had this head been so beautiful as now, when it was to fall. "Alas, my poor son!" said the old man, "there is no hope left; you must die." "I know it," answered Gabriel in a tone of tender reproach, "and it is not that which most afflicts me at this moment. But you, too, why do you wish to give me pain, at your age? Why did you not stay in the town?" "In the town," the old man returned, "they have no pity; I cast myself at the king's feet, at everybody's feet; there is no pardon, no mercy for us." "Well, in God's name, what is death to me? I meet it daily on the sea. My greatest, my only torment is the pain that they are causing you." "And I, do you think, my Gabriel, that I only suffer in seeing you die? Oh, it is but a parting for a few days; I shall soon go to join you. But a darker sorrow weighs upon me. I am strong, I am a man." He stopped, fearing that he had said too much; then drawing near to his son, he said in a tearful voice, "Forgive me, my Gabriel; I am the cause of your death. I ought to have killed the prince with my own hand. In our country, children and old men are not condemned to death. I am over eighty years old; I should have been pardoned; they told me that when, with tears, I asked pardon for you; once more, forgive me, Gabriel; I thought my daughter was dead; I thought of nothing else; and besides, I did not know the law." "Father, father!" cried Gabriel, touched, "what are you saying? I would have given my life a thousand times over to purchase one day of yours. Since you are strong enough to be present at my last hour, fear not; you will not see me turn pale; your son will be worthy of you." "And he is to die, to die!" cried Solomon, striking his forehead in despair, and casting on the walls of the dungeon a look of fire that would fain have pierced them. "I am resigned, father," said Gabriel gently; "did not Christ ascend the cross?" "Yes," murmured the old man in a muffled voice, "but He did not leave behind a sister dishonoured by His death." These words, which escaped the old fisherman in spite of himself, threw a sudden and terrible light into the soul of Gabriel. For the first time he perceived all the infamous manner of his death: the shameless populace crowding round the scaffold, the hateful hand of the executioner taking him by the Hair, and the drops of his blood besprinkling the white raiment of his sister and covering her with shame. "Oh, if I could get a weapon!" cried Gabriel, his haggard eyes roaming around. "It is not the weapon that is lacking," answered Solomon, carrying his hand to the hilt of a dagger that he had hidden in his breast. "Then kill me, father," said Gabriel in a low tone, but with an irresistible accent of persuasion and entreaty; "oh yes, I confess it now, the executioner's hand frightens me. My Nisida, my poor Nisida, I have seen her; she was here just now, as beautiful and as pale as the Madonna Dolorosa; she smiled to hide from me her sufferings. She was happy, poor girl, because she believed you away. Oh, how sweet it will be to me to die by your hand! You gave me life; take it back, father, since God will have it so. And Nisida will be saved. Oh, do not hesitate! It would be a cowardice on the part of both of us; she is my sister, she is your daughter." And seeing that his powerful will had subjugated the old man, he said, "Help! help, father!" and offered his breast to the blow. The poor father lifted his hand to strike; but a mortal convulsion ran through all his limbs; he fell into his son's arms, and both burst into tears. "Poor father!" said Gabriel. "I ought to have foreseen that. Give me that dagger and turn away; I am young and my arm will not tremble." "Oh no!" returned Solomon solemnly, "no, my son, for then you would be a suicide! Let your soul ascend to heaven pure! God will give me His strength. Moreover, we have time yet." And a last ray of hope shone in the eyes of the fisherman. Then there passed in that dungeon one of those scenes that words can never reproduce. The poor father sat down on the straw at his son's side and laid his head gently upon his knees. He smiled to him through his tears, as one smiles to a sick child; he passed his hand slowly through the silky curls of his hair, and asked him countless questions, intermingled with caresses. In order to give him a distaste for this world he kept on talking to him of the other. Then, with a sudden change, he questioned him minutely about all sorts of past matters. Sometimes he stopped in alarm, and counted the beatings of his heart, which were hurriedly marking the passage of time. "Tell me everything, my child; have you any desire, any wish that could be satisfied before you die? Are you leaving any woman whom you loved secretly? Everything we have left shall be hers." "I regret nothing on earth but you and my sister. You are the only persons whom I have loved since my mother's death." "Well, be comforted. Your sister will be saved." "Oh, yes! I shall die happy." "Do you forgive our enemies?" "With all the strength of my heart. I pray God to have mercy on the witnesses who accused me. May He forgive me my sins!" "How old is it that you will soon be?" the old man asked suddenly, for his reason was beginning to totter, and his memory had failed him. "I was twenty-five on All Hallows' Day." "True; it was a sad day, this year; you were in prison." "Do you remember how, five years ago, on that same day I got the prize in the regatta at Venice?" "Tell me about that, my child." And he listened, his neck stretched forward, his mouth half open, his hands in his son's. A sound of steps came in from the corridor, and a dull knock was struck upon the door. It was the fatal hour. The poor father had forgotten it. The priests had already begun to sing the death hymn; the executioner was ready, the procession had set out, when Solomon the fisherman appeared suddenly on the threshold of the prison, his eyes aflame and his brow radiant with the halo of the patriarchs. The old man drew himself up to his full height, and raising in one hand the reddened knife, said in a sublime voice, "The sacrifice is fulfilled. God did not send His angel to stay the hand of Abraham." The crowd carried him in triumph! [The details of this case are recorded in the archives of the Criminal Court at Naples. We have changed nothing in the age or position of the persons who appear in this narrative. One of the most celebrated advocates at the Neapolitan bar secured the acquittal of the old man.] Publication Date: May 28th 2010 https://www.bookrix.com/-bx.dumas

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-nathan-knox-unknown-stranger/

Nathan Knox Unknown Stranger An unknown stranger walked into town. But he didn't know where he was. He asked a person. they said he was in Killer Lane. The police can catch you when you are up to 5 miles. They are too fast. The police men are faster than a rocket. They can strangle you if you do something really really bad. Lots of people died here because they have stolen 100 loaves of bread just in one day. The police Has strangled over 400 people. That is why you call our town Killer Lane. Nobody has survied in this town. Look at this place it looks like a haunted town. only 14 people live here now because all the people kept stealing 4 loaves each day and the Stone Running police caught them all and strangled all them. I hate the police. They are all so fast runners. I just don't like them. They keep killing people. they killed my friend Ferb. He was a nice friend. I can't believe how they killed him. He was just walking down the street when the police saw him going into a bar and He didn't do anything wrong. The Stone Running police killed with a dead ray gun. It is a deadly weapon. If you are 5 miles it can kill you in 25 seconds. It is used a lot by the police. Everybody hates the Stone running police. They keep expanding their police station every month. We are running out of money. Killer Lane is the worst city i have ever been to. "was that your story about the town?". "Yes it was". "Bye bye friend hope you survive in your town". "Let me go with you I totally hate this town"."Ok friend you can come with me and live in my city and live in my town.so the friends leave Killer Lane and go live in Springfield. "Are you homer simpson"? "Yes I am". "Oh boy". "This shall be fun". "here is your bed" "Thank you". "Homer who is stranger in our in our house" "Marge listen He is from a horrible town called Killer Lane and his police men are too fast. they have a deadly weapon and kills you in 25 seconds if you are 5 miles. and if anybody steal loves of bread they strangle you. it is a horible town. there is only 14 people living their". "Okay he stay in our house for ever until he dies". "It is awful what they do in that town. "Marge have you heard about that town aswell" "Yes I have Homer" "One of my friends visited it".And got killed in it" "So do not go near it again it is mighty dangerous villiage". "OK Marge" Where is Bart? "Up in his room" "ok" Springfield blew up the whole part of Killer Lane And killed all the police. So Springfield is happy. You will never see Killer Lane again. Springfield hated Killer lane forever caue the town kept killing people out of springfield. you will see another storie of springfield. The end. Publication Date: June 27th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-knoxy71

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-michael-ridgley-the-riddler-in-the-lost-phone/

Michael Ridgley the Riddler in the lost phone prologe Hi I’m Marvin Washington and I love riddles and that is how I got my nick name the riddler and if you can’t tell the riddler is my favorite villain from batman. I love other thing as well but my favorite thing is riddles and this is the story of how my agency “Riddle me This” got started and how I got my new partner. the lost ohone I was in my room looking a book of riddles when I heard a knock on my door since no one was home I went down stares and opened it when I got to the door I met a pretty girl named Sarah Hopewell when I saw her she was on the verge of tears she said” I just moved here and my brother left for college and he hide my phone and left this riddle can you help me solve it?” I said yes and she handed me the note it said “if you want to find your phone just follow the clues go somewhere outside that cooks your food.” I knew the answer as soon as I got done reading it but I wanted Sarah to figure it out so I said” think about it how can you cook outside ?” she thought for a minute and said “ the only way is the barbeque grill lets go” then she ran off. the 2ed clue After running 3 blocks we finally go to her house and got to her backyard we opened the grill and found another note it said “ good job on finding the second clue but don’t rest on you cot find the red clock” before I could have time to think Sarah said I’ve got it and ran inside and down the hall when we got to the hall we saw a big red clock we looked at it but did not se anything until we looked behind the clock that was when we found the third clue. the 3ed and 4th clues The clue said “ my you have done well but leave room for the last two clues go to the place where you rest.” we did not have to say anything we ran to her room and found this note “the clues will tell you where the phone is.” WE ARE CONFUSED Sarah screamed “what dose that mean?” then she started to cry I said lets go to pizza heaven and lets eat and think I don’t know about you but I do my best thinking on a full stomach. We looked at the clues and I noticed something ( dear reader look back at the clues and see if you can see what I saw I will give you time…………………………. Did you figure it out yet well let me tell you in the clues there a words underlined they are go, my, red, clock, and room see if you can figure out where the phone is.) as soon as I saw what I saw I told her to look at the clues and see if she noticed anything different when she did she got excited and said “I know where my phone is!” see paid her tab and ran out the door. We ran about 4 blocks and when we got to her house we ran upstairs. a note to the reader Dear reader before I revile where the phone is I want to know if you figured it out let me give you clue the words that are underlined un scramble them and they will say go my room red clock, now did you get it good job. i get a new partner When we got to her brothers room there was a note on his door that told us to go in when we did we found the phone and a note that said “dear little sis I know when we moved here you were lonely and I was leaving for college you would have no friends and I heard about a guy who loved riddles and I. know you love riddles so I left the clues for in hope that you ask him for help and you would find a new friend love you and I will see you at thanksgiving your big bro john Hopewell.” After she got done crying she called her brother talk to him for a few minutes then hung up and said to me “lets start our own detective agency we can call it Riddle me this.” So that’s how Riddle me this got started and Sarah became my new partner. THE END Publication Date: November 8th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-msridgley4301

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-sailorsenshi-a-k-a-ss-the-mystery-at-dorson-all-boys-academy/

SailorSenshi ~ a.k.a ~SS The Mystery At Dorson All Boys Academy A Gray van der Waal Novella Dedicated to All the Readers out there!! ~SS 1. First Day 'O Boarding School "Ahh, you must be the new transfer student. Mr...?" The teacher dressed in blue jeans and a dress shirt said to the boy standing at the door of the Advanced English Literature classroom. The boy was 5'10'' with messy dark brown hair and midnight blue eyes. He was dressed, of course, in the Dorson All Boys Academy uniform; a white dress shirt under a dark blue blazer. Along with a red tie and brown khakis. His blazer had the school insignia on it. Memento Mori , it said on the schools crest. "Van der Waal. Gray Van der Waal." He said casually. He glanced around the room. He noticed one empty seat in the back, right next to some kid with his head in a book. There as another kid next to the window picking his nose. Disgusting , Gray thought. This was his new school, and these were going to be his new classmates. Great. "Alright, Mr. Van der Waal, why don't you tell us about yourself and where you were before coming here to Dorson’s?" The teacher said pronouncing his p's and rolling his r's. He was gesturing to the class with his hands. Gray looked at the teacher like he was insane. No other teacher he ever had made him tell the class about himself, and he would know-- since he's been to so many different schools. Gray wasn't interested and he certainly wasn't going to delve on the details on where he was before coming to Dorson, it really wasn't anybody's business. "No." Gray went for the empty seat and sat down. The teacher was shocked to say the least. "Mr. Van der Waal I have to say I'm appalled! I have never, ever in my 23 years of teaching here at Dorson All Boys Academy, ever been talked to like that! Well, you might not know since you’re new, but here at Dorson-- Respect and Obedience are held at the highest regard. I will excuse your-- your-- Ignorance -- for now. But you better watch your back and keep that mouth of yours in check Mr. Van der Waal, or else it might end up getting you into serious trouble!" The teacher was wagging his finger at Gray like he was talking to a 3-year-old. Gray just rolled his eyes. Story of my life , He thought, frowning slightly. Soon after, the teacher introduced himself to the class as Professor Dougal (pronounced Doo-gall, he made a big deal out of it. And Gray noted that he emphasized the Professor bit too.) The Professor went on and on about what the class would do and what books they would read. Somewhere in the middle of Dougal's lecture Gray heard whispering coming from his left. He turned to see the book reading kid looking at him with a smile. He had thick rimmed glasses on. His light brown skin contrasted nicely with his Dorson uniform. "That was awesome! No one ever talks that way to Dougal." He said in his British accent. Gray almost didn't answer the kid, but something in the way the kid looked at Gray changed his mind. "Why not?" "It’s because he's so scary! He's like Dracula and the Boogieman all wrapped up into one!" The kid said shuddering. "I'm Naveed Metta, by the way. Nice to meet you." Gray nodded. "Gray." He replied. He didn't know why, but something about this kid... He had some sort of good vibration going on; Gray was surprised that he found himself smiling a little back at him. The bell rang and all the students in the class ran out the door as if seeking freedom from Dougal's clutches. Gray didn't blame them, he was really boring. Gray walked out the door and took out his schedule from his blazers pocket. He saw that he had Advanced Trigonometry in room 3B15. He looked back at his Advanced English Lit class door, room 1A21. He sighed. In the other schools that he went to, they gave you a map of the school so that you could find your way around easier. Here, they just gave you your schedule and sent you on your merry way. Gray started walking but stopped when he felt a hand on his shoulders. He turned to see the kid smiling at him. "You look like you could use some help. This place is huge." Naveed said. Gray eyed him. Reluctantly, he handed his schedule to Naveed. "Show me where 3B15 is." Naveed took the schedule from his hands. "Oh-- that's Advanced Trig. You must be smart! I have it too and there's only 2 other kids in it. There are not a lot of math lovers in this school, nice to know that you're one just like me!" Naveed said walking towards the main entrance. Gray was about to tell the kid that he was just good at math, he didn't like it at all, let alone love it, but he kept talking. "See, the school is divided into 7 buildings-- A Language Building, a Math Building, a Science Building, an Art and Theater Building, an Administrative Building and the Dormitories. As you can tell by the names, each building is named after the subjects that they contain. In the past, they used to be named Building A, Building B etc. But they changed the names so it would be more convenient for the students. However they didn't rename the classroom numbers. The classroom number, however, tells you the building it's in and the floor it’s on as well." They stood outside the building adjacent to the one they came from. It had a big letter 'B' above the main entrance. They stepped inside the building and went towards the stairs. "For example, if you had a class in room 4D22, your class would be on the 4th floor of building D, or the Art and Theater building, in room 22. So, your class is 3B15 which means-" "It’s on the 3rd floor of building B in room 15." Good! You’re getting it!" Naveed said happily. "So, Language is A, Math is B, Science is C, Art and Theater is D, Administrative is E and the Dorms are F and G. Does it make more sense now?" "Kinda." Gray said as they stood in front of his class. "Shouldn't you get to class too?" Naveed had a blank look to his face for a second. His eyes went wide when he realized he was late for class. "Oh no, my class is in building C! I have to go!" He started to walk away but stopped. "Hey, if you need my help to find anything else," He took out a pen and scribbled something onto Gray's schedule and handed it to Gray. "This is my number-- just text me if you need assistance. See you later!" Gray watched as the kid ran towards the stairs. Gray stopped and put Naveed’s number into his iPhone under the name ‘Kid’. Once he was done, he started for his classroom door but he stopped again when he heard 2 guys talking. Normally, Gray would just ignore other people's conversations, but something caught his attention. "Did you hear? Another kid went missing last night." One of the two boys said. "Really? Already? That's the 2nd kid this month and it's only October!" The other said. "Dude, I wonder how long until the next kid gets taken?" The first guy sounded panicked. The second guy shrugged. "We really should get to class, the teach is going to kill us!" The boys hurried to their class. Gray wondered about what they were talking about. 2 guys went missing in the last month. This place should be swarming with cops trying to find these kids , Gray thought. Why aren't they? And why did those guys talk so coolly about the missing boys? Is it normal to have classmates go missing like that here? Gray shook his head. He would have to wait until later to find out what they were talking about. But until then, he would have to deal with a more immediate problem. Advanced Trig.     -----------------------   Next Chapter: Roommates? 2. Roommates? Brring! Gray sighed with relief.  He was glad to hear the bell ring. His Advanced Trig teacher wasn't as bad with lecturing as Dougal, but he did constantly blabber. Mr. Iknishov was kind of funny though, he had a thick Russian accent, and he would say the weirdest things. At one point in class, he went on a whole rant. "Why is there always more than one word to describe one thing? Like, for example, when you’re describing a baby for instance, you can say that the baby is 'cute' or you can say it's 'adorable'. You could also say its 'loveable' or 'sweet'. In Russia, if we were describing a baby it was either pretty or ugly. That's it! I am so glad I don't teach English, Math is so much easier to understand. You’re either right or wrong. No two ways about it!" He isn't wrong , Gray thought. He's just talking too much . Thank God the bell rang so he couldn't continue ranting. There weren’t many kids in this class but they were all thinking the same thing. Gray left Trig and walked towards his next class which was located in the Administrative or E Building- Introduction to Physical Exercise. Gray thought this was just a stupid way to say Gym class. Rich people, He thought, they always have to make everything sound fancier than it is. He walked into the building and looked for room number 1E01. When he saw the door to the gym, he walked in. There, he was greeted with the fresh smell of sweat. All the students in his class were wearing the same knee high dark blue shorts and bright white shirt with the school insignia on it. As he scanned the room for the teacher, he saw Naveed waving at him so he walked over to him. "Where's the teacher?" Gray asked. "Mr. McDonnall is always late. I don't know if he can even remember that he has a class to teach at this time. He's a bit on the old side." Naveed said. "Where can I get a gym uniform?" Naveed pointed toward the door. "In the front office. We can go after class if you want." Gray nodded. 10 or 15 minutes later they were still waiting for class to start. They had been waiting for so long, Gray had time to go to the office, grab a gym uniform, and get a locker to put his stuff in in the locker room. Naveed was talking about the Dorms and roommates when he stopped suddenly. Gray looked at him and was confused. Naveed was staring at the door with his mouth open and eyes wide. Gray looked around and noticed that the whole class had stopped to stare at the door. Gray turned towards the door and then he understood why everyone had stopped. There was a really hot woman standing there. Like seriously hot, even Gray had to admit it. There were a lot of teachers here (or professors in Dougal's case) but as far as Gray was concerned, there was not one person of the female species here. This one might be the first. She had short brown hair and brown eyes. She was wearing the same uniform as everyone else but it was much tighter, showing off her every curve. In her hands was a clipboard and around her neck was a whistle. "Hello class," She said in a sultry voice. Gray could have sworn that he heard the whole class swoon when she spoke. "My name is Juniper Leeson. I will be your teacher for the rest of the semester. Please sit down as I go through the attendance list." Gray moved to sit down but stopped when he saw Naveed still standing there staring at the teacher. Gray snapped his fingers in Naveed's face and Naveed snapped out of his daze. "Wow, she's-" "I know." Gray lead Naveed to sit down near the back of the class. She started attendance after a minute. At last she reached the last name. But she didn't call Gray. He raised his hand. "Your name wasn't on the list, are you in this class?" Gray nodded. "Okay, tell me your name and I will add it to the attendance list later." Gray did as she said and she wrote down his name. "Okay, now that that's done, we can go ahead with the brand new volleyball unit. Let’s start shall we?" Class seemed to drag on forever. I hope this doesn't happen every day . Gray thought as the bell signaling lunch rang. "Hey, Naveed, can you help me find my Dorm room? I want to dump some of these books I got from Trig." "Ok, the number to your room is on your schedule." Gray took his schedule and handed it to Naveed. "What, room 6G05? I know where that is!" Gray was confused. “Congratulations on that, but can you help me find it?” “What I meant was, room 6G05 is my dorm room! How strange is it that the first person that I talk to is my new roommate!” Naveed exclaimed. “Let’s go to the room!” Gray found that a bit strange, but would prefer Naveed to anybody else in this whole place. They walked all the way from building E to G. Alphabetically, the letters are close, but Gray really saw how huge the campus was while walking to the Dorms. As they got closer to building G, Gray saw a lake in the distance. It was beautiful. Gray made a mental note to go there to visit. G building was an architectural marvel. All the other buildings were modern and kind of high tech, but this one was like a castle. The building was made of old red bricks and it was 6 stories tall. The steps leading up to the door were made of marble and they were wide. Gray decided that he liked this area. It had a lake and the building was beautiful. They entered the Dorm and saw it was empty. “Let’s head up the stairs, they’re this way.” Naveed said. “Wait, where’s the elevator?” Gray asked. They were heading to the 6th floor; they really didn’t need to walk all the way up there. And, plus these books are heavy. Gray thought shifting his backpack. “There is no elevator. This is the oldest building on campus; therefore it’s the only one without the modern luxury of elevation. Sorry to tell you.” Gray nodded. Just his luck, he already walked all this way to get here with all these stupid Trig books, now he had to go up all those stairs. He suppressed a groan. Sensing Gray’s need, Naveed asked if he could help with carrying the books. “No, it’s fine-“Gray started but Naveed already took Gray’s bag from him and started to walk away. “You don’t have to carry them all you know.” They were climbing up the stairs to get to the 6th floor. “It’s okay, I need the exercise anyway.” Naveed said. But we just came from Gym class, isn’t that enough exercise? Gray thought. They climbed up all the stairs and Gray was surprised to see how quick Naveed could climb the stairs with Gray’s bag and his own. Once they reached the top, Gray stopped to catch his breath. “Alright over there?” Naveed said. “Yeah, just… give… me… a… minute…” Gray was fit enough but after gym and the stairs, he felt as if he ran a marathon. “Where did you learn to… walk so fast…?” Even during gym, Naveed was kicking ass in team vs. team volleyball. “Oh, well, my family is big on education and learning, but I really think that a strong body is also important. If not more so. Anyway, if you expect to live in this dorm, you will have to get in shape!” Naveed answered. Gray just rolled his eyes (mentally, he was too tired to actually do it). They walked down the dimly lit hallway (which Gray was wondering about, how a rich private school could not light a dorm properly?) “Here we are, Room 5.” Naveed told Gray that he needed to scan his (or Naveed’s) ID card on the black box right next to the handle. Gray didn't believe that such an old building could have no elevator but have a complicated locking system instead. Naveed assured him it did and when Naveed scanned his card, they heard a soft click! and the door unlocked. “Alright, this is insane!" Gray said annoyed. "Why would you have an inadequate amount of lighting and not install elevators but have a high tech lock system?! What the hell is wrong with this place? Oh, and don’t get me started on the missing studen--“ Suddenly, Naveed put his hand over Gray’s mouth and shoved him inside the dorm room closing the door behind them. “Mm-?” “Shh!” Naveed said looking around the room. Gray was about to throw Naveed across the place but stopped when he saw the look on the kids face. Naveed looked depressed, confused, frustrated, a whole mess of other emotions and, most of all, Naveed looked angry- not the ‘I-just-got-a-C-on-my-paper-I’m-a-failure-to-mankind’ look that Gray would expect a smart kid like Naveed to get- but really, really angry. Something was going on with this guy , Gray thought, and I bet it has something to do with those missing kids .       --------------------   Next Chapter: The Ugly Reality     ~Authors note--           I will post more chapters if I get a positve response! Can't wait to hear from you!                                      ~SS         ~~~~Here's a preview ~~~~       Ch. 3-- The Ugly Reality   Naveed let go of Gray. “Sorry about that, mate. I have to make sure that none of the others here know that we care about the disappearances.” Gray’s eyes widened. “Wha-“ “Let me explain, but first- get comfortable- it’s a long story.” 3. The Ugly Reality   Ch. 3-- The Ugly Reality   Naveed let go of Gray. “Sorry about that, mate. I have to make sure that none of the others here know that we care about the disappearances.” Gray’s eyes widened. “Wha-“ “Let me explain, but first- get comfortable- it’s a long story.” Publication Date: April 30th 2016 https://www.bookrix.com/-sn222b91fcc2d45

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Ranz Ulanday, Jhercy Paye Red Ops War They just wanna kill them all Chapter 1 First War In the middle of the night Ajax,logan,Hesh, Keegan, Elias and troops were resting.When suddenly They heard a gun fire.They awakend and the soldiers.keegan alarmed the others.keggan said incoming!!!. Every one grabed their guns,equipments and armors. They heard the shriek of the mortars."every one get their cover"!! Logan said."Everyone stay low and move out at the hill!!" Then, Someone got hit. "Meddic" someone got hit said Ajax.One soldier was down.They were in combat surviving the fires of the rebels. They move out and one soldier step at a mine.Boom! "Medic" screamed Hesh. He is losing a lot of blood.There hearts are pounding.They were struggling, they don't know if they will survive.Logan saw an outpost "move at the outpost take cover and stay low.Logan commanded. They saw an old outpost based after the name of Sgt.Dickens. Elias the leader said "let us stay here for a while".The firefight Stopped and they rest." We will make this rebels pay for what they have done.sir.!!" Said logan.Sir we have 2 K.I.A. (Killed in action)Private Miller and Corporal Anderson."Logan when we finish this mission we will get their dog tags,"said Hesh".They Rested.They continue resting in the outpost Dickens.The next morning ,they load all their guns with ammos,they wear their armors and kelvars.They are ready for war.They left the outpost Dickens for a while.They are advancing at the hill until Hesh heard a shriek of a mortar. "Incoming said hesh"! Get to cover said hesh.Then hesh Got hit in the foot and screamed like a Bird. Get hesh to cover said Logan.I will just get him cover me.Covering fire said keggan. Logan grabbed hesh like the grip of a lion.They get to cover and retreat. They were running like a cheetah back to the outpost.hesh was wounded and he cannot run however, Logan was always there for him that's why they are brothers.he carried hesh to the outpost. When they get to the outpost they healed hesh.He  was bleeding to death.be cant walk anymore so he can't go to war." Damn rebels,I'm gonna kill them said hesh."I'm sorry hesh but You need to go home"Elias said.they sent the chopper back to the base with hesh.     Chapter 2 back to base After a few day.Hesh was healing.He came back home and now he is fine.Although,he can't run like a cheetah any more but he can still walk normally. He rested in his room he took a nice shower already.He missed all his friends. His friends gave him a letter in the computer profile.He clicked the log in button.(Logans message)Hey bro mixed you at work,(Ajax message)Dude missed you wish your still here. (Elias message)I'm sorry hesh,but you're not here. (Keggans message) Glad you're still alive bro Riley said he Miss you.Hesh was so happy that his buddies miss him.He went to the SGT.Office.He ask the Master SGT."Sir can i go back to the outpost Dickens. Okay said the Master SGT.After your wounds heal Chapter 3 Healing wounds  Hesh wounds are already Healing.He should be very careful next time.He needs to go in the hospital For tests.They tested hesh if he can still run fast.He can still run fast.Now he is now already on tests so that he can go to work like a war dog.     Chapter 4 Back to work  Hesh is now fine he can walk he passed the test.Now he is back to work.Hesh is no in the outpost Dickens again. He's friend shouted with glee.They are so happy he is now back to job.He is now fine.   Chapter 5 War time Now they saw a rebel going to their outpost. They attacked it.gun fires has been shot they pulled there guns.They killed the passing rebels. Meanwhile the reinforcements came(bad guys).They killed all the reinforcements. There read.  Chapter 6 K.I.A. They got ambushed by the rebels. They killed many soldiers.They fight for their loses,private Uy died in the battle field he did not choose to die. but still fought for there loses until the rebels got little dead. Chapter 7 Dead Officers All the dead guys they sent it back to the base but that's the memorable thing.In that day they had 42 dead 3 injures.The injured still got speard. Chapter 8 sadest day.  THEY din't wanna right any more but they still have to figth. The only have 2 days left.they are so fraustrated what happen they won't forget that. Chapter 9 last war  They are matching until the last ambush .shrick of the mortar like roaring like a lion they caught for there dead and they killed all the rebels until they survive .They search every houses killed every one   so that no more rebels there deathes are is dead no injures .They faught for their brothers.   Publication Date: December 7th 2015 https://www.bookrix.com/-jq965ecc0855665

