The Cemetery Stalker

It  was a hot summer afternoon; the first day of September. Ellie gathered some fresh red roses and white jasmine blooms from her yard, and took them to her Dad's grave in a local cemetery. She took her small golden terrier mix, Camille, with her. Once she'd placed the flowers on her Dad's grave, she sat down on the marker for awhile. She noticed a man in the distance. He waved at her, and yelled, "Hey! You have a nice dog!".  It kind of shook her a little bit, but she tried to ignore it.

A few minutes later, the same man called to her again, from a different place in the cemetery. "Hey! You have a nice dog!"
At this point, Ellie got up from where she was sitting in the grass on the marker, and thought she might take a walk in the cemetery, as she usually did when she visited her Dad's grave. It was then that the same man called to her a third time, from another place in the cemetery, and it dawned on her that he'd been moving in a circle around her in the cemetery.
She began walking quickly towards her parked car, and when she had gotten close to it, the man drove by her in his own car! He had the window rolled down, stuck his head out of the window, and said, "You have a nice dog! What's her name?"
Ellie was a little afraid by now; all she wanted was to get safely inside her car with Camille. But she answered, "Camille."
The silver-haired man smiled, and answered, "Oh, Camille.....", and drove past her.
Ellie breathed a sigh of relief, once she and Camille were safely inside their car, with the doors locked. Ellie sat there for a little while, and wondered if she should just go home now, rather than driving around to the small pond where there were ducks, a swan, and some geese, like she had planned earlier. She looked around, and she didn't see any more of the man who'd been watching her.
After a few more minutes had passed, convinced that the man was gone now, she decided that she would go around to the pond and have a walk with Camille. She parked the car, and sat there for a minute or two, and petted Camille, who was excited about getting out for their walk.
Right at the point that they were going to get out, Ellie noticed a car pulling into the space next to where she was parked. She realized that it was the man that had been following her around earlier in the cemetery, and that he was getting out of his car to approach her!
Ellie stayed in her car with Camille, and backed out of her parking place. She stopped behind the man's car just long enough to get his license tag number, and then drove away. As she did not know whether the man would follow her, she drove around in town for a bit, so that he did not follow her home.
As she was driving around town, she started thinking about the man's appearance, and how he had acted with her, and it horrified her to realize that she knew who he was! The past was coming back to haunt her......

77 to 99

 Writer's note: I am in the process of reworking some old fragments of a story idea from some time back, that I originally posted  installments under the title Midnight Sessions. Stay tuned for updates.....

77 to 99 

Just a few hours before, Samantha Monroe's life had been turned upside down, when she'd discovered her lover, Alex Maxwell, leader of the 77, dead following an execution-style murder. More importantly for all of the elite 77(Samantha included), their leader had been killed. Because of Samantha's personal relationship with Alex, she very well knew that a contract was out on her, too. 

From what she had observed at the time, she instantly knew who had ordered the hit on Alex. It had the equally elite 99's signature all over it. It was like they had left a bloody calling card for her....and the rest of the 77. 
In addition, she knew about the long-standing intense rivalry between Alex and the head of the 99, a man named Jason Masters. But Samantha knew that their rivalry might just be the key to her survival.

Only the 77 knew that while Alex enjoyed Samantha's company ....and appearance...well enough, that she was also the best the 77 had with regard to personal protection for Alex. She had yet to determine if Jason Masters knew something other than that she was Alex's mistress. If indeed he knew, then not only was there Alex's death to deal with, but also the fact that the 77 had a leak in its midsts. 

Jason Masters had heard back from his lieutenants that the raid on his rival's home had been successful and his bitter rival and several of his men had been killed. 

Unfortunately the man's mistress, Samantha Monroe, was not with him

 at the time and her whereabouts were unknown.

He instructed his men to find her as soon as possible.

Samantha Monroe knew that there was a price on her head. She knew better than to run immediately, as undoubtedly Jason Masters and his men would have any exit routes monitored, if not blocked, already....most likely that was in place before the hit occurred. 

Samantha decided on an unusual course of action: actually having the courage to go to Jason herself ....rather than having his men drag her there. She couldn't stay in hiding forever.

She showered off the blood and grime of finding Alex, and reminded herself that Alex himself would say to save herself. He would have done the same had it been her. It was the world they both existed in. It seemed to her that some different weapons might be inder to deal with Jason Masters. 

