Tag Archives: fiction

You Are the Shadow

For his ongoing project "I’m Not There," Barcelona-based photographer Pol Úbeda Hervàs creates composite photographs from multiple exposures.The invitation arrived only a week ago: ‘The Presence of your company is graciously requested,’ it began. Arriving by registered mail, it included three, one-hundred-dollar bills for ancillary expenses and one round trip airfare. Now, with the Sun about to rise, you are walking through a metal detector, about to board a bus with dozens of other people from your flight, complete strangers who, like you, are dressed for this special occasion. The bus is almost full. A woman wearing a too-large, fluffy blue gown has her dress spread across the two seats on either side of her. She looks at you with a discouraging frown as you approach. Her high heels are blue, too, and so tight they look like they are frowning as well. A man in a turban looks at you stone-faced as you walk to the back. You take a seat next to a pregnant woman. She wishes you good morning as the bus starts to leave. You reply the same, but, like everyone else, you and she ride in otherwise silence through the dim, quiet streets of Washington D.C. The bus is joined by other buses as you pass through the gates to the White House. Cellphones come out, and a few hasty pictures of the Sun rising over this iconic building are taken, by others. The buses drive around to the back of the White House.

Clutching a claim ticket for your cellphone, you and the others are escorted past sniffing dogs and through still more metal detectors, then into a theater. There must be two thousand people or more. Different ages, different skins, and very different ideas on how to dress for a meeting with the President. Two rows in front of you sit a young man in a hoodie next to a woman in a hijab. Off to the left is a lady with a flowery derby hat, and not far away is a short man in a ten-gallon hat. There are women wearing scarves and men wearing skullcaps. Hair styles are a mishmash of everything from ponytails to buzzcuts, and just as colorful as the hats. In the din, you hear Yiddish, Spanish, Southern drawls, New England twangs and other tongues you do not recognize. All, with light laughter and calm expressions. A virtual vegetable soup of people sits anxiously in this theater with you, awaiting the President. Your invitation did not say what the occasion was, did not say you would be meeting with so many others. You ask around you, but no one knows why they are here.

‘Thank you,’ President Trump says as he walks on stage. There is no applause. He is dressed in dark pants, white polo shirt, and his traditional red golf cap. He looks older and heavier in person. There is no podium. He stands on stage with the microphone in his hand and begins, ‘I want to thank all of you for being here today on such short, and vague, notice. For those of you who called, I’m sorry we could not give you any more information until now. It’s important, as you’ll see. But first, I want you to look around and see who else is here today. And as you do, let me explain why you are here.

‘Look around, and you’ll see some others who look like you, but you’ll see a lot more people you don’t have much in common with. In fact, as far as I know, you all have only three things in common, and it’s got nothing to do with politics or religion or what neighborhood you live in. First, you are all American citizens who have not had their voting privileges revoked. Second, you have all been living in your community for at least one year, and third, you all own smartphones.’

As the President speaks, ushers walk the aisles and distribute small, white boxes about the size of a pack of cigarettes. Embossed on the cover is an outline of the White House, the only color is the tiny American flag on top of it. ‘I’ve asked you here at this ungodly hour of seven a.m. because it’s the only way to avoid the press these days. They think I’m playing an early round of golf. I’ll tell them after I’ve told you.’

‘Here it is.

‘I am asking each of you to volunteer for one year of public service to your country, to your President. I’m calling it, “Volunteers of America.” Great name. Perfect name for this program.

‘Specifically, I am asking you to use the app that is being distributed now to shadow your congressmen and senators. On this app, you will be able to see what bills are coming up, and with it, you will be able to vote on those bills just like your representatives do. They won’t be able to escape their shadow now!

‘There are thirty-three people here from each state and territory of the United States. Each one of you represents three percent of your state’s population. At the end of each vote, the way you cast your vote will be compared to how your congressmen voted, and those results we will give to the media and everyone on Capitol Hill. Now, I know you have a hundred questions, but I already know what they are. Believe me, I thought this through. I thought it through more than any other program I thought through so far. Volunteers of America. Great name, isn’t it?’

The person next to you raises her hand and asks, ‘Isn’t that name already taken? The VoA has…’

‘We’re talking to them,’ Trump interrupts. ‘We’re talking to them. They may change their name to the Original Volunteers, or the Old Volunteers. You know, they’ve been around for over a hundred years. Great organization, does great things.’