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Alexandre Dumas père Marquise De Ganges Celebrated Crimes THE MARQUISE DE GANGES--1657 Toward the close of the year 1657, a very plain carriage, with no arms painted on it, stopped, about eight o'clock one evening, before the door of a house in the rue Hautefeuille, at which two other coaches were already standing. A lackey at once got down to open the carriage door; but a sweet, though rather tremulous voice stopped him, saying, "Wait, while I see whether this is the place." Then a head, muffled so closely in a black satin mantle that no feature could be distinguished, was thrust from one of the carriage windows, and looking around, seemed to seek for some decisive sign on the house front. The unknown lady appeared to be satisfied by her inspection, for she turned back to her companion. "It is here," said she. "There is the sign." As a result of this certainty, the carriage door was opened, the two women alighted, and after having once more raised their eyes to a strip of wood, some six or eight feet long by two broad, which was nailed above the windows of the second storey, and bore the inscription, "Madame Voison, midwife," stole quickly into a passage, the door of which was unfastened, and in which there was just so much light as enabled persons passing in or out to find their way along the narrow winding stair that led from the ground floor to the fifth story. The two strangers, one of whom appeared to be of far higher rank than the other, did not stop, as might have been expected, at the door corresponding with the inscription that had guided them, but, on the contrary, went on to the next floor. Here, upon the landing, was a kind of dwarf, oddly dressed after the fashion of sixteenth-century Venetian buffoons, who, when he saw the two women coming, stretched out a wand, as though to prevent them from going farther, and asked what they wanted. "To consult the spirit," replied the woman of the sweet and tremulous voice. "Come in and wait," returned the dwarf, lifting a panel of tapestry and ushering the two women into a waiting-room. The women obeyed, and remained for about half an hour, seeing and hearing nothing. At last a door, concealed by the tapestry, was suddenly opened; a voice uttered the word "Enter," and the two women were introduced into a second room, hung with black, and lighted solely by a three-branched lamp that hung from the ceiling. The door closed behind them, and the clients found themselves face to face with the sibyl. She was a woman of about twenty-five or twenty-six, who, unlike other women, evidently desired to appear older than she was. She was dressed in black; her hair hung in plaits; her neck, arms, and feet were bare; the belt at her waist was clasped by a large garnet which threw out sombre fires. In her hand she held a wand, and she was raised on a sort of platform which stood for the tripod of the ancients, and from which came acrid and penetrating fumes; she was, moreover, fairly handsome, although her features were common, the eyes only excepted, and these, by some trick of the toilet, no doubt, looked inordinately large, and, like the garnet in her belt, emitted strange lights. When the two visitors came in, they found the soothsayer leaning her forehead on her hand, as though absorbed in thought. Fearing to rouse her from her ecstasy, they waited in silence until it should please her to change her position. At the end of ten minutes she raised her head, and seemed only now to become aware that two persons were standing before her. "What is wanted of me again?" she asked, "and shall I have rest only in the grave?" "Forgive me, madame," said the sweet-voiced unknown, "but I am wishing to know----" "Silence!" said the sibyl, in a solemn voice. "I will not know your affairs. It is to the spirit that you must address yourself; he is a jealous spirit, who forbids his secrets to be shared; I can but pray to him for you, and obey his will." At these words, she left her tripod, passed into an adjoining room, and soon returned, looking even paler and more anxious than before, and carrying in one hand a burning chafing dish, in the other a red paper. The three flames of the lamp grew fainter at the same moment, and the room was left lighted up only by the chafing dish; every object now assumed a fantastic air that did not fail to disquiet the two visitors, but it was too late to draw back. The soothsayer placed the chafing dish in the middle of the room, presented the paper to the young woman who had spoken, and said to her-- "Write down what you wish to know." The woman took the paper with a steadier hand than might have been expected, seated herself at a table, and wrote:-- "Am I young? Am I beautiful? Am I maid, wife, or widow? This is for the past. "Shall I marry, or marry again? Shall I live long, or shall I die young? This is for the future." Then, stretching out her hand to the soothsayer, she asked-- "What am I to do now with this?" "Roll that letter around this ball," answered the other, handing to the unknown a little ball of virgin wax. "Both ball and letter will be consumed in the flame before your eyes; the spirit knows your secrets already. In three days you will have the answer." The unknown did as the sibyl bade her; then the latter took from her hands the ball and the paper in which it was wrapped, and went and threw both into the chafing pan. "And now all is done as it should be," said the soothsayer. "Comus!" The dwarf came in. "See the lady to her coach." The stranger left a purse upon the table, and followed Comus. He conducted her and her companion, who was only a confidential maid, down a back staircase, used as an exit, and leading into a different street from that by which the two women had come in; but the coachman, who had been told beforehand of this circumstance, was awaiting them at the door, and they had only to step into their carriage, which bore them rapidly away in the direction of the rue Dauphine. Three days later, according to the promise given her, the fair unknown, when she awakened, found on the table beside her a letter in an unfamiliar handwriting; it was addressed "To the beautiful Provencale," and contained these words-- "You are young; you are beautiful; you are a widow. This is for the present. "You will marry again; you will die young, and by a violent death. This is for the future. THE SPIRIT." The answer was written upon a paper like that upon which the questions had been set down. The marquise turned pale and uttered a faint cry of terror; the answer was so perfectly correct in regard to the past as to call up a fear that it might be equally accurate in regard to the future. The truth is that the unknown lady wrapped in a mantle whom we have escorted into the modern sibyl's cavern was no other than the beautiful Marie de Rossan, who before her marriage had borne the name of Mademoiselle de Chateaublanc, from that of an estate belonging to her maternal grandfather, M. Joannis de Nocheres, who owned a fortune of five to six hundred thousand livres. At the age of thirteen--that is to say, in 1649--she had married the Marquis de Castellane, a gentleman of very high birth, who claimed to be descended from John of Castille, the son of Pedro the Cruel, and from Juana de Castro, his mistress. Proud of his young wife's beauty, the Marquis de Castellane, who was an officer of the king's galleys, had hastened to present her at court. Louis XIV, who at the time of her presentation was barely twenty years old, was struck by her enchanting face, and to the great despair of the famous beauties of the day danced with her three times in one evening. Finally, as a crowning touch to her reputation, the famous Christina of Sweden, who was then at the French court, said of her that she had never, in any of the kingdoms through which she had passed, seen anything equal to "the beautiful Provencale." This praise had been so well received, that the name of "the beautiful Provencale" had clung to Madame de Castellane, and she was everywhere known by it. This favour of Louis XIV and this summing up of Christina's had been enough to bring the Marquise de Castellane instantly into fashion; and Mignard, who had just received a patent of nobility and been made painter to the king, put the seal to her celebrity by asking leave to paint her portrait. That portrait still exists, and gives a perfect notion of the beauty which it represents; but as the portrait is far from our readers' eyes, we will content ourselves by repeating, in its own original words, the one given in 1667 by the author of a pamphlet published at Rouen under the following title: True and Principal Circumstances of the Deplorable Death of Madame the Marquise de Ganges: [Note: It is from this pamphlet, and from the Account of the Death of Madame the Marquise de Ganges, formerly Marquise de Castellane, that we have borrowed the principal circumstances of this tragic story. To these documents we must add--that we may not be constantly referring our readers to original sources--the Celebrated Trials by Guyot de Pitaval, the Life of Marie de Rossan, and the Lettres galantes of Madame Desnoyers.] "Her complexion, which was of a dazzling whiteness, was illumined by not too brilliant a red, and art itself could not have arranged more skilfully the gradations by which this red joined and merged into the whiteness of the complexion. The brilliance of her face was heightened by the decided blackness of her hair, growing, as though drawn by a painter of the finest taste, around a well proportioned brow; her large, well opened eyes were of the same hue as her hair, and shone with a soft and piercing flame that rendered it impossible to gaze upon her steadily; the smallness, the shape, the turn of her mouth, and, the beauty of her teeth were incomparable; the position and the regular proportion of her nose added to her beauty such an air of dignity, as inspired a respect for her equal to the love that might be inspired by her beauty; the rounded contour of her face, produced by a becoming plumpness, exhibited all the vigour and freshness of health; to complete her charms, her glances, the movements of her lips and of her head, appeared to be guided by the graces; her shape corresponded to the beauty of her face; lastly, her arms, her hands, her bearing, and her gait were such that nothing further could be wished to complete the agreeable presentment of a beautiful woman." [Note: All her contemporaries, indeed, are in agreement as to her marvellous beauty; here is a second portrait of the marquise, delineated in a style and manner still more characteristic of that period:-- "You will remember that she had a complexion smoother and finer than a mirror, that her whiteness was so well commingled with the lively blood as to produce an exact admixture never beheld elsewhere, and imparting to her countenance the tenderest animation; her eyes and hair were blacker than jet; her eyes, I say, of which the gaze could scarce, from their excess of lustre, be supported, which have been celebrated as a miracle of tenderness and sprightliness, which have given rise, a thousand times, to the finest compliments of the day, and have been the torment of many a rash man, must excuse me, if I do not pause longer to praise them, in a letter; her mouth was the feature of her face which compelled the most critical to avow that they had seen none of equal perfection, and that, by its shape, its smallness, and its brilliance, it might furnish a pattern for all those others whose sweetness and charms had been so highly vaunted; her nose conformed to the fair proportion of all her features; it was, that is to say, the finest in the world; the whole shape of her face was perfectly round, and of so charming a fullness that such an assemblage of beauties was never before seen together. The expression of this head was one of unparalleled sweetness and of a majesty which she softened rather by disposition than by study; her figure was opulent, her speech agreeable, her step noble, her demeanour easy, her temper sociable, her wit devoid of malice, and founded upon great goodness of heart."] It is easy to understand that a woman thus endowed could not, in a court where gallantry was more pursued than in any other spot in the world, escape the calumnies of rivals; such calumnies, however, never produced any result, so correctly, even in the absence of her husband, did the marquise contrive to conduct herself; her cold and serious conversation, rather concise than lively, rather solid than brilliant, contrasted, indeed, with the light turn, the capricious and fanciful expressions employed by the wits of that time; the consequence was that those who had failed to succeed with her, tried to spread a report that the marquise was merely a beautiful idol, virtuous with the virtue of a statue. But though such things might be said and repeated in the absence of the marquise, from the moment that she appeared in a drawing-room, from the moment that her beautiful eyes and sweet smile added their indefinable expression to those brief, hurried, and sensible words that fell from her lips, the most prejudiced came back to her and were forced to own that God had never before created anything that so nearly touched perfection. She was thus in the enjoyment of a triumph that backbiters failed to shake, and that scandal vainly sought to tarnish, when news came of the wreck of the French galleys in Sicilian waters, and of the death of the Marquis de Castellane, who was in command. The marquise on this occasion, as usual, displayed the greatest piety and propriety: although she had no very violent passion for her husband, with whom she had spent scarcely one of the seven years during which their marriage had lasted, on receipt of the news she went at once into retreat, going to live with Madame d'Ampus, her mother-in-law, and ceasing not only to receive visitors but also to go out. Six months after the death of her husband, the marquise received letters from her grandfather, M. Joannis de Nocheres, begging her to come and finish her time of mourning at Avignon. Having been fatherless almost from childhood, Mademoiselle de Chateaublanc had been brought up by this good old man, whom she loved dearly; she hastened accordingly to accede to his invitation, and prepared everything for her departure. This was at the moment when la Voisin, still a young woman, and far from having the reputation which she subsequently acquired, was yet beginning to be talked of. Several friends of the Marquise de Castellane had been to consult her, and had received strange predictions from her, some of which, either through the art of her who framed them, or through some odd concurrence of circumstances, had come true. The marquise could not resist the curiosity with which various tales that she had heard of this woman's powers had inspired her, and some days before setting out for Avignon she made the visit which we have narrated. What answer she received to her questions we have seen. The marquise was not superstitious, yet this fatal prophecy impressed itself upon her mind and left behind a deep trace, which neither the pleasure of revisiting her native place, nor the affection of her grandfather, nor the fresh admiration which she did not fail to receive, could succeed in removing; indeed, this fresh admiration was a weariness to the marquise, and before long she begged leave of her grandfather to retire into a convent and to spend there the last three months of her mourning. It was in that place, and it was with the warmth of these poor cloistered maidens, that she heard a man spoken of for the first time, whose reputation for beauty, as a man, was equal to her own, as a woman. This favourite of nature was the sieur de Lenide, Marquis de Ganges, Baron of Languedoc, and governor of Saint-Andre, in the diocese of Uzes. The marquise heard of him so often, and it was so frequently declared to her that nature seemed to have formed them for each other, that she began to allow admission to a very strong desire of seeing him. Doubtless, the sieur de Lenide, stimulated by similar suggestions, had conceived a great wish to meet the marquise; for, having got M. de Nocheres who no doubt regretted her prolonged retreat--to entrust him with a commission for his granddaughter, he came to the convent parlour and asked for the fair recluse. She, although she had never seen him, recognised him at the first glance; for having never seen so handsome a cavalier as he who now presented himself before her, she thought this could be no other than the Marquis de Ganges, of whom people had so often spoken to her. That which was to happen, happened: the Marquise de Castellane and the Marquis de Ganges could not look upon each other without loving. Both were young, the marquis was noble and in a good position, the marquise was rich; everything in the match, therefore, seemed suitable: and indeed it was deferred only for the space of time necessary to complete the year of mourning, and the marriage was celebrated towards the beginning of the year 1558. The marquis was twenty years of age, and the marquise twenty-two. The beginnings of this union were perfectly happy; the marquis was in love for the first time, and the marquise did not remember ever to have been in love. A son and a daughter came to complete their happiness. The marquise had entirely forgotten the fatal prediction, or, if she occasionally thought of it now, it was to wonder that she could ever have believed in it. Such happiness is not of this world, and when by chance it lingers here a while, it seems sent rather by the anger than by the goodness of God. Better, indeed, would it be for him who possesses and who loses it, never to have known it. The Marquis de Ganges was the first to weary of this happy life. Little by little he began to miss the pleasures of a young man; he began to draw away from the marquise and to draw nearer to his former friends. On her part, the marquise, who for the sake of wedded intimacy had sacrificed her habits of social life, threw herself into society, where new triumphs awaited her. These triumphs aroused the jealousy of the marquis; but he was too much a man of his century to invite ridicule by any manifestation; he shut his jealousy into his soul, and it emerged in a different form on every different occasion. To words of love, so sweet that they seemed the speech of angels, succeeded those bitter and biting utterances that foretell approaching division. Before long, the marquis and the marquise only saw each other at hours when they could not avoid meeting; then, on the pretext of necessary journeys, and presently without any pretext at all, the marquis would go away for three-quarters of a year, and once more the marquise found herself widowed. Whatever contemporary account one may consult, one finds them all agreeing to declare that she was always the same--that is to say, full of patience, calmness, and becoming behaviour--and it is rare to find such a unanimity of opinion about a young and beautiful woman. About this time the marquis, finding it unendurable to be alone with his wife during the short spaces of time which he spent at home, invited his two brothers, the chevalier and the abbe de Ganges, to come and live with him. He had a third brother, who, as the second son, bore the title of comte, and who was colonel of the Languedoc regiment, but as this gentleman played no part in this story we shall not concern ourselves with him. The abbe de Ganges, who bore that title without belonging to the Church, had assumed it in order to enjoy its privileges: he was a kind of wit, writing madrigals and 'bouts-rimes' [Bouts-rimes are verses written to a given set of rhymes.] on occasion, a handsome man enough, though in moments of impatience his eyes would take a strangely cruel expression; as dissolute and shameless to boot, as though he had really belonged to the clergy of the period. The chevalier de Ganges, who shared in some measure the beauty so profusely showered upon the family, was one of those feeble men who enjoy their own nullity, and grow on to old age inapt alike for good and evil, unless some nature of a stronger stamp lays hold on them and drags them like faint and pallid satellites in its wake. This was what befell the chevalier in respect of his brother: submitted to an influence of which he himself was not aware, and against which, had he but suspected it, he would have rebelled with the obstinacy of a child, he was a machine obedient to the will of another mind and to the passions of another heart, a machine which was all the more terrible in that no movement of instinct or of reason could, in his case, arrest the impulse given. Moreover, this influence which the abbe had acquired over the chevalier extended, in some degree also, to the marquis. Having as a younger son no fortune, having no revenue, for though he wore a Churchman's robes he did not fulfil a Churchman's functions, he had succeeded in persuading the marquis, who was rich, not only in the enjoyment of his own fortune, but also in that of his wife, which was likely to be nearly doubled at the death of M. de Nocheres, that some zealous man was needed who would devote himself to the ordering of his house and the management of his property; and had offered himself for the post. The marquis had very gladly accepted, being, as we have said, tired by this time of his solitary home life; and the abbe had brought with him the chevalier, who followed him like his shadow, and who was no more regarded than if he had really possessed no body. The marquise often confessed afterwards that when she first saw these two men, although their outward aspect was perfectly agreeable, she felt herself seized by a painful impression, and that the fortune-teller's prediction of a violent death, which she had so long forgotten, gashed out like lightning before her eyes. The effect on the two brothers was not of the same kind: the beauty of the marquise struck them both, although in different ways. The chevalier was in ecstasies of admiration, as though before a beautiful statue, but the impression that she made upon him was that which would have been made by marble, and if the chevalier had been left to himself the consequences of this admiration would have been no less harmless. Moreover, the chevalier did not attempt either to exaggerate or to conceal this impression, and allowed his sister-in-law to see in what manner she struck him. The abbe, on the contrary, was seized at first sight with a deep and violent desire to possess this woman--the most beautiful whom he had ever met; but being as perfectly capable of mastering his sensations as the chevalier was incapable, he merely allowed such words of compliment to escape him as weigh neither with him who utters nor her who hears them; and yet, before the close of this first interview, the abbe had decided in his irrevocable will that this woman should be his. As for the marquise, although the impression produced by her two brothers-in-law could never be entirely effaced, the wit of the abbe, to which he gave, with amazing facility, whatever turn he chose, and the complete nullity of the chevalier brought her to certain feelings of less repulsion towards them: for indeed the marquise had one of those souls which never suspect evil, as long as it will take the trouble to assume any veil at all of seeming, and which only recognise it with regret when it resumes its true shape. Meanwhile the arrival of these two new inmates soon spread a little more life and gaiety through the house. Furthermore; greatly to the astonishment of the marquise, her husband, who had so long been indifferent to her beauty, seemed to remark afresh that she was too charming to be despised; his words accordingly began little by little to express an affection that had long since gradually disappeared from them. The marquise had never ceased to love him; she had suffered the loss of his love with resignation, she hailed its return with joy, and three months elapsed that resembled those which had long ceased to be more to the poor wife than a distant and half-worn-out memory. Thus she had, with the supreme facility of youth, always ready to be happy, taken up her gladness again, without even asking what genius had brought back to her the treasure which she had thought lost, when she received an invitation from a lady of the neighbourhood to spend some days in her country house. Her husband and her two brothers-in-law, invited with her, were of the party, and accompanied her. A great hunting party had been arranged beforehand, and almost immediately upon arriving everyone began to prepare for taking part in it. The abbe, whose talents had made him indispensable in every company, declared that for that day he was the marquise's cavalier, a title which his sister-in-law, with her usual amiability, confirmed. Each of the huntsmen, following this example, made choice of a lady to whom to dedicate his attentions throughout the day; then, this chivalrous arrangement being completed, all present directed their course towards the place of meeting. That happened which almost always happens the dogs hunted on their own account. Two or three sportsmen only followed the dogs; the rest got lost. The abbe, in his character of esquire to the marquise, had not left her for a moment, and had managed so cleverly that he was alone with her--an opportunity which he had been seeking for a month previously with no less care--than the marquise had been using to avoid it. No sooner, therefore, did the marquise believe herself aware that the abbe had intentionally turned aside from the hunt than she attempted to gallop her horse in the opposite direction from that which she had been following; but the abbe stopped her. The marquise neither could nor would enter upon a struggle; she resigned herself, therefore, to hearing what the abbe had to say to her, and her face assumed that air of haughty disdain which women so well know how to put on when they wish a man to understand that he has nothing to hope from them. There was an instant's silence; the abbe was the first to break it. "Madame," said he, "I ask your pardon for having used this means to speak to you alone; but since, in spite of my rank of brother-in-law, you did not seem inclined to grant me that favour if I had asked it, I thought it would be better for me, to deprive you of the power to refuse it me." "If you have hesitated to ask me so simple a thing, monsieur," replied the marquise, "and if you have taken such precautions to compel me to listen to you, it must, no doubt, be because you knew beforehand that the words you had to say to me were such as I could not hear. Have the goodness, therefore, to reflect, before you open this conversation, that here as elsewhere I reserve the right--and I warn you of it--to interrupt what you may say at the moment when it may cease to seem to me befitting." "As to that, madame," said the abbe, "I think I can answer for it that whatever it may please me to say to you, you will hear to the end; but indeed the matters are so simple that there is no need to make you uneasy beforehand: I wished to ask you, madame, whether you have perceived a change in the conduct of your husband towards you." "Yes, monsieur," replied the marquise, "and no single day has passed in which I have not thanked Heaven for this happiness." "And you have been wrong, madame," returned the abbe, with one of those smiles that were peculiar to himself; "Heaven has nothing to do with it. Thank Heaven for having made you the most beautiful and charming of women, and that will be enough thanksgiving without despoiling me of such as belong to my share." "I do not understand you, monsieur," said the marquise in an icy tone. "Well, I will make myself comprehensible, my dear sister-in-law. I am the worker of the miracle for which you are thanking Heaven; to me therefore belongs your gratitude. Heaven is rich enough not to rob the poor." "You are right, monsieur: if it is really to you that I owe this return, the cause of which I did not know, I will thank you in the first place; and then afterwards I will thank Heaven for having inspired you with this good thought." "Yes," answered the abbe, "but Heaven, which has inspired me with a good thought, may equally well inspire me with a bad one, if the good thought does not bring me what I expect from it." "What do you mean, monsieur?" "That there has never been more than one will in the family, and that will is mine; that the minds of my two brothers turn according to the fancy of that will like weathercocks before the wind, and that he who has blown hot can blow cold." "I am still waiting for you to explain yourself, monsieur." "Well, then, my dear sister-in-law, since you are pleased not to understand me, I will explain myself more clearly. My brother turned from you through jealousy; I wished to give you an idea of my power over him, and from extreme indifference I have brought him back, by showing him that he suspected you wrongly, to the ardours of the warmest love. Well, I need only tell him that I was mistaken, and fix his wandering suspicions upon any man whatever, and I shall take him away from you, even as I have brought him back. I need give you no proof of what I say; you know perfectly well that I am speaking the truth." "And what object had you, in acting this part?" "To prove to you, madame, that at my will I can cause you to be sad or joyful, cherished or neglected, adored or hated. Madame, listen to me: I love you." "You insult me, monsieur!" cried the marquise, trying to withdraw the bridle of her horse from the abbe's hands. "No fine words, my dear sister-in-law; for, with me, I warn you, they will be lost. To tell a woman one loves her is never an insult; only there are a thousand different ways of obliging her to respond to that love. The error is to make a mistake in the way that one employs--that is the whole of the matter." "And may I inquire which you have chosen?" asked the marquise, with a crushing smile of contempt. "The only one that could succeed with a calm, cold, strong woman like you, the conviction that your interest requires you to respond to my love." "Since you profess to know me so well," answered the marquise, with another effort, as unsuccessful as the former, to free the bridle of her horse, "you should know how a woman like me would receive such an overture; say to yourself what I might say to you, and above all, what I might say to my husband." The abbe smiled. "Oh, as to that," he returned, "you can do as you please, madame. Tell your husband whatever you choose; repeat our conversation word for word; add whatever your memory may furnish, true or false, that may be most convincing against me; then, when you have thoroughly given him his cue, when you think yourself sure of him, I will say two words to him, and turn him inside out like this glove. That is what I had to say to you, madame I will not detain you longer. You may have in me a devoted friend or a mortal enemy. Reflect." At these words the abbe loosed his hold upon the bridle of the marquise's horse and left her free to guide it as she would. The marquise put her beast to a trot, so as to show neither fear nor haste. The abbe followed her, and both rejoined the hunt. The abbe had spoken truly. The marquise, notwithstanding the threat which she had made, reflected upon the influence which this man had over her husband, and of which she had often had proof she kept silence, therefore, and hoped that he had made himself seem worse than he was, to frighten her. On this point she was strangely mistaken. The abbe, however, wished to see, in the first place, whether the marquise's refusal was due to personal antipathy or to real virtue. The chevalier, as has been said, was handsome; he had that usage of good society which does instead of mind, and he joined to it the obstinacy of a stupid man; the abbe undertook to persuade him that he was in love with the marquise. It was not a difficult matter. We have described the impression made upon the chevalier by the first sight of Madame de Ganges; but, owing beforehand the reputation of austerity that his sister-in-law had acquired, he had not the remotest idea of paying court to her. Yielding, indeed, to the influence which she exercised upon all who came in contact with her, the chevalier had remained her devoted servant; and the marquise, having no reason to mistrust civilities which she took for signs of friendliness, and considering his position as her husband's brother, treated him with less circumspection than was her custom. The abbe sought him out, and, having made sure they were alone, said, "Chevalier, we both love the same woman, and that woman is our brother's wife; do not let us thwart each other: I am master of my passion, and can the more easily sacrifice it to you that I believe you are the man preferred; try, therefore, to obtain some assurance of the love which I suspect the marquise of having for you; and from the day when you reach that point I will withdraw, but otherwise, if you fail, give up your place civilly to me, that I may try, in my turn, whether her heart is really impregnable, as everybody says." The chevalier had never thought of the possibility of winning the marquise; but from the moment in which his brother, with no apparent motive of personal interest, aroused the idea that he might be beloved, every spark of passion and of vanity that still existed in this automaton took fire, and he began to be doubly assiduous and attentive to his sister-in-law. She, who had never suspected any evil in this quarter, treated the chevalier at first with a kindliness that was heightened by her scorn for the abbe. But, before long, the chevalier, misunderstanding the grounds of this kindliness, explained himself more clearly. The marquise, amazed and at first incredulous, allowed him to say enough to make his intentions perfectly clear; then she stopped him, as she had done the abbe, by some of those galling words which women derive from their indifference even more than from their virtue. At this check, the chevalier, who was far from possessing his brother's strength and determination, lost all hope, and came candidly to own to the latter the sad result of his attentions and his love. This was what the abbe had awaited, in the first place for the satisfaction of his own vanity, and in the second place for the means of carrying out his schemes. He worked upon the chevalier's humiliation until he had wrought it into a solid hatred; and then, sure of having him for a supporter and even for an accomplice, he began to put into execution his plan against the marquise. The consequence was soon shown in a renewal of alienation on the part of M. de Ganges. A young man whom the marquise sometimes met in society, and to whom, on account of his wit, she listened perhaps a little more willingly than to others, became, if not the cause, at least the excuse of a fresh burst of jealousy. This jealousy was exhibited as on previous occasions, by quarrels remote from the real grievance; but the marquise was not deceived: she recognised in this change the fatal hand of her brother-in-law. But this certainty, instead of drawing her towards him, increased her repulsion; and thenceforward she lost no opportunity of showing him not only that repulsion but also the contempt that accompanied it. Matters remained in this state for some months. Every day the marquise perceived her husband growing colder, and although the spies were invisible she felt herself surrounded by a watchfulness that took note of the most private details of her life. As to the abbe and the chevalier, they were as usual; only the abbe had hidden his hate behind a smile that was habitual, and the chevalier his resentment behind that cold and stiff dignity in which dull minds enfold themselves when they believe themselves injured in their vanity. In the midst of all this, M. Joannis de Nocheres died, and added to the already considerable fortune of his granddaughter another fortune of from six to seven hundred thousand livres. This additional wealth became, on accruing to the marquise, what was then called, in countries where the Roman law prevailed, a 'paraphernal' estate that is to say that, falling in, after marriage? it was not included in the dowry brought by the wife, and that she could dispose freely both of the capital and the income, which might not be administered even by her husband without a power of attorney, and of which she could dispose at pleasure, by donation or by will. And in fact, a few days after the marquise had entered into possession of her grandfather's estate, her husband and his brothers learned that she had sent for a notary in order to be instructed as to her rights. This step betokened an intention of separating this inheritance from the common property of the marriage; for the behaviour of the marquis towards his wife--of which within himself he often recognised the injustice--left him little hope of any other explanation. About this time a strange event happened. At a dinner given by the marquise, a cream was served at dessert: all those who partook of this cream were ill; the marquis and his two brothers, who had not touched it, felt no evil effects. The remainder of this cream, which was suspected of having caused illness to the guests, and particularly to the marquise, who had taken of it twice, was analysed, and the presence of arsenic in it demonstrated. Only, having been mixed with milk, which is its antidote, the poison had lost some of its power, and had produced but half the expected effect. As no serious disaster had followed this occurrence, the blame was thrown upon a servant, who was said to have mistaken arsenic for sugar, and everybody forgot it, or appeared to forget it. The marquis, however, seemed to be gradually and naturally drawing nearer again to his wife; but this time Madame de Ganges was not deceived by his returning kindness. There, as in his alienation, she saw the selfish hand of the abbe: he had persuaded his brother that seven hundred thousand livres more in the house would make it worth while to overlook some levities of behaviour; and the marquis, obeying the impulse given, was trying, by kind dealing, to oppose his wife's still unsettled intention of making a will. Towards the autumn there was talk of going to spend that season at Ganges, a little town situated in Lower Languedoc, in the diocese of Montpellier, seven leagues from that town, and nineteen from Avignon. Although this was natural enough, since the marquis was lord of the town and had a castle there, the marquise was seized by a strange shudder when she heard the proposal. Remembrance of the prediction made to her returned immediately to her mind. The recent and ill explained attempt to poison her, too, very naturally added to her fears. Without directly and positively suspecting her brothers-in-law of that crime, she knew that in them she had two implacable enemies. This journey to a little town, this abode in a lonely castle, amid new, unknown neighbours, seemed to her of no good omen; but open opposition would have been ridiculous. On what grounds, indeed, could she base resistance? The marquise could only own her terrors by accusing her husband and her brothers-in-law. And of what could she accuse them? The incident of the poisoned cream was not a conclusive proof. She resolved accordingly to lock up all her fears in her heart, and to commit herself to the hands of God. Nevertheless, she would not leave Avignon without signing the will which she had contemplated making ever since M. de Nocheres' death. A notary was called in who drew up the document. The Marquise de Ganges made her mother, Madame de Rossan, her sole inheritor, and left in her charge the duty of choosing between the testatrix's two children as to which of them should succeed to the estate. These two children were, one a boy of six years old, the other a girl of five. But this was not enough for the marquise, so deep was her impression that she would not survive this fatal journey; she gathered together, secretly and at night, the magistrates of Avignon and several persons of quality, belonging to the first families of the town, and there, before them, verbally at first, declared that, in case of her death, she begged the honourable witnesses whom she had assembled on purpose, not to recognise as valid, voluntary, or freely written anything except the will which she had signed the day before, and affirmed beforehand that any later will which might be produced would be the effect of fraud or of violence. Then, having made this verbal declaration, the marquise repeated it in writing, signed the paper containing it, and gave the paper to be preserved by the honour of those whom she constituted its guardians. Such a precaution, taken with such minute detail, aroused the lively curiosity of her hearers. Many pressing questions were put to the marquise, but nothing could be extracted from her except that she had reasons for her action which she could not declare. The cause of this assemblage remained a secret, and every person who formed part of it promised the marquise not to reveal it. On the next day, which was that preceding her departure for Ganges, the marquise visited all the charitable institutions and religious communities in Avignon; she left liberal alms everywhere, with the request that prayers and masses should be said for her, in order to obtain from God's grace that she should not be suffered to die without receiving the sacraments of the Church. In the evening, she took leave of all her friends with the affection and the tears of a person convinced that she was bidding them a last farewell; and finally she spent the whole night in prayer, and the maid who came to wake her found her kneeling in the same spot where she, had left her the night before. The family set out for Ganges; the journey was performed without accident. On reaching the castle, the marquise found her mother-in-law there; she was a woman of remarkable distinction and piety, and her presence, although it was to be but temporary, reassured the poor fearful marquise a little. Arrangements had been made beforehand at the old castle, and the most convenient and elegant of the rooms had been assigned to the marquise; it was on the first floor, and looked out upon a courtyard shut in on all sides by stables. On the first evening that she was to sleep here, the marquise explored the room with the greatest attention. She inspected the cupboards, sounded the walls, examined the tapestry, and found nothing anywhere that could confirm her terrors, which, indeed, from that time began to decrease. At the end of a certain time; however, the marquis's mother left Ganges to return to Montpellier. Two, days after her departure, the marquis talked of important business which required him to go back to Avignon, and he too left the castle. The marquise thus remained alone with the abbe, the chevalier, and a chaplain named Perette, who had been attached for five-and-twenty years to the family of the marquis. The rest of the household consisted of a few servants. The marquise's first care, on arriving at the castle, had been to collect a little society for herself in the town. This was easy: not only did her rank make it an honour to belong to her circle, her kindly graciousness also inspired at first-sight the desire of having her for a friend. The marquise thus endured less dulness than she had at first feared. This precaution was by no means uncalled for; instead of spending only the autumn at Ganges, the marquise was obliged, in consequence of letters from her husband, to spend the winter there. During the whole of this time the abbe and the chevalier seemed to have completely forgotten their original designs upon her, and had again resumed the conduct of respectful, attentive brothers. But with all this, M. de Ganges remained estranged, and the marquise, who had not ceased to love him, though she began to lose her fear, did not lose her grief. One day the abbe entered her room suddenly enough to surprise her before she had time to dry her tears; the secret being thus half surprised, he easily obtained a knowledge of the whole. The marquise owned to him that happiness in this world was impossible for her so long as her husband led this separate and hostile life. The abbe tried to console her; but amid his consolations he told her that the grief which she was suffering had its source in herself; that her husband was naturally wounded by her distrust of him--a distrust of which the will, executed by her, was a proof, all the more humiliating because public, and that, while that will existed, she could expect no advances towards reconciliation from her husband. For that time the conversation ended there. Some days later, the abbe came into the marquise's room with a letter which he had just received from his brother. This letter, supposed confidential, was filled with tender complaints of his wife's conduct towards him, and showed, through every sentence, a depth of affection which only wrongs as serious as those from which the marquis considered himself to be feeling could counterbalance. The marquise was, at first, very much touched by this letter; but having soon reflected that just sufficient time had elapsed since the explanation between herself and the abbe for the marquis to be informed of it, she awaited further and stronger proofs before changing her mind. From day to day, however, the abbe, under the pretext of reconciling the husband and wife, became more pressing upon the matter of the will, and the marquise, to whom this insistence seemed rather alarming, began to experience some of her former fears. Finally, the abbe pressed her so hard as to make her reflect that since, after the precautions which she had taken at Avignon, a revocation could have no result, it would be better to seem to yield rather than irritate this man, who inspired her with so great a fear, by constant and obstinate refusals. The next time that he returned to the subject she accordingly replied that she was ready to offer her husband this new proof of her love if it would bring him back to her, and having ordered a notary to be sent for, she made a new will, in the presence of the abbe and the chevalier, and constituted the marquis her residuary legatee. This second instrument bore date the 5th of May 1667. The abbe and the chevalier expressed the greatest joy that this subject of discord was at last removed, and offered themselves as guarantees, on their brother's behalf, of a better future. Some days were passed in this hope, which a letter from the marquis came to confirm; this letter at the same time announced his speedy return to Ganges. On the 16th of May; the marquise, who for a month or two had not been well, determined to take medicine; she therefore informed the chemist of what she wanted, and asked him to make her up something at his discretion and send it to her the next day. Accordingly, at the agreed hour in the morning, the draught was brought to the marquise; but it looked to her so black and so thick that she felt some doubt of the skill of its compounder, shut it up in a cupboard in her room without saying anything of the matter, and took from her dressing-case some pills, of a less efficacious nature indeed, but to which she was accustomed, and which were not so repugnant to her. The hour in which the marquise was to take this medicine was hardly over when the abbe and the chevalier sent to know how she was. She replied that she was quite well, and invited them to a collation which she was giving about four o'clock to the ladies who made up her little circle. An hour afterwards the abbe and the chevalier sent a second time to inquire after her; the marquise, without paying particular attention to this excessive civility, which she remembered afterwards, sent word as before that she was perfectly well. The marquise had remained in bed to do the honours of her little feast, and never had she felt more cheerful. At the hour named all her guests arrived; the abbe and the chevalier were ushered in, and the meal was served. Neither one nor the other would share it; the abbe indeed sat down to table, but the chevalier remained leaning on the foot of the bed. The abbe appeared anxious, and only roused himself with a start from his absorption; then he seemed to drive away some dominant idea, but soon the idea, stronger than his will, plunged him again into a reverie, a state which struck everyone the more particularly because it was far from his usual temper. As to the chevalier, his eyes were fixed constantly upon his sister-in-law, but in this there was not, as in his brother's behaviour, anything surprising, since the marquise had never looked so beautiful. The meal over, the company took leave. The abbe escorted the ladies downstairs; the chevalier remained with the marquise; but hardly had the abbe left the room when Madame de Ganges saw the chevalier turn pale and drop in a sitting position--he had been standing on the foot of the bed. The marquise, uneasy, asked what was the matter; but before he could reply, her attention was called to another quarter. The abbe, as pale and as disturbed as the chevalier, came back into the room, carrying in his hands a glass and a pistol, and double-locked the door behind him. Terrified at this spectacle, the marquise half raised herself in her bed, gazing voiceless and wordless. Then the abbe approached her, his lips trembling; his hair bristling and his eyes blazing, and, presenting to her the glass and the pistol, "Madame," said he, after a moment of terrible silence, "choose, whether poison, fire, or"--he made a sign to the chevalier, who drew his sword--"or steel." The marquise had one moment's hope: at the motion which she saw the chevalier make she thought he was coming to her assistance; but being soon undeceived, and finding herself between two men, both threatening her, she slipped from her bed and fell on her knees. "What have I done," she cried, "oh, my God? that you should thus decree my death, and after having made yourselves judges should make yourselves executioners? I am guilty of no fault towards you except of having been too faithful in my duty to my husband, who is your brother." Then seeing that it was vain to continue imploring the abbe, whose looks and gestures spoke a mind made up, she turned towards the chevalier. "And you too, brother," said she, "oh, God, God! you, too! Oh, have pity on me, in the name of Heaven!" But he, stamping his foot and pressing the point of his sword to her bosom, answered-- "Enough, madam, enough; take your choice without delay; for if you do not take it, we will take it for you." The marquise turned once again to the abbe, and her forehead struck the muzzle of the pistol. Then she saw that she must die indeed, and choosing of the three forms of death that which seemed to her the least terrible, "Give me the poison, then," said she, "and may God forgive you my death!" With these words she took the glass, but the thick black liquid of which it was full aroused such repulsion that she would have attempted a last appeal; but a horrible imprecation from the abbe and a threatening movement from his brother took from her the very last gleam of hope. She put the glass to her lips, and murmuring once more, "God! Saviour! have pity on me!" she swallowed the contents. As she did so a few drops of the liquid fell upon her breast, and instantly burned her skin like live coals; indeed, this infernal draught was composed of arsenic and sublimate infused in aqua-fortis; then, thinking that no more would be required of her, she dropped the glass. The marquise was mistaken: the abbe picked it up, and observing that all the sediment had remained at the bottom, he gathered together on a silver bodkin all that had coagulated on the sides of the glass and all that had sunk to the bottom, and presenting this ball, which was about the size of a nut, to the marquise, on the end of the bodkin, he said, "Come, madame, you must swallow the holy-water sprinkler." The marquise opened her lips, with resignation; but instead of doing as the abbe commanded, she kept this remainder of the poison in her mouth, threw herself on the bed with a scream, and clasping the pillows, in her pain, she put out the poison between the sheets, unperceived by her assassins; and then turning back to them, folded her hands in entreaty and said, "In the name of God, since you have killed my body, at least do not destroy my soul, but send me a confessor." Cruel though the abbe and the chevalier were, they were no doubt beginning to weary of such a scene; moreover, the mortal deed was accomplished--after what she had drunk, the marquise could live but a few minutes; at her petition they went out, locking the door behind them. But no sooner did the marquise find herself alone than the possibility of flight presented itself to her. She ran to the window: this was but twenty-two feet above the ground, but the earth below was covered with stones and rubbish. The marquise, being only in her nightdress, hastened to slip on a silk petticoat; but at the moment when she finished tying it round her waist she heard a step approaching her room, and believing that her murderers were returning to make an end of her, she flew like a madwoman to the window. At the moment of her setting foot on the window ledge, the door opened: the marquise, ceasing to consider anything, flung herself down, head first. Fortunately, the new-comer, who was the castle chaplain, had time to reach out and seize her skirt. The skirt, not strong enough to bear the weight of the marquise, tore; but its resistance, slight though it was, sufficed nevertheless to change the direction of her body: the marquise, whose head would have been shattered on the stones, fell on her feet instead, and beyond their being bruised by the stones, received no injury. Half stunned though she was by her fall, the marquise saw something coming after her, and sprang aside. It was an enormous pitcher of water, beneath which the priest, when he saw her escaping him, had tried to crush her; but either because he had ill carried out his attempt or because the marquise had really had time to move away, the vessel was shattered at her feet without touching her, and the priest, seeing that he had missed his aim, ran to warn the abbe and the chevalier that the victim was escaping. As for the marquise, she had hardly touched the ground, when with admirable presence of mind she pushed the end of one of her long plaits so far down her throat as to provoke a fit of vomiting; this was the more easily done that she had eaten heartily of the collation, and happily the presence of the food had prevented the poison from attacking the coats of the stomach so violently as would otherwise have been the case. Scarcely had she vomited when a tame boar swallowed what she had rejected, and falling into a convulsion, died immediately. As we have said, the room looked upon an enclosed courtyard; and the marquise at first thought that in leaping from her room into this court she had only changed her prison; but soon perceiving a light that flickered from an upper window of ore of the stables, she ran thither, and found a groom who was just going to bed. "In the name of Heaven, my good man," said she to him, "save me! I am poisoned! They want to kill me! Do not desert me, I entreat you! Have pity on me, open this stable for me; let me get away! Let me escape!" The groom did not understand much of what the marquise said to him; but seeing a woman with disordered hair, half naked, asking help of him, he took her by the arm, led her through the stables, opened a door for her, and the marquise found herself in the street. Two women were passing; the groom put her into their hands, without being able to explain to them what he did not know himself. As for the marquise, she seemed able to say nothing beyond these words: "Save me! I am poisoned! In the name of Heaven, save me!" All at once she escaped from their hands and began to run like a mad woman; she had seen, twenty steps away, on the threshold of the door by which she had come, her two murderers in pursuit of her. Then they rushed after her; she shrieking that she was poisoned, they shrieking that she was mad; and all this happening amid a crowd which, not knowing what part to take, divided and made way for the victim and the murderers. Terror gave the marquise superhuman strength: the woman who was accustomed to walk in silken shoes upon velvet carpets, ran with bare and bleeding feet over stocks and stones, vainly asking help, which none gave her; for, indeed, seeing her thus, in mad flight, in a nightdress, with flying hair, her only garment a tattered silk petticoat, it was difficult not to--think that this woman was, as her brothers-in-law said, mad. At last the chevalier came up with her, stopped her, dragged her, in spite of her screams, into the nearest house, and closed the door behind them, while the abbe, standing at the threshold with a pistol in his hand, threatened to blow out the brains of any person who should approach. The house into which the chevalier and the marquise had gone belonged to one M. Desprats, who at the moment was from home, and whose wife was entertaining several of her friends. The marquise and the chevalier, still struggling together, entered the room where the company was assembled: as among the ladies present were several who also visited the marquise, they immediately arose, in the greatest amazement, to give her the assistance that she implored; but the chevalier hastily pushed them aside, repeating that the marquise was mad. To this reiterated accusation--to which, indeed, appearances lent only too great a probability--the marquise replied by showing her burnt neck and her blackened lips, and wringing her hands in pain, cried out that she was poisoned, that she was going to die, and begged urgently for milk, or at least for water. Then the wife of a Protestant minister, whose name was Madame Brunel, slipped into her hand a box of orvietan, some pieces of which she hastened to swallow, while another lady gave her a glass of water; but at the instant when she was lifting it to her mouth, the chevalier broke it between her teeth, and one of the pieces of glass cut her lips. At this, all the women would have flung themselves upon the chevalier; but the marquise, fearing that he would only become more enraged, and hoping to disarm him, asked, on the contrary, that she might be left alone with him: all the company, yielding to her desire, passed into the next room; this was what the chevalier, on his part, too, asked. Scarcely were they alone, when the marquise, joining her hands, knelt to him and said in the gentlest and most appealing voice that it was possible to use, "Chevalier, my dear brother, will you not have pity upon me, who have always had so much affection for you, and who, even now, would give my blood for your service? You know that the things I am saying are not merely empty words; and yet how is it you are treating me, though I have not deserved it? And what will everyone say to such dealings? Ah, brother, what a great unhappiness is mine, to have been so cruelly treated by you! And yet--yes, brother--if you will deign to have pity on me and to save my life, I swear, by my hope of heaven, to keep no remembrance of what has happened; and to consider you always as my protector and my friend." All at once the marquise rose with a great cry and clasped her hand to her right side. While she was speaking, and before she perceived what he was doing, the chevalier had drawn his sword, which was very short, and using it as a dagger, had struck her in the breast; this first blow was followed by a second, which came in contact with the shoulder blade, and so was prevented from going farther. At these two blows the marquise rushed towards the door, of the room into which the ladies had retired, crying, "Help! He is killing me!" But during the time that she took to cross the room the chevalier stabbed her five times in the back with his sword, and would no doubt have done more, if at the last blow his sword had not broken; indeed, he had struck with such force that the fragment remained embedded in her shoulder, and the marquise fell forward on the floor, in a pool of her blood, which was flowing all round her and spreading through the room. The chevalier thought he had killed her, and hearing the women running to her assistance, he rushed from the room. The abbe was still at the door, pistol in hand; the chevalier took him by the arm to drag him away, and as the abbe hesitated to follow, he said:-- "Let us go, abbe; the business is done." The chevalier and the abbe had taken a few steps in the street when a window opened and the women who had found the marquise expiring called out for help: at these cries the abbe stopped short, and holding back the chevalier by the arm, demanded-- "What was it you said, chevalier? If they are calling help, is she not dead, after all?" "'Ma foi', go and see for yourself," returned the chevalier. "I have done enough for my share; it is your turn now." "'Pardieu', that is quite my opinion," cried the abbe; and rushing back to the house, he flung himself into the room at the moment when the women, lifting the marquise with great difficulty, for she was so weak that she could no longer help herself, were attempting to carry her to bed. The abbe pushed them away, and arriving at the marquise, put his pistol to her heart; but Madame Brunel, the same who had previously given the marquise a box of orvietan, lifted up the barrel with her hand, so that the shot went off into the air, and the bullet instead of striking the marquise lodged in the cornice of the ceiling. The abbe then took the pistol by the barrel and gave Madame Brunet so violent a blow upon the head with the butt that she staggered and almost fell; he was about to strike her again, but all the women uniting against him, pushed him, with thousands of maledictions, out of the room, and locked the door behind him. The two assassins, taking advantage of the darkness, fled from Ganges, and reached Aubenas, which is a full league away, about ten in the evening. Meanwhile the women were doing all they could for the marquise. Their first intention, as we have already said, was to put her to bed, but the broken sword blade made her unable to lie down, and they tried in vain to pull it out, so deeply had it entered the bone. Then the marquise herself showed Madame Brunei what method to take: the operating lady was to sit on the bed, and while the others helped to hold up the marquise, was to seize the blade with both hands, and pressing her--knees against the patient's back, to pull violently and with a great jerk. This plan at last succeeded, and the marquise was able to get to bed; it was nine in the evening, and this horrible tragedy had been going on for nearly three hours. The magistrates of Ganges, being informed of what had happened, and beginning to believe that it was really a case of murder, came in person, with a guard, to the marquise. As soon as she saw them come in she recovered strength, and raising herself in bed, so great was her fear, clasped her hands and besought their protection; for she always expected to see one or the other of her murderers return. The magistrates told her to reassure herself, set armed men to guard all the approaches to the house, and while physicians and surgeons were, summoned in hot haste from Montpellier, they on their part sent word to the Baron de Trissan, provost of Languedoc, of the crime that had just been committed, and gave him the names and the description of the murderers. That official at once sent people after them, but it was already too late: he learned that the abbe and the chevalier had slept at Aubenas on the night of the murder, that there they had reproached each other for their unskilfulness, and had come near cutting each other's throats, that finally they had departed before daylight, and had taken a boat, near Agde, from a beach called the "Gras de Palaval." The Marquis de Ganges was at Avignon, where he was prosecuting a servant of his who had robbed him of two hundred crowns; when he heard news of the event. He turned horribly pale as he listened to the messenger's story, then falling into a violent fury against his brothers, he swore that they should have no executioners other than himself. Nevertheless, though he was so uneasy about the marquise's condition, he waited until the next day in the afternoon before setting forth, and during the interval he saw some of his friends at Avignon without saying anything to them of the matter. He did not reach Ganges until four days after the murder, then he went to the house of M. Desprats and asked to see his wife, whom some kind priests had already prepared for the meeting; and the marquise, as soon as she heard of his arrival, consented to receive him. The marquis immediately entered the room, with his eyes full of tears, tearing his hair, and giving every token of the deepest despair. The marquise receivers her husband like a forgiving wife and a dying Christian. She scarcely even uttered some slight reproaches about the manner in which he had deserted her; moreover, the marquis having complained to a monk of these reproaches, and the monk having reported his complaints to the marquise, she called her husband to her bedside, at a moment when she was surrounded by people, and made him a public apology, begging him to attribute the words that seemed to have wounded him to the effect of her sufferings, and not to any failure in her regard for him. The marquis, left alone with his wife, tried to take advantage of this reconciliation to induce her to annul the declaration that she had made before the magistrates of Avignon; for the vice-legate and his officers, faithful to the promises made to the marquise, had refused to register the fresh donation which she had made at Ganges, according to the suggestions of the abbe, and which the latter had sent off, the very moment it was signed, to his brother. But on this point the marquise was immovably resolute, declaring that this fortune was reserved for her children and therefore sacred to her, and that she could make no alteration in what had been done at Avignon, since it represented her genuine and final wishes. Notwithstanding this declaration, the marquis did not cease to--remain beside his wife and to bestow upon her every care possible to a devoted and attentive husband. Two days later than the Marquis de Ganges arrived Madame de Rossan great was her amazement, after all the rumours that were already in circulation about the marquis, at finding her daughter in the hands of him whom she regarded as one of her murderers. But the marquise, far from sharing that opinion, did all she could, not only to make her mother feel differently, but even to induce her to embrace the marquis as a son. This blindness on the part of the marquise caused Madame de Rossan so much grief that notwithstanding her profound affection for her daughter she would only stay two days, and in spite of the entreaties that the dying woman made to her, she returned home, not allowing anything to stop her. This departure was a great grief to the marquise, and was the reason why she begged with renewed entreaties to be taken to Montpellier. The very sight of the place where she had been so cruelly tortured continually brought before her, not only the remembrance of the murder, but the image of the murderers, who in her brief moments of sleep so haunted her that she sometimes awoke suddenly, uttering shrieks and calling for help. Unfortunately, the physician considered her too weak to bear removal, and declared that no change of place could be made without extreme danger. Then, when she heard this verdict, which had to be repeated to her, and which her bright and lively complexion and brilliant eyes seemed to contradict, the marquise turned all her thoughts towards holy things, and thought only of dying like a saint after having already suffered like a martyr. She consequently asked to receive the last sacrament, and while it was being sent for, she repeated her apologies to her husband and her forgiveness of his brothers, and this with a gentleness that, joined to her beauty, made her whole personality appear angelic. When, however, the priest bearing the viaticum entered, this expression suddenly changed, and her face presented every token of the greatest terror. She had just recognised in the priest who was bringing her the last consolations of Heaven the infamous Perette, whom she could not but regard as an accomplice of the abbe and the chevalier, since, after having tried to hold her back, he had attempted to crush her beneath the pitcher of water which he had thrown at her from the window, and since, when he saw her escaping, he had run to warn her assassins and to set them on her track. She recovered herself quickly, however, and seeing that the priest, without any sign of remorse, was drawing near to her bedside, she would not cause so great a scandal as would have been caused by denouncing him at such a moment. Nevertheless, bending towards him, she said, "Father, I hope that, remembering what has passed, and in order to dispel fears that--I may justifiably entertain, you will make no difficulty of partaking with me of the consecrated wafer; for I have sometimes heard it said that the body of our Lord Jesus Christ, while remaining a token of salvation, has been known to be made a principle of death." The priest inclined his head as a sign of assent. So the marquise communicated thus, taking a sacrament that she shared with one of her murderers, as an evidence that she forgave this one like the others and that she prayed God to forgive them as she herself did. The following days passed without any apparent increase in her illness, the fever by which she was consumed rather enhancing her beauties, and imparting to her voice and gestures a vivacity which they had never had before. Thus everybody had begun to recover hope, except herself, who, feeling better than anyone else what was her true condition, never for a moment allowed herself any illusion, and keeping her son, who was seven years old, constantly beside her bed, bade him again and again look well at her, so that, young as he was, he might remember her all his life and never forget her in his prayers. The poor child would burst into tears and promise not only to remember her but also to avenge her when he was a man. At these words the marquise gently reproved him, telling him that all vengeance belonged to the king and to God, and that all cares of the kind must be left to those two great rulers of heaven and of earth. On the 3rd of June, M. Catalan, a councillor, appointed as a commissioner by the Parliament of Toulouse, arrived at Ganges, together with all the officials required by his commission; but he could not see the marquise that night, for she had dozed for some hours, and this sleep had left a sort of torpor upon her mind, which might have impaired the lucidity of her depositions. The next morning, without asking anybody's opinion, M. Catalan repaired to the house of M. Desprats, and in spite of some slight resistance on the part of those who were in charge of her, made his way to the presence of the marquise. The dying woman received him with an admirable presence of mind, that made M. Catalan think there had been an intention the night before to prevent any meeting between him and the person whom he was sent to interrogate. At first the marquise would relate nothing that had passed, saying that she could not at the same time accuse and forgive; but M. Catalan brought her to see that justice required truth from her before all things, since, in default of exact information, the law might go astray, and strike the innocent instead of the guilty. This last argument decided the marquise, and during the hour and a half that he spent alone with her she told him all the details of this horrible occurrence. On the morrow M. Catalan was to see her again; but on the morrow the marquise was, in truth, much worse. He assured himself of this by his own eyes, and as he knew almost all that he wished to know, did not insist further, for fear of fatiguing her. Indeed, from that day forward, such atrocious sufferings laid hold upon the marquise, that notwithstanding the firmness which she had always shown, and which she tried to maintain to the end, she could not prevent herself from uttering screams mingled with prayers. In this manner she spent the whole day of the 4th and part of the 5th. At last, on that day, which was a Sunday, towards four o'clock in the afternoon, she expired. The body was immediately opened, and the physicians attested that the marquise had died solely from the power of the poison, none of the seven sword cuts which she had received being, mortal. They found the stomach and bowels burned and the brain blackened. However, in spite of that infernal draught, which, says the official report, "would have killed a lioness in a few hours," the marquise struggled for nineteen days, so much, adds an account from which we have borrowed some of these details, so much did nature lovingly defend the beautiful body that she had taken so much trouble to make. M. Catalan, the very moment he was informed of the marquise's death, having with him twelve guards belonging to the governor, ten archers, and a poqueton,--despatched them to the marquis's castle with orders to seize his person, that of the priest, and those of all the servants except the groom who had assisted the marquise in her flight. The officer in command of this little squad found the marquis walking up and down, melancholy and greatly disturbed, in the large hall of the castle, and when he signified to him the order of which he was the bearer, the marquis, without making any resistance, and as though prepared for what was happening to him, replied that he was ready to obey, and that moreover he had always intended to go before the Parliament to accuse the murderers of his wife. He was asked for the key of his cabinet, which he gave up, and the order was given to conduct him, with the other persons accused, to the prisons of Montpellier. As soon as the marquis came into that town, the report of his arrival spread with incredible rapidity from street to street. Then, as it was dark, lights came to all the windows, and people corning out with torches formed a torchlight procession, by means of which everybody could see him. He, like the priest, was mounted on a sorry hired horse, and entirely surrounded by archers, to whom, no doubt, he owed his life on this occasion; for the indignation against him was so great that everyone was egging on his neighbours to tear him limb from limb, which would certainly have come to pass had he not been so carefully defended and guarded. Immediately upon receiving news of her daughter's death, Madame de Rossan took possession of all her property, and, making herself a party to the case, declared that she would never desist from her suit until her daughter's death was avenged. M. Catalan began the examination at once, and the first interrogation to which he submitted the marquis lasted eleven hours. Then soon afterwards he and the other persons accused were conveyed from the prisons of Montpellier to those of Toulouse. A crushing memorial by Madame de Rossan followed them, in which she demonstrated with absolute clearness that the marquis had participated in the crime of his two brothers, if not in act, in thought, desire, and intention. The marquis's defence was very simple: it was his misfortune to have had two villains for brothers, who had made attempts first upon the honour and then upon the life of a wife whom he loved tenderly; they had destroyed her by a most atrocious death, and to crown his evil fortune, he, the innocent, was accused of having had a hand in that death. And, indeed, the examinations in the trial did not succeed in bringing any evidence against the marquis beyond moral presumptions, which, it appears, were insufficient to induce his judges to award a sentence of death. A verdict was consequently given, upon the 21st of August, 1667, which sentenced the abbe and the chevalier de Ganges to be broken alive on the wheel, the Marquis de Ganges to perpetual banishment from the kingdom, his property to be confiscated to the king, and himself to lose his nobility and to become incapable of succeeding to the property of his children. As for the priest Perette, he was sentenced to the galleys for life, after having previously been degraded from his clerical orders by the ecclesiastical authorities. This sentence made as great a stir as the murder had done, and gave rise, in that period when "extenuating circumstances" had not been invented, to long and angry discussions. Indeed, the marquis either was guilty of complicity or was not: if he was not, the punishment was too cruel; if he was, the sentence was too light. Such was the opinion of Louis XIV., who remembered the beauty of the Marquis de Ganges; for, some time afterwards, when he was believed to have forgotten this unhappy affair, and when he was asked to pardon the Marquis de la Douze, who was accused of having poisoned his wife, the king answered, "There is no need for a pardon, since he belongs to the Parliament of Toulouse, and the Marquis de Ganges did very well without one." It may easily be supposed that this melancholy event did not pass without inciting the wits of the day to write a vast number of verses and bouts-rimes about the catastrophe by which one of the most beautiful women of the country was carried off. Readers who have a taste for that sort of literature are referred to the journals and memoirs of the times. Now, as our readers, if they have taken any interest at all in the terrible tale just narrated, will certainly ask what became of the murderers, we will proceed to follow their course until the moment when they disappeared, some into the night of death, some into the darkness of oblivion. The priest Perette was the first to pay his debt to Heaven: he died at the oar on the way from Toulouse to Brest. The chevalier withdrew to Venice, took service in the army of the Most Serene Republic, then at war with Turkey, and was sent to Candia, which the Mussulmans had been besieging for twenty years; he had scarcely arrived there when, as he was walking on the ramparts of the town with two other officers, a shell burst at their feet, and a fragment of it killed the chevalier without so much as touching his companions, so that the event was regarded as a direct act of Providence. As for the abbe, his story is longer and stranger. He parted from the chevalier in the neighbourhood of Genoa, and crossing the whole of Piedmont, part of Switzerland, and a corner of Germany, entered Holland under the name of Lamartelliere. After many hesitations as to the place where he would settle, he finally retired to Viane, of which the Count of Lippe was at that time sovereign; there he made the acquaintance of a gentleman who presented him to the count as a French religious refugee. The count, even in this first conversation, found that the foreigner who had come to seek safety in his dominions possessed not only great intelligence but a very solid sort of intelligence, and seeing that the Frenchman was conversant with letters and with learning, proposed that he should undertake the education of his son, who at that time was nine years old. Such a proposal was a stroke of fortune for the abbe de Ganges, and he did not dream of refusing it. The abbe de Ganges was one of those men who have great mastery over themselves: from the moment when he saw that his interest, nay, the very safety of his life required it, he concealed with extreme care whatever bad passions existed within him, and only allowed his good qualities to appear. He was a tutor who supervised the heart as sharply as the mind, and succeeded in making of his pupil a prince so accomplished in both respects, that the Count of Lippe, making use of such wisdom and such knowledge, began to consult the tutor upon all matters of State, so that in course of time the so-called Lamartelliere, without holding any public office, had become the soul of the little principality. The countess had a young relation living with her, who though without fortune was of a great family, and for whom the countess had a deep affection; it did not escape her notice that her son's tutor had inspired this poor young girl with warmer feelings than became her high station, and that the false Lamartelliere, emboldened by his own growing credit, had done all he could to arouse and keep up these feelings. The countess sent for her cousin, and having drawn from her a confession of her love, said that she herself had indeed a great regard for her son's governor, whom she and her husband intended to reward with pensions and with posts for the services he had rendered to their family and to the State, but that it was too lofty an ambition for a man whose name was Lamartelliere, and who had no relations nor family that could be owned, to aspire to the hand of a girl who was related to a royal house; and that though she did not require that the man who married her cousin should be a Bourbon, a Montmorency, or a Rohan, she did at least desire that he should be somebody, though it were but a gentleman of Gascony or Poitou. The Countess of Lippe's young kinswoman went and repeated this answer, word for word, to her lover, expecting him to be overwhelmed by it; but, on the contrary, he replied that if his birth was the only obstacle that opposed their union, there might be means to remove it. In fact, the abbe, having spent eight years at the prince's court, amid the strongest testimonies of confidence and esteem, thought himself sure enough of the prince's goodwill to venture upon the avowal of his real name. He therefore asked an audience of the countess, who immediately granted it. Bowing to her respectfully, he said, "Madame, I had flattered myself that your Highness honoured me with your esteem, and yet you now oppose my happiness: your Highness's relative is willing to accept me as a husband, and the prince your son authorises my wishes and pardons my boldness; what have I done to you, madame, that you alone should be against me? and with what can you reproach me during the eight years that I have had the honour of serving your Highness?" "I have nothing to reproach you with, monsieur," replied the countess: "but I do not wish to incur reproach on my own part by permitting such a marriage: I thought you too sensible and reasonable a man to need reminding that, while you confined yourself to suitable requests and moderate ambitions, you had reason to be pleased with our gratitude. Do you ask that your salary shall be doubled? The thing is easy. Do you desire important posts? They shall be given you; but do not, sir, so far forget yourself as to aspire to an alliance that you cannot flatter yourself with a hope of ever attaining." "But, madame," returned the petitioner, "who told you that my birth was so obscure as to debar me from all hope of obtaining your consent?" "Why, you yourself, monsieur, I think," answered the countess in astonishment; "or if you did not say so, your name said so for you." "And if that name is not mine, madame?" said the abbe, growing bolder; "if unfortunate, terrible, fatal circumstances have compelled me to take that name in order to hide another that was too unhappily famous, would your Highness then be so unjust as not to change your mind?" "Monsieur," replied the countess, "you have said too much now not to go on to the end. Who are you? Tell me. And if, as you give me to understand, you are of good birth, I swear to you that want of fortune shall not stand in the way." "Alas, madame," cried the abbe, throwing himself at her feet, "my name, I am sure, is but too familiar to your Highness, and I would willingly at this moment give half my blood that you had never heard it uttered; but you have said it, madame, have gone too far to recede. Well, then, I am that unhappy abbe de Ganges whose crimes are known and of whom I have more than once heard you speak." "The abbe de Ganges!" cried the countess in horror,--"the abbe de Ganges! You are that execrable abbe de Ganges whose very name makes one shudder? And to you, to a man thus infamous, we have entrusted the education of our only son? Oh, I hope, for all our sakes, monsieur, that you are speaking falsely; for if you were speaking the truth I think I should have you arrested this very instant and taken back to France to undergo your punishment. The best thing you can do, if what you have said to me is true, is instantly to leave not only the castle, but the town and the principality; it will be torment enough for the rest of my life whenever I think that I have spent seven years under the same roof with you." The abbe would have replied; but the countess raised her voice so much, that the young prince, who had been won over to his tutor's interests and who was listening at his mother's door, judged that his protege's business was taking an unfavourable turn; and went in to try and put things right. He found his mother so much alarmed that she drew him to her by an instinctive movement, as though to put herself under his protection, and beg and pray as he might; he could only obtain permission for his tutor to go away undisturbed to any country of the world that he might prefer, but with an express prohibition of ever again entering the presence of the Count or the Countess of Lippe. The abbe de Ganges withdrew to Amsterdam, where he became a teacher of languages, and where his lady-love soon after came to him and married him: his pupil, whom his parents could not induce, even when they told him the real name of the false Lamartelliere, to share their horror of him, gave him assistance as long as he needed it; and this state of things continued until upon his wife attaining her majority he entered into possession of some property that belonged to her. His regular conduct and his learning, which had been rendered more solid by long and serious study, caused him to be admitted into the Protestant consistory; there, after an exemplary life, he died, and none but God ever knew whether it was one of hypocrisy or of penitence. As for the Marquis de Ganges, who had been sentenced, as we have seen, to banishment and the confiscation of his property, he was conducted to the frontier of Savoy and there set at liberty. After having spent two or three years abroad, so that the terrible catastrophe in which he had been concerned should have time to be hushed up, he came back to France, and as nobody--Madame de Rossan being now dead--was interested in prosecuting him, he returned to his castle at Ganges, and remained there, pretty well hidden. M. de Baville, indeed, the Lieutenant of Languedoc, learned that the marquis had broken from his exile; but he was told, at the same time, that the marquis, as a zealous Catholic, was forcing his vassals to attend mass, whatever their religion might be: this was the period in which persons of the Reformed Church were being persecuted, and the zeal of the marquis appeared to M. de Baville to compensate and more than compensate for the peccadillo of which he had been accused; consequently, instead of prosecuting him, he entered into secret communication with him, reassuring him about his stay in France, and urging on his religious zeal; and in this manner twelve years passed by. During this time the marquise's young son, whom we saw at his mother's deathbed, had reached the age of twenty, and being rich in his father's possessions--which his uncle had restored to him--and also by his mother's inheritance, which he had shared with his sister, had married a girl of good family, named Mademoiselle de Moissac, who was both rich and beautiful. Being called to serve in the royal army, the count brought his young wife to the castle of Ganges, and, having fervently commended her to his father, left her in his charge. The Marquis de Ganges was forty-two veers old, and scarcely seemed thirty; he was one of the handsomest men living; he fell in love with his daughter-in-law and hoped to win her love, and in order to promote this design, his first care was to separate from her, under the excuse of religion, a maid who had been with her from childhood and to whom she was greatly attached. This measure, the cause of which the young marquise did not know, distressed her extremely. It was much against her will that she had come to live at all in this old castle of Ganges, which had so recently been the scene of the terrible story that we have just told. She inhabited the suite of rooms in which the murder had been committed; her bedchamber was the same which had belonged to the late marquise; her bed was the same; the window by which she had fled was before her eyes; and everything, down to the smallest article of furniture, recalled to her the details of that savage tragedy. But even worse was her case when she found it no longer possible to doubt her father-in-law's intentions; when she saw herself beloved by one whose very name had again and again made her childhood turn pale with terror, and when she was left alone at all hours of the day in the sole company of the man whom public rumour still pursued as a murderer. Perhaps in any other place the poor lonely girl might have found some strength in trusting herself to God; but there, where God had suffered one of the fairest and purest creatures that ever existed to perish by so cruel a death, she dared not appeal to Him, for He seemed to have turned away from this family. She waited, therefore, in growing terror; spending her days, as much as she could, with the women of rank who lived in the little town of Ganges, and some of whom, eye-witnesses of her mother-in-law's murder, increased her terrors by the accounts which they gave of it, and which she, with the despairing obstinacy of fear, asked to hear again and again. As to her nights, she spent the greater part of them on her knees, and fully dressed, trembling at the smallest sound; only breathing freely as daylight came back, and then venturing to seek her bed for a few hours' rest. At last the marquis's attempts became so direct and so pressing, that the poor young woman resolved to escape at all costs from his hands. Her first idea was to write to her father, explain to him her position and ask help; but her father had not long been a Catholic, and had suffered much on behalf of the Reformed religion, and on these accounts it was clear that her letter would be opened by the marquis on pretext of religion, and thus that step, instead of saving, might destroy her. She had thus but one resource: her husband had always been a Catholic; her husband was a captain of dragoons, faithful in the service of the king and faithful in the service of God; there could be no excuse for opening a letter to him; she resolved to address herself to him, explained the position in which she found herself, got the address written by another hand, and sent the letter to Montpellier, where it was posted. The young marquis was at Metz when he received his wife's missive. At that instant all his childish memories awoke; he beheld himself at his dying mother's bedside, vowing never to forget her and to pray daily for her. The image presented itself of this wife whom he adored, in the same room, exposed to the same violence, destined perhaps to the same fate; all this was enough to lead him to take positive action: he flung himself into a post-chaise, reached Versailles, begged an audience of the king, cast himself, with his wife's letter in his hand, at the feet of Louis XIV, and besought him to compel his father to return into exile, where he swore upon has honour that he would send him everything he could need in order to live properly. The king was not aware that the Marquis do Ganges had disobeyed the sentence of banishment, and the manner in which he learned it was not such as to make him pardon the contradiction of his laws. In consequence he immediately ordered that if the Marquis de Ganges were found in France he should be proceeded against with the utmost rigour. Happily for the marquis, the Comte de Ganges, the only one of his brothers who had remained in France, and indeed in favour, learned the king's decision in time. He took post from Versailles, and making the greatest haste, went to warn him of the danger that was threatening; both together immediately left Ganges, and withdrew to Avignon. The district of Venaissin, still belonging at that time to the pope and being governed by a vice-legate, was considered as foreign territory. There he found his daughter, Madame d'Urban, who did all she could to induce him to stay with her; but to do so would have been to flout Louis XIV's orders too publicly, and the marquis was afraid to remain so much in evidence lest evil should befall him; he accordingly retired to the little village of l'Isle, built in a charming spot near the fountain of Vaucluse; there he was lost sight of; none ever heard him spoken of again, and when I myself travelled in the south of France in 1835, I sought in vain any trace of the obscure and forgotten death which closed so turbulent and stormy an existence. As, in speaking of the last adventures of the Marquis de Ganges, we have mentioned the name of Madame d'Urban, his daughter, we cannot exempt ourselves from following her amid the strange events of her life, scandalous though they may be; such, indeed, was the fate of this family, that it was to occupy the attention of France through well-nigh a century, either by its crimes or by its freaks. On the death of the marquise, her daughter, who was barely six years old, had remained in the charge of the dowager Marquise de Ganges, who, when she had attained her twelfth year, presented to her as her husband the Marquis de Perrant, formerly a lover of the grandmother herself. The marquis was seventy years of age, having been born in the reign of Henry IV; he had seen the court of Louis XIII and that of Louis XIV's youth, and he had remained one of its most elegant and favoured nobles; he had the manners of those two periods, the politest that the world has known, so that the young girl, not knowing as yet the meaning of marriage and having seen no other man, yielded without repugnance, and thought herself happy in becoming the Marquise de Perrant. The marquis, who was very rich, had quarrelled With his younger brother, and regarded him with such hatred that he was marrying only to deprive his brother of the inheritance that would rightfully accrue to him, should the elder die childless. Unfortunately, the marquis soon perceived that the step which he had taken, however efficacious in the case of another man, was likely to be fruitless in his own. He did not, however, despair, and waited two or three years, hoping every day that Heaven would work a miracle in his favour; but as every day diminished the chances of this miracle, and his hatred for his brother grew with the impossibility of taking revenge upon him, he adopted a strange and altogether antique scheme, and determined, like the ancient Spartans, to obtain by the help of another what Heaven refused to himself. The marquis did not need to seek long for the man who should give him his revenge: he had in his house a young page, some seventeen or eighteen years old, the son of a friend of his, who, dying without fortune, had on his deathbed particularly commended the lad to the marquis. This young man, a year older than his mistress, could not be continually about her without falling passionately in love with her; and however much he might endeavour to hide his love, the poor youth was as yet too little practised in dissimulation to succeed iii concealing it from the eyes of the marquis, who, after having at first observed its growth with uneasiness, began on the contrary to rejoice in it, from the moment when he had decided upon the scheme that we have just mentioned. The marquis was slow to decide but prompt to execute. Having taken his resolution, he summoned his page, and, after having made him promise inviolable secrecy, and having undertaken, on that condition, to prove his gratitude by buying him a regiment, explained what was expected of him. The poor youth, to whom nothing could have been more unexpected than such a communication, took it at first for a trick by which the marquis meant to make him own his love, and was ready to throw himself at his feet and declare everything; but the marquis seeing his confusion, and easily guessing its cause, reassured him completely by swearing that he authorised him to take any steps in order to attain the end that the marquis had in view. As in his inmost heart the aim of the young man was the same, the bargain was soon struck: the page bound himself by the most terrible oaths to keep the secret; and the marquis, in order to supply whatever assistance was in his power, gave him money to spend, believing that there was no woman, however virtuous, who could resist the combination of youth, beauty, and fortune: unhappily for the marquis, such a woman, whom he thought impossible, did exist, and was his wife. The page was so anxious to obey his master, that from that very day his mistress remarked the alteration that arose from the permission given him--his prompt obedience to her orders and his speed in executing them, in order to return a few moments the sooner to her presence. She was grateful to him, and in the simplicity of her heart she thanked him. Two days later the page appeared before her splendidly dressed; she observed and remarked upon his improved appearance, and amused herself in conning over all the parts of his dress, as she might have done with a new doll. All this familiarity doubled the poor young man's passion, but he stood before his mistress, nevertheless, abashed and trembling, like Cherubino before his fair godmother. Every evening the marquis inquired into his progress, and every evening the page confessed that he was no farther advanced than the day before; then the marquis scolded, threatened to take away his fine clothes, to withdraw his own promises, and finally to address himself to some other person. At this last threat the youth would again call up his courage, and promise to be bolder to-morrow; and on the morrow would spend the day in making a thousand compliments to his mistress's eyes, which she, in her innocence, did not understand. At last, one day, Madame de Perrant asked him what made him look at her thus, and he ventured to confess his love; but then Madame de Perrant, changing her whole demeanour, assumed a face of sternness and bade him go out of her room. The poor lover obeyed, and ran, in despair, to confide his grief to the husband, who appeared sincerely to share it, but consoled him by saying that he had no doubt chosen his moment badly; that all women, even the least severe, had inauspicious hours in which they would not yield to attack, and that he must let a few days pass, which he must employ in making his peace, and then must take advantage of a better opportunity, and not allow himself to be rebuffed by a few refusals; and to these words the marquis added a purse of gold, in order that the page might, if necessary, win over the marquise's waiting-woman. Guided thus by the older experience of the husband, the page began to appear very much ashamed and very penitent; but for a day or two the marquise, in spite of his apparent humility, kept him at a distance: at last, reflecting no doubt, with the assistance of her mirror and of her maid, that the crime was not absolutely unpardonable, and after having reprimanded the culprit at some length, while he stood listening with eyes cast down, she gave a him her hand, forgave him, and admitted him to her companionship as before. Things went on in this way for a week. The page no longer raised his eyes and did not venture to open his mouth, and the marquise was beginning to regret the time in which he used to look and to speak, when, one fine day while she was at her toilet, at which she had allowed him to be present, he seized a moment when the maid had left her alone, to cast himself at her feet and tell her that he had vainly tried to stifle his love, and that, even although he were to die under the weight of her anger, he must tell her that this love was immense, eternal, stronger than his life. The marquise upon this wished to send him away, as on the former occasion, but instead of obeying her, the page, better instructed, took her in his arms. The marquise called, screamed, broke her bell-rope; the waiting-maid, who had been bought over, according to the marquis's advice, had kept the other women out of the way, and was careful not to come herself. Then the marquise, resisting force by force, freed herself from the page's arms, rushed to her husband's room, and there, bare-necked, with floating hair, and looking lovelier than ever, flung herself into his arms and begged his protection against the insolent fellow who had just insulted her. But what was the amazement of the marquise, when, instead of the anger which she expected to see break forth, the marquis answered coldly that what she was saying was incredible, that he had always found the young man very well behaved, and that, no doubt, having taken up some frivolous ground of resentment against him, she was employing this means to get rid of him; but, he added, whatever might be his love for her, and his desire to do everything that was agreeable to her, he begged her not to require this of him, the young man being his friend's son, and consequently his own adopted child. It was now the marquise who, in her turn, retired abashed, not knowing what to make of such a reply, and fully resolving, since her husband's protection failed her, to keep herself well guarded by her own severity. Indeed, from that moment the marquise behaved to the poor youth with so much prudery, that, loving her as he did, sincerely, he would have died of grief, if he had not had the marquis at hand to encourage and strengthen him. Nevertheless, the latter himself began to despair, and to be more troubled by the virtue of his wife than another man might have been by the levity of his. Finally, he resolved, seeing that matters remained at the same point and that the marquise did not relax in the smallest degree, to take extreme measures. He hid his page in a closet of his wife's bedchamber, and, rising during her first sleep, left empty his own place beside her, went out softly, double-locked the door, and listened attentively to hear what would happen. He had not been listening thus for ten minutes when he heard a great noise in the room, and the page trying in vain to appease it. The marquis hoped that he might succeed, but the noise increasing, showed him that he was again to be disappointed; soon came cries for help, for the marquise could not ring, the bell-ropes having been lifted out of her reach, and no one answering her cries, he heard her spring from her high bed, run to the door, and finding it locked rush to the window, which she tried to open: the scene had come to its climax. The marquis decided to go in, lest some tragedy should happen, or lest his wife's screams should reach some belated passer-by, who next day would make him the talk of the town. Scarcely did the marquise behold him when she threw herself into his arms, and pointing to the page, said:-- "Well, monsieur, will you still hesitate to free me from this insolent wretch?" "Yes, madame," replied the marquis; "for this insolent wretch has been acting for the last three months not only with my sanction but even by my orders." The marquise remained stupefied. Then the marquis, without sending away the page, gave his wife an explanation of all that had passed, and besought her to yield to his desire of obtaining a successor, whom he would regard as his own child, so long as it was hers; but young though she was, the marquise answered with a dignity unusual at her age, that his power over her had the limits that were set to it by law, and not those that it might please him to set in their place, and that however much she might wish to do what might be his pleasure, she would yet never obey him at the expense of her soul and her honour. So positive an answer, while it filled her husband with despair, proved to him that he must renounce the hope of obtaining an heir; but since the page was not to blame for this, he fulfilled the promise that he had made, bought him a regiment, and resigned himself to having the most virtuous wife in France. His repentance was not, however, of long duration; he died at the end of three months, after having confided to his friend, the Marquis d'Urban, the cause of his sorrows. The Marquis d'Urban had a son of marriageable age; he thought that he could find nothing more suitable for him than a wife whose virtue had come triumphantly through such a trial: he let her time of mourning pass, and then presented the young Marquis d'Urban, who succeeded in making his attentions acceptable to the beautiful widow, and soon became her husband. More fortunate than his predecessor, the Marquis d'Urban had three heirs to oppose to his collaterals, when, some two years and a half later, the Chevalier de Bouillon arrived at the capital of the county of Venaissin. The Chevalier de Bouillon was a typical rake of the period, handsome, young, and well-grown; the nephew of a cardinal who was influential at Rome, and proud of belonging to a house which had privileges of suzerainty. The chevalier, in his indiscreet fatuity, spared no woman; and his conduct had given some scandal in the circle of Madame de Maintenon, who was rising into power. One of his friends, having witnessed the displeasure exhibited towards him by Louis XIV, who was beginning to become devout, thought to do him a service by warning him that the king "gardait une dent" against him. "Pardieu!" replied the chevalier, "I am indeed unlucky when the only tooth left to him remains to bite me." This pun had been repeated, and had reached Louis XIV, so that the chevalier presently heard, directly enough this time, that the king desired him to travel for some years. He knew the danger of neglecting--such intimations, and since he thought the country after all preferable to the Bastille, he left Paris, and arrived at Avignon, surrounded by the halo of interest that naturally attends a handsome young persecuted nobleman. The virtue of Madame d'Urban was as much cried up at Avignon as the ill-behaviour of the chevalier had been reprobated in Paris. A reputation equal to his own, but so opposite in kind, could not fail to be very offensive to him, therefore he determined immediately upon arriving to play one against the other. Nothing was easier than the attempt. M. d'Urban, sure of his wife's virtue, allowed her entire liberty; the chevalier saw her wherever he chose to see her, and every time he saw her found means to express a growing passion. Whether because the hour had come for Madame d'Urban, or whether because she was dazzled by the splendour of the chevalier's belonging to a princely house, her virtue, hitherto so fierce, melted like snow in the May sunshine; and the chevalier, luckier than the poor page, took the husband's place without any attempt on Madame d'Urban's part to cry for help. As all the chevalier desired was public triumph, he took care to make the whole town acquainted at once with his success; then, as some infidels of the neighbourhood still doubted, the chevalier ordered one of his servants to wait for him at the marquise's door with a lantern and a bell. At one in the morning, the chevalier came out, and the servant walked before him, ringing the bell. At this unaccustomed sound, a great number of townspeople, who had been quietly asleep, awoke, and, curious to see what was happening, opened their windows. They beheld the chevalier, walking gravely behind his servant, who continued to light his master's way and to ring along the course of the street that lay between Madame d'Urban's house and his own. As he had made no mystery to anyone of his love affair, nobody took the trouble even to ask him whence he came. However, as there might possibly be persons still unconvinced, he repeated this same jest, for his own satisfaction, three nights running; so that by the morning of the fourth day nobody had any doubts left. As generally happens in such cases, M. d'Urban did not know a word of what was going on until the moment when his friends warned him that he was the talk of the town. Then he forbade his wife to see her lover again. The prohibition produced the usual results: on the morrow, as, soon as M. d'Urban had gone out, the marquise sent for the chevalier to inform him of the catastrophe in which they were both involved; but she found him far better prepared than herself for such blows, and he tried to prove to her, by reproaches for her imprudent conduct, that all this was her fault; so that at last the poor woman, convinced that it was she who had brought these woes upon them, burst into tears. Meanwhile, M. d'Urban, who, being jealous for the first time, was the more seriously so, having learned that the chevalier was with his wife, shut the doors, and posted himself in the ante-chamber with his servants, in order to seize him as he came out. But the chevalier, who had ceased to trouble himself about Madame d'Urban's tears, heard all the preparations, and, suspecting some ambush, opened the window, and, although it was one o'clock in the afternoon and the place was full of people, jumped out of the window into the street, and did not hurt himself at all, though the height was twenty feet, but walked quietly home at a moderate pace. The same evening, the chevalier, intending to relate his new adventure in all its details, invited some of his friends to sup with him at the pastrycook Lecoq's. This man, who was a brother of the famous Lecoq of the rue Montorgueil, was the cleverest eating-house-keeper in Avignon; his own unusual corpulence commended his cookery, and, when he stood at the door, constituted an advertisement for his restaurant. The good man, knowing with what delicate appetites he had to deal, did his very best that evening, and that nothing might be wanting, waited upon his guests himself. They spent the night drinking, and towards morning the chevalier and his companions, being then drunk, espied their host standing respectfully at the door, his face wreathed in smiles. The chevalier called him nearer, poured him out a glass of wine and made him drink with them; then, as the poor wretch, confused at such an honour, was thanking him with many bows, he said:-- "Pardieu, you are too fat for Lecoq, and I must make you a capon." This strange proposition was received as men would receive it who were drunk and accustomed by their position to impunity. The unfortunate pastry-cook was seized, bound down upon the table, and died under their treatment. The vice-legate being informed of the murder by one of the waiters, who had run in on hearing his master's shrieks, and had found him, covered with blood, in the hands of his butchers, was at first inclined to arrest the chevalier and bring him conspicuously to punishment. But he was restrained by his regard for the Cardinal de Bouillon, the chevalier's uncle, and contented himself with warning the culprit that unless he left the town instantly he would be put into the hands of the authorities. The chevalier, who was beginning to have had enough of Avignon, did not wait to be told twice, ordered the wheels of his chaise to be greased and horses to be brought. In the interval before they were ready the fancy took him to go and see Madame d'Urban again. As the house of the marquise was the very last at which, after the manner of his leaving it the day before, the chevalier was expected at such an hour, he got in with the greatest ease, and, meeting a lady's-maid, who was in his interests, was taken to the room where the marquise was. She, who had not reckoned upon seeing the chevalier again, received him with all the raptures of which a woman in love is capable, especially when her love is a forbidden one. But the chevalier soon put an end to them by announcing that his visit was a visit of farewell, and by telling her the reason that obliged him to leave her. The marquise was like the woman who pitied the fatigue of the poor horses that tore Damien limb from limb; all her commiseration was for the chevalier, who on account of such a trifle was being forced to leave Avignon. At last the farewell had to be uttered, and as the chevalier, not knowing what to say at the fatal moment, complained that he had no memento of her, the marquise took down the frame that contained a portrait of herself corresponding with one of her husband, and tearing out the canvas, rolled, it up and gave it to the chevalier. The latter, so far from being touched by this token of love, laid it down, as he went away, upon a piece of furniture, where the marquise found it half an hour later. She imagined that his mind being so full of the original, he had forgotten the copy, and representing to herself the sorrow which the discovery of this forgetfulness would cause him, she sent for a servant, gave him the picture, and ordered him to take horse and ride after the chevalier's chaise. The man took a post-horse, and, making great speed, perceived the fugitive in the distance just as the latter had finished changing horses. He made violent signs and shouted loudly, in order to stop the postillion. But the postillion having told his fare that he saw a man coming on at full speed, the chevalier supposed himself to be pursued, and bade him go on as fast as possible. This order was so well obeyed that the unfortunate servant only came up with the chaise a league and a half farther on; having stopped the postillion, he got off his horse, and very respectfully presented to the chevalier the picture which he had been bidden to bring him. But the chevalier, having recovered from his first alarm, bade him go about his business, and take back the portrait--which was of no use to him--to the sender. The servant, however, like a faithful messenger, declared that his orders were positive, and that he should not dare go back to Madame d'Urban without fulfilling them. The chevalier, seeing that he could not conquer the man's determination, sent his postillion to a farrier, whose house lay on the road, for a hammer and four nails, and with his own hands nailed the portrait to the back of his chaise; then he stepped in again, bade the postillion whip up his horses, and drove away, leaving Madame d'Urban's messenger greatly astonished at the manner in which the chevalier had used his mistress's portrait. At the next stage, the postillion, who was going back, asked for his money, and the chevalier answered that he had none. The postillion persisted; then the chevalier got out of his chaise, unfastened Madame d'Urban's portrait, and told him that he need only put it up for sale in Avignon and declare how it had come into his possession, in order to receive twenty times the price of his stage; the postillion, seeing that nothing else was to be got out of the chevalier, accepted the pledge, and, following his instructions precisely, exhibited it next morning at the door of a dealer in the town, together with an exact statement of the story. The picture was bought back the same day for twenty-five Louis. As may be supposed, the adventure was much talked of throughout the town. Next day, Madame d'Urban disappeared, no one knew whither, at the very time when the relatives of the marquis were met together and had decided to ask the king for a 'lettre-de-cachet'. One of the gentlemen present was entrusted with the duty of taking the necessary steps; but whether because he was not active enough, or whether because he was in Madame d'Urban's interests, nothing further was heard in Avignon of any consequences ensuing from such steps. In the meantime, Madame d'Urban, who had gone to the house of an aunt, opened negotiations with her husband that were entirely successful, and a month after this adventure she returned triumphantly to the conjugal roof. Two hundred pistoles, given by the Cardinal de Bouillon, pacified the family of the unfortunate pastry-cook, who at first had given notice of the affair to the police, but who soon afterwards withdrew their complaint, and gave out that they had taken action too hastily on the strength of a story told in joke, and that further inquiries showed their relative to have died of an apoplectic stroke. Thanks--to this declaration, which exculpated the Chevalier de Bouillon in the eyes of the king, he was allowed, after travelling for two years in Italy and in Germany, to return undisturbed to France. Thus ends, not the family of Ganges, but the commotion which the family made in the world. From time to time, indeed, the playwright or the novelist calls up the pale and bloodstained figure of the marquise to appear either on the stage or in a book; but the evocation almost always ceases at her, and many persons who have written about the mother do not even know what became of the children. Our intention has been to fill this gap; that is why we have tried to tell what our predecessors left out, and try offer to our readers what the stage--and often the actual world--offers; comedy after melodrama. Publication Date: May 28th 2010 https://www.bookrix.com/-bx.dumas