Samantha rifled thru the closet at the 77 safehouse that she'd narrowly escaped to after finding Alex, and selected a form-fitting emerald green velvet sheath, and matching green stilettos with feather pompoms. She felt that it showed all of her assets off beautifully. The color of her shirt dress darkened her eyes to emerald, and called attention to her burnished auburn tresses. Her only jewelry was a pair of tiny emerald and gold stud earrings. She wrapped an elegant, hooded black velvet clock, lined with emerald satin, around her. Samantha frequently dressed to impress when she was on 77 business.....it was kind of a signature of hers. It was one of the things that appealed to Alex, and maybe, just maybe, it might appeal to Jason Masters. 

Standing at Jason Masters' front door, Samantha Monroe took a deep breath, then rang the doorbell. 

Jason heard the doorbell as he was working on his computer and quickly switched to the security camera feed in his office. He stared at the screen with amazement when he saw Samantha standing there.

 "Well, I'll be damned.", he muttered, as he mashed the end of the cigarette that he was smoking into a monogrammed silver ashtray. But his eyes darkened, and he gave just the hint of a smile. 

Obviously his security detail would have stopped her and searched her before they let her pass. He was just surprised they hadn’t escorted her to the door.

He opened the door on the chain and saw one of his men standing at the side.

Taking the chain off, he opened the door wider, nodded to the man, then invited Samantha inside. He even stepped slightly aside, so that she could enter the room.

 

“Well, Miss Monroe, you took a chance by coming here. You do not lack courage."” he said. “You are fortunate to still be among the living. I gave orders to shoot on sight. I'll have to speak with my men about just exactly why that command wasn't honored, later."

He let his eyes roam over her body appreciatively. "But I can see, in this case, why they hesitated."

"Really, Jason?", she queried lightly. "Maybe they thought there was information to be gleaned by not simply killing me. Surely you can't think that their head was turned by a redheaded witch, can you now? That would be....well.....unthinkable, wouldn't it, Jason?" She reached out with a scarlet-tipped finger, and traced lightly along his jawline. 

 

“I assume they searched you before they brought you to my office door ?” ,Jason said, as his icy blue eyes flickered at her.

Samantha's lips curved in the hint of a smile. "I imagine they did, Jason. ", she said softly. "Why don't you search for yourself? Maybe they weren't thorough enough to suit you."

Oh, I don’t think I need to do that Samantha” he laughed. “If you had had so much as a penknife on you, you wouldn’t be standing here now “He gestured her to go and sit down.

"If you say so, Jason.", she replied. 

“So why did you take the risk of coming here ?”, Jason asked. 

Samantha could tell from his expression that he was truly puzzled by her appearance. In a way, that was good news. It meant  that he simply thought of her as Alex's mistress. She studied his face a little bit as she decided what words to say to answer him. Jason Masters was quite handsome, with his silver hair and blue eyes and chiseled jawline, in quite a different way that Alex Maxwell had been, with his dark hair and eyes. One was ice; the other fire. 

As she settled into the chair that he motioned her towards,  her sharp emerald eyes met his in an unwavering gaze, and she answered, "Self-preservation."

Her eyes flickered, making them look a shade darker, and she added, "Sure you don't want to search for yourself, Jason,? For the weapon, I mean. Why, if not, I might think that you trust me."

“Well,I suppose I could call the guys in and tell them to search you again in front of me, Samantha” he said. “I’m sure they would do a thorough search, exploring all the possible hiding places” he added, giving her a sardonic grin.

Samantha gave him the hint of a frosty smile, although the light of it never reached her emerald eyes. 

She nodded, and agreed, "I suppose you could do that, if you want to, Jason but that's kind of like having boys do a man's job, isn't it? "

At that point his face was unreadable, except for a clenched jaw. 

" I promise you that I carry no conventional weapons anywhere on me.  Search all you like."

Jason walked behind her chair and reached down to cup her breasts.

“Perhaps not conventional weapons, sweet  Samantha” he murmured in her ear,  squeezing her nipples “but these could cause a lot of problems if a guy wasn’t paying attention.”

Samantha squirmed a little in her chair; just enough so that her breasts were pressed more firmly within his grasp.

"Really, Jason??", she asked in a soft voice. "You honestly think that I could cause trouble for you?"

She laughed lightly, adding, "Are you paying attention, Jason?"

 “Oh, I’m paying attention all right, Samantha.” Jason said ,squeezing her breasts. "“With a body like this I can see how you were able to get close enough to a person to become so successful in your former profession.”

"Former profession?? How's that, Jason?", Samantha queried, even as she squirmed while he massaged her breasts. "There's nothing former about it.", she assured him. "I don't know where you could have gotten that idea."

"So....did you still want your men to search me? I thought you might want to do it for yourself."