But in your mind, you’re hearing Jefferson Airplane’s song Volunteers. The lyrics, their meaning, Woodstock, the trembling times of fifty years ago. You look around and see much apprehension on others, too. You open your box. In it is a flash drive and you are almost afraid to touch it. There is also a business card-size note signed by the President that reads, Thanks for volunteering to make America great again! Grace Slick wails in your mind, Look what’s happening out in the street.

The P.O.T.U.S. continues, ‘Your votes will not count towards the passing of any bills. That’s not legal. Your votes are not binding, but your lawmakers are going to see where they are out of sync with your votes, and you, and the world, are going to see where they are not in step with how they should be behaving on your behalf. You, the Volunteers, will have the results of both Volunteers’ vote and your representatives’ – in-real-time! As it happens, folks, so the media cannot fake the results. Not to you, anyway. If they report something different, you’re gonna report that. This is so beautiful, because not only are we going to hold Congress accountable, but the press, too!

‘You know, I once had an accountant tell me he could add up a column of numbers to say whatever I wanted it to say. I fired him, folks. I told him I don’t need a cook in the accounting office and fired him on the spot. That’s what they do! They add the column of numbers to say what they want! We gotta stop that. You, the Volunteers of America, are gonna stop that.’

Trump continues, but your mind drifted back to those bold headlines fifty years ago; Johnson, Nixon, party didn’t matter. You think, Slick had it right; This generation got no destination to hold.

Trump says, ‘This is so beautiful. Isn’t this beautiful? Actually, I didn’t think it up on my own, I had a little help from Ivanka and Jared. Isn’t she great? What a great daughter. Have you seen her Summer Collection? Great son-in-law, too. But back on script. Actually, as you can see, I’m not using a script. No teleprompter needed for this one. I’ve been ready for this one for a long, long time.

‘Remember, I promised to drain the swamp? Well, you are going to help me. With your help, we can force Congress to listen to your voices over the lobbyists. And then they are going to have to decide if they want to keep their jobs or continue to fill their pockets with…. Do you know; every single senator and congressman is a millionaire? Every single one! That’s why they want to keep their jobs – they want to be the Sous Chef of the accounting office!’

He shifts the mic to his other hand and continues in a calmer voice, ‘Now, this is strictly voluntary. You can leave here today and never download the app. That’s fine, too. You know why? Because there are millions of Americans just like you who don’t vote. And just as their silence goes without representation, so will three percent of your neighbors’ if you don’t. And that’s fine. That’s the American way, too.

‘Here’s what you won’t get, that your representatives do get. You will not get paid-in-full health insurance for you and your family for life. You will not get a $175,000 salary. In fact, you are not getting paid a dime. You don’t get an office with a dozen staff members, or a car or any travel reimbursement. You are not going to be invited to lavish dinner parties, or receive box seat tickets anonymously in the mail. But, like your senators and congressmen, you will only have to work 22 weeks a year. I guess that’s a perk. I’ve never taken that much time off from work. Ever. Hard to imagine any company staying in business if every employee took off six and half months a year. At $175,000 each. Just imagine. But that’s another story. Another problem I gotta fix. But not now.’

A man on the other side of the room asks, ‘Is this legal?’

Trump assures him it is. ‘Absolutely legal. One hundred percent legal. One hundred and ten percent!’

The man wearing the ten-gallon hat raises his hand and asks if their names and addresses will be published.

‘That’s nevva-gonna-happen, amigo,’ Trump shakes his head. ‘The only way anyone is going to know that you are a Volunteer of America is if you tell them. Which you are entitled to do. But WE are not going to reveal to the press or anyone else who you are. Even if you were to swear on a stack of bibles that you are part of this program, we will never admit it, or deny it. And one year from now, when your service is up, the app will be removed and someone else will have taken your place. The one thing you absolutely cannot do, the one thing that will get you booted out of the Volunteers in a heartbeat, is if you have any contact with any lobbyists while serving your country.’

The pregnant woman who sat next to you on the bus asks, ‘Are we going to be able to vote on what you do, too?’

The President hesitates. ‘That’s a good question.’ He covers the mic and consults with someone offstage. ‘No,’ the President says. ‘But that’s a good idea.’ He turns back to stage-left and says into the microphone, ‘Jared, make a note to include that in version-two.’

Someone in the audience shouts, ‘Supreme Court, too.’ A few applaud.

‘That’s good. That’s great, but no applause, please. There are no news cameras rolling. But this is great, folks. This is just what we want. Anybody else got any other good ideas?’

The woman whose gown took up two additional seats on the bus gets up and says very loudly, ‘I’m not gonna sit here and listen to any more of this man’s bull crap!’ She looks from the President to the others in the room. ‘Who’s with me?’ She takes a step to leave as others rise and choirs their agreement. The President says, ‘That’s fine. Walk out. But you’ll take millions of voters out with you.’