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Enzo A. Almario It's Not Me A Story Full of Mystery Chapter 1 - A very bad dream I was catching my breath after what my eyes just saw and decided to run into my room as fast as I can. I saw the whole thing how my best friend was killed. I cannot think of what to do next and I still do not know if the guy who killed my best friend knew that I was there watching. I decided to call the emergency hotline 911 but I cannot find my phone. I might have dropped it out there. I do not know and I do not have the courage to look for it anymore. I am scared as hell right now. It is like I do not have the strength to move at the moment but I need to. The killer might be here somewhere looking for me. I cannot relax. I let out a deep quiet sigh and grabbed my keys and wallet before I opened the door. I was shaking so much and breathing really hard. I peeked out of my door to check the hallway. My room is at the ninth floor and the elevator is way far from my room. I closed my eyes to help me relax a little bit but it did not. As I opened my eyes, I ran as fast as I can to reach the elevator. I pressed the button of the elevator but unfortunately, the elevator is still at the ground floor. I pressed it again and again until it reached the ninth floor where I am. I was relieved when I entered the elevator knowing that I am safe already. I pressed the ground floor 3 times and the button that closes the door. I focused on the floor number that is flashed above the floor buttons on my right side. My eyes widened as the door opened again. Meaning there is someone who pressed the button outside the elevator. The door opened and my heart started to thump a bit faster now. No one was there. No one pressed the button. I reached for the button that closes the door quickly. I was happy that the door closed on my first press which caused me to let out a loud sigh. I was standing at the center of the elevator as hard as a rock like if I moved a bit, someone is going to stab me. It is true, that is what I am feeling and I know that I will freak out if I do not get out of here right now. I need to get out of here and ask for help. My best friend is surely as cold as ice right now. Tears fell from my eyes knowing that my most trusted person is murdered. I don’t want to believe in what I have just witnessed. No no. This is just a bad dream a very bad dream. I snapped out of my thoughts when the door opened. A man was standing in front of me. “Miss, are you okay?” The man sounds concerned I just closed my eyes and felt that tears streamed down my face. I am so tired. All I want to do right now is go to the police station to tell them that my best friend is upstairs, cold as ice. “Argh!” The man screamed in agony I opened my eyes slowly to check what happened to the man and I was breathing hard again. I screamed when I saw the man in front of me fell down inside the elevator and saw a big axe on his back. I ran towards the big automatic glass door of the condominium. When all of a sudden, someone grabbed my foot and fell down. I know this will be the ending of my life. I will be stabbed to death too. I was shocked that the man holding my foot is wearing a big bloody mask. It scared the shit out of me I felt so weak that time but gave all of my might to kick his chest. He fell back and was surely hurt. I stood up and ran towards the automatic glass door. I ran as fast as I can into my car. When I reached my car, I freaked out because my car key is not in my pocket. I kept looking for it. This is not happening! This cannot be fucking happening! I cannot lose my car key! I need to get the fuck out of here now! I heard footsteps on the other side of my car. I was shaking too much and fell on the ground. Footsteps approaching me was all I heard. Yeah. This is really it. My death, my fate. The man with the bloody mask is now standing in front of me holding a big axe that is on the back of the man he killed on the elevator. “Please. Don’t kill me. Have mercy.” I said while crying. He raised his axe and threw it to me. “Nooooooo!!!” I woke up with the sun’s ray touching my skin and tears streaming down my cheeks. I felt so exhausted because of my dream and still cannot breathe normally. I knew it! Everything was just a dream. A very bad dream. What the? Where am I? This room seems familiar. This place is familiar. I rolled over my bed and checked out the alarm clock beside me. It’s already ten o’clock in the morning so I decided to take a warm shower first before checking out where the hell am I at. I wore the same attire since I don’t know where I really am. I went outside the room then my dream flashed on my mind again and fell on the ground which made me scream at the top of my lungs. “Oh my! What’s happening to you my Laura?” A familiar voice said in a very loud voice Then everything went black. “Wake up my Laura. Please wake up.” A woman said while shaking me “Ugh. What happened? W-who are… Mom is that you?” I weakly said “Yes my Laura. Sit up straight honey and drink some water.” “Why am I here? Wha-what happened?” “You fainted early today honey. You really should not skip meals Laura.” “N-no. What am I doing here? This place is familiar. Why are we here? Why am I with you?” “Me and your dad decided to move here at Oregon again for good.” “What?!? How about my graduation? I need to be there! Where is my phone? I need to call Sherri and Jack right now!” “Calm down honey. You need to take a rest first. Okay? Do not think too much. All you need to do is to calm down, relax and take a rest. Please? For mom?” “Okay fine. Just give me my phone back. I need to tell Sherri, Jack and my friends!” “Okay then. Just make sure that you would not stress yourself out. I almost forgot. You need to take this medicine. To lessen your nightmares” “Thanks.” I really cannot believe that we are here at Oregon again. After 10 or 11 years? Ugh. I dunno’ what happened. I do not even remember how I got here from New York. Ugh! This is not happening. Grr… I went to my room still feeling a lil’ bit weak and sat on my bed. I checked out my phone and looked for Sherri’s number. Into my surprise, Sherri’s number is not on my contacts and only my boyfriend’s number, my number, my dad’s number, my mom’s number and my brother’s number are saved on it. Shit. Did someone just touched my phone?!? Urgh. I wish I am still dreaming and all of these were part of my nightmare but it is not. I know I am already in reality. This is really happening. I decided to take a bath into my old comfort room to relax. While I was lying on the warm water of the bathtub, I keep on cursing my parents for deciding for me. I am already 18 years old. I can decide for myself! But still, I have so much respect for my parents. But this thing is way different. I am a thousand miles away from New York, from my condominium, from Sherri, from Jack and from everything. I hate it! After taking a bath, I wore my violet lingerie that my boyfriend Jack gave me. Then blow-dried my hair. Still thinking why did they decided to live here again and what made them think of living here again. This is all shit. I threw the medicine my mom gave me. I do not believe that it will help me from my nightmares. I am not a child anymore that they can easily fool. Urgh! I AM SO MAD RIGHT NOW! After a couple of hours of cursing my parents and throwing things everywhere, I felt sleepy and weak again. So I decided to take a rest at around 2am and wished that I won’t have another nightmare. “Where the hell are you going?!? We are both into this you bitch!” A familiar voice of a man shouting behind me Text: Not available Images: Not available Editing: Not available Translation: Not available All rights reserved. Publication Date: October 21st 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-therenzoalmario

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Rina Past Life Picture Book Publication Date: June 21st 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-fifi1o

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-darkpoet83-ms-justice/

darkPoet83 Ms. Justice Text: darkpoet83 Images: none Editing: DP3 Translation: none All rights reserved. Publication Date: July 9th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-darkpoet83

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-p-j-lawton-lethal-knowledge-excerpt/

P.J.Lawton Lethal Knowledge (Excerpt) “Where is the girl? She was to be here. Where did she and the others go?” Sometimes my mouth tends to get the better of me and this wasn’t an exception, as in my best imitation British accent I quipped, “Sorry, old boy, no clue.” My head snapped sideways as a phone started to ring somewhere. It took me a couple of seconds to realize it wasn’t a phone after all; it was my ears. The leader had backhanded me, hard. “So Yankee, you got a smart mouth, huh. I close it for you, hey?” I shook my head to clear the buzzing and to get the fuzziness out of my brain. The leader cocked the hammer on the .45. If I was going to get out of this I needed to make a move now. My only chance was to get him to hit me again. Well, not really hit me, but to try to hit me. I would take it from there. Reverting to my most sarcastic tone, I replied. “You’re wasting your time pal, no woman in her right mind would take a second look at you. You are way too ugly! As a matter of fact, if ugly was a brick, you’d be that ruined temple over there.” I stopped to see if he would take the bait. The boy hadn’t moved, maybe he was a little dense or something. When he spoke, the words caught me completely by surprise. “So, Mister Big-Shot- Simon, not so big now, huh,” he said with an evil smile spread across his ugly face. He spoke with a heavy accent, the words sounded like Meester, and Beeg. How did he know my name? What was going on here? A jolt ran through my body as I realized this was no bandit stickup. They were here for the girl and for me! I was pretty sure I wasn’t supposed to leave here alive. My plan wasn’t working like I wanted. I would need to put out a little more goading if I wanted them to make a mistake. Back to my previous sarcastic tone and pretending I didn’t hear him, I said.“Yep, no ladies for you, dude, way too ugly! But, you might make it with ‘Kong’ over there; he looks more like your type.” I turned my head in the direction of the biggest goon, giving the leader an opportunity. He didn’t disappointment me this time. With a snarl of hatred, he made his move. As he reached to backhand me a second time, I made my own move. Bossman’s biggest mistake was thinking he had me where he wanted me. With rattlesnake quickness, I reached out both hands toward him. My right hand grabbed for his weapon and promptly disarmed him. My left hand gripped him by the shirtfront, pulling him toward me as I slammed my knee into his groin. He sagged against me, his stinking, rotten teeth breath wafted over me as serious pain showed on his truly ugly face. My plan was to use him for a shield while I employed his weapon to take out the other goons. The plan worked, just not exactly as I imagined it would. To the right, Kong brought up his weapon and started firing as I swung Bossman around, placing his now limp body between the stuttering assault weapon and me. Four or five heavy slugs struck the main thug, stitching him from the left side buttocks to his right shoulder. Bringing up the now dead man’s .45, I fired three times. Two shots hit Kong in the mid-chest area and one tore through his throat. Normally, three hits from a .45 would put any man down. Not so for Kong. He stood for a couple of seconds with a shocked look on his face, like he couldn’t believe what just happened. Then his face slackened and his body went limp. In silence, his now rag-doll form toppled to the dusty ground, convulsed once, then went still. I hadn’t forgotten about Slim, the machete man. I’d figured him to be the least of the threats. That little thought almost got me killed since he was much quicker than expected. As it so happened, my peripheral vision saved my life. My initial idea was to toss the dead leader away, turn and take out the third guy. Darkness was approaching but a flicker of light glancing off the large machete caused a quick plan change. Instead of shoving the leader away, I swung him around again, placing him between the gleaming blade and me. There was a sickening thud as metal met flesh and bone. The razor sharp cutting edge cleanly decapitated the leader. More blood gushed outward as I again fired my weapon three times. The force of the machete swing turned blade man slightly away from me. One shot hit him in the right shoulder, spinning him further around and two went into his back, passing completely through, taking blood, bone fragments and tissue with them. He was dead before he fell. With the acrid taste of bile rising in my throat, I flung the headless blood-oozing body away from me. My legs had suddenly turned to jelly. I walked over to a nearby rock and plopped down. I sat there for about five minutes until my breathing somewhat returned to normal. An encounter with sudden death always carried a price. Even though I was still alive, four others were not. No matter how much I justified my actions in my mind, it didn’t always help. Yes, it was kill or be killed; they would surely have killed me along with Hector. Sometimes, even that didn’t ease the pangs of guilt. I must admit however, I was thrilled to find out my reflexes weren’t those of an over-the-hill, wanna-be ninja…at least not yet. I glanced toward the four bodies leaking fluids into the parched earth. Now what? It took another minute or so to come up with a plan of action. It was a simple plan. E-Book Available at Solstice Publishing: http://www.solsticepublishing.com/products/Lethal-Knowledge%252d%252dPDF-EBOOK.html Publication Date: July 25th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-p.j.lawton

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-isabelle-silvermist-changed/

Isabelle Silvermist Changed Chapter One I used to be a Princess but everything changed. Here I'll start off at the beginning. "The Princess must look ravishing tonight for the ball," the Queen says. The maid got out a pretty long blue dress. It was perfect! Now the Queen wasn't her mother it was an evil stepmother. "This is perfect, thank you very much," the Queen says with a sly smile. Princess Jetlyn walked up to her room to get ready for the August Ball. It was the most important one. The Princess was going to be giving her first speech. "Here is your dress, Jetlyn," the Queen says. "Thank you Syliva," Jetlyn says. Sylvia left the room so the Princess could get ready. She pulled her long silky black hair into a braid. She put green eye shadow to match with her jet green eyes. And put masacra on her already darken eyelashes. She also put on black eyeliner. The only reason the Queen didn't like Jetlyn was because the Princess's beauty was the fairest of the town. Everyone adored her to death and would protect her with their lifes. Sylvia was so jealous! "Honey, are you ready for the ball," the Queen asks the King. "Just about dear," The king says. As the royal family walked down the long, winding stairs for their grand entrance. The King steps up to the microphone. "Hello everyone as you know the Princess, Jetlyn, will be giving a speech on her upcoming birthday," The King says and motions for his daughter. Jetlyn steps up to the microphone and clears her throat. "Hello everyone, my birthday party is coming up and it will be my sweet sixten," She says. "It will be on the upcoming Saturday and everyone is invited," She says with a smile. "I would love if you all came," Jetlyn says. "And I will greaty appreciate it," She exclaims! She walks away and down the stairs to join the people.  Ugh I'm a Princess and I don't even like giving speeches or talking to a big group of people.  The Queen dissapears from the room not that anyone notice they are too busy looking at the princess. As well as two guards follow the Queen. They go into a private room that no one knows about. "On her birthday is when we will take care of her for once and all," the Queen orders. "As you wish, my highness," one of the guards say as they both bow. "You know what to do, right," the Queen asks. "Yes, we understand your orders and we will do as you say," one of them say again. "Good," the Queen says and leaves the room.  Publication Date: July 16th 2013 https://www.bookrix.com/-rwa0c210cac4e15

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Bethlee Out of the Darkness Out of the Darkness Chapter 1 Michael Chapter 1 Michael My book crashed against the wall of my study cubicle, causing a small ding in the library’s wall. Next I threw my notebook. How was I supposed to concentrate when all I could think about was Amelia? Studying was impossible, I just caught myself using my Biochemistry notes to try to find an answer to my Gross Anatomy questions― again. It was inevitable; I would flunk out of my first semester of medical school if I kept this up. No matter how hard I tried to stay focused, my mind wandered back to this afternoon in lab with Amelia. Her laughter had echoed through the otherwise sterile room when I’d dropped the freshly prepared slides of three weeks’ worth of research in the sink. Any other lab partner would have blown up at such a clumsy accident, but not Amelia. She rolled her eyes, shook her head and restarted preparing the slides. “Come on, Michael. I’ll share my honorary title of Drops-A-Lot with you.” She said as she winked at me. “Don’t worry I’ll never take your title. After all, you hold the world’s record.” I had felt a surge of relief from her banter. The never ending patience and understanding was what made Amelia. . . Amelia. These were only two of the millions of reasons I loved her. I needed to tell her, I wanted to be her boyfriend, not her best friend, not her bro; her boyfriend. But that was where my courage stopped. Why couldn’t I just jump naked out of an airplane or wrestle an alligator? That would be much easier than telling my best friend of eighteen years I’m in love with her. My stomach grumbled, when I leaned back in my chair and stretched. It reminded me of my plans to meet her around eight o’clock at her favorite Chinese restaurant. Her fundraising committee was supposed to be finished with their meeting by then. A strong breeze blew across my face, sucking the library’s outer doors from my hands as I opened them. The early December night was chilly. I pulled the collar of my thin jacket up around my neck and wished for a warmer coat. The few remaining leaves on the trees rustled in the wind, but I paid little attention. Afraid of sounding like a bad rendition of a soap-opera, I trudged through the deserted parking lot rehearsing the best way to tell Amelia how I felt. The furthest I got was “Hey, Amelia. You look great.” After that, I was stuck. When I was a few yards from my car, a vehicle screeched as it entered the parking lot. My keys were stuck in my jacket’s pocket and I was preoccupied with dislodging them, but I looked up as the screeching came uncomfortably close in the otherwise quiet night. A large white van plowed towards me. Moments before it could run me over, I dove out of its way, landing hard on the cold pavement and scraping my hands. With adrenaline pumping through my veins, I pulled myself up and sprinted to my car. As soon as I threw the car door open, someone yelled my name from the van. Expecting to see a friend leaning out of the van’s window and laughing at the joke, I turned toward the source of my name. Instead, I heard a blast and felt my chest explode. Staggering, I grabbed the opened door. I felt another burn slash across the side of my head. The next shot I didn’t even hear. Fire ripped through my body as I collapsed into my car. * A foggy haze enveloped me, trapping me where I lay. There were two things that held my attention. First, I no longer felt any pain. My whole body felt frozen as if I had been dumped into an ice chest. Second, an angelic voice was singing out to me, pulling me toward it. “Michael, Michael . . . can you hear me? Michael.” It was the voice I longed for. It was my Amelia. Amelia, of course I can hear you. My frozen body was not cooperating as I attempted to look at her. How did you get here? Be careful! There is a maniac with a gun! “Michael, wake up! Michael! Please!” Her voice was no longer singing—it was pleading. “Michael, please wake up!” Her body heat radiated against my face as she cradled me in her arms. Her gentle hands carefully examined my wounds. Can’t you hear me? She didn’t respond. Then I realized I wasn’t vocalizing the words, so of course she couldn’t hear me. “Hang on, Michael. Please don’t leave me.” Her voice broke as she tried to catch her breath. “I need you.” Of course, Amelia, I’ll never leave you. Suddenly, I seemed to be two people. I was outside the car, watching her hold my lifeless body in her arms. Torn between wanting to reach out and comfort her and terrified by the fact I could see myself, I could only observe as she gently laid my body across the front seat. She took her cell phone from her back hip pocket and punched in some numbers. “What! No signal. Come on.” She threw her phone down on the pavement. “There has to be something in here to help you.” After looking under the front seat, she hoisted herself upright. “Oh, my lord. Michael, what did you do?” Using only her fingertips, she held a gun by a corner of its grip. Amelia, have you lost your mind? Where’d that thing come from? Get rid of it! Now! She grimaced as if she were holding a snake instead of a gun. A laugh erupted from behind my car, causing my spirit to quiver. Amelia’s first reaction appeared reflexive. Spinning to face the direction of the laughter, she screamed into the night. Remembering the gun in her blood-soaked hands, she struggled to bring it up and fired into the night sky, aiming at nothing. Then she turned and ran away. Get out of here, Amelia! I ran with her, leaving my car and my body behind. * Death was not what I expected. Bright lights were supposed to illuminate my pathway after I died, but I didn’t see any. Instead, I found myself trapped in a nightmare, one without smells, tastes, or textures―only visions and sounds. Horrible images of Amelia that I could not control. Covered in my blood, Amelia ran to the campus’s nearest security office. She crashed through the door and flew from cop to cop as she yelled. “Michael’s dying. There was a gun. I tried to help him, but I shot at the laugh. He’s covered in blood. Help me.” She grabbed the closest cop and tried to pull him to the door. The cop yanked out of her grasp and pulled his gun. “Put the gun down on the floor and then put your hands up in the air. Now.” Amelia looked down at her hands and realized she was still holding the gun. Flinching away from the gun, she dropped it on the floor and stepped back. “It’s not my gun. I found it in Michael’s car.” Forget about the gun! You have to help her, help me. I’m dying. I positioned myself between the cop and Amelia. The cop kept his gun trained on Amelia. “It doesn’t matter whose gun it is, I said put your hands up.” Amelia turned to face him. “What? We have to help Michael. He’s dying.” Her voice echoed my thoughts as she took a step forward and reached for his arm. “I said, put your hands up and stay where you are.” He spread his legs as if he were preparing for a fight. Are you crazy? You’re not going to attack her. I threw myself at him, only to have my spirit fall through his body. She threw her hands up over her head. “Okay. Alright, my hands are up.” Another cop handcuffed her and led her to a dimly lit room where she sat at a table with two chairs. After ten minutes of silence, two detectives arrived from the nearby Southside Precinct. One silently stood by the door while the other sat at the table in the chair opposite Amelia. He placed his folded hands on the table and said. “Amelia, I’m Detective Madison. Can you tell me what happened? They said you shot someone named Michael.” Are you an idiot or just stupid? Let me spell it out for you. She did not shoot me. I yelled in his face. Amelia shook her head and exhaled as she threw her cuffed hands on the table. “No, that’s not what I said. I shot at the laugh behind us. It scared me. Michael was shot before I got there.” “Where did you get the gun? Is it yours?” “Of course not. I hate guns. Listen, we’re wasting time. We have to help Michael. Don’t you understand? He’s dying.” She stood and walked toward the door. Come on let’s get out of here. As soon as they see my car, they’ll know you didn’t shoot me. I glided with her to the door. “Sit down Amelia. You ran in here holding a gun and covered in blood. You’re not going anywhere. Besides, officers have already inspected his car. His body wasn’t there, but there was plenty of blood. After we check you for gun powder residue and finger print you, I bet our theory will be confirmed.” My body is missing? How? We were just there. I moved to the wall as I tried to steady myself. Amelia shook her head. “What? I don’t understand. Gun powder residue? Finger-printing me? Where’s Michael?” tears flowed from her eyes. “I already told you I shot the gun, but I didn’t shoot him.” “That’s for a jury to decide. You have the right to remain silent. . .” Amelia dropped her cuffed hands by her side and stared at the floor as the officer read her rights. Softly she whispered to herself. “But I didn’t shoot Michael. He was my best friend. But I guess I killed him, trying to save him.” Chapter 2 Michael That became my life, or rather my death. I hovered in a corner and watched as they finger-printed Amelia. Afterwards, they placed her back in a dimly lit room, where she paced its diameter as she waited for them to confirm that her bloody fingerprints were all over my car. Two hours later, they escorted her in a squad car to Southside’s precinct. The entire time, she appeared to vibrate. She only stopped shaking when the metal door slammed shut, locking her into a cell. That’s when tears started flowing down her cheeks. Unable to control herself, she wrapped her thin arms tightly around her chest and sank to the floor. There she stayed for the next three days, refusing to eat, sleep or talk. The morning of the third day, a female officer opened her cell door. “Get up. You need to change out of those blood stained clothes.” She held a uniform out for Amelia. “Come on, I’ll take you to the showers so you can clean up a bit before you change.” Without saying a word, Amelia followed her to the jail’s showers. After five minutes, Amelia reappeared in the hall looking like a freshly scrubbed puppy. Her hair was plastered to the side of her head, and the uniform was hanging off of her. The pants were missing the drawstring, so she had to hold the waistband up as she walked down the hall to her cell. Hours later, another officer escorted her to the precinct’s interrogation room. After opening the room’s door, he pointed her inside and said, “You need to wait in here. A Sharolette Clayton and a lawyer are here to see you.” Amelia nodded and slid into one of the metal chairs. Without looking up, she folded her arms on the table and laid her head on them. I hovered beside to her, strongly wanting but unable to comfort her. She raised her head, looked in my direction, then laid it back down. Her actions startled me, but not enough to convince me to move. I stayed there wishing to protect her from my evil stepmother. I had hated Sharolette from the moment my father brought her home only three months after my mom died. My feelings weren’t one sided, either. Sharolette had managed to make my life a living hell for exactly one year, four months and twenty-six days until my dad’s death. Even though Amelia was innocent, leave it to Sharolette to hire a defense lawyer to defend the person charged with my murder. The precinct’s interrogation room was silent when Sharolette entered for their initial meeting; only the humming of the overhead fluorescent lights and the tapping of her stilettos on the concrete floor could be heard. She found Amelia seated slouched over the table, tracing the wood grain patterns with her right index finger. When Amelia saw Sharolette, she buried her head in her folded arms. Sharolette turned to the guard and whispered, “I’ve known Amelia for years. I’m here to help her. Joseph Crandoff”—she waved at the tall, dark-haired man standing beside her—“is going to defend her.” The guard nodded and motioned Sharolette to the table. She clicked past him, pulling her companion with her. Once the guard left, closing the door behind him, Sharolette turned to Amelia and took a deep breath. Placing her purse in an adjacent chair, she leaned across the table. “You sure have got yourself into a mess this time. And your daddy isn’t around to rescue you.” I couldn’t understand the sarcasm in Sharolette’s voice. Apparently Amelia didn’t either. Her eyes widened as she looked up and said. “What? What did you say?” “Oh, nothing, honey. I always promised your father I would take care of you. You know—if anything ever happened to him.” Sharolette dramatically waved her manicured hand high into the air. “And—ta-da—here I am.” Sharolette tucked her tailored skirt beneath her hips and slid into one of the metal chairs across the table from Amelia. Mr. Crandoff sat in a chair beside her. Placing both of her hands on Amelia’s left hand, Sharolette lowered her voice and said. “Amelia, honey. How are you holding up?” How dare Sharolette touch her. Move away! Don’t let her touch you! Attempting to shield Amelia, I hovered in between them. Amelia looked at Sharolette for a brief moment, then sat up and slid her hands from the table into her lap. Looking down, she shrugged her thin shoulders. “I guess I’m okay. I’m just confused. I don’t understand how they could say I shot Michael.” Because you never would. I’m here. I just wish she knew it. Sharolette took a lace handkerchief from her purse and dabbed the corners of her eyes. “Honey, cheer up. This is all a huge mistake. Everyone knows you would never hurt him.” She sniffed loudly. “Please forgive me. This entire ordeal has upset me so. I haven’t slept a wink since it started.” She tucked her handkerchief into the sleeve of her blouse and continued. “Anyway, Joseph is going to defend your case. He’ll take care of everything. He’s an excellent defense attorney, and he’s going to smooth out this misunderstanding. And I’m sure he’ll be able to explain the letters you wrote Michael. You know—the ones the police found in his apartment.” Looking at Sharolette, Amelia shook her head. “But I already have a lawyer. My aunt Cat is going to defend me.” She scrunched her eyebrows together as she continued. “Wait a minute. What letters are you talking about? I never wrote any letters.” “Honey, slow down. Let’s take one thing at a time. Cat can’t defend you. She’s a corporate lawyer. She has no experience in front of a jury. You need a defense attorney. Joseph is the best one for this job. Trust me.” Sharolette removed her handkerchief and dabbed the corner of her eyes again. Then she tucked a strand of her platinum bob behind her ear. Amelia, don’t trust them. This is wrong! I thought as loud as my ghostly state would permit, but of course, she didn’t hear me. No one could. Amelia leaned into the table and whispered, “But who is he?” She turned and looked at Joseph. “I’m sorry—please, don’t take this the wrong way. But I have no idea who you are.” Turning back to Sharolette, she said, “How do you know him?” “Honey, I’ve known Joseph for years. He’s the best.” Joseph leaned forward to meet Amelia’s gaze. “I’ll work hard to get you the verdict you need. You can trust me.” Extending his right hand, he laid it on the table closer to her. Will you, please, stop telling Amelia to trust you? She doesn’t even know you! I screamed at Joseph. Leaning back, Amelia crossed her arms in front of her and scrunched her eye brows tighter as she looked at him. Slowly shaking her head, she said, “So, how long have you been practicing law?” “I have over ten years’ experience with criminal law. I’m excellent at getting what I want.” Adjusting his posture, he placed his clasped hands on the table. Amelia looked at Joseph a moment, and then turned to Sharolette, “You’re right. I guess I need a defense attorney. Is he the best?” “Honey, believe me. He’s the best one for this job.” Extending her right hand, she waited for Amelia to shake it. Hovering between her and Sharolette, I said, Whatever you do, don’t take her hand. Trust me! Turning away from Sharolette’s outstretched hand, Amelia nodded at Joseph. “All right, if you’re as good as she says, I guess you’re hired. But I want Cat to sit as co-council.” “Agreed.” Joseph nodded his head as he took a recorder out of his suit’s pocket. He turned it on and placed it on the table. Next he flipped on an I-pad, opened a file and said. “Now, can you tell me what happened? Where did you get the gun?” He typed notes as Amelia spoke. “When I arrived, Michael had already been shot and there was blood everywhere. My phone wouldn’t work and I didn’t have anything to stop the bleeding. I didn’t see anyone around to help, so I looked in his car to see if he had an old shirt or something.” Looking down at her hands she shivered, then lowered her voice and continued. “That was when I found the gun. It was under the front seat of his car.” How did a gun get under the front seat of my car? I didn’t own a gun. Joseph looked up. “The police’s lab report said you’d fired the gun. Why did you fire it?” “I heard a loud noise behind us. It almost sounded like a. . .a laugh. I was afraid the murderer had returned, so I whirled around and shot into the air.” Her voice caught as tears ran down her face. “I was so scared, I wasn’t thinking. I just reacted.” Joseph looked at the I-pad. “Why were you there in the first place? In a previous statement, you told the police you had been at a fundraiser committee meeting and had planned to meet Michael at Zoe’s Chinese restaurant.” She shook her head. “I don’t know. I went to the restaurant and Michael wasn’t there. He was late, and that wasn’t like him. He’d told me he was spending the afternoon at the library, so I went to look for him. I knew something was wrong.” Tears streaked her face as she began to hiccup, unable to catch her breath. Joseph exchanged a quick look with Sharolette. “It’s okay. Take your time.” I knelt beside her. Amelia, I’m sorry. Please calm down. If only she could hear me. How could anyone believe her capable of murder? Can’t they see she’s innocent? A few moments after Amelia caught her breath, Joseph interrupted the silence. “I know this is hard, but we need to continue. Can you tell me about the letters they found in Michael’s apartment? The police said you had threatened Michael in the letters.” Amelia wrapped her arms around herself and huddled in her chair. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about. The last time I wrote Michael was a year ago, when he was away in college at Nashville. I didn’t threaten him. I was just trying to goad him into responding back—it was playful. Other than those, I have no idea what letters they’re talking about.” How could I have been this stupid not to realize those letters could come back and hurt you? Amelia, I’m sorry. They were so warm and endearing. Meaningless threats to our friendship if I didn’t respond to your letters, they were harmless. But they were my lifeline connecting me to you. Joseph leaned into the table and gestured toward Amelia. “I only have one more question and then we’ll be finished for now. This may be hard, but can you think of anyone that would want Michael dead?” Amelia looked down, exhaled and shook her head. “For the life of me, I can’t think of anyone that would kill Michael.” She looked at Joseph. “I’ve tried to come up with a list of people that would do this, but he simply didn’t have any enemies.” I’m so sorry you have to go through this. I wish you knew I was here. But she was right. I couldn’t think of anyone that would want me dead either. Amelia wiped stray tears from her face with her sleeve. “I just can’t believe they think I killed Michael.” She pulled her knees up into her chair and wrapped her arms around them. Sharolette stood, pulling Joseph beside her. “Amelia, honey, don’t worry. We’ll be back to talk again soon, and we’ll take care of everything.” Their footsteps echoed through the room as they left. Helpless, unable to do anything, I watched as Amelia collapsed on to the table, crying so hard it broke my silent heart. * For the next three weeks, I hovered in the background observing more interrogations. Her attorney, Joseph, planned strategies, questioned motives and hunted for evidence. When the trial began it was like watching a circus. The media in one ring, the prosecutors in another and Joseph in the third. From the far side of the courtroom, I watched everything unfold. Amelia deteriorated quickly when the prosecutors presented their case. All of their evidence was circumstantial, but her lawyer never objected, and the judge did not seem to notice. As the trial progressed she became a fixture in her chair, never looking up or responding to anything the lawyers said. She appeared as if she would break if someone touched her. The only color to her face was the ruptured blood vessels in her eyes from her excessive crying. The media lurked everywhere. As I watched, reporters blockaded the exits like hungry jackals waiting to pounce on any juicy morsel of trivial gossip. There was no way she was going to get a fair trial as long as these jerks kept their cameras focused on the smiling lawyers instead of the innocent. Everyone seemed to have forgotten the term “innocent until proven guilty”—everyone except for Cat. But for some reason she wasn’t sitting at the counselors’ table. Instead, she sat powerless in the row of chairs directly behind Amelia. With the trial’s progression, I realized from Amelia’s body language she had already accepted defeat. The once empowered woman, who could capture the heart of terminally ill children and encourage them with her zest for life, had given up. Deciding I had to do something, I followed the judge into his chamber, determined to find some answers. He was at his desk talking on his phone when I found him. I listened to his side of the conversation. “Walter Joneson, Judge Robert Hollingsworth here. We need to discuss Amelia Snow.” He loosened his tie and leaned back in his chair. Who is Walter Joneson and what does he know about my Amelia? Hovering closer to his chair, I hoped to hear both sides of the phone conversation. Unfortunately, I still could only hear the judge. “Well, no, not exactly,” the judge said. “I am following up on our last conversation.” He nodded his head as he listened. “I think you were correct, but my people cannot figure out how they are doing it. They are both being closely watched, and―oh, I see. Remember, she is only twenty-one years old. Will she be safe?” He rested his elbows on his desk. The silence that followed was deafening. Desperate for information, I moved beside him and raged, What do you mean, will she be safe? Are you talking about Amelia? She’s innocent, you idiot! Get her out of here! How frustrating he couldn’t hear me. Slamming his fist down onto his desk, he raised his voice. “Is there no other way? This is not right. There has to be another way without setting her up as bait. Surely someone else is involved.” Instantly I was in the judge’s face. What do you mean bait? Bait isn’t safe! Bait ends up dead! Get her out of here, you moron! But of course he didn’t respond. The judge leaned against the back of his chair. “Okay, if that is what they think is best. The jury should deliver their verdict tomorrow. I guess it will tell us exactly how bad her situation is.” He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I want it on record that I do not support this decision.” He slammed the phone down on his desk. Getting in his face I yelled, You idiot! What is going on? What have you done? But he never responded. Instead, he poured himself a drink. After downing it, he poured himself another and went to stand by the window. He stood staring outside long after the courthouse had emptied and the street lights came on. Hovering in disbelief, I watched him, knowing Amelia’s only chance was gone. No one was going to save her. Publication Date: December 31st 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-bethlee