“Oh, come on now,Samantha. There's really no need for such pretense between us.”, Jason said. “Everybody in my 99 knows that you were one of the top hit people in Alex's 77. Word on the street is that it was true until Alex decided you were more valuable elsewhere....like in his bed.”  Jason paused, then added, “However, we can discuss that later.”

"Alright, Jason.....if you'd like.", Samantha agreed. "It's your dime."

He reached for the zipper at the back of her  plush green dress and began to slowly pull it down. “All that talk about you wanting me to search you has got me wanting to take you up on the offer.”

She kicked off the green stilettos into the floor of his office. 

"So, are we going to your bedroom, or did you just want to do it across that big desk of yours, Jason?"

The Silver Hairbrush

 I am a silver hairbrush, passed down since the Roaring Twenties thru the Franco family. I was lagniappe when Sam Franco and his new wife, Zoe, ordered the latest and greatest concoction at notorious speakeasy, The Cotton Club, where Sam and Zoe were frequent patrons. The drink was named The Silver Hairbrush. All the ladies were presented a sterling silver hairbrush with their drink. I was Zoe's lagniappe. This is my story.

I led an interesting life, belonging to Zoe. I know a lot of sorted details about the Francos. If only hairbrushes could talk....

What kinds of things, might you ask. Things like Zoe came from money and status; Sam not so much. Things like Zoe was a lot of the creativity behind Sam, only he got all of the credit. I never did understand why he didn't want any of the light shining on her. After all, he chose her. Zoe's family turned on her over Sam. That rift was never repaired.

My time with Zoe ended shortly before she died in a mysterious sanitarium fire in the North Carolina mountains. A lot of other people died then, too....almost all of them were women, who were there in large part because they hadn't adhered properly to societal norms of the time. It sure helped Sam out that she was imprisoned there; great way to keep her quiet.

It seemed to me as though Zoe knew that her time was soon at hand, as she gave me to her daughter, Samantha, one sunny afternoon when she had visited with Sam. It was the last time that I was Zoe's hairbrush. I now belonged to Samantha. Samantha left me in a dark drawer for the longest time after Zoe's death, but the day finally came when she took me out, and began to brush her silken hair with me. She never had me out when anyone else was around, and she would never really discuss Zoe or Sam with anyone. Strangely enough, no one dared ask her too much about her parents. Decades later, she was finally convinced to make a concise statement about them, but she really didn't divulge anything of import. Zoe, Sam, and Samantha's secrets would remain with me, the silver hairbrush.

 My name is Davis Lambeth. I have a cousin who was in the Marines during the Vietnam War, and who subsequently died from exposure to Agent Super Orange, one of the Rainbow herbicides used during that era. I also have a cousin who worked for a military contractor and helped design these same biological and chemical warfare agents. I cannot fathom how a person with a PHD in Organic Chemistry would choose to use that incredible knowledge to develop such a warfare agent. Go figure.  

The Dark Lady's Death

 At approximately 8 in the morning, on Friday, May 19, 1536, Queen Anne Boleyn, the second wife of King Henry Tudor VIII, was executed on the tower green of The Tower of London. Her brother, George, along with several other nobles loyal to Anne, had been executed two days earlier. She witnessed their executions from the room where she was held prisoner. 

Anne was 29 years old, and it was her birthday. Her crime had been that the king had tired of her, and that she had not produced a male heir. Political alliances fueled the flame of her demise, as the king had been more than willing to believe the worst of her when it was told to him. The irony of it for Henry is that he murdered his unborn male heir along with Anne, as he had not believed her when she told him that she was carrying his son. 

Anne was called many names by those who hated her: The Night Crow, The Great Whore, The King's Whore among them. Her physical appearance was denigrated, and it was said that she must have bewitched the king, as it was the only way that Henry would have married her. 

"And I require of you, if you meddle in my cause, judge the best."----  Anne Boleyn 