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-kelsey-peters-bloody-love/

Kelsey Peters Bloody Love The Taker-book 1 He’s late. Of all nights. A first date dose not start like this in my mid. “Hey” he says “Hey” he startled me. “Sorry I’m late.” “It’s fine.” This of course is not. “Come on, let’s go.” We started down a street to the ally, a short cut to the pizza palace. I don’t know why but this place made me feel… weird. Like I shouldn’t be here. This place just seemed darker than the night itself. It gave me a funny feeling. Like something is going to happen. I hate that feeling. It happened to me once in Colorado. **** “Hey mom it’s getting late!” “Ok creel .I’ll be down in a minute. One more time down the slope!” “Ok! Be careful!” “Always am!” She headed up the snow covered mountain while I headed inside our cozy little rented cabin with dad. **** Just she wasn’t careful enough. Little did I know that a blizzard was coming. Mom didn’t see the edge and she fell. By the time we found her, she was dead, buried in snow, and drenched in her own blood. Something she landed on cut into her. My dad was depressed for months after that. I was raising myself. He kept moaning on and on about how he could have done something. Anything. He vowed he would and he did. Later he killed himself and I understood. It was bloody love. Thinking about the trip, I spaced off. I didn’t notice the change in Derik’s mood. He took my hand and brought me back down to Earth. “I want to meet your parents.” Aw crap. I didn’t want to lie to him because I really like him. (I’m not saying that I’m a bad liar because I’m not. I’m very good at it actually. I can say anything I want without flaw. I’ve even been told I have a honey sweet voice.) “Ummm. Why?” to bad I’m not good at stalling “Cause I want to get to know you better. One way of doing that is through your parents.” Ok. Weird. That’s way too mushy for a first date. “Trust me, you have nothing to worry about.” “Still…” “Oh come on, were 19, you really think I care what they say?” “Well I-“ And I cut him off the only way I knew how to cut off a guy. I kissed him. Kissed him hard and kissed him good. Kissed him until he damn well couldn’t remember what he was saying or where he lived for that matter. “What was that?” “Our first kiss.”I said sinfully. “Well well well. What’s come over you? Maybe it’s me?” he said all knowingly. “Perhaps.” But he didn’t know anything. He didn’t know that my parents were dead, he didn’t know that my kisses were powerful in the since that I had all power over him, I could make a 20 page document on what he didn’t know. And then I heard it. First the crackle of leaves, then the snap of a twig, and it happened. He threw knives as sharp as needles and as fast as lightning. Thud. Then Derik fell. Three. Three knives. That’s all it took. to kill him.i wanted to scream bloody murder. (cause it was). I wanted to kill myself. I wanted to die right here. Then its like a little thing snaped in my head. (seriously I think I heard it). He was about to do that for me. I could hear the knives right befor they hit me. Almost. One hit my hand.i stoped dead In my tracks and screamed. He caught hold of my wrist and his hand clamped down on my mouth. “shhhhhhhhh. Where is your sapphire?” I tried to talk but his hand muffled my words. “if I uncover your mouth, will you tell me?” I nodded yes “its in my purse.”I lied It was around my neck. My grandfather had been sick and was making a will. He told me he wanted to give this to me before he passed. He said it was expensive, it was to mach my eyes that were as blue as the sea, and it was called the heart of the ocean. He wanted me to wear it everywear. So I did. He took the double sided knife out of my hand and I winced. he looked at me with a warning look that said ‘if your lying, I will hunt you down.’ I believed him, but I lied anyways. He went down the street and around the corner to be Derik and my purse lies. He’ll figure it out eventually. He’ll come looking for me. But he won’t find me. I started out running. Long stride. That’s what my track coach always said. Longer strides at a steady pace take you further than shorter strides at a faster then slower pace. When it started raining I took shelter in a sewer to keep from getting wet. Even in Florida, it gets colder when it rains in early spring. I had no plan, so after the rain stopped, I wandered. I randomly walked until I came to (what looked like) an abandoned house. But it wasn’t. What my luck. After an hour a car pulled into the drive and I was screwed. I had explored the house. There were no backdoors. No other exit except the front door. What am I gunna do? Well to late to think. Whoever it is (weather it’s a hobo or not) is through the front door and in the house. I’m trapped. But besides that, I can’t help but think that Derik is dead. ______ Their actually pretty nice. I tried to hide, I really did, but they had a dog. He smelt me. Smart dog. Im apparently VERY far from home. Good. I’m away from that creep. Bad. I have a lot of family in that small town that will be worried about me. This is the altar family. There’s Mr. and Mrs. Altar, brendy and sin. Publication Date: April 25th 2010 https://www.bookrix.com/-ruthrielly

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-blue-sutcliffe-sleepless-nights/

Blue Sutcliffe Sleepless Nights Introduction             Dedicated to Jodie Holmes & Valkyrie Cain for making me fall in love with storytelling   Chapter I - For The Portfolio August 17th, 2046 : Frank's Residence   Frank reached into the oak cabinet and ejected a crystal structured glass. Filled it with whiskey from a large bottle, similar looking to his glass, and sat down at the dusty old type writer. He then proceded to press the glass against his wrinkled head, and began to type… Chapter II - Breakable Things August 17th, 2021 : The Hills   “Jesus Christ!” The woman was loosely jammed into the vending machine, the coils which previously held confectionary now jammed through her broken body. The police lights created a disco like effect on her insides that had recently been violently thrown to the floor. Jackson, paying no attention to his partner, focused on keeping his balance while walking towards the body. The blood was making it hard to walk. Slicing up the side of his black boots. Barely managing, he finally stood in front of her. Jackson slipped the files out from beneath his arm. “Amanda Geralds, age 24. Studying at Kieilla University. Lives in a small town called Mori” his voice started to rasp as he stuggled to breathe. “Not far from the bay-side trade, we should investigate that furth-“ Jackson was half way through registering the thought when he heard a short yelp from behind him. Whirling around, handgun now at the ready, he found Charles sprawled across the ground, covered in red. “I can tell you’re going places” said Frank said, who was observing him a few meters away. Charles tried and failed to get back on his feet. “Fuck you, Frank. Just help me up”. Jackson grunted, holstered his weapon, and continued his evaluation. Internally . Frank extended his hand and looked at the other personnel as they cautiously eyed Charles. Once he was up, frank leaned in close “your making friends at every corner” he whispered, giving Charles a concerned look. Saying nothing he and Frank stalked to separate parts of the yellow tape that held the gathering crowd. “Are you done making yourself familiar with Amanda?” mocked Jackson. “Who?” replied Charles, who was attempting to wipe the blood from his clothes in vein. Jackson waved his ballpoint pen at the girl, flicking through the files. “The gal embracing the vender”. Charles gave him a disgusted look, “you have problems jacks”. “Just do your thing!” Jackson snapped back, suprised at his sudden burst of anger jackson turned away. Charles sighed gently and closed his eyes.   Charles opened his eyes, the landscape had saturated itself with all different shades of red. His head hurt, but it always did. He spotted Amanda, wearing a yellow sleeveless shirt and blue jeans, her brown hair danced behind her in the nights' wind. Charles checked his watch, which presented itself motionless. The vending machine was lit up with a shitty flickering light behind a small cafe that had closed hours ago. She walked to the machine and put in a few notes. With a loud whirring sound the premade sandwich, which probably contained at least five different diseases, gradually made its way to the front of the coils. Amanda stared blankly at the scratched glass as the unheard pebbles crunched behind her. It started to scream. Amanda covered her ears and dived blindly into the dim light of the vending machine. The glass shattering instantly as she started to crawl inside the machine as best she could. Charles could only look onwards, knowing how it would end. It reached for her, but retreated from the vending machines dim flickering light, and started to look for a way around it. After a short while it realised this was a pointless effort. Now reaching for Amanda’s white wallet that had been cast to the dust.  Amanda had dropped it moments ago. It started to insert insert the dirty notes into the machine, and kept doing so until there weren't any more notes to insert. Then it proceeded to sprawl its hands across the machines’ desperately illuminated buttons.  Chapter III - A Wrench In The Works August 17th, 2021 : The Hills   Charles stumbled to his feet, nearly falling where the pavement met the dirt. Groaning, he looked around. Everything was blurry, muffled. His vision was slowly returning. Upon seeing Jacksons' extended tissue he gladly accepted it and whipped his now bleeding nose. “Well?” said Jackson, as if he had been waiting for hours. “I don’t know, it was… Distorted, but I know it’s something new, something we haven’t seen before. Or at least I havn't seen anything like it” “Something new? Newer than the fact that your allowed to help us after what you pulled?” “He had it coming, you know that” Jackson grunted impatiently, “Well, it’s nearly sun down, back in the con-shield”. Charles looked over his shoulder to the sound of van doors opening and frank motioned his arms to a moderately large metal device in the back of a grey van. He was exaggerating his arms as if he were inviting the small council inside. Trudging over to the van he swept his look over the scenes’ personnel, who looked away, as if he might tear them apart if they starred to long. Imitating Jacksons’ grunt when approaching Frank, who presented him with an idiotic smile, he flipped out his phone. Nothing. Charles climbed into the containment shield and listened to Frank rattle with the control panel which was crudely attached to the device. “It’s not working Jacks”. Jackson walked over to the device  not  containing Charles. Jackson looked over at the engineers who were meant to be overseeing that the new containment shield worked. Yet they only presented him with weak smiles and petty excuses. Charles, all the while, kept a blank look on his face. He was thinking about how the sun worked, not that he was a scientist. He was just thinking about how it constantly kept fuelling itself when logic dictates that gas and fire mixed together would explode and evaporate. Which is exactly what the sun was. A mixture of gas and fire. Yet it kept on going. Feeling less like a scientist, he continued to ponder.  Jackson silently muttered to himself while Frank continued to tamper inconsistently with the control panel. Jackson, finally growing tired of the game, saw the sun setting in the background. Drawing his handgun he walked towards Charles, who started to speak “Why do you think-“. Jackson’s gun went off several times before Charles could finish. Everyone jumped for cover except Frank and Jackson, who remained in their original stance. “He’s going to have one hell of a headache later” Frank said in a ‘ matter-of-fact ’ way. Jackson shut the doors of the grey van. Charles’ body was still lying at an awkward angle. “I want to follow up with forensics, I’ll take it from here” Jackson half yelled as he walked away. Frank gave Jackson the thumbs up and practically bolted into the van.     Chapter IV - Breadcrumbs  August 18th, 2021 : The Whispers   Charles woke to the sound of pounding, the smell of chips and the wind wafting gently through his hair. Opening his eyes, he found Frank sitting on one of the many floating platforms of the whispers. “Why are we here frank?” asked Charles, supporting his head atop his arms. “Because Ron here makes the best fish n’ chips in town” explained frank, continuing his chips. Ron thanked him with a small nod, returning his attention to cooking. Relaxing, charles collapsed back onto what he, for no good reason, thought was a couch. His spine gave a gaudy crunch when he hit steel as he spun onto the ground. In a conclusive groan Charles reversed himself onto his back and sighted “Why are we really here frank?” Frank stood up from the floating platform, tugged his shirt straight, cleared his throat, put his left hand in its pocket and proceeded to circle Charles. “Well! As you probably know the whispers are the famous floating islands of Terra and are inhabited by the native priests called the Kogai. Now, the reason these islands are called the whispers are that the occupants can talk to the dead which are held here by their god… What was his name again? Anyway, not important. So what I’m thinking is, we go talk to Amanda!” Charles had gathered enough energy to stand and he was reaching for the chips, supporting himself on the cold steel of the containment shield. “Did you ever think about becoming a detective yourself?” Charles asked. Frank responded with a light smile “I’m too busy dragging your ass around.”   [UNFINISHED]   Want More? Sorry for not releasing these chapters faster; it's just I am constantly changing the story line and I'm trying to figure out what works wthout being boring or making somethhing thats too complicated and non-sensical. ANYWAY, if you want more feel free to email me with ideas and my errors and ect. at  djkitt3h@gmail.com.    Also sory if I deviated a bit from the fantasy base and leaned more towards the sci fi side as I updated this, it just generaly makes more sense if I sci fi base it. Publication Date: April 22nd 2015 https://www.bookrix.com/-hod0cf386ea0155

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-suzanne-larosa-herlihy-diamonds-are-a-girl-039-s-best-friend-ebook/

Suzanne LaRosa-Herlihy Diamonds are a girl's best friend ebook Publication Date: March 31st 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-fictionwriter23

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-marisa-redhead16-beg/

Marisa Redhead16 Beg To everyone who needs to feel wanted, or to feel something real. The Missing Boy I opened my files. I worked as an assistant for the District Attorney, Larissa Hardwicke. I've been an assistant for five years now, straight out of college. I've always been a justice lover and professional. I wore suits and polo shirts in high school! I didn't care about being popular or cool, all I cared about was getting that degree. I did have friends, most of which were considered geeks or nerds. I did debate and forensics, and yearbook, and even Photography. Anyways, I opened the most recent file and looked through it. It was closed, but every single case affects me somehow. I didn't hear the door open until I heard someone clear his throat. I looked up and saw the most handsome man I'd ever seen. He had red hair and green eyes with a touch of blue in the left eye. "Can I help you?" I asked, standing up and smiling at him. "My name is Samuel Craxton. My son is missing," he pulled out a photo of his son, who had blond hair, mostly likely from the mother. "Did you call the police?" I asked. "I-I haven't yet. No," he said, appearing almost nervous. "Please just help me. My son is all I really have, he's my whole life!" he explained, freaking out. "All right, just relax. I'll call Missing Persons." I dialed the number and called Missing Persons and explained the situation. "We have a missing boy, approximately five years old, The father is Samuel Craxton, he's..." I turned to Sam to get his age. "I-I just turned thirty three years old." he explained. "Samuel is thirty three years old...." I explained the rest as best I could. I smiled at Samuel as I turned back to him. Suddenly, an enraged blonde woman came bustling in. "What the hell are you doing? Where's my stepson?" she demanded. "Mrs. Craxton, I just called the police, and they should arrive any minute." I told her. She scoffed. "Who's this cop wannabe? She looks like a homewrecker," she insulted me. I raised one eyebrow. "Trust me, Mrs. Craxton, I have very little interest in your husband," I lied, glancing at him. She looked at me like I was full of bullcrap. "What's your son's name?" I asked him. "His name is Vincent." Sam told me. I wrote that down and felt my shoulders tense as Mrs. Craxton eyed me. I didn't see her, but I felt her.     I walked home later in disgrace. I tasted sweat and chocolate on my lips. After I'd turned them to the police and sent out a nationwide Amber Alert, my day was boring and dull. I really had no interest in work, as there was nothing to do, so I blogged on my blog, MeganLaw.com. I updated, and read a financial magazine. I wanted to help Sam, but how could I? I could talk to his family and friends to find out more about Vincent. I waited until it had been a substantial amount of time, then I asked to leave early and went to Special Victims.   __________________________________________________________________________________________   "We know absolutely nothing, about as much as you do," Chief Goodwill said. He had a stack of papers in front of him and he looked worn and tired. "I could take over, you know," I told him.   "You can know what you want and help out, but I can't let you take over." the chief said. I knew he was right. I didn't know much, all I knew was that I was in lust with Sam. Hard lust, a lust that I had never felt before. Not even with Alexander.   Publication Date: June 25th 2014 https://www.bookrix.com/-redhead16

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-shaelyn-ray-fetching-kendra/

Shaelyn Ray Fetching Kendra Fetching Kendra Me and Amy,Kendra's big sister,were out in her backyard practising our cheer and gymnastics while her parent's were out on a date.I heard a car pull up and then drive away."That was weird."I said.Amy nodded and we continued to practice."I'll be back I have to go check on Kendra and make sure she's still napping."Amy said running inside.Not fifteen minutes after Amy had left the yard she ran back out."Kendra's not in her crib!"she said."What do you mean?"I asked."Kendra isn't in her crib or her room!"Amy dashed back inside with me at her heel's.I checked her toy box,closet,under her crib,and in her bathroom."She wasn't anywhere I checked!"Amy and I shrieked at the same time.We both ran to her parent's room and looked around the room."The safe!check the gun safe!she could be in there!but what if her air supplies is little to nothing by now!there's no telling when she disappeared!"Amy panicked."It's going to be OK!we will probably go downstairs and she'll be on the couch with her stuffed cat!"I assured her.I opened the safe and each gun was gone."Oh!!"Amy shrieked.Then I froze,"The car that we heard pull up!"I said."What about it?That won't help us find Kendra!"Amy shouted."What if the people in the vehicle took Kendra?"I asked.Amy thought about it then said,"They could be out of the state by now!what if they k-"she stopped at the thought and sat down on her parent's bed.The pulled up her knee's,stuck her head between her knee's,fell over,and shook sobbing onto the bed.I pulled her up and pulled her downstairs...Kendra wasn't there."We should just call the police and have them call my mom and dad."Amy said picking up the phone."NO!!!!!!!!!"I shrieked."Let's just put the phone down and everything will be OK!"I said.At that time a car pulled up and the door bust open.Two men ran in,one with a gun and one holding a sleeping Kendra clutching her stuffed cat named Sweetie."Kendra!"Amy yelled stepping forward.The guy holding Kendra pulled out a knife putting it to Kendra's throat."Anybody moves the kid gets it!Now go get in the car!"the man with the gun said.He made a note to leave for Kendra's parents saying: We've got your kid's and the other one too!We will send video's every day for a week and ask for a ransom in the last video!DO NOT call the police or the kids DIE! He put Kendra in first then shut the door the guy with the gun with her."I'm going to check you girls for cellphones,knifes,guns,bullets,and money!"the first guy said.He checked Amy first taking her cellphone and money before stuffing her in the van."If you try running I get in the car and drive away with your friend and her little sister...then I kill them!"he said.Then he checked me and took my phone and money.I got in the van and sat Kendra up.Amy buckled her in and then we buckled ourselves up."How much did ya get from the munchkins Henry?"the second guy asked."I got two cellphones and about twelve dollars and eighty cents."Henry said."That will help us in the long run."the second guy said."Maybe!if we're lucky and get our ransom Smokey!"Henry said.I took a piece of paper out of my pocket and a pen and scribbled down 'Smokey and Henry' so I could remember the names of our kidnappers.It was about 11:56 p.m before we reached an old moss cabin deep in the woods.They laid down on the floor to sleep.The next morning Amy and I sat up and looked around...Kendra wasn't where she had went to sleep last night and neither were Smokey and Henry!We ran outside and saw Henry and Smokey with Kendra in Henry's arms crying."Let her down!Please don't hurt her put her down!!!she's scared!you're scaring her!!!please!!!!"Amy screamed."Amy!calm down she's probably just hungry!!besides she has Tubby!she's fine."I said."I'm sorry Kayleena but your sister isn't in the arm's of a stranger!"Amy said.Henry put Kendra down and Kendra ran to Amy."Amy!!!Kendra hungey!!"Kendra said in that baby voice."Run to the grocery store!Bring back milk,chips,marshmallows,cheese,bread,peanuts,peanut butter,butter,coffee,jelly,juice,apples,fruitcups,carrots,and a microwave!here's three hundred bucks for you to spend on it all!"Henry told me and Amy.'This is our chance to escape!'I thought.I got in the drivers seat as Amy buckled Kendra into the back.As Amy climbed in the passengers seat and closed the door I locked the doors."We need to pickup a car seat before we come back."Amy said."We're not coming back."I said."What do you mean?"Amy asked."We're going to escape!I've drove before but we need to stop and get gas."I said.I put the van into reverse and pulled down the gravel road and onto the main road."First stop gas station."I said.I pulled up to the gas pump and filled it up."OK next stop dollar store for bathroom and snacks."I said.I pulled across the street and ran inside while Amy stayed with Kendra.I grabbed some diapers,juice,crackers,chips,candy,and sodas for the long ride."Thank you!"I said running back to the car."Kendra want chocolate!"Kendra said.I slipped the paper off the chocolate bar and gave it to Kendra."Here's the bag."I said giving it to Amy.I pulled away from the convenient store...but the opposite way from the cabin."What all is in the glove box?"I asked Amy.Amy opened it and pulled out a gun."Oh my goodness!"she said.I said,"YES!!!!!Keep K-e-n-d-r-a from seeing that."I said."Why is this g-u-n being here good?"I asked."Cause they have no weapon or vehicle!We do!we're just missing our cell phones...but that's fine."I said.I continued driving till we were back to Rockport."Kendra!Wake up honey we're almost home."Amy said happily.I pulled into Amy's driveway."YES!!!!!"we all cheered.Everybody ran outside and we all celebrated our returning. Publication Date: September 10th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-jasperismine00

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-c-j-the-fugitive-files/

C. J. The Fugitive Files The following morning, while the team was continuing to seek out their fugitive, Sgt. Banks had a much dreaded appointment with members of the Internal Affairs Bureau. Jimmy entered the front glass doors of the MPD headquarters building, swiped his access badge to the elevator, and struck the key to floor five. Awaiting the ride up, he glanced into the metal interior of the rising box and adjusted his tie in the reflection. As Jimmy cursed to himself from just having to be there, he couldn’t help but feel eager to get it over with. Banks exited the elevator, crossed by a security desk where sat a half sleeping guard, and walked to the end of a long brown painted hallway to a set of chairs at the very end. As he sat down he smiled slightly to himself, looking back in the direction that he just traveled from he thought of how much the floor reminded him of an insane asylum. Banks placed his hands up to his temples and began to firmly rub his aching head away, recalling the day that brought him here. It had been hot all week with temperatures nearing the hundreds for nearly three days. Sgt. Banks, Han and Adams entered the tan brick apartment building and began climbing the steps to the third floor. An informant had given them information the night before about a burglary suspect that was residing in apartment 302. Banks reached the door first and began to knock. Adams and Han were a few doors down the hallway talking to a nearby neighbor. In the background, they could hear their Sergeant knock a few more times, and demand entry into the apartment. No answer. What seemed like just a few seconds later, they heard a loud boom in which they immediately recognized as a wooden door being kicked in. They both whipped around in concert. Banks was gone, the door was shattered, and a woman in the immediate distance was screaming. Adams rushed in, attempting to help his teammate gain control of the situation. As the detectives cleared through the small apartment to a back bedroom they saw that the burly sergeant had a woman on the floor, face down and in handcuffs. Not their guy, not even close, and the woman had no idea as to who they were looking for. Gerri Miller was a third year student at American University in D.C. She had lived in the apartment for over two years and had never heard of the man that the fugitive unit was seeking out. The woman seemed horrified and was shaking the entire time during her interview with the detectives. Before traveling to the nation’s capital, Gerri had spent her life in a small town just outside Eugene Oregon. Gerri had been interviewed and released with no further incident. After a few days back at school, she started talking to a law student in her study group who began getting Gerri excited about her civil liberties and how police in America get away with entirely too many rights violations. Next thing you know, Ms. Miller is at Police Headquarters filing a complaint. The three page document filed that day gave a range of violations to include breaking and entering, and assault. The veteran sergeant would have to explain and answer for his actions. “They will see you now, Sergeant.” James Banks rose to his feet with all the pride his father had passed on to him, pulled his sport jacket down from the back and entered the large conference room. Five men with straight faces all watched intently while Banks entered. Each had on a sharply crisp class A uniform, service ribbons on one side, shining silver shield on the other. Of the five, three were actively writing notes on tablets as Jimmy came to a rest in front of the long board room table. Sergeant Banks was conducting his own internal dialogue. He openly despised people like this. Guys who have not worked the field in years, and even when they did, most didn’t do the kind of work he and his team did. The men who stood to judge him were not hunters, at least not of the kind of animals he made a career chasing down. Despite that, Jimmy was a man of great pride, and would not complain about anything he was about to receive. Sam was running down the dimly lit hallway to get to the team office at the end of it. The walls had always reminded her of an insane asylum. The walls were formed from pale yellow brick that may, or may not have once been white and small cracks lining each side. There was a door here and there, and a hanging exit sign that spouted sparks every so often. At the end of the hall way was a pale blue door with a wanted poster of Osama Bin Laden scotch taped to the front. Just to the left of the door was a small piece of paper taped to the wall that read MPD Warrant Squad. Sam shot through the door holding a thick manila folder in her hand. Her breathing was somewhat labored as she raised her voice for the entire room to hear. “Need some bodies to help me out a sec. just got a tip on an old case.” From the tops of the office cubicles, voices started to respond. “I’m there, one minute.” Adams. “Meet me in the parking lot.” Han Han jumped into the passenger seat of Sam’s car with Adams pulling close behind them. They pulled off in hast, heading toward their target. “Sergeant James Banks, you are in attendance of this hearing to receive final disposition for complaint number C06-264470.” Another panel member spoke. “Sergeant Banks, complaint C06-264470 contains the following: making forcible entry into residence without just cause and absent any exigent circumstances, also excessive force, misuse of force, and lastly, threatening, harassing and/ or obscene language.” He couldn’t help but smirk to himself just a little. “Subject is David Toney, black male, about 225lbs, between 5’8” and 5’9, warrant for felony probation violation for weapons offense”. Sam “Copy, I just called dispatcher, she’s holding us out, and sending a patrol unit to cover the rear.” Adams. A few minutes later they arrived at 1720 Lang Place in North East Washington. From down the street they could see the row home with red brick front and a small concrete porch extending from the front door. They observed items scattered along the porch area, giving the appearance the house was occupied by nomads. A patrol unit turned onto the one-way street and slowly rolled in their direction. The officer stopped next to their passenger window and rolled his window down as Han did the same. From the drivers seat of the red, white, and blue cruiser, an gray haired veteran with a wide smile greeted the man hunters. “How we doing ladies?” “Fuck off Frank, How long you been on now, 60 years!” “Got rent to pay you fuckin fish head.” Han and the patrolman exchanged some laughs at each other, before Tully finally asked for help to cover the rear door of the house. The squad car began to pull toward the back alley while Frank shouted a few more parting insults at Han. The patrol car came to a silent rolling stop in the rear alley of the brick row home. Frank then radioed to the team out front that he was in place. Sam took the lead with Adams and Han stacked tightly behind her. As they began their approach they noticed a dim light illuminating a back room. Adams halted the team and brought their attention to a figure he saw through a small front room window. “Sam, is this your guy?” “Oh yeah, that’s him.” Through the window Sam could see guy matching the picture she was carrying attached to a felony arrest warrant. The male inside appeared to be sleeping under the dim glow of a floor lamp. The team moved forward of the window, stepping in sync as one cohesive unit. They arrived silently at the door, Sam checked the doorknob, and as luck had it, unlocked. “To James Banks, Sergeant, Metropolitan Police Department, Washington, D.C. this council finds the following: In the matter of illegal entry into a residence, excessive and misuse of force, the council finds no grounds to sustain. In the matter of using obscene or harassing language, the council sustains that complaint. Sergeant, would you like to proceed with discipline?” “Yeah, go ahead.” “This council will issue a three day suspension, as well a written reprimand in your personnel file.” “Sergeant Banks you have a union right to file an appeal on the findings as well as the discipline of this council. It is, however, important for you to know that you received a rather light suspension mainly in part to the outstanding production that you and your unit has achieved, as well as the fact that the assistant chief appreciates your dedication to service.” “Understood.” Banks nodded, and then turned toward the exit. As he made his way out, he yanked viciously at his neck tie making every attempt to relieve himself from its grasp. Jimmy almost broke into a jog while traveling down the final hallway toward the back door. Banks cared very little about what had just happened. He was glad the ordeal was over and that his urgency was due entirely to his will to rejoin his team. The three warrant officers entered with quickness and precision, clearing hallways and rooms in route to where they had seen their target. As they entered into the final short hall, their target was slowly coming into view and Adams began to make their presence known. “Police, Police show me your hands!” “Arrest warrant Mr. Toney, put your hands up!” Tully The mans head shot up off the pillow, eyes wide under shoulder length dreadlocks, the covers flew to the side and the large man wearing nothing but skivvies lunged for a half open window. “Stop police, Stop right there!” Sam dove toward the fleeing felon, and came up with nothing but air. Adams reached out and grabbed the man by his left arm, while Han hurdled over Tully and tackled the subject by his waist. The large, dark skin man struck down on the back of Han’s neck beginning to yell at the top of his voice. “Ain’t goin back to jail you fuckers!” “Quit fighting and get on the fucking ground asshole!” Adams Sam sprung to her feet just as Adams wheeled the man around by the arm where he came face to face with Sam Tully’s department issued firearm. “Shit bitch what the fuck.” “Keep fighting fuck face, I’ll make sure you get a closed casket funeral.” Adams yanked the mans arms tightly behind his back, the distinct sound of handcuffs clicking sending an uncontested message that David Toney was in fact going back to jail. Sergeant Banks jumped into his car and proceeded to throw his tie into the passenger seat. He reached down to turn on his police radio just in time to hear Sam Tully talking to the emergency dispatcher. “Tengo unit to dispatcher, in reference to Lang Place we have one in custody, thank the unit out back for his assistance.” Publication Date: September 18th 2009 https://www.bookrix.com/-volsfan3534

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-brian-hesse-the-m1-theory/

Brian Hesse The M1 Theory The M1 Theory   The M1Theory   Pennsylvania State University was not the first choice of colleges for Thomas Lorey. If anyone dared approach the sullen faced figure, sitting under the two-hundred-fifty-year-old Eastern Hemlock, the tallest tree on campus, he would gladly proclaim that a University was never built that could house his towering intellect. With head buried in books of chemistry, biology, psychiatry, and the occasional Science Weekly, he would explain that his IQ was off the charts and, school was just an unpleasant formality. A more sensitive and caring soul may even attempt to reach out to the average looking bespectacled young man, and make brave attempts at breaking through such an obvious tough exterior. The hopeless romantic may even venture so far as to sit next to the frail young man with his mere five-foot six-inch frame, and employ the use of those customary tools such as levity, shared experiences, and simple small talk, like a construction worker using a sledgehammer to break through the hardened cement of his stoic exterior. The more artistic soul may even reach out and touch the pale hairless skin on the young man’s soft feminine arm and, consider his cold grey eyes, pretending that a genuine spark of compassion existed just beneath the surface, but only if you look hard and long. But none of these fine sensitive types would ever achieve the desired result of making contact with a like-minded being, made of the same warm flesh and similar hopes and dreams of the average person. That Thomas Lorey, the loving Thomas, died after the final beating given by his alcoholic Father. The Thomas Lorey, known to be kind to animals and take refuge in the beauty of a flower, or the serene sound of a gently flowing stream, died in the fatal car crash that sent his Mother to the void. The Thomas Lorey, who could have been sitting with the other students, under the smaller Elms, holding hands with a girl and talking of that wonderful future just within grasp, just outside the cold confining walls of the University was gone. This Thomas Lorey, the real young man, lived inside the dark and suffocating, yet safe, confines of his own mind. What the disappointed good Samaritan would not know, to their benefit, was the nature of the thoughts that compelled the young Thomas to obsessively read, tirelessly research, and rarely take his eyes from the pile of papers, resting heavily on his lap. He takes comfort in the knowledge that his Doctoral dissertation, although unfinished, was sure to receive the Nobel Prize in the rapidly growing field of neuropsychology. He quietly contemplated the conversation he would have with his professor, Professor Richardson, upon submission of his paper. “Thomas, this is a brilliant piece of work. A true piece of art, is what it actually is my young brilliant protégé.” “Thank You professor. By mapping the specific electrical synapse responsible for varying levels of aggression and passivity, we have the potential to totally eliminate aggression within society.” “I see. So, you have basically discovered one single cell, with several synapse channels controlling aggression, but only one single electrical channel that controls all the others.” “Basically, you are correct Professor, but not entirely. Think of it like this, in simpler terms that you, or your other students can understand. Think of our aggression cell, I call Alpha X, as a house with four rooms, and each room is heated by a different type of fuel. One room, the excitatory synapse channel consists of solar heat. This heat is very efficient, clean, and simple in design, relying on the power of nature. The next room, the inhibitory synapse channel, is heated by coal, very efficient, but leaving negative residue behind that could interfere with the efficiency of the system, if not working properly. Finally, we have the other rooms, the non-channel systems and the neuromuscular junctions. Like heating with oil and gas, respectively, they do their job, but very sensitive to imbalance. Now we come to our electrical synapse channel I call, the M1 (mainframe 1). This is the most efficient system. The membranes of adjoining cells touch, allowing shared proteins and chemicals to pass freely into the other. However, this system is barely in use, as I have so brilliantly discovered. The other four less efficient systems continue their work as inefficiently as ever, as M1, patiently sits in wait. I do not know why humans have developed in this way and, I really don’t care. What I know is that, only when the other four systems have died, which is rarely ever, M1 takes over all operations of aggressive and passive, responses. A completely efficient system, if it works alone, unhindered by the other synapse channels. “So, this is where your proposed practical applications come into play.” “Imagine professor, if you can that is, how wonderful it will be to turn off all other systems, and then control the M1 pathway. The possibilities, both civilian and military, are endless.” Not one to sail too deeply into the waters of fantasy, Thomas forced himself back to the lonely shores of reality to finish his final sentence of his dissertation. With the steady hand characteristic of those who enjoy the gift of supreme confidence, he wrote…Although once believed that electrical synapses only to be found in the eye and heart, the discovery of the M1 pathway itself, discards decades of now archaic scientific principles. Thomas skimmed over his dissertation and walked hastily past the small groups of his peers, lounging lazily in the freshly cut grass of the University lawn, toward what he believed, his destiny of notoriety and fame. Just Routine   “It’s time for you to go stud,” stated Detective Sandra Becks, lead homicide investigator of the Pennsylvania State Police.   The middle-aged cheating husband next to her groaned lowly, pulling her black satin sheet over his head and face as if, as she thought, in a gesture of shame for another empty sexual encounter, with another equally empty girl.  Five years of living single after a bitter divorce and an around the clock career, allowed her the luxury of feeling guilt free after such encounters. She could look herself in the mirror knowing that she never slept with any man under false pretenses. An hour in the bar, a quick scanning of the herd for the right one, and the final agreement that this was for one night, with no strings attached. This was the routine for just a few times each year because her job as a homicide detective jealously monitored her time of leisure. She considered, with just a hint of depression, how many times she was on the verge of falling in love, just as her cell would scream out into the darkness that it was time to put girly dreams away and time to assume the role of speaker for those who could no longer speak…the dead. Looking at the nameless lump of flesh lying aside her, she realized that he could possibly be the next great romance in her life. This thought, once again, vanished as quickly as it appeared, like a rabbit in a magician’s hat, as she thought about the call of just a few moments ago that ripped her from the warm land of dreams into the cold depths of reality.  “Yea, this better be good.” she answered the phone, with one long smooth leg still firmly planted in the hazy world of sleep.   “Sorry detective,” stated Detective Ralph Klinger, her less than observant partner, “but we have another body here.”   She hung up the phone and began her contemplation of her nonexistent love life, and mediocre sex life.   “Hey buddy, get your ass up, I have work to do.” She pushed no name as hard as she could causing the sleeping man to fall to the floor with a loud thump that made her feel both pity, and amusement.    “Can I at least have your number? He asked, as he hopped on one leg across the room trying to pull on his jeans.   “Sorry sweetie, you know the agreement. You were good, but good always fades in time leaving us nothing but unwanted obligation. Let’s just end things now while it was still good, and carry these memories untarnished until the day we die.”  He looked at her with an expression of shock. It was apparent to her, that he must have a very conventional wife, probably a bit dependent, she surmised. He looked at her in surprise that quickly transformed into a wide smile of understanding.  “Yea, I completely agree.”  Now it was her turn to be shocked. In the past, whenever she laid down the heavy cement of her modern independent woman philosophy, the man’s mind would seem to flatten under the weight, unable to comprehend the idea of sex without even the possibility of obligation. This time she was wrong, and it caused her to feel just a tinge of resentment, or as she considered with horror, pain of rejection. So, she did the only thing she thought would repair the damage to her ego. She gave Mr. No Name her phone numbe, and smiled as she watched him stagger sleepily out the front door. Just Another Body    Sandra rubbed her bloodshot eyes and yawned deeply as she parked her 1998 Chevy Cavalier just inches from the yellow police tape, marking the scene of what she sleepily thought, just another routine dead body. On her way to the scene, through blaring music used to mask the rumble of her nineteen-year-old tired four-cylinder engine, she already solved the crime. As Tom Petty detailed his “Last Dance with Mary Jane” through the original crackling speakers of her two-door rust bucket, she sadly called her office on wheels, she considered the details she received on the phone, just before expelling her latest male conquest out her front door. The information was, as usual, brief and straight to the point. The body of a young Caucasian female, early twenties, was found outside the Happy Go Lucky Motel off Fifth Street and Wilkens Boulevard. She already responded to this very spot on three separated occasions over the last two months. Each victim was killed by being forced to drink drain cleaner.  “Well good morning Detective Becks, looking cheerful as usual,” stated Detective Ralph Klinger, as he greeted her just beyond the yellow tape. He lifted the tape up for her knowing that such an act would only cause provocation in her vulnerable tired state of mind. Detective Becks was known in the male dominated atmosphere of the Homicide Division as both an ardent feminist and, brilliantly reconstructionist, bordering on clairvoyant. Both the former and latter descriptions of her personality is always enough to cause jealousy and fear in a room awash with surging male testosterone.  “Hi asshole,” she replied, as she walked to the side of the arched tape and bent low to clear the flimsy barrier.  “Oh, how I love our little nicknames. It only strengthens those all-important workplace bonds,” he replied, snorting as he laughed loudly just a few inches from her ear. She winced each time he snorted. Although he was thin, tall, and as she secretly thought, handsome, each time he laughed she thought of a dirty pig. To her, even his features took on the form of some half pig and half man lowly creature, incapable of thinking above the waist.  “Just tell me what we have,” no wait, she interrupted, holding her right index finger just inches from his face, “let me tell you what we have here.”  She took just a moment to revel in the shocked expression on his pompous face. He was not accustomed to interruptions from a woman. She pegged him from day one as a bully, with a long history of getting what he wanted through intimidation. He was, as she surmised, one of these guys never happy unless barking, at minimum, three commands each day to a scared insecure wife, brainwashed by a childhood of playing with Barbie dolls and plastic oven sets.  She continued, “we have a scantily clad young woman, with blue lips and chemical burns around the mouth. If you were to look inside you would see blistering and a partially dissolved tongue. If you were to stick a micro camera down her throat, you would see an esophagus torn to shreds by that dangerous yet, very effective, drain unclogger, Mr. Drain Clean.”  “So, you think we have a serial killer?”  She gave a light chuckle and looked at him with a purposeful expression of pity and replied, “no genius, we have a pimp killing his prostitutes. Sorry, not as exciting as a serial killer, but darn gruesome none the less. If you need any more obvious answers to dumb questions, I will be home in bed.”   “You’re not even going to look at the body?”  “Call me when you have a challenge for me,” she called through her open window, as her Chevy’s bald tires squealed away into the night. Rejection (The Final Straw)    “Now class, I know that many of you have literally dreamt of being the first scientist to map the entire human brain.” Professor Richardson gazed across the room at the sea of hopeful bright eyed young faces, as he perceived, faces glowing with the  hope of stranded shipwrecked passengers awaiting a heroic rescue from a turbulent sea. He always felt just a pang of guilt each semester as he prepared to dash their hopes of any rescue.   He continued, “I would forget such childish fantasy. What we know of the human brain I could fit inside the head of this eraser.” He briefly held up his yellow number two pencil for dramatic effect.   “Now before you bombard me with the temper tantrums of babies who just lost their pacifiers. Let me explain.”   “No sir, you should not have a chance to ramble on with your conventional witch doctery,” came a loud steady voice from the back of the lecture hall. Professor Richardson looked toward the echoing voice, ready to reprimand the brave stupid soul for such a haphazard interruption. But he thought better of doing this. Debate was important for growth, as he always stated. Time to live by my own words, he thought, with an expression of self-restraint that masked the turbulent ocean beneath the surface of his skin.  “Very well young man, tell us what’s on your mind.”  “It is true sir that we are still living in the dark ages when referring to knowledge of the human brain, but it is possible to completely map the brain, in just a few short years.”   “I don’t see how young man. I’m sorry what is your name?”   After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, the confident steady voice replied, “I am Thomas Lorey.”   “Very well Thomas, please continue.” “How is it possible to learn all there is to learn about the human brain?”  As Thomas began explaining his theory of the M1 neural pathway in reference to controlling aggression, Professor Richardson remembered the name Thomas Lorey. Over the past few weeks he suffered under the weight of the tedious task of grading early submission thesis papers. He thought about the drudgery of grading so many, usually dull and uninspiring, thoughts, haphazardly committed to paper by overzealous students. Most of the students submitting early thesis papers were, in his experience, very plain and ordinary scientist hopefuls with temporary delusions of grandeur. He did not look down upon such students. Every person who is passionate about their field of study has such delusions, he considered.  “So yes professor, I believe the M1 pathway is the birthplace of all future knowledge in the field of neuropsychology.”  “Thomas, I believe you are forgetting one important detail in your theory. That detail involves the unethical practice of human experimentation.”  Thomas returned to his seat, feeling embarrassed and rejected. He was embarrassed because just one word, ethical, created a brick wall too high for even a genius like him to climb. He felt rejected because he finally realized that he could never conduct his research under such an oppressive system based solely on religious principles. He thought about the centuries of human history, the centuries of scientific progress overshadowed by a carefully crafted blanket of guilt. Guilt created by religions designed for the hopelessly uneducated and lost.  “That is all for today class. I want everyone to write a ten-page essay on ethics in the medical profession. I want it by Friday.”  “Thomas can I speak to you.”   Thomas walked slowly to the Professor Richardson’s podium as the rest of the class filed out to enjoy life and forget everything learned from the last hour lecture.    “Thomas, I graded your paper. I gave you a 3.0 which isn’t really that bad for an early thesis submission.    Professor Richardson felt a growing sense of unease as he considered Thomas’s eyes. He could see the rage bubbling just beneath the surface of the young man’s stone-faced countenance. I better smooth this over as gently as I can, he considered with uncharacteristic cowardice.  “Listen Thomas, I find your paper very professionally written, worthy of publication in a journal. I find your theory fascinating and supported by very reliable and valid sources.” He was not lying when he stated this. Thomas’s paper was one of the very few he could remember from a student, so professionally written, and filled with a refreshing mix of logic and creativity. Too much creativity, he considered, and not any mention of ethical considerations concerning experimentation.   “Professor, you are dull brained hypocrite. You have no business teaching bright minds anything.”    Thomas stormed out of the lecture hall of Professor Richardson, never to return.     Meeting with the Chief    Police Chief, Daniel Morris hated talking to Detective Becks, as much as he hated Monday mornings. In fact, he would be the first to say, that he would rather spend a night out to dinner with his ex-mother in law, rather than talk to Sandra, and he hated his ex-wife’s Mother. He went out of his way this morning just to stop off at the local Quick Mart just to stock up on two-day old coffee and ant acid tablets in preparation for this morning’s encounter. He sat at his coffee stained desk with his head lowered staring at the black tarry residue left in the bottom of his Quick Mart plastic cup. He felt his stomach acid churn like waves violently crashing into the side of a rocky cliff, as he closed his eyes and remembered their last conversation.  It was three years ago, and Sandra was a new detective to the division. She did not enjoy the distinction as the first female detective to work in the office. Three other women detectives stepped nervously into the office, only to be driven to the brink of insanity within six months by the coarse mannerisms of their fellow male detectives, but not Sandra. The day she walked into the sea of raging testosterone, everyone knew they were in for trouble. He remembered the day with the crystal-clear clarity of a shaved diamond necklace.  “Oh yea, fresh meat coming through,” replied detective Carlson, as Sandra walked by his desk on her first day on the job.  The Chief watched with a broad smile forming across his neatly shaved face. He kept his door closed purposely, so as not to be a witness to the vulgarities and harassment he knew would be thrown Sandra’s way. As he thought at the time, I’m still Chief and would be obligated to act if I witnessed poor behavior.   What he wasn’t expecting, was Sandra’s reaction to the comment. He watched through the sound proof glass of his office window, like watching a silent comedy film, as Sandra turned around, seductively walked to within just centimeters of the loud mouth’s face. She brought her full moist lips to his ear. Just as the bulge in his pants began to rise, to his embarrassment, she reached down and squeezed between his legs with just enough pressure to cause a painful cramping sensation to course through his legs. This gesture was followed by a loud smack to his face, that caused every other detective in the room to quickly resume their duties. #   “Have a seat Sandra, and that’s an order.”   Knowing that she was still subject to the para military rules of the Stare police environment, she held back her instinctive response of telling him to go to hell, and sat down without a word.   “I received word that you had yet another call for a dead body, but did not even process the scene. You know we have normal operating procedures here. You know I have to answer to the Commissioner, the Governor, and always, the damn press.”   Sandra again suppressed her natural urge to storm out of the office rather than talk to her, as she perceived, obtuse boss. She considered the fact that she was walking on thin ice as it was already. This was not the first time she rolled upon a murder scene, and rolled off just as quickly in her tired old Chevy.    “Chief, I apologize, but the case is very cut and dry. Some pimp is out there forcing his, less than obedient girls, to drink drain cleaner. He’s sending a message to the other ladies, that he will not tolerate skimming off the top.”   “How the hell do you know that?” His voice elevated in depth as he homed in on her curiously uncharacteristic docility this morning. He continued, “these three women are so different in background. Yes, Sally Wilks was a known drug addict off the streets, but the other two. They were both housewives from the upper West side. One married to a lawyer, and the other was married to a CEO of a nationwide security company. This looked like a serial killer to me.”   Sandra looked at him with her poker-faced expression. The one expression she always used to mask her annoyance with the stupidity of a superior who held her career in the palm of his hands.   “I just have a hunch. I can’t explain Chief, I just know this is not a serial killer situation.”   “Sandra, you are my best detective, but your unconventional bullshit needs to stop. This is your last warning. One more slip of protocol, and your ass is suspended pending an investigation. You got it?”   Sandra slowly rose from her chair and cleared her throat, as if expelling the words that lurked there just waiting for an opening to spring forth into the musky odor filled room of the Chiefs office.   “Ok, Chief. I will not let it happen again.”    He could do nothing but stare in shock as she calmly walked to the grease stained glass door to leave.   “Oh, by the way. We caught the bastard. He was a pimp, and his name was Robert Teller. It would appear that he had some dirt on the two socialite ladies. Instead of blackmailing for money, he forced them to work as prostitutes, better pay off in the end I guess.”  Without another word, Sandra walked out of the office smiling brightly as she made her way past the nervous men in the noisy dimly lit room. Setting up Shop    Thomas felt the muscles behind his eyes throb under the strain as he tightly squeezed them shut. His hands turned a ghostly pale white as he squeezed the corner of the stainless-steel cadaver table he bought on Samslist, a site where one could find any second-hand product, regardless the level of its oddity. He could feel the growing tide of rage swell deep within, just as it always does, listening to his Father destroy furniture in an alcohol fueled rage. Sitting in the make shift operating room of his basement, he could not resist the awakening of memories of the past once thought dead and buried deep inside the confines of his subconscious mind. Like the hand of a rotting corpse, pushing through the cold dirt of a forgotten grave, memories of his childhood wormed their way to the light of his conscious mind. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter and felt nothing as the sharp corner of the steel gurney bit into his smooth hands, causing a trickle of blood to smear the gleaming surface of the table. He remembered countless days of a Father belittling his son. Endless nights of a husband beating his wife. A Christmas came to mind. A Christmas Eve when the comfort of a warm dimly lit room filled with presents and the smell of freshly baked cookies, was shattered by a man with nothing but hatred in his heart, and alcohol on his breath. That night, when he was just six years old, his Father decided on a grand finale to his drunken performance. Thomas Lorey Senior, beat his wife into unconsciousness, just before throwing the Christmas tree into the back yard. Thomas slowly opened his eyes and viewed the stolen instruments surrounding the operating table, now smeared with long streaks of drying blood. He felt his despair stifled and replaced with the energizing surge of hope, the more efficient cousin of happiness. His hope sprouted from the seed of superiority. I am smarter than all the others, he thought. I am going to change the world, and all other things in life are mere trivialities. Thomas decided that his Father would be his first test subject, because he had a desire to cure the man who brought him into this dark lonely world. For there is no stronger love than the love that springs from hatred, because when we lose the object of our hatred, we suffer the most terrible feelings of loss.  Thomas breathed a deep sigh of relief as he listened to the eerie silence from above. He had no doubts, based on many years of experience with his Father’s binges, that he spent all his energy and passed out on the living room floor. He set to work preparing the drug cocktail that, he was confident, would produce the desired effects. His test subjects must be made unaware of the surgical implantation of his electrical transmitter device. Despite his towering arrogance that reached heights barely achieved by any human throughout history, Thomas knew his limitations. He was not a pharmacologist, a practiced surgeon, or even an electrician, for that matter, so his progress would be gauged by trial and error.  Thomas mixed, what he hoped, was the necessary mixture of Diazepam and Propranolol, based on his Father’s weight. He paused several times during the process of crushing the tablets, replaying in his mind his lessons from a hazy neuropharmacology lecture he attended several months ago. He closed his eyes during each of the brief pauses, attempting to focus his mind’s vision on the blurred projection screen chart, the chart that detailed the precise ratio of various medications according to a person’s body weight.  “Oh, how I wish I would have sat closer to the front, he laughed quietly, to mask his inner nervousness at this stage of his preparations. Too little of a dosage will cause drowsiness, but without the desired effect of drug induced amnesia. Too much of the drug combination will cause death or coma and, certain detection by the authorities. After several hours of uncertainty, and preparing several different batches, he settled on two milligrams of Diazepam, twelve milligrams of Triazolam, and four milligrams of Propranolol. Each drug, taken by his Mother when she was alive, and suffering with husband induced depression, anxiety, and symptoms of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, were heavy sedatives, with the desired side effect of short term memory loss. In combination, and in the right amounts, Thomas believed that the test subject would have no recollection of events immediately prior to the surgery. Thomas considered the drug cocktails interactions within the subject’s brain. Based on his research, he decided on the Triazolam, for its chloride releasing properties upon the pain centers of the brain. This, he knew, would aid in providing negligible post-surgery pain and discomfort. The laparoscopic hole caused by the thin drill bit would barely be noticeable, and the drugs pain masking effects would help keep the small incision concealed. The Propranolol assisted his Mother with memory suppression. He recalled, with heavy sadness, his Mother popping the drug like candy M and M’s, after a particularly bad night with Father. He remembered seeing her facial expression change, within minutes, from a frightened abused animal, to a smiling Mary Poppins, happily unaware of the bruises that covered her once smooth unblemished skin. The Diazepam, he considered, is a powerful sedative when, given in the proper proportions, will induce the same operative effects of anesthesia.  With ambitious thoughts of future glory and prestige, he poured the finely powdered white and yellow mixture into a saline filled IV bag, and watched as the mixture slowly dissolved. Each particle of the powder dissolved, to him, was another painful memory lost to the irrelevance of time past. After an hour of joyfully watching his troubled past melt away in a saline sea, he produced a twenty-milliliter hypodermic syringe, punctured the bag, and carefully pulled back the orange plunger until seventeen milliliters of the clear liquid rushed through the plastic tube. An Inconvenient Romance    “Hello, this is Sandra.” she exclaimed, as she nervously answered her cell. She felt nervous because she did not recognize the number displayed menacingly across the screen. Sandra normally ignored such phantom numbers. After several incidents of half hazard answering of her phone without looking at the caller ID, she realized that such bravery usually ended up badly, with a collection agency hounding her for past due credit card payments, and her ending the conversation with a big Fuck You.  As if reading her mind, a deep masculine voice stated over the other end, “I’m glad you didn’t ignore the unknown number.”  Sandra felt a brief wave of conflicting emotion race through her head. On one hand, she felt annoyed at any man having the audacity to call her in the middle of the afternoon, particularly on one of her rare days off the clock. On the other hand, the one squeezing the phone tightly, she felt, what she could only embarrassingly describe as adolescent expectation.  Not now, not now, not now, she thought, but only with a hint at real frustration. A part of her, deeply buried for many years, longed to continue the conversation.   “Who is this?” she replied, knowing well who this was.  “My name is Eric. We were with each other the other night. You know, the night you kicked me off the bed,” he stated with a playful laugh that signaled more enjoyment with the encounter than anger. “Ok, so I guess I really did give you my number.” She continued with her most theatric interpretation of sarcasm she could muster, “So, I guess your wife is out of town, and you want to come back for some more.”  There was a brief pause after her sarcastic comment. She quickly began to become concerned as the silence continued. She began to hope, deep down, that her sarcastic sense of humor did not scare him away, as it has done so many times in the past.   “Actually, I’m not married. I never was married. I just thought we had much in common, and I think you are one of the most interesting women I have ever met.”  Sandra was no stranger to fake flattery. The kind of flattery guys always use just to lure a woman to bed. But this compliment seemed sincere, and something happened that hasn’t happened in a long time for Sandra. She felt the need to see Eric just one more time.   Or maybe a few more times, she considered.  “Ok, Eric the single guy. Let’s meet for dinner this Friday evening. Be here at my place by seven. Oh, and bring wine, or your cute little ass doesn’t even get in the door.”   She pushed the red button on her phone, laid back on her satin sheets, and wondered why the hell she just did what she did. Basement Surgery    The once dank and dusty basement of the Lorey residence received a complete transformation since his leaving the University just three months past. Since his less than ideal review of his M1 theory dissertation by Professor Richardson, Thomas busied himself with cleaning his Father’s cellar. At one time, many years ago, when his Mother was still alive, his Father used the space first as a woodshop, later as another quiet place to indulge in his relentless thirst for alcohol. He started first with selling the various drills, saws, chisels, and some of the actual art work that would sell. He marveled at the smooth cherry stained rocking horses, chairs, and end tables his Father produced, during the sober years, the good years. With a touch of sadness, he cleared the basement of the last remaining artifacts of more pleasant days. The days filled with family picnics on the banks of the Susquehanna, and bike rides along the winding paths of Wilkerson Park were gone. Those days were overshadowed by the black tarry sea of addiction. Thomas spent those months since the University, scrubbing the moss-covered walls and varnish stained cement floor with gallons of bleach to ensure as close to a hospital setting as possible. As a further precaution, he firmly pasted plastic on all four walls and the floor, to prevent any dust from entering the small incision through the skull, causing infection and, as he realized, an unwanted variable from being injected into the experiment. His final task, the riskiest of all, was to steal the necessary equipment needed for the procedure. Returning to the Neuroscience lab, just twice each week for one month, he managed to transport the more delicate equipment within the deep inside pocket of his crimson ski jacket. Luckily, he considered, his requirements were surprisingly few for such a complicated procedure. Fiber optic cables with attached miniature camera, endoscopes to provide the image of the prefrontal cortex, and a specialized stainless-steel drill for the one-half inch hole drilled into the proper location of the M1 pathway. He already secured outside assistance from an acquaintance from the University. With the proceeds he generated from the sale of his Fathers ancient wood working equipment, he paid a brilliant young engineering student, Ronald Dorfman, to produce the necessary transmitter.   “What do you need that for?” asked Ronald.   “I’m just working on a project. Look, here is a thousand dollars for now, maybe more if I need your assistance later.”   “Ok, one miniature four hundred thirty-three Megahertz transmitter coming right up.”    Ronald never asked any more questions after receiving ten one hundred-dollar bills. As a student trying to live off student loans and, the occasional meager stipend from his parents, he had no problems keeping his questions to a bare minimum. #   “Ok, here we go!” exclaimed Thomas to the brightly lit plastic covered walls.    Thomas ran his fingers through his Fathers greasy black hair, just a few centimeters from the midline of the skull, marked by the scalp. He slowly ran his fingers approximately one inch toward the front of the heavy breathing man, lying on the stainless-steel morgue table. Satisfied that he was directly above the Broadman area 46 of the prefrontal cortex, he made another slight adjustment with his finger, approximately one eight of an inch to his left. This was the spot, as he believed, to be the exact location of the dormant M1 pathway, soon to be responsible for the complete regulation of human aggression. His M1 pathway, as he detailed in his thesis, lies between the dorsal prefrontal cortex and the ventral prefrontal cortex. One controlling cognition, and the other controlling emotion, respectively.  Thomas raised the Dewalt twenty Volt stainless steel drill and with steady hands, placed the half inch disinfected drill bit to the precise location of his mark. He calculated that he must not drill further than three point four millimeters deep. He pre-marked the drill bit with red marker for the proper depth after making his calculations. Thomas was aware that once past the skin, periosteum, skull, and subarachnoid space, he needed to carefully back off the drill bit, so as not too damage the soft grey matter of the prefrontal cortex. He felt a temporary wave of nausea bite through his stomach as he listened to the sound of the sharp bit grind against the skull with the miniaturized friction of a car engine’s piston working without the lubrication of oil. After hitting the red mark on the drill bit, he flipped a small switch on the left side of the drill with his thumb, reversing the action of the drill, and carefully backed out. He turned off the drill and wiped growing beads of warm sweat forming on the edges of his brows, before inserting the fiber optic cable into the hole.  Thomas watched the monitor with the wonder of a deep-sea diver exploring an unmapped section of the Oceans darkest trenches. With careful precision, he inserted the cable between the dark fissures of the prefrontal lobe. After several attempts, he noticed a distinct bell-shaped piece of grey matter just a few centimeters beneath the grey and red surface of the brain. He theorized that this area was the location of the neural M1 pathway. Gently pushing the thin cable to the left, he taped the cable in place on the surface of the skull. Thomas, grabbed the laparoscopic cable, with the receiver attached to the end. He breathed a sigh of relief noticing that there was just enough room to insert the receiver tube next to the fiber optic cable, now stationary and projecting a clear colored image on the monitor. After placing the receiver, Thomas removed the tubing and the cable, and applied antiseptic to the small wound. He placed a small drop of liquid skin to the outside of the hole, like a mason cementing a hole in a brick wall. Thomas looked at peaceful sleeping form of his Father and stated, “Well Dad, I hope I cured you and brought you peace. Mother would have wanted this for you.” All Work and No Play   Michael’s Restaurant is always crowded on a Friday evening. Sitting directly in the middle of the University city, one of the five major financial centers of the nation, Michael Sarducci struck a gold mine opening an Italian restaurant in such a location. Sandra would normally never frequent such a busy establishment, preferring to avoid crowds. She was never comfortable with people, as she would be the first to tell anyone brave enough to get that close. She communicated much more comfortably with the dead, than the living.  “The dead are much easier to understand,” she stated to Eric, sitting directly across from the small round tasteful decorated table.  She watched for the normal reaction in Eric’s eyes, just before bolting for the nearest exit. Glairing into Eric’s eyes as if looking into a review mirror, her mind strayed to the past, on a night very similar to this one. She started that date, just like this, by talking about her job, the only thing that filled her time. She remembered, with a touch of amusement, how that date sat patiently listening to her go on about talking to the dead. She could see him begin nervously fidgeting in his seat, until at last looking at his texts,and putting on the worst fake expression of surprise she ever witnessed in her life. Before she knew it, he was racing to his car, no doubt relieved that he got out with his life, she thought, giving off a low chuckle.  “What was so funny,” Eric asked, looking surprised at the strange interruption.   Sandra shook her head, as if jarring her brain back to reality and asked, “Excuse me, what laugh?”  “You were saying how you were more comfortable with dead people, compared to dealing with the living. Then you just stared at me, and gave off a little laugh.”  Sarah felt just a tinge of embarrassment threaten to turn her face a slight shade of red. She did not even notice her wanderings anymore. Her entire life, she could remember being told about her spontaneous daydreaming.   Oh, I’m sorry. I guess my mind sometimes wanders away from me. Listen if you’re not comfortable, let’s just call it a night. We could skip the pretense of the respectable dinner, and just go back to my place.”   Eric smiled and stated, “I am fascinated by what you do. In addition, I want to go through the pretense of this respectable dinner. You look beautiful, and I want this night to last as long as possible before I take that dress off. Think of it like a few hours of foreplay before we go back to my place.”  Sandra’s worst fear was confirmed at this very moment. She feared that one day her luck would run out. One day she would meet someone with an actual name. She feared that one day she would meet someone that made her forget about the dead, and gave her the hope that she could function normally among the living. She feared that one day someone would break through her defensive mechanisms that protected her from a world, she knew how to navigate but, could never fully understand. That someone, she now realized, was Eric. You Can’t Make an Omelet   Thomas waited anxiously for his Father’s return from the corner watering hole, Joe’s Tavern. His Father was no stranger to Joe’s. Thomas sat at his coffee stained kitchen table, waiting for his Father to stagger in the door. As any prey in nature relentlessly stalked by a predator, he learned through the painful slow birth of adaptation, how to avoid his Father’s violence. Knowing his Father never dared to navigate stairs when under the influence of another alcoholic binge, Thomas spent most of his childhood weekends and, adult life, within the dusty confines of the basement. But tonight was different. Swallowing his fear, as every scientific pioneer must master, Thomas prepared himself to introduce the necessary variable to conduct his first experiment. His Father was not as easily provoked to violence in his older age. Like any individual familiar with living with mental illness knows, symptoms of the disease lessen in time. For the manic depressive, the deep dark abyss of despair grows shallow with each passing decade, as the dark canyon is slowly filled with the familiarity of misery. Like every unlucky person knows suffering from the ravages of bipolar mood swings, the healing power of time makes suffering more manageable, if not more tolerable. So, Thomas prepared himself to provoke that part of his Father’s disturbing nature buried, but not yet dead. He sat holding the six-inch square black box in his hand, running his thumb back and forth across the single green deadened button on the front panel. He considered, with a growing sense of unease, the consequences of this very button never turning on with its brilliant bright green color. The transmitter was of short wave length, so he must get as close as possible to send the weak electrical current into his Father’s frontal lobe. Any malfunction of the transmitter or, receiver implanted in the slick grey matter of his Father’s brain, could mean a death sentence for Thomas, the much weaker of the two. Without time for another nervous thought, Thomas heard the front door open with a bang, and his Father’s unequal footsteps approach the kitchen.   “What are you doing in here, you little shit. Shouldn’t you be hiding like your Mother in the Fucking basement?” His Father staggered to the refrigerator and grabbed a cold beer from the empty space within. Food was never a priority in the house. As Thomas remembered hearing his Father exclaim, on more than one occasion, “I can’t hold my beer in here, with all that food in my way!”    Thomas remained silent, waiting for the right moment to present itself. Prior to his Father’s noisy arrival, he did his best to remove as many sharp instruments from the kitchen, without his Father becoming suspicious. As a genius, Thomas knew well that he inherited most of his intelligence through both maternal and, to his wonderment, paternal genes. His Father was observant, and surely able to notice when something is out of place with his usual surroundings.      His Father drunkenly plopped himself down on the chair directly across from Thomas. He looked at the transmitter in his hand and watched hopefully as the green button began to blink off and on, indicating that the signal was growing in strength as the distance between the two shortened.    Still staring at his son, he exclaimed with a sly smile across his whiskered face, “Well you little shit!”    “I’m just waiting for you Dad.”    “Oh, really. Whatever for you little coward.”    “Just to tell you, that you are a drunken piece of shit, and I know something kept hidden from you for years…you old useless rag.”    Thomas watched with beads of sweat slowly breaking through the pours above his brow, as his Father’s eyes widened with rage. His hopes were dashed just as quickly as he watched his Father’s bloodshot eyes return to their normal half shut drunken position.    “Your trying to provoke me boy. Well it aint working. I’m much too tired of beating your little ass into a pulp. Besides, it’s no fun anymore since your Mother can’t watch me do it.”    “Well, I just wanted to let you know that Mom was able stay for a reason. She had two good things in her life that kept her steady after those terrible nights having to share a bed with a stinking drunk like you. She had me to care for, and she had our old neighbor, Mr. Taylor’s, fully functioning dick to keep her satisfied while you were at the tavern thinking you were in such control.”    Thomas quickly dived to his right, avoiding the empty beer bottle that came sailing directly toward his head. Before he could turn over on his back and spring to his feet to create a safe distance, his Father was on his back, and pushing his full two hundred and fifty pounds on his own one-hundred-and-fifty-pound frame. Thomas felt pressure squeezing around his throat like a pair of vice grips clamped tightly around the head of a stubborn bolt. The atmosphere of the kitchen began to darken, and he could feel the pressure building behind his eyes, as if they would pop right out of their sockets, and go rolling across the dirt smeared linoleum floor. Just before giving in to the, what hopelessly seemed to him as, inevitable darkness, Thomas felt the sharp corner of the transmitter box stabbing into his sternum.   “Now I’m going to kill you, like I should have done years ago when your whore Mommy died!” he exclaimed, as he squeezed tighter around Thomas’s neck.   Thomas flattened his right palm and pushed with all the remaining strength he had until his hand touched the box. He snaked his finger across the surface, finding the green button.He pushed hard just before blacking out. The First Meeting    Sandra rolled back to her side of the bed with a deep sigh, knowing what the ringing of her cell phone meant at two thirty in the morning. She opened her eyes and looked at Eric snoring lightly into the darkness of her bedroom. She was not ready to go to another man’s apartment just yet. As a woman who loves the thrill of a good mystery, some prolonged guessing at what his apartment may look like was just a small, yet important, part of this game.   “Go ahead, where is the body.”  “Ninety-Four Cricket Circle,” came the squeaking voice over the other end of the phone. “All we know, is that a Thomas Lorey called stating that his Father was dead. The phone then went dead. We tried calling back but got no answer. Two units are in route.”   “I will give the boys some time to do their thing, and I will be there in about thirty minutes.”  Sandra leaned over to kiss Eric on the cheek before getting dressed to go to the Lorey residence, but pulled back just before making contact. She was intelligent enough to be aware of her growing feelings for this man, as she contemplated in the dark, she really knew nothing about. I don’t even know what the hell you do for a living, she considered with another growing wave of excitement.   “Little puzzles to unravel,” she whispered in the dark, as she placed her leather .45 holster around her strong but feminine smooth right shoulder. #    “Is the scene cleared?” asked Sandra, addressing a young patrol officer just outside the front door of Thomas’s home.  “Yes detective, the scene is clear.” The young man, no more than twenty-five, she guessed, looked absently at a pocket sized writing pad, and began, “Thomas Lorey reported that his Father, Thomas Lorey Senior came home drunk and tried to kill him. He said he passed out and when he woke up, his Father was lying in a pool of blood on the kitchen floor with a gunshot to the head.”  “Ok detective. I need you guys to leave the scene. Leave one patrol car here in case your needed. I will process the scene and talk to Mr. Lorey.” Without another word, Sandra entered the Lorey residence. Unlike most of her colleagues, to their annoyance, she relied more on instinct than facts. Since she could remember, she always had a sixth sense about when something is wrong. She thought to herself with amusement, psychics would probably call that extra sensory. Maybe something to do with sensitivity to people’s aura, or whatever. She didn’t much care what others called it. She referred to it as simply being in tune with her surroundings, from the physical, to the abstract. Regardless of the origins of this extra sense, she immediately felt that something was wrong with the atmosphere of the scene. She passed the living room on her way to the gore splattered kitchen, and briefly looked at the face of, who she surmised, was Thomas Lorey. She saw something in his eyes that reminded her of the plastic people of her youth. That’s what she used to call the department store mannequins in her neighborhood while growing up. She would gaze through the exhaust covered windows of the various jewelry and clothing shops that lined the busy Main Street Boulevard. She would gaze in wonder at the store mannequins with the very real eyes that would follow you in any direction you sauntered. That’s what she saw in Thomas as she passes by him, theatrically wrapped in a wool blanket, and sipping on hot tea made by one of the interviewing officers. She walked into the kitchen and began a grid search of the entire room careful not to walk in the splatters of drying blood that decorated the floors and walls. She made her way around the table and could see the brown colored broken glass scattered in a small area of the floor. Several small shards lined the bottom of the stainless-steel kitchen sink just above the main pile on the floor. She backed around to the other side to take a closer look at the elder Mr. Lorey. Without a prolonged inspection, she could see that the position of the gun on the floor, the penny sized hole of the nine-millimeter in the left side of his temple, the baseball sized exit wound of the right side of his face, and the blood spatter pattern on the far wall, all added to corroborate the story she received by the patrol officer.   “Hi Thomas, can I call you Thomas?” she asked, careful of her tone, so as not to close any emotional doors.   “Yes, you can call me Thomas.”   “And you can call me Sandra.” “Just tell me what happened. I think this would be a great place to start.”   “My Dad came home drunk, as is the usual for a Friday night. He started in on me, like he always does. Saying that I am a failure, and a disappointment.”   Sandra was not surprised by the unemotional tone in his voice. His emotional affect did not match the tears slowly streaming from the corner of just his left eye. This imbalance between emotional tone and saddened facial expression only served to support her original observation that, something was just not quite right.  “Why did he say you were a disappointment?”   “I dropped out of the University a few months ago.”   “Oh. What was your Major field of study?’   “Neuropsychology,” he replied with a tome of pride that, as she observed, certainly matched perfectly the look of pride spreading across his face.  “So, then what happened?”   “I told him he was a stinking drunk, and the cause of my Mother’s death.”   “He caused your Mother’s death?”   Thomas looked at Sandra as if he were talking to a mindless lab rat. “Not literally, detective. He was an abuser, and caused her to take multiple sedatives and such. She crashed her car one evening, straight into the concrete beam of the Washington Street Bridge.”  “I’m very sorry to hear that, Thomas” She surprised herself to utter these words, because she was truly beginning to feel sorry for this sad young man sitting opposite her in the dimly lit living room of a house with so many obvious skeletons in the closets.  Thomas began, “he attacked me. He was so much stronger than me. He got my back and applied a chock hold. Before I knew it, the world went dark. When I came to again, I found him dead on the kitchen floor.”   Sandra realized that she was pushing the proverbial envelope with her next question, but she could not leave without trying. When she was a patrol office, working the toughest section of town, she would often ask suspects if she could search their vehicles during routine traffic stops, when she suspected that something was amiss. She was always astonished at the number of experienced criminals dumb enough to give permission for the search.   “Thomas, you think I can look around your house. You know, maybe your Father left a suicide note.”   She watched as his expression changed from the sad, but prideful self-proclaimed genius, to an angry insulted child.   “You may not search my house. What are you trying to do? I am getting a lawyer if I have to.” Thomas was red in the face and huffing like a child that just threw a temper tantrum in a candy store for not getting what he wanted.   With her second suspicion confirmed-The one that told her that he has something to hide, she stated calmly, “thank you for cooperation,” and walked out the front door, leaving Thomas alone to consider what went wrong with the experiment. Another Talk with The Chief    Sandra still could not help feeling disoriented by the all too familiar sense of de ja vu, as she sat in the chief’s untidy office. She also felt what she could only describe as, vindication, as she noticed the mounting piles of headache the chief accumulated on his desk since her last reprimand.   Looks like our little Lumber Jack is keeping the old fart busy, she thought to herself as she suppressed a sly smile. The Lumber Jack is the nickname of the killer, known to have committed ten gruesome hatchet murders throughout the country sides of Pennsylvania. Each victim was found in pieces placed neatly in large and small piles among the old ruins of various abandoned farmhouses in the State.  Sandra was torn quickly away from her gloating fantasy by the seriousness in the chief’s voice. Previous reprimands, despite his obvious genuine frustration, were always laced with a hint of playfulness. If not playfulness, at least an understanding that she was never in any real danger of suspension. But this time was different. The chief meant business, and as she thought, I better listen up and play the game.  “Guess who called me? Go ahead detective, take a good guess.”   Without having to expend an ounce of mental energy, she stated, “Thomas Lorey.”   “Well give the great Detective Sandra a gold fucking star.”   Sandra knew for sure that she was in real hot water, and it was about to get hotter. She never heard the chief abandon the clean confines of professional respectability, and curse.   “Guess what Detective. He is threatening to get a lawyer. I think he just may have a case.”   “Chief, I only asked if I could search for a suicide note.”   The Chief interrupted her before she could say another word in her defense-A defense full of holes. Every detective who attended Civil Rights 101 knows that you never asked to search a person’s home during an apparent suicide investigation, and if you suspected something foul, you went through a process before proceeding with a search.  “You know full well what you were doing. More importantly, even a dip shit straight out of law school would know what you were trying to pull.”   Sandra opened her mouth to explain her hunches, when she was subdued into silence by the glare in her bosses’ eyes.   “You are becoming a liability detective. I am placing you on suspension for one month with pay. I figure this will cool your heels a bit, and my ass will be covered.”    Sandra threw her gold shield on the mound of files littering his desk. She released the full clip from her .45 semi-automatic and placed both on top of her shield. Without another word she started for the office door.    “Wait right there. Before you go, I want to say something off the record.”   Sandra did not give him the satisfaction of seeing a small grin of triumph spreading across her soft shapely lips. She remained with her face toward the door as he spoke.   “After you return, I am putting you on the Lumber Jack case. I believe in your hunches Sandra, but the Lorey case is closed. The verdict by our team is in, the Lorey case was a suicide. In fact, if the old man was alive, he would be charged with attempted homicide. Anyway, before you go on your little paid vacation, I want you to get familiar with the case. We brought an eleventh victim into the morgue last night. This body is a bit more intact than the others. Go to the morgue, and talk to your dead.”  Sandra calmly walked out of his office, and headed downtown to the city morgue to see a new friend, Tonya Miller of Lancaster Pennsylvania. The Lumber Jack Killer   Sandra prepared herself mentally before the steel elevator doors opened to the strange isolated world of the city morgue. She always hated coming here to witness the final, not so gentle, handling of one’s mortal remains. As the elevator door dinged open, signaling her arrival, she was met by the characteristic sounds of saw blades biting through bone, and the sound of the long steel drawers banging shut, sealing the dead for the final days before burial, or burning. She thought to herself, this really drives home the fact that we are nothing more than bags full of water and meat.  Sandra approached autopsy room number three, of five, and cautiously opened the door. She wanted to hear Dr. Emmanuel Zeigler speak into the small microphone hanging from the ceiling, directly above the form lying on the cold stainless-steel gurney. She watched as Dr. Zeigler, chief pathologist, removed the powder blue bloodstained sheet from, what was once, Tonya Miller. Tonya Miller, she thought, a young woman full of hopes, dreams, and ambitions. Tonya Miller, as she remembered from the file she read in the parking garage of the hospital, was a twenty-two-year-old student at Penn State Community college. She was last seen walking across the campus lawn at three thirty in the afternoon on November twelth, two thousand seventeen, just the day before yesterday, as she looked at her phone’s calender. According to witnesses, she just finished a lecture on Macro Economics, and did not have another class until four thirty that afternoon.  Sandra restrained a growing feeling of sadness as she remembered, what she always considered, the most important information of a case. She remembered that Tonya, was the  daughter of two parents who loved her very much. Tonya Miller was a lover of animals and called home twice every week to make sure that Mr. Snickerdoodles was getting along fine without her. Tonya was a member of the Homeless Outreach Association, giving her spare time in between studies, and worrying about her cat, to distribute food to the growing homeless population. The war in Iraq officially ended several years before, but the rise of homeless returning veterans, suffering from PTSD and addiction, was alarming, and Tonya was determined to combat this little piece of evil on our not so blue and happy planet. Sandra considered these facts as she looked on what remained of Tonya Miller and listened to Dr. Zeigler make his professional observations.  “Subject is a twenty-two-year-old female, approximately five feet four inches in height, and weighing approximately one hundred and twenty pounds. Cranium separated from the body directly three centimeters above the C4 cervical vertebrae. The instrument used was very sharp and straight across, possibly that of an ax, or hatchet head. No other external damage to the skull, except for a two-inch diameter contusion on the left side of the cranium just above the zygomatic arch.   Dr. Ziegler, continued with his examination of the rest of the body as he slowly made his way down the length of the table.  “Both upper extremities separated approximately two inches below the deltoids, again with the same type of cutting instrument. No other signs of trauma to the dermal layer. Both lower extremities separated in the same manner. No signs of sexual trauma. Cause of death: blunt force trauma to the left side of cranium, with unknown object of a circular pattern. Possibly, a hammer, or other such instrument.”  “Oh, hello Sandra. Welcome to my little chilly universe, once again.”  “Hello Dr. Zeigler, I wish I could say that I was happy to be here.”  “I understand young lady. I sometimes get the heebie jeebies being down here in the basement myself.”   Sandra liked Dr. Zeigler. He was in his mid-sixties, tall, with pepper grey hair. Sandra walked closer to him and waited for the distinctive smell of apple pipe tobacco, the same her Father used to smoke. She always remembered her Fathers scent in times of discomfort. Days sitting by the fireplace, as her Father took time away from his busy schedule as a bank president, to read to her and her sister, Mable Becks. Her sweet memory was always laced with just a hint of sorrow, when she would think of her deceased sister Mable. She died at the age of seven from a rare type of brain tumor, and the emptiness she left behind always haunted her from time to time.  “Sorry, I don’t come to visit more. You know I love to talk to intellectual men with class. Hard to find these days in a world full of metrosexual wimps,” she stated with a laugh.   Dr. Zeigler replied, “Yep, they don’t make us like they used to. John Wayne must be rolling in his grave.”   “So, what do think about Tonya?”   “I think that whoever did this is an interesting individual who should be killed immediately when found. That is my opinion.”  “Interesting how?” she asked, not at all shocked by his statement. Dr. Zeigler was a forensic pathologist but with an impressive past of behavioral profiling.   “In my opinion, he did not want to hurt the girl. There are no biological markers of freight, or increase in adrenaline. No severe trauma present before the dismemberment of her body. The blow to the left side of her temple was swift and with such force, I can say with certainty, she felt nothing. It’s almost as if he didn’t want to kill the girl. If it wasn’t for the other ten bodies, I would think that he hit her in a fit of passion and was interrupted when cutting her corpse into pieces.”  “Maybe, he has a daughter,” she stated under her breath as she looked at the six neatly severed pieces on the examination table.   “What was that,” he asked”   “Oh nothing, just trying to run some things through my mind. Thanks, you were, as always, a big help. Oh, and Tonya thanks you,” she stated as she headed for the safety of the elevator, bringing her back to the normal world.   Sandra ran through the facts of the file, and the findings of Dr. Zeigler. She sat in the hospital parking garage, closed her eyes, and let the world of beeping horns, crying visitors, and carbon monoxide fumes fade away. The faces of all eleven victims ran through her mind. All the faces seemed so different upon first glance. Body sizes all different. Occupations all different. Three male and eight female victims. Just as she was prepared to bring herself back to the real world of distraction, and senseless activity, something flashed across her mind. She remembered one small item that four of the victims shared and, she suspected when reviewing all the cases again, the other seven would also have in common. She quickly dialed the number to the morgue.   “Dr. Zeigler, can you please check and let me know if Tonya had any piercings.”   Sandra listened, feeling a slight tinge of nausea turn her stomach, as she heard a wet suction sound as Dr, Zeigler pried open Tonya’s clenched jaws. To her it sounded like someone forcing their foot loose from being stuck in wet mud on a rainy night.  “You got it kiddo. She had her tongue pierced, but I found no jewelry, just the small opening a few centimeters from the tip.”  Sandra ended the call without another word. She was too lost in thought to give the proper courtesy of a thank you, or goodbye. But just like her kind hearted and understanding Father, she knew, that Dr. Zeigler would understand. Her fits of flighty day dreaming were known throughout the department.   “So, you don’t like those naughty girls with their piercings, but you don’t like hurting them either. I bet you have a daughter. I bet she wanted a piercing also,” she mumbled to the inside of her empty car, as she drove out of the hospital parking garage. Making Connections    After just a few days on, what she hoped would be, a much-needed vacation, Sandra found herself pacing her apartment like a caged animal. Each attempt at occupying her mind with frivolous activity, only seemed to draw her closer to her new obsession, the hunt for the Lumber Jack killer. Exhausted with pacing her two-room efficiency apartment, she plopped down hard on her barely used chaise lounger, placed her aching neck on the back of the chair, and closed her eyes. Images of the Lumber Jack victims swarmed through her mind, like a hive of angry bees. Each time she strained to make a connection it was as if poking the bee hive with a stick, sending angry stinging wasps to do their work. Her head ached, and she did not feel one step closer to finding that connection.  “I know it has to do with the piercings,” she said loudly, still holding her eyes closed as if opening them would make the images go away. She needed those case file images of the blood and gore to keep her focused. She needed the pain in her head to keep her sharp, to make her feel, because it was, as she knew, powerful emotion that fueled her gift.  She continued talking out loud again, but in a softer tone, “only some of the victims had piercings. Only three out of the eleven though. Not enough to make a connection.”  She began speaking in choppy sentences, and single words…” some piercings.” What is related to piercings?” “What is taboo?” Taboo to you, but not me.” Why you?” “Old school.” “Values.” “Uptight Daddy.” “You love her, but hate her.” “Kill your daughter, no way, you love her.” “Tattoos.” “Tattoos.”   She opened her eyes and sprung off the lounger to retrieve her phone from her purse. Just as she was prepared to dial her partner, Ralph Klinger, the phone began to ring.  “Yea, I can’t talk now, call back later,” she stated out of breath, as she hung up the phone. She quickly dialed her partner, feeling like a born loser who just hit the ten-million-dollar jackpot.   “This is Detective Kilinger,” stated a sleepy voice over the other line.   Normally, she would have a little bit of sarcasm for the, as she described him, slow witted man. But there was no time for such play. She needed him for an important mission. She did not have access to the departments database and she needed some research completed for this little hunch.   “Ralph, I need you to run the names of all the victims of the Lumber Jack. I want all the information you can give me. Information that may not be contained in the coroners’ reports. I also want a list of single Fathers, living alone with teenage daughters, in every rural area of the state, especially the Northeastern and Central areas.”   Sandra was not surprised when she did not immediately get a response on the other line. She was not even surprised, or annoyed, at the hysterical high-pitched laugh coming from the other end of the phone. She waited patiently for him to stop, and begin with his weak protestations.   “That’s a lot of work Sandra. The chief is already up my ass to clear my desk of old cases. Besides, do you know how many single Daddy’s there must be?”   “Probably not as many as you think. Most single parents are female, so I am not expecting more than a hundred or so single Daddy situations. Please Ralph, I think I am hot on his tail.”   Ralph heard the uncharacteristic sincerity in her plea for help. He may be slow in matters of perception, but he knew better than not too trust Sandra’s instincts.    “Ok, but this will be a big project, and may take a few days.”    Sandra, looked at the small brown boxed digital clock next to her bed, and stated with a low and slow tone, “I have all the time in the world.”    After hitting the red hang-up button on her cell, she looked at the missed call of just a few minutes prior. She saw Eric’s phone number displayed accusingly across the small screen. She felt a wave a guilt quickly pass over her, for her rude reception of his call.    “Hey babe, come on over and I will make it up to you.” Another Guinea Pig   Thomas once again sat in the make shift operating room of his basement pondering over, what was now, an entire volume of notes on his M1 theory. Although, M1 was no longer theory, he considered, as he reviewed the events of his Father’s suicide. He wrote on a blank page of his journal-What Went Right-in large red letters. What Went Right: Underneath, he wrote the word-Complications in large letters. Complications: Thomas sighed deeply looking at the smaller list of complications. He felt powerless with number one on that short list. He did have any more funds left to buy the homemade transmitters. “This will just have to do.” he stated to the lonely plastic covered room. He looked at the second complication on the list, with a brightening enthusiasm coursing through his veins. His placement of the receiver was exact in relation to the control of aggression. He considered how suicidal and homicidal impulses were closely related, like first cousins of the same maternal bloodline. The M1 pathway, as he contemplated, would no doubt control both impulses. He decided to continue with the experiments in the same prefrontal region. His theory began to take a slight turn. Thomas considered that if he would not have passed out after hitting the transmitter’s green button, he could have watched his Father, against his will, point the gun to his temple. He could have simply cut off the signal and possibly, shut down the suicidal impulse. As a secondary effect, he theorized, the chemical constituents flooding the region would have subsided, causing the violence to subside. This round-about method was not how he expected to prove his theory, but it was a start. Thomas turned on his hp laptop and entered the SamsList personals section. He carefully scrolled through the listings, unsure of exactly what he was seeking. The incident with his Father’s suicide taught him a valuable lesson. With the risk of death so high in the early stages of the experiments, he could not afford to call undo attention to himself. He did not consider himself a serial killer. The thought of causing the death of another did not arouse any sexual or, mental stirrings deep within his soul. Thomas considered himself a humanitarian, a genius on a mission to better society through behavioral modification. If some people died on his operation table or, as he thought with a deepening feeling of weighted sadness, by blowing their heads off against their will, these were acceptable losses.  “I will be sure to list them in my memoirs as heroes who died for a great cause,” he stated to himself, as he scrolled down the list of potential candidates.  He was searching for a guinea pig with no personal attachments. Someone with little, or zero, ties to other’s. Someone like yourself, was the thought that came to his mind, making his depression even deeper.  “Ah, here we go!” he exclaimed, clicking on the thirty fifth add on the page. The ad read:  SWF (single white female), looking for a NSA (no strings attached) encounter with a clean and disease-free guy. I am blonde, five feet six inches, forty years old, green eyes, and love new experiences. I can host, or you can. It doesn’t matter either way. Just be DD free (drug and disease free), sane, and not looking for anything serious. More of a FWB (friend with benefits situation). Oh, and no pic, no reply. Thomas considered the ad carefully. He guessed that if she was willing to host a strange man at her own place, she was lonely, and lived alone. Other ads involved women who could not host (married or boyfriend), and women asking for the guy’s phone number (spammer). Without overthinking the situation, and anxious to get started, he typed a message back: Hi, I am a single male, twenty-three years old, University student. I have very little experience dating, particularly from a dating site. I am very clean and disease free. Very busy, so I am not looking for anything serious. A FWB situation would be perfect. Well here is a pic. I hope to hear from you soon. Thomas attached a pic of him taken the day before he began his studies. He was pleased that the photograph was one of the few featuring him with a large smile, showcasing perfectly straight and white teeth. He did not expect an immediate response. In fact, he did not expect a response at all. He did not consider himself to be very attractive, but he did not suspect that the woman on the other end was either. SamsList was not your typical dating site. He knew that most people posting on SamsList lied about their body stats (how they look), and generally were desperate for that human need, he rarely thought about, sex. Thomas lived in a world of theory and ambition. Sex to him, as he would readily admit, is an unnecessary act that never made him feel closer to others. He remembered his first of two sexual experiences just before starting college. He could not understand Betty Lango’s reaction for weeks after the act in the very basement he now called his laboratory. She called him incessantly looking for another encounter. For him, the orgasm was just slightly more intense than during the climax of masturbation-something he knew more about. Making time for something barely more pleasurable than pleasuring himself did not seem logical. To test his theory, he went ahead and tried it again. Trying different positions, and the like, but sex was still a flatlined experience. Since then, he had barely a noticeable interest in sexual contact and he certainly, as he will admit without shame, did not have the capacity for a deeper romantic love. I Got You     “Tell me you have something good,” Sandra stated excitedly into the phone.    “Well I don’t know if its useful information or not but here it is.” I have a list of seventy-two individual males taking care of teenage daughters in the areas that you outlined. I sent them to your email, pictures and all, if I could find any.” I also sent as much miscellaneous information I could find on all the Lumber Jack victims. Information not contained in our limited files.”    “I owe you one, and I promise, I will never talk shit behind your back again.” Sandra hung up the phone without waiting for a reply.    She turned on her hp laptop and pulled up the files sent to her by her sleepy partner.    “I love you, you little sloth,” she stated out loud.    “What are you doing babe?” asked Eric, sitting next to Sarah on her only other piece of furniture, a second-hand pea green couch with a torn middle cushion.    “Hello in there, do you want me to make breakfast?”    Sandra did not hear Eric as she scanned the files sent to her email. She heard a distant voice, that was like a voice coming from deep at the bottom of a forgotten canyon. She did not even notice as Eric put on his clothes and silently walked out of her apartment.    A full smile grew across her face as connections came easily between the line of each individual case. Through coroners’ reports, dental, and medical records, she could see that most of the victims had tattoos, body piercings, or both. She moved on to the long list of single Father’s taking care of teenage daughters. Out of the Seventy-Two, just ten experienced some type of tragedy involving their daughters. Seven of the ten included the young girls running away from home. Probably to make it big in Hollywood, but only finding a smooth-talking pimp waiting at the bust stop, she considered, with sadness. She was no stranger to investigating the disappearance of young girls and, sometimes boys, only to find out that some met a horrible fate on the sunny side of the country.  