The Night The Church Burned

Every June 17, I can't help being thinking about the horrible night that my home church burned. Not just mine; there were 19 others that burned as well. At least that many. My church was Mt. Zion Methodist. It was summertime, the hot season. I remember it well. In some ways, it's like yesterday. Time stands still, about some things. Especially here in Mississippi. That night, Mississippi was ablaze. Folks not from here stoked an already roaring fire True, they got burned by it, but a lot of us here did too. It was just them getting burned that seemed to make it important. 
My name is Rose, and I am one of the remaining churchgoers who were attacked that fiery night, by narrow-minded men filled with hate and fear. But they wanted US to be afraid.
They were men of power, at least here. The sheriff, the bank president, a minister or two; those who owned and ran the town. We all knew who they were, even as they hid behind white masks. 
It wasn't any different than any other church gathering,, for most of us. We were here to celebrate, and to sing, and to give thanks and worship. 
We had heard that a special guest of some kind or other hadn't shown up. But there wasn't really time to give much thought to that, because in what seemed like a flash, windows were being broken by flaming torches thrown thru them. We heard gunshots, men yelling. We scattered, trying to get out of the old church building before it was engulfed in flames. The smell of burning flesh, people screaming as they were set on fire. The men who attacked us, they actually grabbed church members, doused them in gasoline and struck a match to them. Some of them actually laughed about doing it. They hurled racial slurs at us while they did it. I myself am glad that I will never understand the kind of person who could do that. 
I was blessed, myself, that I only had a burned arm and leg, a few cuts and bruises, at least as far as physical wounds go. But I lost family and friends in the fire. There isn't a price tag you can put on the cost of that. 
Over that night, the whole church burned to the ground. It smouldered for days. 
It was only later that we learned that there were other churches that were done like we were, too. 
Freedom Summer, that's what they call that summer of 1964, now. That, and some project or other. 
I forget the name....but I'll never forget the summer, long as I live.

The Day The Booms Happened

 I will never forget it as long as I live. It's actually been fifty years now. I just can't believe it. Neither can my older sister, Hattie. Woodbine is having a remembrance ceremony this year, and those of us who are eyewitnesses are going to give our personal accounts of what we saw and felt that horrible day. By the way, my name is Melissa. On the day it happened, a Wednesday in 1971, I was a 16 year old, working as kitchen help in a local diner. We were starting to get busy, as the lunch crowd was coming in. It seemed like just another day, until the first boom happened. It was at 10:53 am. The sound was loud and startling enough that it silenced the entire cafe in a second. I could feel the vibration from the force of the first boom. At first, no one got up from the tables, or said anything. Then the second boom happened. It was horrible, because then we all knew that whatever was happening wasn't over yet. People, the men, mostly, started getting up to leave the diner to see what was going on. I was still in the kitchen, trying to concentrate on my job. By the time the third boom happened, most of us, customers and help alike, were headed towards the cafe door. At this point, I hadn't heard a single person say anything about what might be causing the booms. We all knew that whatever it was, it wasn't fireworks. It also wasn't anything good. 

I kind of froze for a moment, right there in the street in front of the cafe. It was because it had dawned on me the direction that the explosions had come from. Hattie! I told myself that it couldn't possibly be that! But all the same, I put on my worn straw hat , with the calico ties, and started off down the road with the others that had left the cafe. 
My sister Hattie was 19, then, and a single mother. She had a toddler daughter, now. She had gotten a job some months back at a chemical plant here in Woodbine. She worked in a plant that made magnesium flares. She said she was told that it was to help the war effort in Vietnam. I remember that she'd been tickled pink over getting that job. It was better hours and better pay than any job around here, at least for people like us. She didn't really say too much else about it, at the time. The jobs at that plant were considered plum jobs; everyone said so, then. Looking back to that time now,  those of us who are still here in Woodbine see how wrong we were.
Before we could get very far towards the plant itself, we were stopped by law enforcement. There was a huge fire, they said, and they were trying to put it out, as well as help any survivors. The first count of dead was 24, which was quickly upped to 35. That was actual dead; there was not even an estimate given at all about how many people were injured. 
At this point, all I could do was hope that my sister Hattie was alive. 
I stayed right there in the road where they made us stop and wait for hours. I wasn't about to leave until I heard something about Hattie. 
We could see smoke and haze everywhere, saw planes flying around, heard distress sirens. In all that time, we heard nothing about any survivors. 
No death toll was given past 35, but we all knew that it was higher than that now. 
Time passed slowly, standing there and waiting, that day. I worried about Hattie, and my other relatives and friends that worked at that plant. I worried about Hattie's little girl, Ellen, who would be an orphan if anything happened to her mother. 
I tried to think the best, but it was real hard, right then.
Finally, at about 4 o'clock that afternoon, we were told about the explosion at the plant that Hattie worked in. It had destroyed the building. All survivors were at a local hospital, with limited resources, at best. 
My sister was one of those, a survivor, I eventually learned. She was severely burned, and her painful injuries took a long time to heal from, but she did. My family felt fortunate to still have her with us. Others weren't so lucky. 
Hattie wants to attend the 50 year remembrance ceremony, but she wants me to tell our story. She never really will talk to people about it. Can't really say that I blame her. So I will tell my account of the day that the booms happened, for both of us.

 (FYI: I had written this for a flash fiction contest, but even after I paid the entry fee, they didn't accept it as an entry, so I wanted to post it on my blog. I hope any readers enjoy. )