Her heart thumped wildly in her chest, as she read the case files of the remaining three men on the list. All three had teenage daughters that met a terrible end.  “Now which one of you is the best serial psycho candidate,” she said out loud. She was already on the burner for tramping on people’s civil rights. This thought brought Thomas Lorey back into her mind. But there was nothing more she could do with that case. The official report was an attempt on his life, and the subsequent suicide of his Father. Still, there was a lingering doubt in her mind. Her instincts screamed out to her, like Thomas Lorey’s Father’s restless spirit tugging at her ear, that something was just not quite right with the situation. “Something she said, not quite right with the son.”  She returned to the files, and read each case carefully. Two of the cases were homicide. Both girls died at the hands of jealous boyfriends, with ego’s too masculine to accept the ending of the relationship. The other case was a vehicular death. According to the police report, Eric Drew, hit Becky Marlow with his car. The young man stopped, so this was no hit and run. He stopped and explained to the police that she just came out of nowhere. Police report that her phone was found approximately twenty feet from the site, and the last call was made to her Father Jack Marlow.  Sandra closed her eyes and tried to imagine the scene. She visualized Becky talking on the phone and not realizing she was too close to the edge of the road. She could see Eric in his car and slamming into the petite frame of the young girl. A girl with such a bright future ahead of her. She was accepted into a prestigious music school, and according to people around town, was the apple of her Father’s eye.  Sara clicked on a file labeled coroner’s report. She viewed the autopsy photos with as much cold professionalism as she could muster. Her eyes widened as she noticed a black and grey rose tattoo, on the outside thigh of her left leg.  She clicked on a second file, labeled Eric Drew Criminal File. According to the police report, Eric was just released from prison, on a breaking and entering charge. She clicked on a third file marked, Eric Drew Autopsy Report.  His remains were obviously different than the other victims. To Sandra, the differences were as obvious as a hooker attending Sunday school. The other victims were dismembered with a clean precision, indicative of someone skilled with cutting instruments, possible an ax or hatchet. Eric was the only victim who had his face smashed in beyond recognition. In addition, he had over a dozen artificial cuts on his back. According to the coroner, they were not life-threatening cuts, but certainly enough to cause discomfort. This little detail was dismissed, because the body parts were found on a pile of sticker bushes and thought to have been the culprits of the lacerations.  “I got you Mr. Marlow. You hated that your little girl was going to the big city. I bet she got that tattoo when she was well underage. You probably wanted to kill her for being such a little slut. but you couldn’t. She was your pride and joy, and only reason for living. Wasn’t she? So, you killed other slutty little bitches. You killed your daughter repeatedly, trying to wipe that guilt away, that guilt because you hated your little girl.”  Sandra stood up from the couch and paced around the small living room. “Eric Drew wasn’t a victim. He was unlucky number ten. He was a revenge killing. The bastard ex con who killed your little flower, but then you couldn’t stop so, you killed your eleventh victim, poor little Tonya Miller.  Sandra looked through the files but could not see an occupation listed for Mr. Marlow. “I bet you are an actual tree cutter. I bet you are an actual Lumber Jack.” The thought struck as a bit comical. She never considered that, in her concrete world, some people actually work for a living. Catfish   Thomas groggily walked to his front door. He could not imagine who would be knocking at seven thirty in the morning. The first clear thought that broke through the fog of interrupted sleep was that Detective Becks was back with a warrant. One month passed since the suicide of his Father. He tried to push back the memory of that night, but with little success. Nature is not always so kind as to allow some memories to fade. Some memories grow with the passage of time, and Thomas was left with trying to stuff this memory deep into the safety of his unconscious mind, like stuffing his entire wardrobe into a pathetically small overnight bag.  He cautiously opened the door, clumsily grabbing the handle of his Father’s nine-millimeter pistol, tucked into his waistband, and resting uncomfortably against his lower back.  “May I help you?” he asked, with a confused expression on his face. The woman standing on his doorstep was, by his approximation, no more than five feet five, with curly black hair, dull brown eyes, and at least one hundred fifty pounds.   The woman gave Thomas a nervous crooked smile, and extended her hand. “I’m Kathy Brier from SamsList. We talked just yesterday.” She rolled her eyes, in a way that made Thomas think of someone with very little going on upstairs, and continued, “Well we really didn’t talk. We technically texted,” she gave a little laugh, that was more of a snorting, making Thomas cringe. He was prepared to kick her off his doorstep, but not before giving her a lecture on catfishing. He could not believe that she would have the nerve to come to his doorstep after giving such a contrasting description over the computer. Just as he raised his pointed finger up to her face, and begin his condemnations, he quickly changed mental direction and extended his hand. He forced a pleasant smile on his face, and stated, “I was hoping you would show.”  “Wow, what a great place you have here,” she mumbled. Thomas looked around and laughed to himself. He realized that this poor creature must really come from a sad background, if she thought that his house was anything more than run down and common.  “Thank you, I live here alone. My studies at the University keep me busy, but I try hard to keep the place nice.”   “Wow, so you’re a student. I don’t meet to many smart guys.”   Thomas thought to himself, “I’m sure you don’t, and if you say wow one more time, I may just bash your head.”   He said out loud as he took a seat next to Kathy on the couch, “How would you like a beer. Is a bottle ok?”   Without hesitation she stated, “hell yea, I will have a beer.”  Thomas was pleased with his meticulous preparation. Immediately after signing off SamsList, and the obvious fantastical discussion with Kathy, Thomas made a thin and clear glue using a touch of flour, water, sugar, and vinegar. He laced the mixture with a small amount of his drug cocktail in just the right amount to cause sleepiness. Carefully, he spread the mixture inside a dark green glass, the same one he just handed Kathy with her closed bottle of beer. He didn’t believe for a minute that even a situationally unaware person like her would accept an open bottle from a guy she just met on SamsList.   “Here you go, enjoy.”   “Hey, Thomas, do you smoke pot?”   “Sure, go ahead and light up.”   Kathy removed a pipe from the inside of her purse, and loosely packed it with marijuana. Thomas was a stranger to the pleasures of drug intoxication. He always feared not being in control of his immediate situation, so drug and alcohol usage was never an option. However, he thought, I must make a show of it, and at least take one hit. He studied Kathy and imitated bringing the pipe to his mouth and igniting the sweet-smelling weed with her red lighter in his other hand. He immediately felt his head become light, and afraid that he may lose his focus, quickly handed the pipe back to his guest. Thomas coughed in violent spasm’s as his lungs exhaled the foreign smoke.   “Wow, you really are a virgin,” she giggled, between deep drags.   Kathy finished smoking, and poured the beer into the drug laced glass. To Thomas’s disgust, she gulped the entire twelve ounces in two large swigs, making loud grunting noises as the beer poured down her, what Thomas thought with disgust, her oversized gullet.   “So, you ready to take me to the bed?” she asked, batting her eyes, as he perceived, like any common whore on any dirty street corner in the world.    Thomas stalled as long as he could. He did not see any visible signs that the drug was taking effect.   “The bedroom is upstairs. Let’s get comfortable up there,” he stated, in a voice devoid of emotion, as he started toward the spiraling staircase. To his relief, he could hear Kathy begin to yawn.   “On second thought, let’s just use the couch. Hon.” As she began to yawn again.   Thomas watched at the bottom of the stairs as Kathy walked to the couch, plopped down without extending her arms to break her fall, and started to snore loudly with her face deeply imbedded into the plush green velvety fabric of the couch pillow.   “What the fuck happened?” she asked, slowly lifting herself off the couch, and sleepily rubbing her eyes.   Thomas was sitting on the matching green fabric chair across from her. “It looks like you passed out. I’m surprised though, you only had one drink. That stuff you smoked must have been pretty strong,” he stated in as casual a tone as he could muster.    Kathy, touched the top of her head and rubbed back and forth exclaiming, “Shit, I have the worst headache ever!”    Thomas began to perspire under the arms, as he watched her rub her hand over the half inch diameter hole in her head. The surgery, like the first, only lasted approximately twenty minutes, and the liquid skin was still only half an hour old. Upon completion of the procedure, Thomas gently dragged Kathy, straining his back, up the stairs and back to her position on the couch. Thirty minutes of recovery, and she was conscious complaining of a pounding skull.   “I don’t know. We were ready to go upstairs for some fun, and you just walked back to the couch and fell asleep. I considered calling the ambulance, but I am sure you want to be discreet. Besides, you were snoring loudly, so I assumed everything was ok.”   She sat back on the couch and ran her eyes across the front of her clothing.   No doubt checking for signs of molestation, he considered.   “No, I did not take advantage. Unconscious girls are not my thing. Besides, I figured we will have an opportunity to do this again. Can I see you safely to your home?”    This seemed to have brought down her guard, and suspicion.   “I guess I have just been under some strain lately,” she said with a confused expression, still running her hand over her head. She continued, “I just must have had a bad reaction to the alcohol, weed, and as I said, a lot of stress. You can see me home. I have a confession to make. I only live six blocks away.”    Thomas walked her home, taking her hand in his. He noticed that she looked at him with an expression that reminded him of a wounded animal looking sadly, appreciatively, at its lifesaving caregiver.    I have her now, he thought, without the slightest shadow of guilt. As they stopped in front of a dilapidated green and white building with intermittent missing pieces of siding., a storm door off its one hinge, and a roof that looked as though it constantly leaked, Thomas began, “I hope we could see each other again. Let’s do it right next time, and see each other in public.”   Feeling her last remaining defenses crumble like a castle made of sand in the face of a sea churning with romantic notions, she agreed to see Thomas in one week, in a public setting. Hello Mr. Marlow    “Hello Mr. Marlow, I’m Detective Sandra Becks. Can I come in and talk?” Sandra held out her hand to the towering muscled Mr. Marlow. This is something she normally would not do when face to face with a suspect, especially a serial murderer. In this case, she figured that such a risk was calculated carefully and would go a long way, she hoped, to bringing down his defenses.   “I already went over all this detective. My little angel was killed in a horrible accident.” Sandra could see his eyes begin to well with tears. For an instant, she felt a flash of deep sympathy well within her. The sight of a the large muscled heavily bearded man, standing in his plaid shirt and suspenders, no longer intimidated her. Talking of his daughter’s accident transformed him from a murderous Paul Bunyan type of monster, into a very sad, lonely, gentle giant. She quickly brought herself back to reality by recalling the pictures of almost a dozen dismembered bloody pieces of gore that, she knew by now, was the bloody work of this sensitive giant.  “I know sir, and I am so sorry to bother you. I just have a few more questions about Mr. Drew.   Sandra backed a few inches away as she watched the earlier transformation abruptly reverse. His features grew dark upon mentioning the name of the punk ex con who killed his little flower.   “Come in, but I need to be at work at the lumber camp in a few hours.”  “I won’t keep you long, girl scouts honor.” She said, holding her two fingers up in the characteristic peace symbol of the scouts.   This gesture seemed to bring the other face back to the man. He smiled, a smile that made her feel warm, and invited. “Come in detective.”   Sandra quickly absorbed the surroundings, including all avenues of escape, if it came to that. The home was plain and ordinary. Much like, she already knew, homes characteristic of a small country farm. Very nice, and clean Amish hand crafted couches and matching chairs. Very few decorations adorning the humble settings. Characteristic, she considered, of a home without the creative touch of a female.   “Have a seat detective. I hope you don’t mind me going back and forth as we talk. I have my little rituals before leaving out the front door,” he stated out loud, as he walked to the kitchen, as if talking to himself.   “I don’t mind at all. It’s good to see a man who actually works for his pay.” she stated in her best flattering voice.   “Yea, you’re a big city girl. I bet you run into mainly flimsy boys in the big city.”  She thought to herself, and then stated out loud, “You got that right.” Her tone of voice gave away that she was experienced with meeting too many disappointments in her time in the city.   “Well the clock is ticking detective. What’s on your mind?”   He sat down on the sofa, just a few feet from her own position on the cherry wood Amish chair.   “You are aware, that Eric Drew has been identified as the tenth victim of a serial killer.”    He looked at her without a twitch, or a bat of the eye and said, “Oh, you mean that character, the Lumber Jack killer?”    She considered his dark hypnotizing eyes and thought, the best poker face I ever encountered.    “Yes sir, the Lumber Jack killer.”   “Well, I can tell you, I can honestly see why you are here. Here I am an actual sort of modern day Lumber Jack, and the bastard who hurt my little girl is dead. I would suspect me too. I’m just surprised it took so long for you to catch me.”   Before Sandra’s flight response could kick in, Mr. Marlow closed the distance and slapped her with an open hand across the left temple. She felt the world spin, as she tried to force herself up with all her power. Dizzily, she reached into her purse, and pulled out her .45 caliber automatic pistol. For what seemed like an eternity, she managed to strain all the muscles in her arms and legs, bringing herself to a kneeling position. She looked toward the kitchen, and saw Jack standing just a few feet from her position.   Why didn’t he strike, she thought, with mixed feelings of gratefulness, and confusion?  Sandra leveled the .45 at the darker silhouette of the two figures she saw standing with what she perceived as a long-handled ax dangling from his right hand. She was seeing double, and only hoped she wasn’t aiming at the phantom shadow version of the towering man. He isn’t going to give me a second chance if I miss, she thought.  “Don’t you move sir. I will shoot.”  “It’s time to meet my baby!” he exclaimed, as he moved slowly toward Sandra, still kneeling on the floor, spent of all the necessary energy to stand upright.   Sandra fired five times, just before losing consciousness. #  “Wake up sweetie, come on wake-up darling,” came a voice that seemed to be coming from the blaring light directly in front of her. Sandra felt as though she was outside of her body, like dense clouds floating effortlessly toward the blaring yellow sun.  “Come on now, napping time is over,” Sandra felt cold soft hands touching her face. She struggled to open her eyes, squinting against the bright lights reflecting blindingly against the bright white hospital room’s walls.   “Hey there babe,” came the familiar masculine voice of Eric. This seemed, to her pleasure, to revive her back to full consciousness, and the less than comfortable world of reality.   “Hey sweetheart,” she stated, not believing her own ears. She always thought pet names for partners were silly and childish but, as she thought, I never had a real romantic partner before.   “You did a stupid, but brave thing,” he continued. “I think you are in some hot water with your chief,”   Before she could say anything in response, she heard the gruff deep voice of her boss coming from the other side of the bed.   “Well, I will leave you two alone to talk. Be back later love.”   When Eric, and the attending nurse cleared the room, the chief began, “First, I am so glad you are alive Sandra. Now that that is out of the way, “Your suspended with pay until further notice.”   Sandra did not have the energy to fight with the order. Even if she did have the strength, she thought later when at home on leave, she would not have fought with her usual crafty protestations. She knew that going to Mr. Marlow’s home was a sure way to losing her job. She was just grateful that she was not fired. Her ego was boosted to soaring heights with that thought. For once, in a very long time, she felt invaluable to the department.  “I got it chief. I will be a good girl from now on. Scouts honor.” She held up her two fingers in the salute as a sly cat like grin crossed her full lips.   Just as he was leaving the room, he turned to her and said with his own sly smile, “good job detective.” The Second Experiment    Just five blocks from Sandra’s apartment, where she has spent the last month on leave pacing the floor and making love to Eric, when he was available, sits Charlie’s Dinner. A local hole in the wall with a floor that has, as proud patrons will tell you, more grease on it than the french fryer. Today was Thanksgiving, November twenty third two thousand seventeen. This was sure to be the busiest day of the year. Charlie’s was known to be a refuge for that fringe population, always finding themselves alone on the holidays. The homeless looking for a cheap meal, the drug addicts, prostitutes, and the lonely singles all had a place of honor at Charlie’s Dinner.  “How about this booth in the back?” asked Thomas, pointing to the booth next to the double swinging doors of the hot greasy kitchen.  “This would be fine. Thanks, Thomas,” replied Kathy, taking her seat opposite him.  “Well it looks like Charlie’s is full of the lonely souls of the city on yet another Thanksgiving,” he stated, with a slight chuckle.  “Well, we have each other this year.”  Thomas felt a feeling he had difficulty describing rise within his chest. It felt like a knot was stuck in his throat, as he looked into the hopeful eyes of Kathy.  She is just a test subject, he repeated to himself in his over worked mind. Several times repeating this phrase seemed to have the desired effect of washing away any residue of guilt that may still be lingering.  Before losing his nerve, and before increasing his chances of being seen with her, Thomas stated, “can you go to the counter and fetch a waitress. I just want to hurry and get back to the house.”   Kathy smiled, no doubt, according to Thomas’s egotistical vision, thinking about having me for Thanksgiving.   As Kathy was passing him, Thomas pressed the button on the black receiver box, hidden within his long grey overcoat. He watched as she doubled over at the waist and buried her forehead into the palm of her left hand. As quickly as she maneuvered herself into this position, she straightened and slowly walked, with blank expression, to the long counter, busily occupied to fuel capacity by those patrons who enjoyed the atmosphere of the stool sitting section. Thomas watched with delight as she grabbed a steak knife from a patron’s plate, still dripping with A1 steak sauce. She raised the knife, and stabbed the man in the throat. Blood jetted in bright spurts of blood, as the man fell to the floor in a growing puddle of his own blood. Patrons, first stunned, like deer under the intense glow of a large spotlight, began darting out of the only visible front exit. One patron, a young woman, as Thomas guessed, in her early twenties, with long blonde hair, wearing a mini skirt and tight yellow colored blouse, slipped in the puddle of blood as she ran for her life toward the front exit. Kathy, or the empty shell of what was once Kathy, jumped on top of the screaming girl, and plunged the knife into her right eye. The blood did not squirt like the man’s neck, but streamed in a small river of copper smelling dark blood.  Thomas decided it was time to break the signal and mentally record the results. If his theory was correct, another push of the green button on the box would cause an immediate cessation of the violence. As several large men from the adjoining table jumped on Kathy, Thomas casually walked past the bodies, just a few feet from her and the two men. She managed to wriggle her way from underneath her restrainers, and jumped to her feet.  Thomas looked in horror as Kathy plunged the knife in his direction. Just in time, he managed to dart backwards, the pointed end of the knife striking the outer pocket of his jacket. He could feel the knifes teeth catch the small fibers of the material, making a slight ripping sound, like the sound produced when quickly opening a zipper. Before she could lunge at him again, he pushed the button on his box, causing Kathy to stop dead in her tracks. Thomas watched the blood caked catfish from SamsList run the blood-stained knife across her thin throat, causing her own blood to jet into the air, mingling with the blood of her victims. Thomas walked quickly from the Diner, and returned home to record his observations. It’s a Blood Bath in There  “You know, this may not work,” stated Sandra, lying with her head on Eric’s chest, outlining the shape of his nipple with her fingernail.  Eric sat up in bed resting against the unpainted and undecorated plaster wall of Sandra’s multipurpose efficiency room. “What do you mean, Sandra. I thought we were hitting it off perfectly.”   Sandra sat up and considered Eric’s eyes. She saw an expression of preemptive heart break pass over his face, like a man bracing himself for an all too familiar situation of rejection.  She continued in a soothing tone of voice she learned to use during her brief stint as a student over the phone mental health counselor at the college. “I’m just being honest my dear. My career has never allowed me to get close, and right now I am feeling very close to you.” She watched as Eric’s expression transformed from one of alarm, to one of conquest. Like a man who just scaled an insurmountable mountain peak, Eric realized that both have surpassed that basic stage of brief animal lust, and have now ventured into the second stage of deeper, more meaningful, companionship. Of course, with a lot of lust also, he thought, as he felt himself becoming aroused and wanting more.  “I feel the same way, Sandra. I have never had a meaningful relationship in my life. I can’t get you out of my head.”  Now was Sandra’s turn to scale that insurmountable mountain top. She felt an unfamiliar, yet exciting, warmth fill her body from head to toe. She felt the exhilaration of stepping through that boundary that separates sex for the simple sake of release, from sex that merges two souls into one.   “Well, Happy Thanksgiving Eric, you ready to cook my goose again?”   “Oh yea, but how about a little music to go with this meal,” stated Eric with a laugh as he reached across Sandra and turned on the night stand clock radio.  Eric and Sandra listened as every local station broadcasted, they reported as, the Diner Bloodbath.  Eric’s arousal was extinguished, like a bucket of cold water thrown on a budding flame, as he watched Sandra’s eyes sparkle as she listened to the broadcast.  She turned to him excitedly and stated, “That’s right down the road from us. I need to check this out Eric. Come on, let’s go!”  Eric sighed deeply as he clumsily dressed. The small apartment’s room darkened just a bit, and seemed to grow smaller, as he considered that Sandra’s earlier jest may just be correct. This may not work, he thought, as they walked out the door to Charlie’s Diner.  “You will have to wait here my dear,” she said, as she kissed Eric on the cheek and headed toward the yellow police tape, flapping noisily in the cold breeze. She recognized the slumped over sloth like posture of her partner, Detective Ralph Klinger, just inside the front entrance of the Diner. As she opened the door, she was greeted by the sickly smell of burnt cheeseburgers, old grease, worn plastic booths and, what she perceived as, massive amount of spilled blood.  “You’re under suspension. If the chief knows you are here, your done for,” stated Ralph, as he gently grabbed her arm and ushered her to an unoccupied corner of the Diner.  “First of all,” she replied, grabbing his hand and applying just enough force to make him feel his finger joints creak under the pressure. “If you ever touch me again, I will break your fingers clean off your hairy palms.” Secondly, I am just a regular customer, who just so happened to walk in on yet another scene of good old American senseless brutality. Thirdly, you will clear this place, so I can do my job, and help you catch a killer.”  Ralph began his customary protestations but stopped himself in his tracks. He was no stranger to being cut to pieces by Sandra and he knew she was right. There was no point in arguing with her. If anyone can find a clue it was her. She proved this some countless times before. He stepped aside and without another word, gestured for everyone to clear the Diner.   “You have five minutes, and then I call the boss,” he stated, as he herded the other officers out of the room.   Sandra slowly walked to toward the three bodies lying on the dirt stained linoleum floor, her focus gazed on the body of Kathy Brier. She guiltily whispered to the victims, forty-seven-year-old, John Edwards, and twenty-three-year-old Cindy Lakes, “Sorry, you two but the answer lies with your killer, and not you.” Sandra realized, as many of her colleagues would not, that the answer is to be found with the killer, not the victim. She laughed as a thought flashed briefly across her mind, as she stepped on her tippy toes to avoid walking in the thick soupy coagulating pools of blood. She thought of her aloof partner, spending all his time examining the wound patterns and blood spatter of the unfortunate late Mr. Edwards and Ms. Lakes. What a bunch of block heads, she thought, with arrogant disdain.  Sandra found two small areas of linoleum within the sea of black red blood, like two tiny dry islands in a surreal foul-smelling sea of gore. She planted each of her feet in the dry islands, causing her legs to spread in an unnatural position. Her legs began to shake steadily as she bent as low as she could without losing her balance and diving head first into the bloody evidence.  That’s all I need, she thought, trying not to laugh and losing her shaky foothold, to fall into the evidence, and get caught in the act. She did laugh as she thought of her sitting in the Chiefs office covered head to foot with blood as he screamed at her, “Your Fired!”  “Ok bitch, time to get serious for once,” she stated out loud, to the eerie silence of the room. She stared for several seconds at the position of Kathy’s supine body. She could see Kathy’s left hand bent slightly upward toward the top of her head. It was possible she simply landed like this, thought Sandra, but something is just not right. To Sandra, it looked as though Kathy was holding her head. This theory was only strengthened by the look on Kathy’s face. Sandra observed that her expression was one of discomfort, almost pain, like the pain felt, as Sandra could attest to, from a severe migraine.  Sandra stretched the six extra inches to reach the top of Kathy’s head. She knew that she only had maybe one chance to reach for the right spot, before losing her foothold and slipping, as she thought, right into the chief’s office. Sandra looked at the position of Kathy’s hand and drew a mental line with her imagination until she thought that she found the right spot. She stretched some more and planed her left index finger on the top front portion of Kathy’s blood-soaked hair. Sandra gently ran her finger back and forth over, what felt to her, like a perfectly, unnaturally shaped scab just under the hairline. Slowly she straightened herself, feeling her back crack under the strain of realigning joints and muscle. Unsure if her discovery was worth even a grain of salt, she walked back to the front door, turning one last time to apologize to the victims for her lack of attention.  Walking out of Charlie’s Diner, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, feeling the fresh crisp November air rush into her lungs. For once in her life she was not terrified at the thought of never doing this job again. Meeting Eric gave her, as she admitted, uncharacteristic thoughts of family. Taking on the role of a Mother was still a vague abstract notion, like viewing distant trees through a thick morning fog, but the image, as she considered, was becoming so much sharper. She opened her eyes and scanned the growing crowd of police, detectives, and the usual rubber neckers with nothing better to do on Thanksgiving. She felt her domestic fantasies slowly fade as she could not see Eric’s face.   “Well there goes another I scared away with my bullshit.” She whispered to herself.    She was snapped back to the harsh reality of her life as she heard the familiar guttural shout of her boss, the chief.    “What the hell are you doing here. Ill have your tiny little ass for this one.”   Sandra no longer seemed to care about threats of losing her job. She was prepared to hand over her findings to the coroner, give the chief her budding theory that Kathy was not in control of her own actions, and just bravely walk off alone into that stormy night. Just as she was prepared to throw in the proverbial towel, her partner, Detective Klinger, pulled the Chief to the side. After a few minutes of heated discussion, the chief walked to the entrance of the Diner and approached Sandra.  “Your partner told me the story. He said you were eating here with some guy when this whole thing went down.” He looked at her suspiciously for, what seemed to her an eternity, pointed his finger just a few inches from her face and stated, “I want a full witness report from you,” and walked away.   “Ralph, first of all thank you again. You are becoming my knight in shining armor.”   Ralph turned a few shades of red before replying. “But now you need to make a written statement on what you saw. This makes us both guilty of perjury. So, all I did was prolong the inevitable. Your time, and mine, at the department is short.”   “No Ralph, I will figure something out. I will get you out of this, but my time is definitely short,” she stated with a voice filled more with relief than sadness.   “Oh yea, your little boyfriend is behind the building, acting all incognito.”    Sandra felt her heart beat wildly like, as she embarrassingly considered, a virgin on prom night.   Sandra rounded the corner of Charlies Dinner and without uttering a word, wrapped her arms tightly around Eric’s shivering body and kissed him hard on his wind burned lips. Never Saw Anything Like This    “Ok Doc, what do you got?” asked Sandra, feeling the goosebumps sprout from the surface of her skin, despite the room temperature of Dr. Zeigler’s autopsy room.   Dr. Zeigler looked up from his work and smiled at seeing Sandra. He never told her, but ten years ago he lost his only daughter to a drug overdose, Sandra, in a way, has become his surrogate daughter, and warmed his heart every time she visited.   “Well my dear, I was poking through this young lady’s brain, as you requested.”   Sandra looked down at the lifeless body of Kathy Brier. Although not their first encounter, Kathy looked markedly different lying on Dr. Zeigler’s autopsy table with the top of her head removed.   Dr. Zeigler turned to the table to his side and carefully grabbed hold of a small glass tube with his trusted pair of tweezers. He held the eighth of an inch glass cylinder close to Sandra’s eyes and stated, “I have no idea what the hell this is.”   Sandra reached into her purse and grabbed her own trusted instrument, a simple dollar store magnifying glass. The same dollar store tool that helped her solve over thirty murders, two serial killing episodes, and provided her a bridge to a world she was much more comfortable viewing, the world of the almost invisible.   “It looks like a very tiny old school television picture tube.”  “That’s what I thought,” he stated with a smile. He was glad to hear someone from the younger generation make references to the past. Sandra made him feel young. He continued, “But this is no ordinary tube. Look closely inside.”   Sandra squinted her left eye behind the already magnification of the glass. She gasped as she traced the intricate pattern of intertwining miniature wires all leading to, what she thought, is a miniature computer chip.   “Who could make such an intricate design, and what the heck does it do?” she said softly, forgetting where she was at the moment.   “I can tell you this. I am no engineer, but only a brilliant one could produce this…whatever it is.”   “Where did you find it,” she asked placing the magnifier into her left coat pocket.   “Right below the small hole in her head. The prefrontal region of the brain.”   “Any history of surgeries?” Dr. Zeigler laughed, “Just a broken tibia when she was ten years old, but last time I checked, surgeons don’t operate on the brain for such an injury,”  Sandra punched him lightly in the arm, laughed and stated, “Ok smart ass, I got it.” “So, what we have is a foreign object implanted in her brain by a skilled engineer.”   “No, probably not,” he stated. “A brilliant engineer made this thing, but I doubt would also possess the skill and precision needed to implant such a device. God doesn’t normally give one person that much talent. No, I think someone else planted this, and gave her a cocktail full of drugs.”   “You ran a toxicology?”   “Yes, but the boys at the lab are breaking down the components. I can say for now that she was given a precise amount of a delicate mixture of hypnotics, sedatives, and psychotropic medications.   Sandra closed her eyes and let the room just melt away into the background of her dark thoughts. She considered everything she heard by Dr. Zeigler, and every detail of the diner. Through all the swirling facts and images of the dead, one face continued to surface through the bloody mire of her consciousness, Thomas Lorey.    “Thank you once again Doc. I know right where to go.”   As Sandra was walking out the double steel doors of the morgue, feeling a rush of comforting warm air brush across her face, she heard Dr. Zeigler remark, “take care of yourself Sandra, your all I got left.” Burning Bridges   Thomas slipped into his body suit made of the three-ply plastic, bought fresh off the shelves of an out of state mom and pop hardware store. He dawned his clear plastic shower cap over his recently shaved head, with a feeling of dread creeping into his empty stomach. He could not eat for two days since the incident at the restaurant, knowing what he must do. He thought to himself, causalities of science are one thing, but murder is something different. As with most, his civilized heart conflicted with the cold reptilian like nature of his psyche. Because despite man made laws and abstract concepts of morality, the evolutionary drive towards violence and destruction is still very much a part of the human experience. Thomas knew that he was no killer. The trail of bodies that he knew were leading to his front door, were nothing more than martyrs slain for the greater good of scientific achievement, and all the wonderful things that come from such endeavors. He fantasized his entire life, since he could remember, of killing his Father. On those cold dark nights of hearing the painful cries of his Mother at the hands of a sadist, he dreamed of running a sharpened knife across his Fathers throat. It was these fantasies, he considered, that kept him from his own death, by his own fragile hands. Now, he was faced with a decision. He could see, in his tired mind, Ronald Dorfman sitting under the hot spotlight in the dank basement of a police station, describing in detail, with an air of superiority, his construction of the transmitter/receiver apparatus. He could envision Ronald explaining every tedious step in the wiring and connections of the receiver, as dim-witted detectives sleepily wrote down every incriminating word. The solution was clear, horrifying, yet clear. Ronald Dorfman must die before he has a chance to talk.  “Hi Ronald, stated Thomas, as he emerged from the shadows of Ronald’s garage workspace.   “Where the hell did you come from, and what is that your wearing Thomas?”   “I just wanted to let you know that your equipment works beautifully, before I kill you,” replied Thomas, as he brought his right hand from behind his back, revealing a thirteen-inch curved bladed hunting knife. Ronald rose quickly from his workbench chair and sprinted for the automatic garage door opener just a few feet from his position, but he was too late, and too scared, to reach the button in time. Thomas closed the distance and with all his strength plunged the knife directly into Ronald’s back between his shoulder blades. Thomas felt his stomach churn as he felt the stainless-steel tip of the knife penetrate Ronald’s soft flesh. He vomited a thick streak of sour bile into his closed mouth as he felt the tip of the knife strike hard against solid bone. Thomas swallowed the bile so as not to leave any DNA behind, causing his throat to burn and his stomach to churn angrily again.   Ronald fell forward against the garage door and cried,” please stop, please stop!”   Fearful that others would hear Ronald’s screams, Thomas instinctively removed the knife from Ronald’s back and swiftly drove the blade deep into the side of his neck. Thomas turned away in terror when he watched the exit of the blade out the other side of the dying man’s throat. Thomas was covered in blood, pouring in small red streams following the creases made by his plastic suit. He felt dizzy listening to the ever-decreasing gurgling sounds as Ronald attempted, in vain, to hold on to life with deep gasps of breath. Thomas collapsed on his hand s and knees feeling the physical world slip into the darkened silenced. His instinct was too let go and just pass out for a short while. The peace of darkness was never so enticing, so intoxicating to him as it was now. He fought the urge to slip into the deep undercurrent of unconsciousness, knowing that he needed to collect his weapon and leave.  He waited for a few more moments until the gurgling stopped, and walked slowly to the bloodied form propped against the once freshly painted white garage door. He reached down and quickly pulled the knife from Ronald’s neck, looking briefly into his wide-open accusing eyes. Closing the Gap  Sandra waited patiently in the Fifth Street alley just outside the department headquarters. She peeked around the corner carefully, aware that being caught anywhere near the chief’s office would burn her career for good. Every instinct within her screamed the name of Thomas Lorey. Few times in her profiling career did she feel this certain about a person’s guilt, without any real hard evidence.   “Until I produce the hard evidence, my hunches are as useless as tits on a bull,” she stated softly into the cold morning air.   Waiting for Officer Carson, to leave the precinct, following that mornings roll call, she considered everything she had so far. She recalled the night she met Thomas after she examined his Fathers crime scene. His eyes were dead, she considered. Black and dead, and as he described events, subtle flags just kept being raised. She considered the scene at the diner, the implant found in Kathy’s head, and a thousand other details, but none pointing directly to the sad young man with the lifeless eyes.   “I know your involved. I know your responsible you little bastard,” she stated again to no one in particular.   Sandra quickly snapped back to reality as she watched officer Carson exit the three-story dirty grey precinct building.   “Pssssssst, hey Carson, come here,” she whispered, pocking just half of her wind burned red face from behind the alley.  “Oh, you. I’m not allowed to talk to you. Word has it, you’re over the edge, and on a one way trip to the rubber wall academy.”   Sandra laughed and stated,” yea, and if I’m right, your about to become one famous cop. If I’m wrong, I promise never to mention our little talk.”   Sandra was pleased when she watched officer Carson’s eyes light up like a Christmas tree. Appealing to the beat cop’s ambition for greatness was always, as she knew from experience, a great way to get what you want.   “I’m listening, he continued, but make it quick.”   “All I need to know is if any witnesses saw anyone with the Kathy Brier prior to creating her own version of steak tartare.”   “Yea, several people witnessed a man leaving the diner during all the carnage, but nobody Identified him as with her.”    “Well, who is he?”   “Couldn’t tell ya. You know eye witness reports. I have a vague description of an average sized guy, wearing glasses, and with short brown hair. That’s it.”   “Oh yea, he continued as he tuned back to Sandra. Evidence found a small strand of grey and black material imbedded in the teeth of the steak knife she used.”   Sandra watched him walk away as her mind floated away to images of the knife, the blood-soaked bodies at the crime scene, and the face of Thomas Lorey as he exited the diner wearing a long grey and black coat. #   “What can I do for you detective?” asked professor Richardson, absent mindedly placing term papers into his briefcase.   Sandra waited for the lecture hall to clear before beginning, “I would like to talk about a former student, Thomas Lorey,” she stated, looking for his first reaction to hearing the name. She learned through experience, that an individuals first and, most revealing reaction, is a silent one. The expression of a person’s face can tell the story of a fifty-thousand-word novel.   As she guessed, he grimaced for just a moment revealing his disdain, or jealousy she considered, just before he put on a characteristic mask of pleasantness.   He smiled and stated, “Oh, yes my Thomas. A very temperamental, but brilliant young man.”   “What can you tell me about him.”  “Not much, he stated, as he shrugged his shoulders. He quit the University after I gave him a bad review on his early submission thesis.”   “Why a bad review?”  “He wrote a brilliant piece that took nothing of ethics into consideration. In addition, he did not have the necessary evidence to back up the claims.”   “What was the theory?”   “Well, he believed that you can control human aggression. Kind of turn it on and off by way of, what he termed, the M1 neural pathway.” He believed that he pinpointed the exact location of the, so called, M1 pathway in the pre-frontal cortex of the brain.”   “Thank you, professor, I have one more question. Did he have any friends I could talk to?”  Professor Richardson placed his right hand under in his chin, rubbing his beard and looking off into the distance as if deep in thought.  “He was a real loner type, but he did meet with a young man after class at times. He was about Thomas’s height, glasses, with long black hair tied in a pony tail, kind of a modern hippy type. My guess, an engineering student.”   “Hello professor Jones, I am detective Sandra Kline.” She guiltily flashed her identification in front of the eyes of the unconcerned looking man. She felt strange flashing her ID since her suspension. She did not feel like a true member of the department since the diner incident, like a terminally ill person still going through the mundane routine of life.   “How can I help you?”    “I’m looking for a student in your department, average height, glasses, and a long greasy ponytail.”   He laughed, throwing his head back and without hesitation stating, “Oh, you mean Ronald Dorfman. A brilliant, eccentric, and typically aloof young man. I haven’t seen him in a few days. Not like him to miss classes.”    “Thank you, professor, stated Sandra, as she rushed out the door without giving him the chance to make any replies. I Need a Warrant     Sandra drew her pistol as she carefully walked to the front of Ronald Dorfman’s garage. She felt a chill pass through her from bottom of her spine out the top, as if death itself walked through her without any concern or interest. She looked at the ground where the bottom of the door meets the cement driveway and could see a small pool of blood slowly squeezing from underneath, like a living thing with a mind of its own, trying desperately to escape the carnage inside. She made her way to the side of the garage and placed her weapon back into the shoulder holster under her left arm. The killer is long gone, she considered as she turned the knob of the windowless paint chipped door. She felt a warm breeze wash over her face as she stepped inside. Normally the warm breeze would have comforted her on such a brisk November afternoon, but not here in Ronald Dorfman’s garage. The coppery smell of blood recently released from shredded organs, choked any comfort she may have felt upon entering the garage. She walked over to Ronald’s bloody corpse, now in the later stages of rigor mortis. Her only business with the body was to check for any scaring of the frontal portion of Ronald’s scalp. Running through the greasy blood-soaked hair of Ronald, and satisfied that he was not a victim of unauthorized brain surgery in, what she now suspected, Thomas’s basement laboratory, she walked to the middle of the garage. Sandra looked down at the bloodstains on the dirty cement. She looked at the strange blood patterns, made on the floor and quickly shut her eyes, leaving the image of the stains to dance briefly behind her eyes before fading into darkness.  “You wore a suit Thomas. Very smart my boy. A plastic suit I bet, with a matching plastic cap to boot,” she stated to the dark silence of the room.  “Ralph, get over to 3174 Cricket Place Circle immediately. There you will find the body of a Ronald Dorfman. He was the only friend of Thomas Lorey. He was an engineering student, and you will find some type of, what I now know is a, receiver.in a cardboard box under a loose piece of cement in his garage. The same type of receiver pulled out of the head of Kathy Brier.”  Before Ralph had time to respond, Sandra hung up her phone. She realized that it may take days, weeks, months, or never for Ralph to find an excuse to go to Ronald’s garage, and receive a search warrant for Thomas Lorey’s home. In fact, she thought, we may never get a search warrant for his home. The evidence is still very sketchy. “However, she stated as she made her way to the vicinity of Thomas’s home, I am getting close, and you are soon to run out of time my friend.” # Thomas Lory spent the next several weeks disposing of all evidence that could link him to the Ronald Dorfman, Kathy Brier, and consequently, the diner bloodbath and his Fathers suicide. He also spent time following Sandra from her apartment, to Eric’s house, and finally to the abandoned house just across from his own. He was starting to enjoy the surveillance as part of a game. His experiments were curbed, for a short time, so he decided that a little fun was just what the doctor ordered. His young life was devoid of pleasure and dangerous games of cat and mouse awakened the child within him, the child that never had a chance to develop under the totalitarian sadistic kingdom his Father carefully constructed. He carefully removed any trace of the activities of his basement laboratory, removing the plastic from his walls, burning clothing, equipment, monitors, and notes. He was certain that his last experiment would be a complete success. He had one more receiver left in his possession, and enough knowledge to perform the procedure anywhere he needed. He already scoped his final Guinee Pig for his final test. Now he would simply have to wait until the right opportunity presented itself. I better hurry though, he considered with a growing sense of both urgency, and anxiety. To him, Sandra was a certain intellectual match, and if not an intellectual match, a definite superior in the realm of intuition. He was impressed and afraid of the almost clairvoyant nature of Sandra’s mind. He followed her for three weeks now, and never suspected even a hint of her losing her resolve. It was obvious to him that she would never quit until he was safely behind bars, “depriving the world, he whispered, of the greatest discovery society has ever benefited from.” This is your Last Chance    “Hello Mr. Lorey, I have a warrant to search your premises,” stated Detective John Connor, lead investigator of Sandra’s homicide division. He knew Sandra well enough to take this particular search seriously. In his time at the department more homicide cases were solved by Sandra’s hunches than his entire twenty years in the division before her.   “Come on in detectives, would you like something to drink?” asked a sleepy-eyed Thomas. His smile, and pleasant demeaner masking a raging sea of anxiety crashing against his psyche just below the surface.   Detective Connor and three of his most seasoned colleagues entered his home and immediately began a grid pattern search of the home. A uniformed officer stood guard at the door, eyeing Thomas with the cold impassionate stare of a man who just wants to make it home on time to watch the game, regardless if he must put someone down to get there.  Detective Connor personally took charge of the basement area search. Based on Sandra’s, unofficial, information of Thomas Lorey, he, like Sandra, suspected that any medical procedures, mixing of drugs, or other illegal activities, would take place in the privacy of the basement. As a classic sci-fi and horror connoisseur, he could not help but imagine frail average Thomas sewing pieces of the recently deceased together and screaming at the top of his lungs, “It’s alive, its alive,” as lightning bolts sparked his monster to life. Using his luminol mixture, Connor sprayed random areas of the basement with camera in hand waiting to take the shot. Luminol only illuminates the area where blood was present for just a few seconds, making the urgency to take a quick snapshot essential in accumulating admissible evidence.   Connor continued to spray the areas most likely to contain traces of blood. He sprayed the middle of the room, as Sarah explained, because this is the most likely spot for a make shift operating table. After an hour of work, he admitted defeat and continued with his search. Overturning loose concrete, wooden beams, and inspecting any place that may hide evidence, he gave up the search and returned to the upstairs. Both detectives were waiting for him in Thomas’s living room.  “We found nothing,” replied the stockier detective of the two.   Detective Conner replied, “what about the coat?” referring to the fabric found between the serrated teeth of the steak knife.    “Nothing sir.”    He looked at Thomas and felt a familiar rage surge through his ageing frame. Even after thirty years since the academy, he often felt the blind aggression of combat nip angrily, as he watched suspect after suspect smile smugly during a search that turned up empty.   As he passed the smiling Thomas on his way to the front door, he whispered in his ear, “Its not over yet punk.”   “Yea, we turned up nothing Sandra. You know what this means. It means its over. You have nothing on this guy, and we will doubtfully ever get a warrant again, that is unless he decides to leave all the evidence sitting in his front yard for a garage sale. But I doubt that any evidence exists. He burned it all up by now.”   Sandra listened over the phone as she sat on her living room sofa with her arm draped around Eric’s neck. He was snoring lightly after spending the entire night listening to her ramblings about Thomas Lorey. If she did not realize it before, she realized it now. She was in love with the man.   “I can’t say I’m surprised,” she replied into the receiver. “This one is clever, and he destroyed all that evidence right under my nose.”   “Listen Sandra, and listen good. Leave this alone. If the chief knows your this involved, you’re not only getting fired…you’re going to prison.”   Sandra knew she was becoming too involved. Thomas Lorey was now a full-blown obsession. But his smugness could not go unpunished. She considered the arrest and capture or, death, of Thomas Lorey to be her last, and greatest, act of her career. Time was ticking bringing both her and him to an inevitable ending, and she would not cheat destiny of its chaotic design. #   Thomas watched from his upstairs bedroom window as the detectives drove away, feeling a heavy burden pressing on his mind. He was now certain that Sandra no longer worked for the department in an official capacity. Otherwise, he considered, she would have been present during the search. Sandra was more dangerous than ever. He could not help feeling a vague sense of respect or, admiration for her. Her dedication to catching him was beyond reproach.   He thought, with a new growing sense of excitement, that she was in the game until the end. He ran through scenarios in his mind, each one opening and closing doors to possibilities on how to wrangle himself from under her tightening grasp. Killing her would be a mistake and, as he knew, too dangerous an undertaking. She was too aware of that that, which normally lurks quietly behind the mask of others. He did not doubt that she would anticipate the strike long before he could deliver, like a preying mantice with its unmatched speed and agility in the natural world. He considered simply taking photographs of her unauthorized surveillance of his home and filing another complaint with his lawyer. However, he realized, this would only bring more undo attention to himself. His final option, the only option left, was to kill Detective Sandra Becks, but not by his own hand. You’re not Fooling Me   “Hello Chief, what can I do for you?” asked a sleepy Sandra Becks. She looked, as she always did first thing every morning, at Eric laying beside her in his bed. He was on his first personal vacation in years, and she felt guilty at not planning a nice get away for just the two.   Forgetting the world around her, she whispered toward the direction of his peaceful form, “Two days away from it all, just me and you, I promise babe.”   “Who the hell are you talking to?” came the angry gruff voice of the chief over the other end of the line.    Sandra gave a little embarrassed laugh and replied, “Sorry chief, I guess I drifted again.”    “Well get your shit together, because you’re not going to like what I have to tell you.”    Sandra knew that she was betrayed by those she asked for help. No, not asked, she thought to herself., I coerced them with my charm, like a spoiled child using others for some type of petty personal gain. She already, preemptively, forgave her partner Ralph, the kind Fatherly figure of Dr. Zeigler, and the ambitious patrol officer, Conner. These men had families, ambitions, lives that were not part of her own. Under the persuasive pressure from the chief, she could forgive their confessions.   As if reading her mind, the chief began, “Yea, that’s right detective, I had a little talk with several of your colleagues. I know you have been conducting surveillance on Thomas Lorey. I know about your little trips to the morgue, the phone calls, and most damaging, your little trip to Charlies Diner. That’s right, as I already knew but could not prove, you were not just a patron on the night of Kathy Brier’s killings.”   “Chief, I will resign from the department,” she stated with, strangely to her, no feelings of disappointment, or sense of loss.   “Well you have a choice. You can stay with the department after a long suspension without pay, but Ralph then takes the fall for lying about your whereabouts.” After a brief pause he continued, “you see detective, I don’t care who takes the fall, and I do hate to lose someone with your specific talents, but the choice is yours.”   Sandra already knew the answer, but felt like she would be betraying her human nature not to at least consider throwing Ralph under the bus. But the decision was clear, she was ready to step down from the department and begin, what she hoped, a long life together with Eric.   “I will turn in my badge and every other cheap equipment owed by the end of the week. Without another word, Sandra hung up the phone, laid her head back on her soft pillow and thought about Thomas Lorey. Getting Away     Sandra and Eric happily packed their suitcases surrounded by the familiar stale shadows of Sandra’s efficiency room. For her, this was the death of her old life of living among the shattered hopes and dreams of the dead, and the beginning of a new life, filled with the typical pain and joy among the loving. For Eric, this was an opportunity to incorporate something with meaning into his own mundane existence, a type of merger that he never thought possible in a life full of contracts, figures, and meticulous planning of other’s success.  “I promise a tropical paradise vacation once we have time for a little more planning,” she stated, as she ran her hand gently back and forth across his back.  “No worries dear, I could spend two days anywhere with you and it would feel like the golden beaches of Tahiti.”   Sandra laughed playfully and replied, “even in, let’s say, a Russian gulag.”   Eric laughed, stopping his packing and placed his hand under his chin. He smiled and replied, “Ok, maybe not anywhere.”  Sandra slapped him lightly on the shoulder, laughed, and squeezed his left ass cheek, just enough to make him jump a few inches off his feet. Both lovers embraced and kissed each other passionately as if the world beyond their embrace no longer existed.    Sandra pulled away, laughed, and said, “now let’s get to Vermont and break our legs skiing.”    “Plenty of time to break our legs,” he replied, “the lodge is only a few hours from here, and I might add, I will be travelling as fast as I can, so I could limit the amount of time listening to your playlist.”     Sandra smiled, but said not a word. She knew that her playlist of eighties pop was not for the weak of heart. Two hours of big haired bands could be enough to send anyone into the much more pleasant atmosphere of an eighties flashback induced coma.    “Ok, smart ass, lets roll,” she stated, still giggling as they left her shadow laden apartment into the bright January light. Tiny Pieces of Guilt    Detective John Conner was having difficulty sleeping since the search of Thomas Lorey’s home. He never considered himself much of an empath, but his thirty years’ experience gave him that special type of intuition, only gained by dealing with the lies and deceits that dwell within the human heart. He was also no stranger to encounters with psychopaths. He did not need a mental health textbook to list the personality traits of a psychopath or, sociopathic personality. As a practical man, he knew that every human on the planet shared psychopathic, narcissistic, and neurotic traits. Examining himself, a well-adjusted family man whom always lived within the confines of civilization, and the law, he could list some very disturbing traits. He considered how good he felt when he pulled the trigger of his pistol, bringing the ultimate justice to a criminal hurting others. He never felt the withdrawal, nightmares, or depression characteristic of those suffering Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, after any of his seven shootings. He understood that dispensing justice made him feel like God and, he suspected, those who prey on others, kill to feel like God, or the Devil. Either way, he surmised, the feelings are equal, equal in power. However, there are those who stalk among us that feel nothing for others. He went down his list and considered the complete lack of empathy, pity, or remorse of the psychopath. He thought about Taylor Dobbs, the South End Strangler, infamous for killing sixteen young gay men around the area. He killed Dobbs, in Dobb’s own kitchen, after piecing all the evidence, what little there was, together like a macabre jigsaw puzzle of shattered dreams and lives. He recalled the look in Taylor Dobbs eyes, just before he pulled the trigger three times, sending Dobbs back to the abyss. His eyes were lifeless, like a mannequin’s eyes. Like the eyes of a soulless animal, surviving, navigating, the world only through the imitation of others. For the past several weeks, when he closes his eyes to sleep, he could see the eyes of Thomas Lorey.  “Hey Richard, I just knew you would be working late,” he stated into his phone. He looked at the alarm clock on the night stand next to his bed. The large glowing red letters screamed to him that it was two fifteen in the am, and time for him to go the Fuck to bed.   Richard Johns, head of the crime scene investigation team of the department, was not surprised to receive an early morning phone call. He worked the nightshift hours, preferring to work alone without the daytime distractions of ringing phones, shuffling feet, and endless questions pointed in his direction.    “Go ahead my man, what’s on your mind?”    “I recently conducted a search of the Lorey residence. As you know, I didn’t come up with anything.”    Richard interrupted him, already knowing the reason for the call. He was accustomed to several detectives on the force being haunted by searches that came up empty. He also knew that ninety-nine-point nine percent of the time, the searches came up empty because, well there was just nothing to be found. But there was always that slim percentage where something could be found. A microscopic clue swept carefully into a plastic evidence bag. A tiny speck of blood imbedded into the fabric of a suspects clothing. A small seed hiding deep within the soft decaying tissue of the deceased, screaming to be found, in the name of some cosmic sense of justice. He loved nothing more than to answer the call and rework the evidence, in hopes of bringing that justice to a world, he painfully understood, was not always just and fair.   “You want me to go over the dirt you collected from his basement floor, correct.”    “Its scary how you could read minds Richard. You should have been a mind reader with a traveling circus.”    “Maybe in the next life, I will do just that. Unless of course the Universe has other plans for my released energy.” “I will rework the dirt now, but I may not have an answer for a good twenty-four hours.”    “Just do your best my old friend. I would love to retire next month with another arrest under my belt. There is something off about this Lorey guy. Sandra could see it, and I think we owe it to her to listen.” Rest and Relaxation  Sandra raced down the mountainside with her heart beating wildly in her chest. This was her tenth time down the beginner’s slope, each time making the excuse that she was not ready for the intermediate course. She was fully aware that this was nothing more than her own fear of the unknown. For as strong a wall that she built around herself through the years, she was not impervious to the fear of change, the transition from the comfortable and familiar, to the new and uncertain. But none of that mattered to her at this moment in time. She was with the man that she never thought she would love. A typical one-night conquest has grown into something meaningful, and good in her life. Unburdened by the demands of her former life, she boarded the ski lift an eleventh time to Eric waiting patiently at the top. He was an old hand at the art of skiing. The advance slope was not even much of a challenge to him anymore, but he stayed with Sarah on the beginner slope until she was ready, and she loved him for his patience.  “Wow, that was a fun day,” stated Eric, as he removed his clothes to take a hot shower.   “I’m already undressed so I will go in first. Later we can take another one together.”   “Ok, babe, I will just stand here naked until you’re done.”    She laughed, as she walked to the bathroom, leaving Eric standing naked with a faked look of rejection on his face.    The hot water of the shower felt rejuvenating against her cold naked flesh. She closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of her strawberry lavender shampoo, as the soapy bubbles slid down the curves of her body. All seemed right with the world, but for just a moment, the world grew dark and a shadow seemed to pass across her mind. The image of Thomas Lorey flashed across her conscious turning her fantasy world once more into cold reality. She was aware once again that Thomas Lorey got away with murder on her watch. He believes himself to be a pioneer of the mind, using others as his human guinea pigs, and he is not going to stop. #   “Detective, its Richard, I found something,” came the voice over the other end of the line.   “Go ahead Richard, what do have for me?”   “In all that dust and dirt, you swept up off Thomas’s floor. I found a tiny copper wire, too small to accurately identify with the naked eye. In a pile of dust, not noticeable at all, I would imagine. Well anyway, the wire is approximately the same size of several copper wires retrieved from the Dorfman crime scene. We pulled apart one of the, what Sandra called, some type of receiver from Ronald Dorfman’s collection, and they match.”   “Son of a bitch. He either dragged it with him, or Ronald was making these things for Thomas.”    “I would put my money on the latter,” stated Richard.    “I owe you one big time my friend.” #    “Chief its John Connor, we got him.”    “Got who?” asked the sleepy voice of the Chief over the other end. “And why the hell does it always turn out that people want to break cases in the wee hours of the morning?”   “Sorry chief, I know its late, but yesterday morning I asked the crime lab to recheck the Lorey evidence.”    The chief immediately interrupted him upon hearing the dreaded name of Thomas Lorey.    “The Lorey case is closed John. Don’t end up in the same boat as Sandra. You are close to retirement and can’t afford to lose everything.”    John knew what his boss was saying was true. If he was smart, he would just pack his bags, sit on the edge of his bed, and do nothing but wait for his official retirement day to arrive. He would not have a long wait either, just forty-three days and counting.    “Chief this is not just a whim, or a hunch. Not intuition like Sandra’s. I have proof that Lorey knew Ronald Dorfman. They worked together in some capacity.”    “On what! What did they work on together? I’m getting tired of hearing this guys name come across my desk. He already cost me my best detective and, he may be costing me to lose another.”    He picked up easily on the chief’s threat, but he could not ignore the connection. Either Ronald was at Lorey’s home, or Lorey was at Ronald’s garage. This did not prove that Lorey gutted Ronald Dorfman, but Sandra’s instinct certainly tipped the scales in that direction.     “Ok chief, at least tell me please she let someone know where she was going.”     “How the hell would I know. I wouldn’t be surprised if she never spoke to me again.” End Game     “Ok baby, here I come,” stated Sandra in her best come hither sexy voice. She removed her towel, and was pleased to find that all the right parts of her firm body still dripped wet with warm water. Before even reaching the bathroom door, she felt herself tingle with anticipation of the act.    “Come here sweetie, I have a confession to make,” stated Eric, sitting on the queen-sized luxury bed.    Sandra wrapped the towel tightly around her body and sat down next to him on the luxury queen sized bed. She didn’t dare to speak after looking into his eyes, that were filled with a seriousness that she never saw before in another. This thought only brought him closer to her heart. She never had a man so considerate that he was almost paralyzed by the fear of ruining, what she could see, was the best thing in his sterile world.    “Honey, he began, I was a bit jealous of your time. I felt very lonely as you conducted your constant surveillance of Mr. Lorey.”    Sandra breathed an inner sigh of relief. She was expecting Eric to tell her that he slept with another during her absence. To her, this slight indiscretion was understandable. They did not know each other very long, and sex is just that, its just sex. What they had was more than just a harmless role in the hay. She could forgive a minor romp before they really got serious, and started talking marriage.    “Sandra, I went to Thomas Lorey’s home to see what all the fuss was about.”    Sandra’s heart felt as if it dropped heavily from her chest. She thought about the drug concoction found in Kathy’s system. Toxicology gave her the knowledge that such a combination could, in just the precise amounts, cause amnesia.    “We need to get you to a doctor. Don’t ask questions. Don’t pack. Let’s go.”    Sandra quickly dressed and grabbed her car keys off the lodge’s nightstand table. She ran to the door and noticed that she was alone. She slowly turned her head, feeling Eric’s hot breath on the back of her neck. Before she could react, Eric punched her with violent blunt force on the side of her temple, the same temple still bruised by the power of the Lumber Jack killer. She fell to the floor determined not to let this scenario end in the same way. Sandra crawled across the plush carpeting with one side of her face numb, and the other burning from the carpet fibers being scraped deeply into her skin. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Thomas Lorey step out from the bedroom closet. He was holding, what looked to her, like a black box, with a green button protruding from the top.   Thomas touched the button, and Eric immediately ceased his attack, like a robot made of wires and cables submersed in oil, rather than veins ands arteries, submersed in blood. He stared at the floor with a long string of drool pouring from the corner of his mouth, forming a small discolored spot on the floor.   “Yes, it worked. I can control aggression by way of the M1 pathway!” exclaimed Thomas, jumping up and down like a spoiled child on the neighborhood playground.   “You did nothing but created a zombie. No different than a depraved cannibal like Jeffrey Dahmer.”   Sandra could see the insult cut deeply into his flesh, like a knife slicing through rice paper. She watched as his eyes turned black, revealing the monster that lurked hidden deep within his soul, hidden from the rest of the normal world. She felt a stab of pity overtake her own rage, as she considered the abuse that must have created such a sad young man.   “Thomas I’m sorry,” she stated just before he pushed the button again. I know what that bastard of a Father did to you and your sweet beautiful Mother. I recognize your brilliance, your achievements, your dedication to the world.”   Thomas lowered the box, and for just a moment appeared as a sad wounded child, with the color vibrancy of the well adjusted brilliant scientist, he could have become, before the world grabbed hold of his mind.   Sandra was laying her cards on the table. The time for bluffing and holding her best cards was over. She recalled her discussion with Dr. Zeigler, just before catching the Lumber Jack killer. She remembered him saying once that the brain is the most elastic organ in our bodies. One part may suffer terrible damage, only for another dormant system to take its place. As she looked at Eric, and watched him wink his left eye at her, she could see that the old man’s theory was spot on target.   Eric quickly turned toward Thomas and jumped on top of him like a tiger leaping on a wounded prey. Thomas and Eric struggled on the floor of the lodge, giving Sandra just enough time to reach for her pistol in the night stand drawer. Sandra could see the black box transmitter lying just a few inches from the mingling bodies of Thomas and Eric. Before she could close the distance, over top of the bed, and grab the box, she watched in horror as Thomas’s frail hand found the top of the box. He pushed the button, and silence filled the room.   Eric stood up with blood streaming down his face from a bit upper lip he received during the struggle. Sandra watched Eric’s eyes turn black as coal, just like Thomas’s eyes. It was as if looking at evil sadistic twins, hungrily desiring her blood…her death.   Sandra fired one bullet at Thomas Lorey, striking him directly between the eyes. She watched the familiar glob of bloody gore exit the back of his head and splatter against the closet door. She leveled the gun at Eric, now slowly crawling over the bed toward her, with a look of murder in his eyes. Her short life with him flashed before her eyes at the thought of what she might have to do. Within a split second she weighed every option possible that could save his life and, save hers because she could not think of a happy life without him. She attempted to aim for a non-vital part of his body but he was coming on too fast. She fired just one time before collapsing on the floor and losing her own consciousness. #   Eric opened his eyes slowly blinking against the blinding white light. He could hear a voice off in the distance, coming closer, as if, he thought, an angel calling me home.   “Hey baby, wake up. Come on get up.”    Eric opened his eyes and through a drug induced haze Sandra’s face came into focus.    “So, I guess I’m not dead,” he laughed briefly before wincing in pain.    “I shot you in the stomach, as far left as I possibly could. I didn’t have a chance to shoot you anywhere else that would be effective so I picked the easiest target that just so happens to take, sometimes days to bleed out.”    “Eric smiled, and took Sandra by the hand. “Well, thank you for shooting me in the stomach. By the way, would you marry me?”   Sandra rolled her eyes and played as though she were considering such a suggestion. She turned her gaze to his hopeful face and said, “your goddammed right I will.”    As Sandra bent down to kiss Eric, her phone began to ring.    She looked at the number and stared with a blank expression until the ringing ceased.    “Why didn’t you answer it, sweetheart?”    She looked at the chief’s number on the front of her screen and stated, “I’m done with living with the dead. Now I’m just going to live.” End                                                                                                                       Text: Brian Hesse All rights reserved. Publication Date: December 4th 2017 https://www.bookrix.com/-le1e0617723d695

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-marisa-redhead16-rebecca/

Marisa Redhead16 Rebecca FIghting Isn't Cool Aside from being my wife, Rebecca was a wonderful woman, and a wonderful mother. She had single-handedly given birth to two of our kids, Josh and Becky. Images: Cover does not belong to me All rights reserved. Publication Date: July 26th 2014 https://www.bookrix.com/-redhead16

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-mell-corcoran-shadows-of-doubt/

Mell Corcoran Shadows of Doubt Prolouge It is a simple thing to know one’s place in this world, provided you have a pulse and your gray-matter is intact. Whether your name is on the V.I.P. list or you are required to wait in line behind the velvet rope with everyone else depends entirely on your place in the social food chain. This pecking order is entirely different from the true eco- logical food chain. The natural order of things such as spider to fly, cat to mouse, cheetah to gazelle. Survival of the fittest has given way over time from the physical to the fiscal and become the driving force behind modern civilized society.   Let us be completely honest here, it is only opposable thumbs and the invention of gunpowder that has given humankind the illusion they are king of the evolutionary mountain. Little worry of being ambushed and devoured by a pride of lions on one’s way to a mani- pedi or power lunch as far as the natural selection aspect is concerned. So completely taken for granted by modern culture, the social food chain is rarely, if ever, given actual thought. Who is at the top of the chain rules all and those at the bottom have little choice but to either accept their fate, scraping the boots of those on high, or bite and claw their way up the rungs by whatever means possible. An individual’s moral compass is all that dictates whether the biting and clawing is metaphorical or literal. It is in that simple distinction that we have the modern struggle of right versus wrong, good versus evil. This entire concept is just a given course of tides in our society, rarely thought of, questioned or challenged. It simply “is” and has been for thousands of years. Until it isn’t.     For a select few, whom we shall not necessarily call a “lucky” few, all illusions are shattered and the social food chain is properly pushed to the back of the line behind the natural order. By a simple twist of Fate in the guise of bad timing, a lapse in judgment, a wrong turn, or a simple mistake, the comfy cozy illusion of life as one knows it can be forever altered and replaced by a reality that only some know to be the truth. In that split second of wrong place at the wrong time, the fragile human psyche can fracture irreparably, leaving the ill-fated individual facing a rapid end to their life. Or, in the alternative, a permanent state of drooling and a long, fruitless existence filled with pudding cups and anti-psychotics administered at regular intervals. Once in a while, however, the unfortunate soul holds, absorbs, processes and actually survives not only the physical assault, but the psychological cataclysm of this encounter. Either way, life is never the same. Every rule, social norm and expectation is warped, flipped and contorted beyond comprehension. Here it is back to the natural order with a variable never before known in the average every day in a life. In a nutshell, adapt and fight or die.   On this particular day, this particular instance, it would most certainly be die. After all, this was not an encounter created by the Fates, twisted though it may be, it was careful design. He pondered that a moment with a twinkle in his eye as he looked at his fly writhing and wriggling in his meticulously woven web. Even from a distance he could feel the terror radiating from the young, petite blond that was brutally bound to the wooden chair in the middle of the room. A shiver of excitement slid up his spine as he leaned against the door- jamb staring at her, savoring the moment. Even obscured by her bonds she was lovely. Pale blond curls, only slightly matted, tousled about her heart shaped face, spilling down over her bare, bronzed shoulders. Delicate shoulders, he noted, though probably formed more from malnutrition and copious amounts of crack than her having a naturally slight frame. Such a romantic, he thought to himself. He would rather look upon her as a delicate fragile beauty than the abject hollow crack whore that she was. Worn and overused at such a tender young age. Had she said she was twenty when he asked? Or was it twenty-one? It mattered little. He was sure she was lying for his benefit as would any semi-experienced underage harlot to a nervous John. How thoughtful that was, he mused with a smirk. Her self- less attempt at making him feel comfortable with the transaction. He would have to remember to thank her for that at some point between the bouts of unconsciousness that were about to befall her and surely before he finally ended her pathetic and useless life.   He moved toward her slowly, taking delight in the desperate flare of her nostrils as she struggled for air. Smiling softly, he stood over her and continued to observe the panic washing over his little fly caught in his web. With a tug of his sash and a roll of his shoulders, the rich brown silk robe he wore slid to the floor like a puddle of melted chocolate. He stood bare before his prey breathing in deep the scent of her fear. Almost tenderly, he reached out to stroke a stray curl cover- ing her face. “I wish I could say that I am sorry this is going to hurt you, my dear.” His voice was soft, low and musical with an accent she had never heard before. “But I must admit to you now, before we get started, that it truly brings me joy. So please, don’t hold back on my account...” He reached around her head and unfastened the buckle of the thick leather strap that mercilessly dug into her flesh. The strap was tethered to the ball-gag that was brutally shoved in her mouth. Once undone, he tossed it aside then sighed almost wistfully before he continued. “Scream my dear, scream all you like.”     She felt the air shift and something quickly brush against her chest, a surge of heat, something warm and wet. A coppery smell filled her nostrils as a searing pain snaked its way up her neck and wrapped itself around her skull with an agony she could scarcely believe possible. To his delight, the screams began.   Chapter One (excerpt) January in Southern California was nothing short of meteorological schizophrenia. Thursday the snow levels had dropped to twenty-five hundred feet with temperatures topping out at a whopping forty- three degrees through the weekend. Now, the amazonian lap dancer passing as a weather anchor buoyantly reported the forecast for Monday as above average highs in the low eighties. Detective Lou Donovan stood four feet from the flat screen television staring, highly annoyed. She looked down at herself, growled, then violently yanked the heavy wool turtleneck from her body.   Born Tallulah Louella Donovan, the petite homicide detective went strictly by “Lou” to anyone other than her mother or uncle. Those others who preferred keeping all their teeth securely in their mouths called her “Lou”. Haphazardly  pulling sweatshirt over t-shirt, she caught the disapproving gaze of her cat out of the corner of her eye. “What?” she demanded from the glossy black puff of fur sitting in the middle of the doorway. The feline simply tossed his nose up at her then sauntered  off to find a patch of sun to lounge in. “Everyone’s a fashion critic.” she muttered and proceeded to pull on her boots. Though Lou would never be mistaken for a fashion model, she was a far cry from plain. Rich auburn hair, cut in a severe a-line bob, framed delicate almost elfish features. Sharp green eyes, the color of good imperial jade, could spot a mouse hiccuping fifty yards away in the dark. At a mere five feet, four inches tall, she could take down and hog tie a two-hundred and fifty pound tweaker in under a minute. It was well known among the ranks that this fifth generation cop was all business and not someone to be taken at face value. Despite her uncle being a highly decorated, now retired, detective with the Los Angeles County Sheriff ’s Department, and her father having been gunned down in the line of duty when she was only two years old, Lou earned her own way, on her own merits, and everyone in the department knew it.     “Good morning sunshine!” Lou exited the closet with one pant leg inadvertently tucked in her boot to meet the sound of her mother’s voice. “I heard you come in around four this morning so I figured the sooner you got this in you, the better for the planet.” The cheerful woman handed her one of the two mugs of coffee she was holding and leaned in to kiss her daughter good morning.   “Have I told you today how much I love you?” Lou took the offer- ing with both hands as if it were the most fragile thing in the universe then returned the ritual morning kiss before bringing the mug to her lips. She nearly inhaled half the steaming contents in one gulp. “Ahhh... thank you, thank you, thank you.” She followed her mother to the sit- ting area of her room and plopped down in one of the overstuffed chairs. “Sorry for waking you. I was helping out one of the guys from narcotics who was sitting on a house waiting for some jackass he’s been trying to pin down for almost a month.” She drank deeply from her mug and flashed her mother a weary smile. “The moron finally came out around three, stark naked, to get a pack of smokes out of his car and we scooped him up.” Lou snorted a laugh recalling the events. “Rico had me rolling, yanking the guy’s chain telling him he was going in naked as a jaybird. The twit was seriously freaking out over that more than the fact that he was facing fifteen to life.”   “Morons have their priorities too, dear.” Her mother noted as she grinned and leaned over to pull Lou’s pant leg from her boot. “You didn’t wake me though. Joe had to catch a red-eye flight at two this morning. I couldn’t fall asleep after he left.” Her mother was referring to her husband, Lou’s step-father, Joe McAllister, who despite being rich enough to hire Donald Trump to do his laundry for him, still worked harder than any man she had ever known. “He’ll be in Bangladesh or Bangalore or wherever the hell it is until Thursday.”   Shevaun McAllister was more then Lou’s mother, she was her best friend and biggest fan. With a short fringe of strawberry blond hair, her face always reminded  Lou of a fairy queen. Regal petite features, with gently sculpted cheekbones, a slight upturn to her nose and a smile that never failed to make Lou feel like everything in the world would always be fine so long as her mother kept smiling. Her slight, athletic frame was wrapped in her favorite fluffy purple robe as she curled up in the chair opposite Lou. “So anything juicy on calendar for today?” Her sapphire blue eyes twinkled with curiosity.   “Nothing exciting on tap so far. I’m gonna take the train in, get some paperwork done and see what Vinny has cooking.” No sooner than she spoke his name, Lou’s cell phone began to play the theme to the movie “Godfather”, which she had set as her partner’s specific ring-tone. Her own little personal joke. “Speaking of angels.” She popped up from her chair and retrieved the phone from the bedside table and snapped it open. “Yo! Vinny!” She answered his call as she often did, imitating a thick Brooklyn accent. On the other end should could almost hear him roll his eyes.   “Yo yourself, Kiddo. I can tell you’re coffee has started kicking in.” Sergeant Vincenzo DeLuca had been a part of Lou’s life for longer. Publication Date: April 30th 2014 https://www.bookrix.com/-ih56fc532441635

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-c-keelemen-the-fall-from-darkness/

C Keelemen The Fall From Darkness A Dark Winter To the readers, whom encourage me to keep writing. Shadow  It was a shadow of doom. That was as simple as I could put it. I started inching along the wall trying to leave this shadow until, I tripped on the bottom stair of the staircase. I had no comprehension of where I would go from there the only thought in my head was ‘Get away!’  I decided to follow my thoughts and rushed up the stairs. It was then that I noticed little Katie following me. A thought hit me that I instantly voiced and questioned, ”What and how can something scare a ghost?”       Blue I Should have been relieved when Katie, a ghost, disappeared but I only got more terrified. The truth was that I would prefer any ghost to this shadow. My eyes darted around the room hoping to see an exit. As the shadow came closer I backed up farther. One foot slipped off and my breath caught in my throat as I found my balance before I could fall. I didn’t know what to do there was nowhere to run. My eyes hit the shadow again and the darkness hit me and I backed up quickly forgetting all about the hard machinery at work far below or the tough ground even further. The last thing I saw before I fainted was blue lighting up the blackness that had filled my eyes earlier. One trip !--[if gte mso 9]<xml> <o:DocumentProperties> <o:Template>Normal.dotm/o:Template <o:Revision>0/o:Revision <o:TotalTime>0/o:TotalTime <o:Pages>1/o:Pages <o:Words>57/o:Words <o:Characters>325/o:Characters <o:Lines>2/o:Lines <o:Paragraphs>1/o:Paragraphs <o:CharactersWithSpaces>399/o:CharactersWithSpaces <o:Version>12.0/o:Version /o:DocumentProperties <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG> /o:OfficeDocumentSettings ![endif]--!--[if gte mso 9]<xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0/w:Zoom <w:TrackMoves>false/w:TrackMoves <w:TrackFormatting> <w:PunctuationKerning> <w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt/w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing <w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt/w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0/w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0/w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false/w:SaveIfXMLInvalid <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false/w:IgnoreMixedContent <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false/w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables> <w:DontGrowAutofit> <w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx> /w:Compatibility /w:WordDocument ![endif]--!--[if gte mso 9]<xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276"> /w:LatentStyles ![endif]-- !--[if gte mso 10] <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} ![endif]-- !--StartFragment-- !--[if gte mso 9]<xml> <o:DocumentProperties> <o:Template>Normal.dotm/o:Template <o:Revision>0/o:Revision <o:TotalTime>0/o:TotalTime <o:Pages>1/o:Pages <o:Words>247/o:Words <o:Characters>1408/o:Characters <o:Lines>11/o:Lines <o:Paragraphs>2/o:Paragraphs <o:CharactersWithSpaces>1729/o:CharactersWithSpaces <o:Version>12.0/o:Version /o:DocumentProperties <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG>/o:AllowPNG /o:OfficeDocumentSettings ![endif]--!--[if gte mso 9]<xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0/w:Zoom <w:TrackMoves>false/w:TrackMoves <w:TrackFormatting>/w:TrackFormatting <w:PunctuationKerning>/w:PunctuationKerning <w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt/w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing <w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt/w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0/w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0/w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas>/w:ValidateAgainstSchemas <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false/w:SaveIfXMLInvalid <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false/w:IgnoreMixedContent <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false/w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables>/w:BreakWrappedTables <w:DontGrowAutofit>/w:DontGrowAutofit <w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables>/w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx>/w:DontVertAlignInTxbx /w:Compatibility /w:WordDocument ![endif]--!--[if gte mso 9]<xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276"> /w:LatentStyles ![endif]-- !--[if gte mso 10] <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} ![endif]-- !--StartFragment-- I opened my eyes expecting to see what being dead was like, since I was bound to have had made a one-way trip there. To my surprise though my eyes were blinded by pieces of thick yellow straw and may I add very uncomfortable straw. Then all of a sudden I heard my partners yell, “Alexandra!” My reply came too late and before I could say, here or fine, they broke down the entrance to the mill. Once they saw me their eyes went from terror, to shock, and landed on anger as if they hit a red light and there emotions were stuck not allowed to move. What I did not know until later, like when I got home and took a shower was that I had scrapes and bruises all over me. Their voice tightened and fire danced in their eyes as they asked, "Who did this to you Al. Tell us now." I knew better than to reply ghosts so I played amnesia. "I don't know. Why are you here? The last thing I remember was walking in here and the doors locking," I rambled sheepishly. They told me that the swab they had taken from the turtle when I first gave it to them matched from the metal here and when I never came back they got scared. Man my first case and I scare both, Garry, my brother and, Jim, my boyfriend. I thought, 'at least this is one trip I won't be forgetting.' As we were leaving I noticed the two ghosts, shine and glow, and the ghost who, now looked like a male older than the other two but not an adult, was completely black except for his eyes. I realized that he was that terrifying shadow. I was hoping as I walked towards the exit, with that bright blue light hitting my eyes before quickly disappearing again. I was hoping, no pleading, that I was not crazy up to God as the fresh winter snow hit my face. !--EndFragment-- Publication Date: April 15th 2013 https://www.bookrix.com/-r16ckelemen

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-redhead16-marisa-to-love-a-pretty-girl/

Redhead16 Marisa To Love A Pretty Girl The Missing Members I wasn't totally sure that I would like J.K. Rowling's latest book, but I did. I loved it a lot. I closed the back cover and set it down. I looked at the clock. The school bell was about to ring to start class. I was already in my seat at the front, close to the teacher's desk. Alexandria, the creepiest girl I've ever met, made her way to her usual spot in the back. I looked around for my crush, Cree. Strange, she wasn't here. She always makes it to class on time. Sure enough, she ran in just before the bell rang. "Sorry," she panted. "I had a meeting with another teacher." she explained to Mrs. Gomez. "That's fine." Mrs. Gomez said, not really paying attention. Cree sauntered to her seat, ignoring me totally. I wasn't too surprised, we havn't spoken since seventh grade, since I completely embarassed her on accident. I gazed at her for a moment, right before Amber Tanguin interrupted my thoughts. She swished right by, waist-length strawberry blond hair following her. She also ignored me. Typical, especially since she owes me money, and she's the most popular girl in school. She's beautiful, confident, and witty. She set her purse down on my desk. "Do you mind?" I asked her, pushing my thick glasses up my nose. She shrugged. "Not really." was her response. At that moment, I wanted to kill her. She had chosen me as her victim of torment two years ago when I accidently spilled milk on her shirt. To make it fair, she had blown pepper in my face and I sneezed without warning. I don't regret it. I picked up the straps and set the bag down, and when I did, she glared at me. "Mrs. Gomez, " she said innocently. "Daniel reached over and picked my cell phone out of my bag!" People glanced our way, and some frowned at me, others at her. "I saw what really happened." Mrs. Gomez said. "You were purposely trying to irritate him by putting your handbag on his desk." I smiled. Score one for Daniel Reayn. But I knew this satisfaction wouldn't last long. Amber would just find some other way to torture me. I picked up my Science notebook and textbook.   At that moment, a beautiful girl with long brown hair walked in. Her eyes were a hazel/blue color. When she locked eyes with me, my heart stopped. My eyes moved to her lips, which were thick and full. And red. For the first time, I noticed her clothing. Her skirt had to be only five inches long, and her halter top was cut to expose. All of the other men turned to face her. I turned and noticed Amber frowning a little. "You must be Raina." Mrs. Gomez said. "No, my name's Cree." she explained. "I'm here for two semesters. I mean, quarters." "Tell us about yourself." "I was homeschooled, I have an older sister that I live with, and I have a child." My heart stopped again. "She's my world, and her name is Teri. Had her when I was fourteen. That's all I will say about my life right now." she said. "Okay, thank you. And thanks for telling us about your daughter. I can relate," Mrs. Gomez said.   I knew something was wrong. This girl...she looked oddly familiar. She looked like...Cree. Cree looked exactly like her, but she didn't dress so brazen. This girl was definitely not Cree. She was too salacious, and she had a daughter. Cree was still a virgin.  I knew that for certain. She was pure, a Virgin Mary. Besides not having the Son of God. Well, who knows? I certainly didn't know everything about Cree. I don't even know the name of her first boyfriend. Publication Date: January 16th 2014 https://www.bookrix.com/-redhead16

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-madison-johnson-the-begining/

Madison Johnson The Begining Me Myself and I Text: I am not a good writer so i am taking a chance All rights reserved. Publication Date: January 30th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-smores725

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-rebecca-anderson-me-sometimes/

Rebecca Anderson (me) Sometimes Sometimes saga Sometimes By: Rebecca Anderson Asha’s father is dead and his last words are find him. It’s up to her and her ten year-old sister to find out what to do and who murdered him. “I love you.” I whispered in a deaf ear. Chapter One Why? I felt like running yet I couldn’t move. “It isn’t fair!” It was my sister, Elizabeth‘s voice. It was made of broken glass at the time. Tears went down my face like a bike going downhill. The speed of the bike was tremendous, but the feeling was lament. I wanted to say in a calm and tender voice he would live. If I said that, I would be lying. That and I was afraid to speak because it might turn his body to ashes. At least that’s how it seemed. He’s dying. My father is dying. His last words were fragile and clear. “Find him.” Find him; I quoted it in my mind several times. “No I love you.” My mother died a year after giving Elizabeth birth. I don’t need anyone else died, not now or ever. He closed his once swampy brown eyes. I leaned over the corpse of him. “I love you.” I whispered in a deaf ear. I put his hands together as if he was praying. I began to pray with the lifeless body. “Lord,” My voice was not glass-like now but trapped. “Let him be in paradise to see those golden roads. Let the rapture take him up to heaven .No lake of fire just golden roads. I know what I said to him. ‘Go to-‘I couldn’t say that horrid word. My hair draped over him. I let go of his hands. My sister grabbed his hands and kissed each of his cheeks. Elizabeth grabbed his hands. Suddenly the sirens went off. The sound blasted in my ears. Elizabeth looked up with hopeless eyes. She mouthed my name, Asha. We were at risk for being bombed. “Come on!” It was barely audible but by her expression I could tell she didn’t want to go. She wanted to be with him. I grabbed her arm and toke her down the steps of the basement. “Stay here!” I went back up the steps and locked the door to keep her down there. I went to the kitchen to grab a gallon of water. I ran down the steps after unlocking the door. Elizabeth was waiting at the bottom of the steps. “You forgot something”. She went up the stairs hastily. I waited sitting on the cold concrete floor. My thoughts didn’t go completely around the bomb more around the war. Its 2012, the world isn’t burning by the sun. It’s burning because we are the ones burning it with bombs. I noticed Elizabeth was coming down by the loud footsteps. She came down with a picture of us all together. “Asha look.” In it mom was holding Elizabeth. She was just a year old back then and I was five. Both our faces were round. I looked different from everyone. I had medium skin with blue eyes and dark hair, I still do. Mom and dad both had soft brown eyes. The sirens stopped blurring the noise in my ears. A few minutes passed and the sirens gave a ‘safe signal’. Yet we both decided to stay down. The first question was short but hurt my heart. THE QUESTION ASKED “Asha, is daddy in heaven?” I could tell she couldn’t say hell. I reminded myself of what I had said. Go to burn in the lake of fire. Hell. It made me wounded to say it on my mind. “Is he down there?” She looked at the floor crying. Her emotions transported from her to me. I just hid it better. “No,” I faked a crooked smile. “He’s in heaven.” I looked up with affectionate eyes. The kind you would have in church after being ‘healed’ .After fourteen years of living in my world you learn how to pull these things off. She continued the conversation slightly further. “Are you sure?” “Do I look unsure?” It was a question to me but Elizabeth took it as a statement, I could tell by the reassurance on her face. “Come on we have to go upstairs." She followed me close behind. “The body, it’s gone!” To find out what happens next read Always Coming out February 2010 There is no guarantee that this will be the cover. Text: Sometimes copyright© 2010 All rights reserved. Publication Date: January 21st 2010 https://www.bookrix.com/-rebagal22

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-ophelia-miracle-is-life-worth-living/

OPHELIA MIRACLE IS LIFE WORTH LIVING? PHONE CALL IT WAS 3 AM WHEN I GOT THE PHONE CALL BUT, I WAS TO TIERD TO BE SAD I JUST CRYED. MY MOTHER AND FATHER WERE FOUND DEAD IN THE PARK SHOT TO DEATH... I AM 16 AND MY NAME IS AMERILLA ROSE AND I AM NOW LIVING WITH MY SISTER CAMIMILE BUT, WE JUST CALL HER MILA SHE IS ONLY 4 YEARS OLD AND EVERY DAY SHE ASKES ABOUT MA AND PA BUT I ONLY CAN SAY THEY ARE GONE SHE JUST DOSENT GET IT THOUGH. LONLY GRAVE THE DAY OF THE VIEWING I COULDN'T GET MILA OUT OF THE CAR SO I SAT WITH HE FOR A LITTE BIT BUT I HAD TO GO IN.ASPEN MY COUSIN SAID SHE WOULD GO SIT IN THE CAR WITH MILA. "ARE YOU TWO ALRIGHT IN THE APAERTMENT BY YOUR SELF?"ASPEN SAID CARINGLY. "I DONT KNOW." I WIMPERD."CAMAMILE STOPED TALKING TO ME, I DONT KNOW WHAT TO DO." "NO ONE DOSE AMERILLA."ASPEN WISPER ON HERE WAY TO THE CAR. ASPEN WAS RIGHT NO ONE KNOWS WHAT TO DO... LOST THE FALLOWING SATER DAY ASPEN MOVED IN... "AWGG, THATS THE LAST BOX." "MILA GET DOWN HERE TO HELP US PACK!"I SHOUTED. "I DONT WANT TO!!!"MILA YELLED. "CAMAMEIL ROTH ROSE GET YOUR BUTT DOWN HERE NOW OR ELSE I WILL COME UP TO GET YOU!" "MILA LISEN T O YOUR SISTER PLEASE."ASPEN TRYED TO HELP BUT, IT DIDNT WORK SHE WAS AS STUBERN AS A MULE! "THEN COME GET ME!!!" THAT WAS THE LAST WORD FROM MILA. "OK ASPEN AND I ARE COMING UP!" I SHOUTED.THAT WAS IT SHE HAD OVER STEPPED HER BOUNDRYS!I WAS TIERD OF HER ACTING THIS WAS ALL ABOUT HER NOW, THAT SHE WAS IN CHARGE BECUSE MOM AND DAD WERE GONE BUT, SHE WAS WRONG. ASPEN AND I WENT UP STARS... "UNLOCK THE DOOR CAMEIL OR I WILL TAKE IT OFF THE HINGES" (ERREAK) THE DOOR OPENED BUT MILA WASENT THERE, THE WINDOW WAS OPEN THE SCREEN KNOCKED OUT WERE DID SHE GO? "CAMAMEIL!!!!!!" WERE WAS SHE? ASPEN AND I WALED AROUND THE NEIGHBOR-HOOD BUT, FOUND NOTHING WERE WAS SHE WHY DID SHE LEAVE? LOST Publication Date: December 5th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-ophelia.miracle

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-blackrock-hearts-starring-black-day-light/

blackrock hearts starring black day light english Waken up "yawn" I wake up feeling very heavy which is not regular,I rolled off my bed onto the floor a little to hard that all my pictures fell straight on my face,"Mimmy" my mom called "what on earth are you doing, fighting alienated monsters or something". "no" I called back " I flew off my bed and ran into the mirror " hoping my mom would take the lie, then I got up from the floor and went down to get washed but then I started to see double eyed, I got scared and started to wobble across to my sisters room! but then I remembered if I went into my sisters room that I would be toast, so then I went to stop not realizing that I was in the middle of the hallway floor, but then I remembered that my teacher taught me to put my head between my head to keep myself from fainting in public, then I started to hear soft foot steps which sounded very natural but still I kept my head between, "hey, Mimmy" she said in a soft soft voice, " you okay, want me to help you get up so that you wont be late for school" I lifted my head to see that her black red and pink hair turn all to light blue white and cream hair which looked so cute, I said to her " I guess so, its worth it to have a very beautiful emotion and hair color, plus its good to have a very nice helping out friend or sister in this case of matter", she blushed and helped me up, " thanks for saving me I meant to tell you my name but I was scared out of my wits,my names peach". I said " thanks and your welcome to" then we left to go catch the school bus before we get detention, as I raced to school I seen that peach was running in head of me for some odd reason, " peach why are you running so fast, can you slow down just a little bit"? but when I did that I was in for a big surprise. I was not paying attention to my surroundings so when I called her a bunch of police officers came tagging along in the batch of me with hand cuffs and those weird looking electric things, I thought in my head " those electric things must be as painful as you just putting yourself in fire, then they came closer and closer,then I made a sudden stop that pushed some of the police down the hill that I was running up.Then the police turned back and I went scampering up the hill to get to the same speed of my sister, but one problem where is my sister? "peach" I yelled in the ally ways til I came up to being quiet, this military guys arm was damaged it was twisted off, I went over to help him but this girl that was half human half skeleton came in front of me with a big ax that you use to cut down trees, then I looked at this creepy unlike me creature in her eyes even though the other side had no eyeball to look in so I just look in that one eye and said, " I know you from somewhere, all I know is that she hit my head with the bottom of her ax and that's all she wrote.   The next day I woke up seeing very blur but I could see that my sister was not where I was, but the question is where in the world am I? I sat up very quickly to see where I was at, I seen doctors, nurses, police officers and more people, I said where an I even though I had a thought of where I was at, my thought was I was in the home care center or something but I was really in the hospital from that crazy unlike, no where looking like me girl that hit me in my head with that humungous ax, if I moved I would have gotten a whole bunch of people dead, I was so angry, I thought about my pass that person was right in my house when I grabbed her, I first thought that she was putting on a suit and playing but after she kicked me down the steps and tried to kill me while I was in my tween age and yesterday I knew exactly what to do, I said " peach"! turns out she was standing right at my door, which is one thing that told me that she was up to no good, plus yesterday I went to go look for her to see that a military guy was screaming for help turns out he died thanks to that creepy laddie that went in front of me, and hold on a minute she said thanks for saving her and after having that talk she gets chased by a bunch of police officers, man that's enough to tell you that she was up to no good, okay so I talked to peach, every question I asked her she never answer she just told me, " Ill answer it when we get home. I thought popped up in my head what happens if I don't come back in time and you forget, or I never get out and I see that I will be bound in my bed till I get pregnant but she does not think that way, shes always think about her, for her its all I I I, ME ME ME, like I'm her daughter and I have to follow every order or shes going to slice me in half. I got up aggressively and slapped her to make her listen and tell me but that was a wrong turn, she out of no where turned straight into the laddie that tried to kill me had a missing eye, skeleton body and human have alien, this is a good time to panic but um, panicking would just make it worse,all  I know is that the laddie picked up her ax and I was gone, for some reason when everyone came in I was dead sliced perfectly in half, for some odd reason I could see exactly what was happening, I guess she did not realize that all my family and her family was looking at the cut in half body lying on the ground with tears in its eyes , plus she was laughing and giggling I said and I did not know but I said" peach"! everyone  turned to the sky thinking that their was a goddess in there but I told her " I will be back to send you to hell, so enjoy killing people while you still can". then the voice turned fade and that's all I said. Then I knew exaclly what punishment I was going to do to her to put her down to hell, and I hope she's going to like it cause  shes the one who is going to be having the crys. I started making new plans so that I wouldn't have any problems with this girl. I was still doing the thoughts when I could sence the presents of something bad geting ready to happen and I thought I knew who it was but it wasn't clear enough to analize so I would just have to go out there to see what is going on. As I was heading out of my secret data base to find out what trouble was going on this round, I started seeing a net for floating around spirits that could enter in and out of a body or thier own body. "Dear oh dear! It was a trap , if I decide to go up there I might get captured and placed in the body of another person so that every body can see the loved one that died, the only problem they will have is that I can come out of the body when ever I want so now I can go up there." I was heading up before something hit my head. If they would to put something on me that would stop me from coming out of people bodys until they die again owuldn't that mean I would be able to disapear for good if not careful! I puased it my tracks and started heading backwards until I heard a voice screaming down to me. " Darlings soul, I know you must be down there! I need you to come back up so that I can bring my daughter back to life, so please come up!" I wanted to know who was that but I thought maybe it was my sister who was playing as my mother. I kept thinking about the possiblitys that could happen if I come up. I then thought maybe since they can see me they can most likley hear me so if I talk they can answer me. " Hey you people! can you hear me!?"  " Yeah!" everyone said to me before my sister threw a match down the entrance of my secret head quarters. I rush right threw my tunnels to get my papers and got out to where I had metal covering my computer that was with metal in a big coner that protected me from the most resistible person in the world. My sister as you know killed me in the begining of the story which would mean she's coming for mother and father next which I can not let happen, I am the only one on this mission that can kill the brat would believes she owns the world. I couldn't wait but at the same time I had to be careful that I don't kill other people while I am at it. I stayed in the room until all my family left the room and my body got picked up to go into the grave or where ever they are deciding to put my body weather they decide to keep it or burn it I don't care as long as I can complete my mission and get back to what I wanted to do, huant people until they do not want to go into the huanted area again, mwa ya ya ay a. I know I don't sound scary or sound like a ghost that is ready to do some bad things or anything like that. Forgiveness or Hell Man being in the air is really wierd because I am ghost and I am fade so when the air comes and blow I cant feel it so I always get creeped out and never get to keep up because I always see the air and never feel. As I went wondering around the place thinking of what punishment I should give me alien sister who probably has a gang or maybe even has a boy friend to kill once she's done doing her bissness with him. I was so eagar so I grabbed some invisible paper and pen to get the ball rolling, "hmm" I thought to myself, " this is a hard chose there is so many punishments I could give her! Maybe Ill make her fall through a sewer and have crocodiles down there too" or Ill make a bunch of acid soda or hot lava go on top of her head. So I made a list of punishments and placed the paper on my tab I realized that if your a ghost you don't have to eat unless you wanted to so I went food hunting to see if I can find a place to take some fried chicken or something but then I ran into my sister and a boy that had chicken nuggets so I went over to make it look like she was being selfish so I went over and went to grab a chicken nugget and before he looked down I grabbed two chicken nuggets and ate them in one big chunk, he looked up and started asking a bunch of questions about her and if she ate anymore chicken nuggets but she kept saying no then he said that there is only one nugget left then she said that she would go back and order somemore food so that it can be equal I left real quick to laugh and turns out she could hear me and see me so I had to stay quiet so that I couldn'y get caught by my sister, when she came back she said that she needed him  to come with her and that she wanted him to go to the bathroom and I knew she was up to no good and that was when she said that she would be coming after him, I seen him leave and how she transformed and I knew that if she can do it so can I, so I needed to get to be a ghost for real turns out she left and forgot the food and that was my time to eat and make her look bad even though I knew that she was already going to make her self look bad if she does anything to that boy even though I know she is. I made sure she was out of sight and went to get my grub on when I was done I left four nuggets and a half I knew that there was no limit to my belly so I left two for them both then I just couldn't help it so I went over to the stand and got some fies for free and some wings and went on my way by the time the clark turned around he knew or at least he thought he knew that my sister stole his food so insted of him relaxing he had to make more food that he already made and now I feel much better because of she might have to stop her from buying any of his food, while I was relaxing I relized that somebody was screaming so I rushed over to see what was going on so I started making wolf sounds to destract people and get her caught but I had to get next to them to make them move. The next day as she was walking to school it was very very surprizing and very angering becuase every sewer that was there she dodged so I scratched that out I said to myself, " now to plan b" and plan b was making wood or something fall on top of her head which I thought was a smart idea, plus you cant dodge anything you cant see. so I walked out again and before she made it to school I grabbed somebodys sign and threw it at her which still did not work becuase she went running off when she checked the time. " Now to plan plan c" which was not so good, I walked down the hall with my invisible self and this was my last chance. okay I waited until school was over to slam her in the door. but I was a little to happy that I missed her by  a second and my plans were demolished for good! I was in complete anger thinking about how much I was expecting to slam her in the door or maybe even split her into two but with me full of pride geting ready to shout for joy I missed her and got in my terrific sorrow and turned into a crazy monster I mean I just couldn't take it no more I not lying but it was going to get me to be a complete and rude monster like one of those giants that is about to make somebody into a bit of goop or a small sandwich like fried pork, but any way, I was back at my secret layer making more ideas to make sure that she could not live no longer and that I would be called queen and then I would be queen of the whole world even though Im not alive still I did not surpass the fact that I was the dumbest of the dumbest of all in the family and that I was not really in the family, to be exact I almost forgot that I was place into a foster home and that I was the one who was put inside that family, I could have expected that they were not really human but I now am going to let my past humanity go into the junk yard and bring my knew life that was coming my way. Okay I now know that I have to keep up with the days becuase now it is like friday and I thought it was like thursday but it skipped a whole bunch of days and now that I know that I have to keep all of my papers split for, 1. Keeping track of the days that go by so that I don't have to say that we are it october and we are really in december,and 2. so that I can make more plans to destroy her and make sure that she is kicked off the face of the earth. I know taking somebody off the face of the earth is pretty crule but she earned it becuase of she killed my human body and now I have to take this mean gratitude for me being such a good sister. Okay so now it is friday and I have no good plans for my death writing sister who claims to be a very helpful sister. T hen a idea popped into my head, why don't I make it look like my sister died and have a grave so when she comes back her parents will beconfused and they will never let her in. That was a great idea why didn't I think of that before! I raced to my parents house or my use to be parents and made a copy of her with the blood and everything, then I put her up on the sink and put a butcher knife in her neck. I was just in time because her mother was just walking in when she see the fake. " Oh no why would my daughter do such a thing as kill herself?" When the funeral came her grave was right next to mine and that was a perfect idea. I flew away back to the house to see her father packing up her stuff and putting it in inside of the sell products. I leaped for joy a little to early, I turned around to leave until I seen her inside my face with those commanding eyes. I was looking at her like she was crazy because I was a ghost so that stuff wouldn't work on me unless I wanted it to work on me and at the momment I didn't want it to work on me so I just went into the house and went to the father and whispered in his ear like I was his mind. " There is a robber trying to get inside your house, and how 'bout you go check your daughters room you will be able to get the rest of her stuff and will never be able to remember her ever again, the horrible things she did to you how disrespected you". He looked at the door and quickly closed the door and locked it shut and ran up stairs to her room. I went flouting right behind him, when he opened her room door all you seen was blood, guts and bones. I was exstonished when I seen this because of I never seen anything like this but hey I would never see anything like this when I never killed anybody in my life other  then my sister im trying to kill like today. I don't care what people say, I now can confirm that she is a murderer and that she came to this familly to kill and rule the house, I would love that to happen but then I would be out on the street, my real parents would be dead and I would be alone, plus I would put other people in danger of being killd along with the whole world being forced to bow down to her feet and serve her as being a servant. I can't let any of this stuff happen, not after what she did to me, I never hurted her favorite fly that some how was softly taped to the wall without getting smashed. I started hearing foot steps that were coming from the steps. I ducked and my father jumped, I never knew that my father could even jump that high, I guess I was the only one that was human because of the way he looked was as if he wanted this to happen, like he was exspecting more from her like killing more people. The most disturbing thing happened after that, first he says that he is proud that he sees this then he hears foot steps coming behind him as if he wanted to die, by the way if someone told you to stay out thier room  and then a ghost or something tells you to do the opposite then you know that someone that come to your door that looks like the same person that is supposed to be dead, then you definitely know that something is wrong. I look backwards to see her looking at me so I left and my father was about to die for good. I floated over to the police and pulled out a tazer to taze anyone who would like to be tazed. Publication Date: March 18th 2016 https://www.bookrix.com/-ri3ab8b3d894745

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-nick-venom-accomplice/

Nick Venom Accomplice: Season One Episode One "What is Murder?" What is murder? Can it really be defined? Murder in self-defense isn’t considered murder, but accidental murder is? Jax asked me this question every day. He believed that the government murdered their rivals and criminals through the death sentence and the public deemed it legal. Jax has many beliefs about the government---some that seemed crazy while others made sense. This all made Jax the psycho he is. I became friends with Jax during third grade for a school project. Ever since then, we would hang out everywhere and eventually he showed me his after school projects. His after school projects consist of me deceiving friends and taking them to an abandoned cabin by a large river while he takes good “care” of them inside of the cabin. He would force me to convince anybody to follow me, no matter the gender, race, or appearance. He has no identifiable pattern for his choice of victims aside from that he killed anybody who attacked Jax or I. Jax took care of them and discarded them into the river while I lured them in. Jax and I. Murderer & Accomplice. We went to the same elementary and high school. Torn Isaac High School. The high school poses numerous threats to my safety, but none to Jax. Bullies would often bully me for my lonely tendencies which Jax never approved of. Two days later, the bullies would go missing and Jax would claim that he had no connection to them, but I found the bodies. I even peeked inside of the cabin and saw the gallons of blood and body parts littering the inside. I, simply, throw up whenever that sight peeks into my mind. This is why I vowed to never allow Jax to see my world; To never let him interfere with my world. Years and years of blindly following his every order racked up regrets and sorrows. Potential friends, lovers, bullies all thrown into the river, drifting off into the ocean. He controls nearly every movement I make, even recording every phone call I have to deter me from calling the police. Doing that will earn me a spot on the river; Something I cannot allow as I could be the only one who knows about who “he” really is. His recordings have gone from school to home as my parents died young, leaving me alone and giving Jax’s parents the chance to adopt me, sealing my fate. A measly accomplice like me doesn’t have the chance to live a normal life with the things I’ve seen. That is something that will remain the same for eternity, past heaven or hell. What am I saying? I won’t be able to get into heaven, leaving hell as my only option. I woke up due to my alarm clock. It read “7:20 AM” and served as my reminder that the first day of school was upon me. I got up and got dressed, heading off to school without seeing Jax, but feeling his presence Episode Two "Prey" The first day saw no negative results for August as he didn’t talk to many people. He found himself slowly transforming into the class outcast, which he didn’t mind. What he did mind was Jax, who wasn’t in the same class as him, constantly glancing at August whenever he had a chance to. Even so, August got through the day without worry until he reached after-school time. He escaped his final class, leaving the building and on his way back before bumping into a classmate of his; Rick. Rick, a spitting image of the high school bully trope, began harassing him for simply bumping into him. He ordered his goonies to begin bashing on August with their baseball bats, bruising his tanned skin.  He allowed it to happen, taking the beating as quickly as he could. The more time he spent being beaten, the more time Jax had to see the event unfold. After Rick and his goonies left, August bolted home to begin masking the bruises and cleaning any cuts with water and soup. He wore a long-sleeved tee-shirt instead of the school’s usual white polo and blue trousers to cover the bruises and prevent Jax from learning of them. If he knew, Rick and his goonies would depart the earth forever. They would be at the bottom of the river, their bodies never found. August couldn’t allow that. A few hours after returning home, Jax’s mother, Wendy, arrived and began making dinner. August and the other members of the family---Jax, his brother and sister named Henry and Hailey, and Jax’s father, John---arrived at the dinner table and began chomping down on their platters of steak. As everybody devoured the thin strips of steaks, Wendy glanced at August, proud of her fourth child. Her eyes went down to her left arm where his sleeve had been rolled down enough to show the bruises. Something shot through her to ask about it.  “What happened to you?” Jax’s eyes snapped to August, inspecting the bruise before August could roll the sleeve up and feign ignorance. He made up a lie about tripping on stairs being the cause of the bruises. Wendy opened her mouth to ask more questions but a glare from Jax stopped her. She dropped the subject and they continued to eat but now sat in dreary silence. Even at home, Jax was a horrifying beast that nobody wanted to provoke. After eating, August headed to his room, hoping to hide out as long as he could. Unfortunately for him, Jax entered his room without knocking, staring at him. “Who attacked you?” “I didn’t see their faces,” August told him. He didn’t try to lie to Jax as he already knew something went down. Excuses wouldn’t work in front of Jax, only the truth would. “Who attacked you?” He repeated. August shook his head and repeated his answer, receiving an irritated expression from Jax. Jax balled up his fists, his eyebrows furrowing, before walking off. He didn’t hit the wall or the door, simply walking off before anything began. August, however, knew something would happen. He decided to visit Rick the next day and warn him of Jax. Even if Rick didn’t trust him, as long as he could be warned of Jax and his behavior. That’s what August believed, going through another day of school thinking about what he would say. He visualized the situation and chose his words carefully.  He met with Rick after-school across from the school, sparking a conversation with him. He warned him that he will “befall a terrible fate from Jax” but Rick laughed it off before threatening August with another beatdown. He walked off while laughing, his goonies following after him and participating in the fake laughter. August let out a sigh, disappointed that Rick was headstrong in not listening to him. He turned around, scanning his surroundings for someone he didn’t want to see. Unfortunately, the person was there. Jax stood in the parking lot across from the school with his new friend group, his eyes staring intensely at Rick as he walked towards the main entrance of the school. August’s heart sank as he realized what was going to happen. Rick’s dead. Jax is going to kill him! August turned around, deciding to sprint home and not watch the murder occur. He didn’t want to be branded an accomplice more than he already was. He sprinted right into a girl, throwing both of them to the ground. “Sorry about that,” He said, my voice timid and weak. “No worries, I wasn’t looking where I was going either.” The girl responded. August took a good look at her and realized that she was beautiful; flowing brown hair, a pink and blue sundress, and silky tan skin.  “Wait. You’re the guy who sits in the back during class!” She said, recognizing him. August jerked my head back as he never noticed her in his class before. “U-Uh, yeah, I’m August,” He said, extending my hand out. She shook his hand before inspecting him up and down.  “You’re not half bad.” She said in a quiet voice, obviously shy and embarrassed. “Well, u-uh, thanks,” He said while blushing.  She gave him a big smile. “I’m Bailey, nice to meet you, August.” She said before hearing her phone vibrate. She took out her phone and checked a message, now looking up at August. “I’ll see you around,” She said before walking off. August nodded, obviously gawking at her. He began drooling for her, clearing it with his sleeve after snapping back into reality. No, I don’t want to include her in this chaos. I have to remember that anybody around me could be killed in an instant. I need to be careful of who I include on this battlefield. Jax will kill everybody. I have to be prepared to stop him then.   TBC… Episode Three "Warning" August went to school the next day, contemplating whether or not his choice of visiting Rick was right. Jax had his eyes on him now.  “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything, but… what if someone saw Rick and his goons beating me up? They could’ve told Jax or maybe he found out about it through word of mouth.” He thought out loud.  August was beating himself up. He felt guilty as Rick would soon be dead if Jax worked quickly. Maybe he had a day or two, but soon he would be dead. August knew that. He crossed the street, beginning to walk further down and go through the main gate; the entire school was fenced off by black metal fences. However, before he could go any further, Bailey appeared seemingly from out of nowhere. August recognized how weird it was to see her since he didn’t see her during the first few days, but he ignored that thought. It’s probably a coincidence. Nothing else, just a simple coincidence. “Oh, hello August.” She said cheerfully, staring at him. “U-Uh… hello,” He whispered, his voice weak. He wasn’t expecting her to speak to him. Most girls talked to August once, finding out that he was very timid, before never speaking to him again.  “Did you hear about the death?” She asked. August shook his head. Please don’t be Rick who was killed! He screamed internally. She pointed at the main entrance, the yellow police tape peeking through the fence at August. He gulped hard, his mind confirming it was Rick who was killed. He heard a police cruiser’s sirens blaring, whizzing past him and pulling up to the school’s entrance. Two officers stepped outside, pushing students and staff away from the entrance. The officers helped with securing the main gate and back gate. Rick recently died. August concluded in his mind. There’s no way the officers would be securing the school if it happened this late or… did Jax get to him after school. “N-No, what happened?” He asked, his breathing becoming erratic. “A student was killed in one of the classrooms. I think the student’s name is… was Rick or something.” She nonchalantly said. August nodded, his breathing unstabilizing. His mind was everywhere, not noticing that the news of Rick’s death wasn’t posted until later and that she had just arrived. She didn’t have enough time to peek in the murder classroom at the scene or to confirm it was Rick.  "D-Do… Do they know who did it?” “Apparently, he was tortured in a classroom to the point of insanity. The kids that found his body said that there was writing covering the walls, but they couldn’t make most of it out. Only a couple of fragments.” She said. August nodded, a single bead of sweat rolling down his forehead. He didn’t pick up on her wrong intel---as later reports would confirm---that a staff member found the bodies and not students. “Those were?” He asked, his heart pumping more blood than it ever had. “Twisted grin, one eye, and malicious laughing,” Bailey said. August nodded his head softly, turning away from her. “Thanks,” He said, walking away from her. He now had a few days to think about what happened, since the murder closed the school for a few days. Bailey, meanwhile, watched him leave, not paying a shred of attention at the crime scene. Her eyes were focused on August. He didn’t notice her lingering stare, talking to himself as he returned home. Twisted grin, one eye, malicious laughing? It has to be Jax, I’ve heard him laughing like they described when he was killing that guy. He has also told me that he likes to watch them, peeing on them with one eye. The “twisted grin” part? He makes that type of grin a lot, especially when he’s delighted with a kill or when he crushes somebody’s spirit. Jax, why did you do it? Why?     ***     “I did as you ordered. I made contact with him.” Bailey told a figure masked by the darkness. “I told him about the murder and he looked to have recognized the clues. There’s no way he didn’t. He was breathing heavily and he began to panic as I told him more about it.” “Perfect,” the figure said. “Keep in contact with him. Don’t let him out of your sight” “If you don’t mind me asking… Why am I investigating him instead of Jax? If August is the accomplice and Jax is the murderer, then getting evidence on Jax would be better.” Bailey asked. “No!” The figure shouted. “Jax is dangerous, a real criminal. August, on the other hand, is safer to deal with. We could get pieces of evidence from August and use them against Jax. However, do not make any contact with Jax, and don’t drink anything he gives you or follow him anywhere, even if he says it’s just to the park or to a gas station.” “Okay,” Bailey whispered, bowing her head. “Continue with your orders, but remember to never let them corner you. If they do, then, inform me and I’ll send all the dirt I have to the FBI and get them the death penalty.” The figure spat. Bailey nodded. “They’re both dangerous. Even August. He may be the accomplice, but he has seen more than any normal person has.” “I understand,” Bailey said. “Don’t forget to heed this warning. Your entire life and future are resting on your actions for this case. Don’t betray my trust.” Bailey nodded. “I won’t forget your warning… mother.”   TBC… Episode Four "Confrontation" August walked home, not meeting with anybody. He headed straight home, arriving faster than usual. He grabbed ahold of the door handle, heaving the door open.  He walked inside, looking around the living room. To his surprise, there was nobody in the house. He was the first one home. Jax’s parents were still at work and Jax’s siblings were at their middle school. Only the high school was affected by Rick’s murder. However, one thing irked August. Why wasn’t Jax home? He had left before August, so he expected him to arrive before him.  Something’s wrong… Where did Jax go? Maybe he decided to go and have fun with his new friends or…? That makes the most sense. He would have fun with his friends and not return home. Wait, if he isn’t here then… August’s gaze lingered on Jax’s bedroom door. The door was always restricted from being entered, even though Jax entered every other room without worry. It was something unfair that his parents allowed. They seemed partially afraid of him at times. August staggered towards the door, feeling somebody staring at him. He turned his head to look at the door, seeing if Jax or somebody else had arrived. However, the door remained closed and there was nobody in sight. He looked around the room again but didn’t see Jax lurking in any corner masked by darkness. There was nobody, except for him, inside the house. He was alone. And he was getting curious. He approached the door, his hand hovering over the doorknob. What is he hiding behind the door? It wouldn’t be a victim that he hasn’t killed yet, right? No, I'm overthinking it. Why would he have a victim here and not in the cabin, right? Right? Right? I don’t know anymore! He heard the doorknob of the front door turn. Somebody was opening the door, someone with a key. August jumped, darting to his room. He stopped at his door, peering through the living room at the front door. It was Jax, wearing a black tank-top. He had a towel draped over one shoulder. “What’s wrong with you, August?” Jax asked, noticing him instantly. His vision was instantly snapped to him.  “U-Uh… nothing Jax. I was about-” Jax cut him off. “It was Rick right?” “W-What?” August blurted out. “He was the one who was bothering you, right?” He asked. August shook his head, opening his mouth to spit out an excuse. However, Jax stopped him. “You’re lying to me. I saw you with Rick yesterday and many people saw him beating you up!” He shouted. He quickly closed the distance between them, now in August’s face.  “You do remember that I was the one who taught you how to lie right?” Jax asked, playing the past card. August bit his lip, knowing that Jax had him where he wanted. No matter what he said, he would see through him. Jax walked past him and towards his room, grabbing the doorknob but not turning it. He glanced over his shoulder at August. “They’re all gone, even the goons. You won’t have to worry about them anymore. But why didn’t you tell me about them? I could’ve helped you. I am your best friend, right ?” He asked, his words filled with malicious intent. He was smiling at August, a non-verbal, try this again and see what happens. August nodded his head. “I’m sorry,” “No worries,” Jax said, his smile disappearing. “Don’t worry, I won’t try to influence your life, but I would be careful of her . She’ll bring you to your demise.” He said with a wink. He opened the door and headed inside, locking it after he entered. August thought he heard another voice inside his room, but he couldn’t tell. The voice disappeared as quickly as it appeared. Although something seemed sketchy about Jax’s room, August ignored it. He turned around and headed into his room, locking it. Her? I don’t know any other females except for Alice or Hailey. What other females have I met? As he thought about the short list of females he had encountered, from the cashier at the nearby gas station to the middle-aged woman who lived down the block, something hit him. Is he talking about… Bailey? She’ll bring my demise? How and why? Isn’t she a normal girl… she isn’t connected to anything dangerous, right? She’s just a normal girl, nothing else? Or does she know something that she isn’t telling me…?    Several minutes before Jax arrived at his home, he received a notification from his phone. He took out his phone and unlocked it, going to his messages. An unread message was waiting for him. He read the messages in his mind, not speaking them out loud, but not before glancing around his immediate surroundings. He was some distance away from his front door.  He’s inside. I think he’s headed my way! The message read.  He frowned upon the message, looking up at his house. He typed in his response, reading it over in his head. Has he found you? The response came immediately. “He hasn’t yet, but… it does sound like he knows I’m here. He’s creeping up to the door. He typed in an I’m right outside, don’t dare make a peep into his phone. A few seconds after sending it, he got the response. Okay… I will. Get inside fast. Jax nodded to himself, looking around. He moved forward, headed for the front door. He typed his response while walking. I’m at the door, do NOT move! He put a large emphasis on the word “not”.  The response was, I know. Jax finished the conversation by typing in, Good. Now stay put and shut up.   TBC… Episode Five "The Mystery of Her" August headed to school three days later, the sun’s warmth conflicting with his feelings. It was warm and bright outside, but he felt heavy and cold. He felt like something was going to happen to Bailey. Ever since Jax mentioned a “her”, August had been thinking about Bailey. He hoped that nothing happened to her like what happened to Rick. He didn’t want a repeat of that incident, especially so soon. He reached the entrance, the police tape gone and the cruisers non-existent. The case was wrapped up quickly as if the police wanted to cover up the incident. School was reopened faster than anybody expected. Even the teachers were bewildered at how quickly had been case ended.  Even so, nobody could challenge the decision. Teachers returned to work while students were forced to head back into the building that held a person who had died recently. It wasn’t the best situation for most. As August made it to the gate, he noticed a familiar face. It was Bailey, dressed in her uniform, waiting for him. He didn’t expect to run into her this quickly, a little weirded out by it. She was waiting by the gate, looking at him. “Uh… Good morning.” August said. “Morning August, how are you?” She asked.  “Uh… Good?” He didn’t feel comfortable around her. Bailey nodded. “Have you heard there was another murder?” “Another murder?” August nearly jumped at her, surprised about another murder. “In the building?” Bailey shook her head. He does know something, Mom was right. “The murder was some blocks away from the school, but the body was a student from here. Same way of death as well.” She told him.  “Oh,” August muttered, looking away from her. Did Jax kill another student? Why? He didn’t go after Rick’s goons, right? Oh, please God, don’t let it be Rick’s goons! “Thanks for the information.” He said, turning towards the main door. However, something entered his mind and he spun around to face her. “Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask you a question. Have you, by any chance-” He was interrupted before he could finish his words. It was the school bell ringing, alerting him that he would be late to class. “I’ll… ask you later.” He said before turning around. He headed into the building, leaving Bailey behind. She watched as he walked away, her eyes lingering on him until he escaped her sight. What was he going to ask me? Was he about to confess something important? I need to talk to him soon before Mom contacts me. *** A girl dressed in a white polo with wrinkles and creases. She wore a blue skirt that went down past her knees but stayed clear of her ankles. She wore her coal-black hair in a bun and under a sports cap. She looked at August as he went into school. She carried a gun in her backpack and a knife in a skimpy sweater that she had on.  She took out her phone and dialed numbers into the call pad. The person she dialed picked up.  “Are you sure?” She asked the person on the other side of the phone. “He doesn’t seem to have done anything wrong.” She listened to the voice and nodded. “Don’t worry. I will complete my mission. Bailey and August will be dead by the end of the week.”       ***     August’s mind couldn’t pay any attention to the lessons. He watched the teacher’s mouth move, but he couldn’t tell what she was saying. Everything that she was saying went through one ear and out the other. Suddenly, the intercom roared alive. A slight buzzing sound echoed before it disappeared. “August! Please come to the dean’s office. Again, August. Please come to the dean’s office.” It shouted. August sprang up from his chair, which screeched as it scraped against the floor. The class stared at August with blatant curiosity in their eyes. They were all curious as to why he was being called to the dean’s office.  Bailey stared at August, tilting her head. Why did the dean call him? Is he being connected to the murder? August left the classroom as quickly as he could to avoid the painful stares, heading towards the dean’s office. Once at the office, he knocked on the door. He received no immediate response, knocking again. The dean called him into his office. August opened the door, entering the small office. Waiting for him was the dean, an elderly African American man dressed in a luxurious suit. He had his fingers intertwined on his desk, staring at August. The dean looked younger than he actually was, being in his seventies but looking like he was in his forties. The dean motioned for August to sit down, which he did quickly. He was confused at the situation, unsure if the murders were being traced back to Jax or him. “I wanted to talk to you about your friend Jax. Has he been acting… questionable recently?” The dean asked. “Questionable? What do you mean?” August asked, playing dumb. He knew what the dean was talking about. “As in… Has he ever asked you any concerning questions or told you to help with some ‘secret’?” The dean leaned in closer. “No, he hasn’t.” August lied. “Nothing out of the ordinary? Anything about… murder or death?” The dean questioned. “No,” August responded. He knew that, somehow, the murders were being traced back to Jax and him. The dean was trying to pry information out of him to use against Jax. He wouldn’t dare betray Jax. He knew the consequences for it.  The dean sat back, nodding his head. “Okay, thanks. You can return to class. If anything pops up then you can always come and talk to me about it.” The dean said. August nodded, getting out of the chair and leaving the dean’s office. He got to the other side of the door, slumping against a row of lockers next to it. He sat on the ground, staring at the lockers across from him. Thoughts invaded his mind. They know about Jax. I need to tell him… or do I? Should I say anything about it? Can I say anything about it? I shouldn’t say anything about it. Wouldn’t he be mad if I didn't tell him? I won’t tell him. “Something’s wrong with him.” He accidentally said out loud. His thoughts were leaking out. “What’s wrong with who?” asked Jax. He appeared from out of nowhere, staring at August emotionless. August’s body tensed up and his eyes widened. His lungs didn’t dare to breathe and his heart refused to beat. August made a mistake and he knew it.   TBC… Episode Six "Mystery Girl" “What’s wrong with who?” Jax asked, staring at him with his cold eyes. “Uh… uh… uh… “ August stammered, his eyes darting around for a way out.  “What’s wrong?” He asked. He walked up to August, crouching down to meet his eyes. He smiled, creepily whispering, “Cat got your tongue” in his left ear. His whisper brought more fear into August’s system. August shook his head repeatedly. “Oh, then what’s wrong with him ?” Jax repeated, glaring at him. “I… was… talking about Rick. H-H-His mind was… was twisted.” August stammered again, his hands trembling. “Oh, Rick huh?” He said, standing up. “Yeah, Rick is… was a nutcase. Unfortunately, it seems like God has chosen to take him even with his mental state being ‘like that.’” Jax abruptly entered a laughing fit.  August let out a small uneasy laugh as Jax stood up, backing away from him. “Well I gotta go, so I’ll see you at home,” Jax said with an uneasy and charmful tone. A mix of good and evil.  Jax walked to the end of the hallway but turned around right before he disappeared from August’s sight. “Oh, I’ll need your help later.” He shouted before disappearing around the corner on the left side of the hallway. With him out of sight, August let out a sigh of relief, his heart and lungs functioning as they should. He looked around, making sure that nobody noticed their conversation, before walking off. “He pushes me around like I’m worthless,” August muttered under his breath as he went to the end of the hallway and ventured down the opposite direction of Jax.    “Why is he like that?”     ***     Bailey watched Jax and August’s encounter outside of the dean’s office from behind a corner until it had concluded and both parties disappeared. She noticed the hierarchy in the relationship between the two with Jax being the dominant while August was the submissive one.  “Something seems off,” Bailey whispered. “August is supposed to be helping Jax with his… plans, but he still has this innocent aura about him. It’s almost like he’s doing it against his will… or he could be acting innocent to lure in prey. Maybe Mom was right about him, he’s even more dangerous than Jax.” “I see that my first target is a stalker of sorts.” An unfamiliar voice whispered into Bailey’s ear. Bailey jerked her body away from the voice and into the same hallway where August and Jax once stood in. Bailey turned to face the person, who wore the same uniform as her. A sports cap hid her hair while a face mask covered the bottom portion of her face, allowing her eyes to be seen.  “Who are you?” Bailey asked. “My name isn’t important.” The girl whispered. “What is your intention then?” Bailey asked, her breathing heightening as the moments grew on. The girl brandishing a knife from behind her back didn’t help either.  “Does this answer your question?” The girl asked, waving the knife around. “Uh… kinda,” Bailey said, reaching for something hidden in her right shoe. The girl noticed her movement and let out a small chuckle. “I don’t believe you want to die yet. I know it’ll be a disappointment to your mother if the connection to her is revealed.” The girl taunted her. “You don’t know me,” Bailey said, raising her voice.  “Oh, I know what your mission is. Investigate Jax and August to figure out-” Her taunts were interrupted by the Dean, poking his head out from his room.  “Are you girls okay?” He asked. Both girls nodded. “If you guys are fighting, then knock it off before you have to deal with me.” The girls nodded, going in opposite directions from each other. The Dean shook his head disapprovingly, whispering “why can’t girls get together nicely”, before retracting his head into his room. He didn’t realize that he both stopped and caused a murder. The girl, meanwhile, still held onto her knife without anybody noticing it, except for one unfortunate kid. He was later found dead, stuffed in a dumpster behind the school. This prompted the administration to finally react after three students were killed over a span of a few days. They closed the school down for two weeks to strengthen their security and clean the school. August was forced to help Jax with disposing of another body before they parted ways for the two-week break. Jax disappeared into thin air without letting any of his family know where he was, leading to fights between his family and him. August remained out of the battles and focused on training himself. The lack of confidence that was apparent during the conversation at school plagued his thoughts. The only way of building his confidence was to run his thoughts away. Talking to normal people would have been a better choice.     ***     Bailey reported to her mother about the girl she encountered. Her mother sat silent as she listened to Bailey’s report. “A mysterious girl wielding a knife made contact with you?” “Yes,” “Interesting. I will look into this mystery girl. Until then, observe Jax and August if you can. If you can’t, then return home and continue your self-defense training. If that mystery girl intends on hurting you, then you must be able to hurt her first!” Bailey’s mother shouted, throwing her fist onto the armrest of her chair. “Now!” She ordered. Bailey nodded, bowing her head. “Yes, mother. I’ll do what I can.” She left her mother behind, going out to find August and Jax. Her mother remained masked in darkness, seething with anger. “I want that girl dead. Kill her.” She ordered somebody dressed in the darkness. “Do what you have to.”   TBC… Episode Seven "Chess Piece" Bailey returned to the school during the two-week break and found herself standing in the same hallway where she first made contact with the mysterious girl. A small drop of a red substance was scattered on the floor, blatant among the white floor. Bailey squatted down and wiped a small portion of the floor with her thumb, bringing it up to her face to investigate it. “Blood?” She whispered as she stood up before looking around. “She really did kill that kid, then she…” She said before her voice trailed off. “I did,” A voice behind Bailey muttered. Bailey spun around to face the mystery girl. “Why?”  She asked, staring at the girl. The girl cracked a smile while slowly tilting her head like a dog. “He saw my knife, so… he had to die.” Bailey shook her head as she took a step back. “Are you scared?” The girl whispered.  Bailey looked at her and nodded. “You’re crazy. Who wouldn’t be scared of you?” The girl’s smile disappeared, turning into a frown and a raised eyebrow. “He doesn’t like that word,” she whispered. “Who doesn’t?” Bailey asked. The girl opened her mouth to answer but was interrupted by a gunshot. Bailey watched in shock as the girl clenched a bullet wound on her stomach before collapsing to the ground. Two men in black military gear walked past Bailey and picked up the girl’s unconscious body.  Another man in black military gear tapped on Bailey’s shoulder. Bailey turned around, with her jaw open and followed the man to the parking lot. In the parking lot was a white van that opened its door as they approached it. Bailey’s mother, shrouded in the shadows inside of the van, motions for the girl’s body to be dumped inside. The two men swung the girl’s body into the van before sealing it up.  “You’re free today, Bailey. Enjoy your time.” Bailey’s mother shouted from within the van. The van stormed out of the parking lot and onto the nearby highway. The three men then ran from the parking lot and into a nearby truck. The truck roared alive as it lunged into motion. Bailey remained in the parking lot and watched as the van and truck disappeared from her sights. “She… used me again… “ She whispered. “She used me… “     ***     A man dressed in black military gear stood in front of the mystery girl, wielding a sledgehammer. The mystery girl was being restricted by handcuffs, locked onto a chair. The man wore a stern look as he glared at the emotionless girl. “What shall I do with her?” He asked. “Torture her until she gives up the name of her employer.” Bailey’s mother muttered from one corner of the room that was shrouded in darkness. The man nodded before raising the sledgehammer. He looked down at the girl and noticed a black stare. Irritated at her lack of emotions, the man dropped the sledgehammer on her left arm. Her left arm cracked open with bones splitting in half and blood gushing out.  Even with the severe injury, the girl lacked any emotions or the ability to scream as she shrugged at the sight of her broken arm. “Miss… it doesn’t look like it’ll work.” The man said. “Lev!” Bailey’s mother shouted. “Don’t make me repeat myself.” Lev nodded and raised the sledgehammer into the air. He bit his lip before letting the sledgehammer fall with its momentum upon her right arm.     ***     August wiped his brow, which was drenched in sweat, before taking a swig from his water bottle. He looked to his right at the statue in the middle of the rectangular pond. The statue was a bronze sculpture of a Civil War officer riding a horse. The horse was on its hind legs while the officer shouted orders from atop of it - holding his saber high into the air.  August ripped his eyes off the statue and continued to run another lap around the pond. August wasn’t overweight in the slightest and was able to keep a thin figure. However, he lacked stamina and strength, which were two things that Jax excelled in. August finished the lap but decided to do another before calling it a day. He wiped his brow again before taking another swig from his bottle. He picked up his pace as he went from jogging to running and finished the lap a couple of minutes faster than his previous laps.  Once finished with the lap, August sat down at a nearby bench and took a few sips from his bottle. “I wonder if this will be enough,” he muttered to himself before taking another sip. “I think it may be enough.” remarked an unfamiliar voice. August snapped his head to his side to see a girl standing next to him. She has light brown hair that was long enough to cover her left eye, but not long enough to go down to her chest. Her hair darkened towards the hair’s tips, but only the last inch.  She had on big lens glasses that highlighted her big light blue eyes. She wore her school uniform of a white polo with a thin black sweater over it as well. She wore a mixed red and white striped skirt instead of August’s school’s blue skirt. Her tanned skin brightened up her eyes and hair. She had a round face with large eyes and a small pointed nose. “I’m sorry if I scared you.” She said, smiling softly. “No, you didn’t scare me.” He said, shaking his head. He stood up from the bench. “I’m August.” He said before extending his hand out to her. She took it and smiled at him. “I’m Sarah, nice to meet you.” “Likewise.” “Sorry about disrupting you. I kinda wanted to talk to you, even for a short while.” She said with a shy smile. August’s heart skipped a beat. “U-U-Uh, no worries.” He stammered. “Well, I have to leave soon, but… “ She said while taking her phone out of her pocket. “Can I get your… n-number?” She asked, blushing hard.  August, at a loss of words, nodded before digging out his phone. He unlocked his phone and revealed his phone number, handing the phone to her. She grabbed it and typed in August’s number into her phone while adding her number onto his. After she finished, she handed his phone back to him. “M-Maybe, I’ll see you later.” She whispered before turning around and running away towards her friends. August stared at her as she ran from him, with his jaw slightly unhinged. “Was I just hit on? And a girl wanted my number?” He said. He looked down at his body. “Maybe I should be training more often.”   TBC… Episode Eight "Murder Threat Angelica Flower, a petite dark-skinned brunette, is the owner of a small business known as Heights Insurance. Heights Insurance appears like a “clean” and safe business on the outside but holds a creepy and disturbing secret - hidden within the company. Heights Insurance was a fake business created to cover the information trafficking and murder that Angelica’s Private Eye team did. They absorbed every piece of information and used it to figure out the threats of the city.  Irongate was a rather large city that housed many threats from common muggers to murderers and rapists.  Angelica’s Private Eye was scattered all over the city and dealt with these threats to ensure Angelica’s spot on top, hovering over everybody else, continued to exist and thrive. She was the Queen of Irongate.  Angelica sat in her office, staring at her computer. Displayed was a new page of targets. The targets included a variety of threats, but two of them stood out. Pictures of Jax and August were on the list, marking them as dangerous and near-harmless. Jax’s picture’s outline was red while August’s was gray; the colors confirming the threat rate they had. Next to each photo were a series of notes, detailing much of what had been observed.  Bailey’s notes about August were next to his photo, marking him as a low threat. However, Angelica, Bailey’s mother, wasn’t sure if her daughter was telling the truth. It seemed like Bailey wanted to leave the underground world and live a normal life, but Angelica wasn’t going to let that happen. She rose from her seat and left the room, entering the biggest room on the second floor; filled with cubicles. Filling the cubicles were fake employees only hired to deceive the government. The real employees were in the offices against the outside wall and below in the basement. The others were pawns in the game of dominance.  She left the second floor and descended into the basement, the walls going from a mix of yellow and orange to bare concrete. The farther she descended, the more differences you could spot. It began resembling a medieval dungeon.  After descending for what felt like hours, Angelica reached the basement. Her high heels chipped the concrete as she walked towards a closed-off room. She passed the boiler and electrical panel, reaching a locked room. She knocked on the door five times before taking a step back.  “Password,” A familiar voice muttered. “It’s me, Lev,” Angelica responded.  The door instantly opened, revealing a worn-out Lev. He motioned for her to enter before shutting the door behind her. Once inside, she was hit with the sight of the mystery girl with her legs and arms broken. She sat emotionless in a puddle of old blood. Her clothes were drenched in her blood, which stuck to her after drying. She looked awful - her hair dirty, her face ghostly pale, and her body stained with blood. She wasn’t a pleasant sight to see.   “She revealed something?” Angelica asked. “Nothing, she’s been airtight about her employer. I’ve gotten more emotion out of her than words,” Angelica looked at the girl who looked as if she didn’t mind not having her arms and legs anymore. She was eerily emotionless. “And she shows no emotions,” Lev added. “Um, do you mind If I leave?” Lev asked, his body slightly trembling. “My mind is getting closer and closer to insanity every moment I’m here.” “Grab Gem and assign him to look over her.” She ordered. Lev nodded before opening the door enough to poke his head out. He noticed somebody else. It was Gem, a frail and young-looking guy. He was in his twenties but looked eleven. He wore the same black-plated military-grade armor that Lev had.  “Found him, Miss. Gem, I need you to guard MG-1.” Lev ordered before leaving the basement in a hurry. He raced up the stairs as quickly as he could before the noise of him hurling floated back down into the basement. Angelica shrugged the sounds off before closing the door.  “Gem, you want to try?” “No, thanks.” He said, looking away from the girl. He looked too young to be working, more so with the violent sights in front of him. “I’m here to give you a message.” He handed her a letter. “Does it relate to her?” She asked. Gem nodded. “Read it aloud.” He cleared his throat before reading the contents of the letter. “Good morning, Ms. Flower. I am Stephen Wright of Cali Organization. We’ve talked before. However, today isn’t related to our past conversations. Instead, I wish to talk about Minny. It seems like you’ve been taking care of her. As her father, I would like to relinquish your visiting rights to Minny, so please return her to my home asap. If you don’t, I will have to take this to court.” Angelica’s smug smile went upside down. She understood that Stephen wrote the letter cautiously to avoid detection from the mail system, but she also understood the threat thrown towards her. The “court” would be a reward for her head. She had now awakened a beast.  “What should I do?” Gem asked.  “... let’s respond with what we do best. Gem, stay here and guard her. Nobody is allowed to take over or leave with her without my direct permission. The guards I tasked with guarding her will come down here with the password of-” She glanced at the girl. “Wright.” She whispered. Gem nodded and took his pose, standing firmly over the girl. Angelica nodded before leaving the basement.  As she climbed the stairs to her office, she stepped over a puddle of vomit and mumbled to herself. “He dares threaten me? I need every piece of information about his family. I’ll kill them all and we’ll see who’ll threaten me after that.” She had a deranged smile on. She, herself, was turning into a beast. A beast that was fuelled by a murder threat. The beast was on the verge of being freed.   TBC… Episode Nine "Love Sparks" August had gotten a girl’s number, something that he never expected. He had an interest in girls his age, but they never reciprocated the same interest back. They often ignored him for Jax, the more popular and “handsome” of the pair.  This plagued his mind. If Jax was with me, would she have gone for him instead? Was it because the park was empty? Maybe all of the handsome boys left and all the ugly ones came in! That could be why - I was the best of the worst. August felt inferior to Jax. However, he was doing his best to escape that feeling - training his stamina and body at the park.  August returned home, laying on his bed and staring at his phone. He watched his phone as if a message from Sarah would pop out of nowhere.  Should I ask her why she asked for my number? On the other hand, maybe I shouldn’t. Or maybe I should…? Why does this have to be so confusing! It’s like trying to figure out a thousand-piece puzzle. A loud beep told August of a text message he received. He quickly unlocked his phone and dove towards his messages, finding one by Sarah. He read her message out loud. “If you have time, do you want to have a coffee? I know of a spot not far from the park. We can go whenever you want to. I’m free after 3 this entire week..”  August’s eyes widened. She’s inviting me to a cafe? Is this a… d-date? He thought to himself nervously. He had never been on a date before and having a girlfriend was something he couldn’t fathom. Okay, I need to calm down. It’s a simple date… Yeah, a normal, not-stressful simple date… I need Wendy’s help. He jumped off his bed and rushed to meet Wendy and ask her for help. She quickly accepted after seeing how excited he was. She dressed him to the best of her abilities, putting him in an ironed tee shirt with a thin black sweater over it, black jeans, and a pair of clean black sneakers.  “When are you meeting this ‘certain person’.” She teased. August looked at her blankly. “I forgot to tell her.” He turned around and ran to his bed where he left his phone. He typed in, “We can go tomorrow”, before erasing it. He undid the erasing before redoing it. He rephrased it before removing it.  Eventually, he stopped erasing his message. “I’ll be up to go tomorrow.” He read it out loud. He pressed sent, waiting for a reply. He waited for a minute, Wendy standing in the door frame watching him before a response came in. “I can do tomorrow. Let’s meet up at Cafe Erica.” She responded. August quickly typed out his response, reading it out loud to an audience of one, who he didn’t realize was watching him. “Okay, see you there.” His response was read immediately but got no response. The conversation ended August turned around, his eyes widening in horror as he noticed Wendy staring at him. “Wow!” She exclaimed. “My boy is surely growing up. Good luck with the date.” She turned around and left the room heading to her own. August turned back to face his phone. Is this a date? Or am I overthinking it? I guess I’ll find out tomorrow.     ***     August’s hair was combed and gelled to part to the right. His dark gray hair shined a brighter shade of gray, getting closer to snow white and farther away from Jax’s coal-black.   He approached Cafe Erica, noticing Sarah lingering by the front door with a few of her friends, the same ones from the park; A dim fire-engine redhead and two light-shaded brunettes. Sarah noticed him, waving him over. He walked up to her. “M-Morning, S-Sarah.” He said. “M-Morning,” She said, blushing. August took in the sight of her, dressed in her school outfit. Unlike August’s school, her school hadn’t been closed, especially for a string of murders of their students. “Woah, look at the lovebirds.” The redhead remarked, dressed in the same outfit as Sarah. “I’m sure you’re disappointed it wasn’t just Sarah, right? ” She teased. August shook his head. “I don’t mind.” He said. Deep down, he didn’t like that it wasn’t only Sarah.  “Well, too bad!” One of the brunettes remarked. “We can’t let her meet some stranger---that she met at the park---and let her get kidnapped so easily.” “Yeah, we need to be paid before that can happen.” The other brunette joked, taller than all of the girls.  “Girls!” Sarah exclaimed, blushing heavily. “Stop messing around!” The redhead grinned. “Let’s go inside already.” She opened the door, motioning for them to enter. Sarah and the brunettes entered first, but the redhead barred August from entering. “I’m sure you can easily tell, but she has an interest in you. If you dare to break her heart, I will kill you.” Her smile disappeared, replaced with a serious expression. It was then quickly replaced by a smile. “After you.” August nodded, walking into the building. The redhead followed behind him, both sitting down at a table in the cafe. Sarah sat across from August with the brunettes sitting down next to her. The redhead sat next to him at the six-chair table.  “Sorry about them, they insisted on coming. I couldn’t shake them off.” She whispered to August. He shook her head. “It’s alright. Their worry makes sense.”  Sarah nodded. “Thanks.” She shot him a small smile. “Elize, the redhead, can be feisty, so be careful of her.” August nodded his head. “Are you ready to order?” The waiter asked, approaching their table. Elize nodded, placing her order. The brunettes and Sarah ordered after her. August was the last to place his order, ordering a black coffee.  With their orders placed, Elize turned her attention to August. “What school do you go to?” “Torn High School.” He responded. Sarah looked at him strangely as if he shouldn’t have said that. “Woah.” The shorter brunette said. “Isn’t that school plagued with murders? How are you still alive?” “Mandy!” The tall brunette---Victoria---exclaimed. “Don’t be rude.” “It’s alright. She isn’t wrong that Torn isn’t a good high school, even though it’s in a decent neighborhood.” August said. “Has the murderer been caught?” Victoria asked.  August shook his head. “Nope. They haven’t told us… if they found the murderer or anything. They closed the school down for a couple of weeks while they investigated and cleaned up the school.” “Let’s get off this topic,” Sarah said. “How about we talk about movies or something.” Elize nodded. “Have you guys seen the most recent movie? The New Guard?” She asked, changing subjects.  “I’ve seen it. It was a lot better than I expected. It’s about-” Mandy started before Victoria stopped her.  “Don’t you dare spoil another movie! I wanted to watch Legend last time and you ruined it for me!” She exclaimed. Mandy grinned. “Well, you should’ve done my homework for time. We wouldn’t have a problem.” Victoria shook her head before playfully punching her in the shoulder, sparking a verbal fight between the two. The others watched with smiles as the two duked it out. Sarah shook her head as she watched them babble. “Quit it you two.”  The waiter suddenly appeared, ending the fight as he handed them their drinks. “Anything else?” He asked. Everybody shook their heads. The waiter nodded and walked off to deal with another customer. While they drank their coffees and ate their small pieces of bread, Sarah glanced up at August. “What kind of stuff do you like?” She bluntly asked. The other girls glanced at each other, raising their eyebrows. August nearly choked on his coffee. “W-Well… I like…” He closed his mouth, frowning. “I’m not sure what I like. “How do you not know what you like?” Elize asked. “Everybody knows what stuff they like. Do you play games, watch movies or shows, or something like that?” August shook his head. “I don’t watch movies or shows a lot. My parents couldn't afford games or toys.” He said. Sarah stared at him with a sympathetic look. Elize and the others shared a confused look. However, Elize’s confused look quickly changed to a large grin. “Then… what about we all go out and see a movie? Maybe go to the nearby arcade? It would be fun, no?” August nodded. “It… That would be fun.” Sarah blushed heavily, understanding Elize’s plan in a heartbeat. The others laughed at her reddened face. August stared at her, not understanding Elize’s intentions. Even so, he continued with the flow of the conversation, finding himself having fun with them. They talked about past memories, the differences between Torn and their school, and other topics before they had to leave at 5.  August waved at them as they walked away from him, headed home. They lived in the opposite direction of August, but not too far from him, less than fifteen minutes away. He stared at them, watching as they disappeared from his line of sight. Today was… fun. Really fun. I didn’t know I could have fun like this. August thought to himself. Whenever he thought he was by himself or close to having true fun, Jax would appear. However, today was different. Jax never appeared. “I had fun,” August said out loud. He never knew it was possible.   TBC…   Author’s Note: The New Guard is a series I’ve written. The first and, currently, one season contains six episodes and follows a trio of teens joining the Royal Guard of Great Wolfstein. The New Guard is part of the Historia Universe [some series are Legend (which is also mentioned in this episode), Troy: The Demon Knight, Demon Hunter, and Black Hood]. The inclusion of a title I’ve written is to serve as an easter egg, nothing more than that. A similar easter egg was used in Troy: The Demon Knight - Season One. Episode Ten "War" The last day of August’s break was a Sunday, the same day the movie trip was scheduled. Elize, who thought of the idea, planned it out. August dressed up in a white tee instead of a black one with the same sneakers and jeans. He didn’t wear a sweater, his tanned skin exposed by the short-sleeve tee. All of his clothes were washed thoroughly the night before by Wendy, who was ecstatic to see him venture on his own. She didn’t like that Jax would make his own friend circle while August struggled to do the same. August arrived at the movie theatre, a small building housing a few rooms named Brickhaven Theatre. The building was a two-story building that was one football field in length and half of one in width. The outside walls were an ugly shade of blue, the paint visibly fading. “I hope we didn’t make you wait too long,” Sarah remarked behind August. He turned around to face her. She was dressed in a pair of light blue jeans, black boots, and a pink tee shirt. She was followed by Elize, Mandy, and Victoria. “No, I just got here. Nothing to worry about.” He reassured her. She nodded, smiling at him. “Okay,” She stared at him, taking his appearance in. August looked away, blushing. He was embarrassed. Elize rolled her eyes, walking past Sarah and August, heading towards the entrance. “Come on lovebirds, let’s go in before we miss the movie.” She said, opening the door. The inside of the building was well-furnished with several comfy red and gold-colored chairs lining the first corridor of the building. At the end of the corridor was the ticket booth and snack bar, combined into one large table. The cashier and snack bar worker picked their heads up at the sound of the door opening - a chime of a bell. Mandy and Victoria pushed into the building first, headed towards the ticket booth. Sarah and August followed behind them with Elize after them. They reached the ticket booth, purchasing five tickets for the movie ‘The New Guard’. After that, they moved to the snack bar, purchasing as much as twenty dollars could allow them to - and it wasn’t much thanks to the somewhat weak economy. They raced to the room showing the movie, down a long corridor on the right of the ticket booth/snack bar. They went through the only door to the room, entering the dimly lit room. They found their seats quickly, squishing in between two other groups. They were positioned in the middle of the row.  August tried to sit down at the farthest left seat, sitting next to one of the other groups, but Elize grabbed his arm and positioned him into the fourth of the five seats. Sarah sat in the middle while Elize sat in the fifth seat. Victoria and Mandy sat next to each other in the last two seats. August stared at the screen as the movie played out. The movie was about to start, hence the dim lighting. The beginning scene showed the main characters---a trio of friends---standing under a lone tree. The dialogue quickly followed the initial seconds, seeing the friends arguing about their futures. August glanced at Sara, noticing how intrigued she was by the movie. He smiled, watching her expressions as the movie switched from the lone tree to a large four-story building.  “You sure look like a creep.” He heard Elize say. He turned his head to face her.  “W-What?” he whispered. Elize had on a grin. “You do realize that you’re gawking at her. I’m surprised that you aren’t drooling gallons by now.” August grew red, looking away from her. “S-Sorry.” Elize shook her head. “Strange lovebirds, for sure.”   The movie ended and all of the watchers were pushed out of the room. Sarah left the room first, her eyes tearing up. “That was so sad!”  Elize nodded, walking behind her. “I can’t believe that’s how it ended.” She said, glancing behind her at August. “How was it?” “A lot better than I expected. I am confused why there were open spots in the Royal Guard? And why are teens with little experience allowed to join?” He asked. “Yeah, that’s strange for sure. However, they did explain why they didn’t take people from the armies.” Elize said.  Sarah nodded. “I loved the ending, it was so full of emotion. I almost cried.” She wiped the bubbling tears in the corner of her eyes away, trying to hide them. Elize raised an eyebrow. “Almost? Why are your eyes red and why is your shirt wet?” She asked. Sarah shook her head, looking away from them. “I’m not crying!” She took a few steps away, being joined by Mandy and Victoria. Elize smiled, glancing at August. He was watching her walk away, his head tilted. “As you can see, she’s a very strange person.” August nodded without thinking. His head snapped to Elize, who raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you really agreeing with me?” She asked. “That means you think she’s weird, right?” August shook her head. “That’s not what I meant. It’s…” Elize shook her head playfully. “I’m kidding. Sarah is a very emotional person, so don’t be surprised that she cries as something we see as simple. She’s a good person though.” Elize looked away from him, staring at somebody behind her. She turned back to face him. “Anyway, remember what I told you last time at the cafe?” He nodded his head. “You’ll kill me if I break her heart. Don’t worry, I remember.” Elize nodded, smiling. “Good. Also, by chance, do you know-” She was interrupted by a person grabbing August’s shoulder, applying strength. The person forcefully turned August around. August reacted by trying to elbow the person but stopped halfway. The person he now faced was Jax, who had a large grin on. A girl he had never seen before stood next to him. She looked away from August sheepishly. She had dark-gray hair, darker than August’s hair.  “Hey August, it’s been a while.” “J-J-Jax…?” He muttered, his eyes widened and his mouth wide open. “W-Why are you here?” “I got to talk to you. You see… I’ve been given a mission. I need your help, follow me.” Jax said. August glanced at Elize, telling her that he’ll catch up. He followed Jax out of the building, passing by Sarah, Mandy, and Victoria who shot him surprised and confused looks. He looked away from them sheepishly.  “I’m sorry,” he muttered. *** “Nice to meet you face-to-face, Ms. Flower.” Stephen Wright remarked, sitting at his desk. Behind him were large panes of glass - his office was on the twenty-seventh floor of his headquarters. “Do you have Minny?” Angelica glared at him. “I wouldn’t say the same.” She answered, ignoring his question. By her side was Gem, the young guard looking around the lavish office nervously. Stephen, a pale-skinned man dressed in a fitted suit, grinned. “I would say it is… as long as Minny is returned to me - in one piece of course.” Angelica smiled. “I tried my best.” Stephen’s smile disappeared, glaring at her. He shot up from his desk. “You? You tried your best? So help me God if I find a single hair torn off her pretty hair, I will kill you and your entire bloodline. Don’t you play with me! I’m good at snipping flowers.” Angelica stared at him, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. “Lev! Bring her in!” She ordered. Lev entered the building with Minny, carting her in a wheelchair. Her body was nowhere near being healthy or in one functional piece - bandaged and strapped to the wheelchair. Stephen’s eyes widened. “Why is she like that!” He screamed.  Angelica grinned from eye to eye. “You said one piece, there she is. You never said if she had to be in one functional piece.”  Stephen walked around his desk and towards Angelica, being intercepted by Gem who stood in his way. Gem trembled slightly under Stephen’s glare, but he didn’t buckle under it. “I returned your daughter as ordered. I believe this is where our cooperation ends, doesn’t it?” She mocked him. Stephen gritted his teeth. He glanced at the CTV implanted in a corner of his office. “Fine,” He barked, glancing at Gem and Lev, both armed. In a fight, he would have to defeat both guards before reaching the boss. He was armed, but his weapon was under his desk. In his fit of anger, he forgot to grab it. “Get out! Don’t come back.”  Angelica nodded, motioning for Gem and Lev to follow her. Once they were out of the room, he dove towards Minny, undoing her restraints. He picked her broken body up in his arms, embracing her. “I’m sorry, honey. I should never have let you go out on your own. I shouldn’t have sent you to take on the targets.” He cried into her shoulder. “I’m sorry.” Minny remained emotionless, staring at the glass and the reflection of her. She took in her broken appearance and her crying father, looking around her reflection. She squinted her eyes slightly, staring at a red light. For the first time, she had an expression, that of confusion and curiosity.  The light turned on then turned off. It continued this process, flashing the red light like a police car.  “Red light.” She muttered. Stephen held her at arm's length, staring at her with his head tilted. “Red light? What do you mean…?” His eyes widened as he realized what she meant. He threw her to the side before turning the wheelchair on its head. Strapped to the belly of the wheelchair was a C-4, primed and ready. “God damned Flower!” He threw the wheelchair at the window, but it bounced off and landed near him. He scooted away, but Minny got closer to it. “No, Minny! Don’t get close to it, it’s gonna explode!” His words fell on deaf ears as she was attracted to the red light. She got closer to it as the C-4 went off. Her body was too close to the blast to remain in one piece. Stephen, on the other hand, was far enough that he suffered only superficial wounds and a ringing in his ear. He stared at the body of Minny on the other side of his office. The upper part of her body was gone while the lower part was charred. She was killed in the explosion. The window that the explosion collided with, shattered like Minny’s soul.  His mouth was open, taking in the horrific sights. “Flower… Damn you Flower! I’ll kill you and everybody in your bloodline. Everybody that knows you or is even slightly acquainted will be dead. Flower! THIS IS WAR! ” Publication Date: October 15th 2021 https://www.bookrix.com/-na50a1c958baf75

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-ayrin-southworth-catch-me-if-you-can/

Ayrin Southworth Catch Me If You Can Chapter 1 Murder’s out of tune, And sweet revenge grows harsh. –William Shakespeare, Othello I stand stunned looking around me. I'm in my parent's bedroom, but I don't remember coming in here. I turn around slowly taking everything in. Everything looks so alien. My eyes fall onto the bed. Lying there painted red are my parents. I step forward taking in the sight. For the first time in my life, I look at them unafraid. My lips twist into a smile.  I'm free.  I lean against the nearest wall and take a deep breath. My mind starts working a hundred miles a minute.  What did I just do?  "Oh my god." My voice echoes around the empty cold room. I walk into the bathroom and examine my appearance in the mirror. My white tee shirt is now a deep crimson color. The bags under my grey eyes make my face look hallow. The look isn't helped by my pale complexion which contrasts the black hair that frames my face and falls down my back. I look down at the knife in my hand. I drop it in the sink and turn the water on. I hold my hands under the cold water and try to wash the blood off my hands. As I scrub my hands clean I notice the tears falling from my eyes. I turn the water off and wipe them away. I take off my bloody shirt and wad it up. I quickly walk to my room and change into a clean shirt and throw on a clean pair of jeans. I sit down on the edge of my bed. My heart feels like it could burst from my chest at any moment. What do I do? I just murdered my parents. The realization of what just happened hit me like a tsunami. I can’t stay here. No one will understand. I can’t go to jail. “I have to run,” I mutter under my breath. With a sudden burst of energy, I jump up. I grab a backpack from my closest and throw in some clothes. I run through the house and scramble together all the cash I could find. “It’s not much, but it should last a few days,” I mutter stuffing the wad into my pocket. I grab some cereal and protein bars from the closet and zip up my bag. I grab my jacket from beside the door. I open the door and walk out into the crisp October air. I sling my pack over my shoulder as I walk over to the cars. I open the door to Corolla and throw the pack onto the passenger seat. I turn around and look at the house for the last time. I think about all the terrible things that happened to me in there. Not going to miss you. I get in the car and start the engine just as the sun starts to peak over the mountains. As I drive away, a weight falls off my shoulders and it feels like I can breathe, truly breath, for the first time.   Detective Tom Barton walked into the precinct coffee in hand. He muttered a few hellos to people as he passed them. As soon as he got into the elevator, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and read the lit up screen.             Get down to 4546 Victor Ave. This is your main priority. Barton read the text from the chief of police and shrugged. He quickly stepped out of the elevator before the doors slide close. He strode out of the precinct to his car. It only took a few minutes to get to the address the chief had sent him. When he pulled up on the house, it was already swarming with police officers and the CSI unit. Barton approached an officer standing by the front door. “Right in here detective.” The officer said leading Barton into the house. Barton was led through the kitchen into the master bedroom. Barton’s eyes fell on the bodies. A man and a woman lay on the bed covered in blood. The CSI unit was snapping pictures of the room and bagging evidence. Barton walked over to stand beside the medical examiner who looked up as he approached. “What’ve we got here Mackie?” Barton asked. “They were stabbed through the heart. Four times each, they bled out pretty quick.” She answered. Now that he was closer to the bodies, Barton could see the wounds. “Time of death?” He asked turning to take in the rest of the room. “Between 10 pm and 2 am,” Mackie said turning to face Barton. “That’s a four-hour window. Are there any witnesses? Who found to the body?” Barton asked grabbing a pad of paper from a nearby CSI. “There were no witnesses. The wife’s coworker discovered the bodies when he came by to pick her up. A CSI found the murder weapon in the bathroom sink. And no one’s heard or seen the daughter since yesterday.” Mackie said filling Barton in. Barton nodded his head and took notes. He thanked Mackie and went to check the rest of the house. He strode into the daughter's room. The whole room seemed sad and depressed. In fact, the room was almost empty. There was a firm mattress on a squeaky frame. There was a small dresser with hardly any clothes in it. A few miscellaneous objects were scattered on the floor. Barton shivered as he left the grey room. This entire house had an air something dark. Barton walked out the front door mind working overtime. He found the nearest officer and pulled him aside. “Bring the coworker who found the bodies down to the precinct so I can get his statement later. Also, notify the next of kin and get a BOLO out on the missing girl.” Once he was back in his car, Barton dropped his head in his hands. Something about this case gave him an uneasy feeling. He finished his lukewarm coffee and headed for the precinct. Publication Date: June 22nd 2018 https://www.bookrix.com/-crbe48b48a1dba5