‘I never voted for you! I was one of the millions who protested against you!’ she shouts. ‘Get someone else to be your crony.’

‘No one in here asked to be here. No one! No one asks to be on jury duty, either, but if you’re called you must appear. It’s your constitutional duty. Think of this as jury duty. Now, all of you, sit down and hear me out. If not for yourself, then for the millions of protestors you will be abandoning! Or, don’t they deserve your vote?’

She stares long and hard at Trump, then sits back down and crosses her arms. Mumbled conversations creep throughout the theater until someone asks, ‘Why can’t we talk to lobbyists? Congressmen and Senators do all the time.’

‘Because that’s the swamp, my friend. Because that’s the swamp. If the Volunteers of America are going to have any value in the end, then you need to abide by that one rule. Just one rule. That’s all. If you choose to bring in other people, other voices, to help you decide, that’s up to you. Or not. It’s your call all the way.’ Trump asks stage-left for a chair so he can sit down.

After Jared brings it and he sits down, Trump continues in what sounds strangely like your father’s voice.

‘You see, you and me, we’re cut from the same cloth. We’re both above reproach because I love this country as much as you do. No lobbyist is going to bribe me! With what? A million dollars? Free golf for life? I’m untouchable. And so are you, as long as they don’t know who you are. What you are going to do – and what this program is going to do for years after you’ve helped pioneer it, with me –  what this is going to do is make congress great again. If only because they are under a glaring spotlight.’

Someone calls out, ‘Are you going to listen, too, Mr. President? Are you going to let that glaring spotlight shine on you?’

He doesn’t say anything at first, but his face turns as red as his hat. He says flatly, ‘I already answered that. Like I said; version two. But I’m not the problem. I’m above reproach, and everybody knows that. This program is run by you and run by you only. Vote, don’t vote; it all counts. And you want to know why this is so good? Why this is so great, actually? It’s great because everyone thinks the Electoral College is a bad idea. Maybe someday this will replace it. Think about this…. Just take a minute and think about this.’ He draws imaginary quotes over his head and says, ‘Volunteers of America Replaces Electoral College -Whadda headline that would make! Wouldn’t that make a great headline?’

Mumbled conversations fill the theater again. The person sitting next to you leans over and says, ‘Wow. This is a lot of responsibility. A lot of responsibility to walk away from, too. What are you going to do?’

You look at the embossed house on the box, the flag on top. Jefferson Airplane plays in your head, and you say…

 

What would you do?

  1. Would you believe the President? Or, would you be afraid of what’s really on the app?
  2. Would you walk away, knowing no one will ever know it was you who took away their voice?
  3. Would you volunteer? And if so, would you consult with your neighbors before voting, or would you just vote your conscience? Again, knowing no one will know who you are. It’s only for one year.

LMK, pls

-P

 

Coffee Shop Chronicles: Coffee, books and the end of an era

img_7200Borders Bookstore

Canton, MI

April 2011

I came here because I have a coupon.

The coupon is for 33% off one item or 20% off your entire purchase.  I’m upstairs sampling the vanilla bean loaf, and there’s this weird aftertaste.  The black tea is helping only so much.  I’m glad I have a peanut butter sandwich with me.  It’s not gourmet breakfast, but I do feel like a queen as I look over the café railing down upon the bookstore.

It’s 9 o’clock on a Saturday, and it’s a bustling morning.  I stood at the door as the store opened, and now I’m in my favorite seat here, a table along the railing.

I think, dream and wonder…why do I have only one coupon?  I want to walk out with the whole bookstore.  Right now, I want one particular book.  I’ll go tease myself and see if the paperback is out yet.  The vanilla loaf taste is still hanging on my tongue anyway.

Tongue.  Teeth.  Fangs.  Vampire fangs.  Vlad the vampire.

I’m into Young Adult books, but I don’t like hardbacks.  Hardbacks are heavy to carry and you can’t fold the covers back to make it comfortable in your hands.  I got sucked into this vampire series by…oh, I don’t recall how or who introduced me to it.  The first book was in paperback, I know that, and maybe the smiley vampire face on the cover caught my eye.  I’ve read eighth grade through eleventh grade, but Vlad’s senior year is still a mystery.  It hasn’t been a year yet–the standard time between hardback release and paperbacks–but a girl can hope and think, dream and wonder.

I walk instinctively to the right side of the store and look under “B” for Brewer.  My eyes jump from bookend to bookend, shelf by shelf.  Hardback–hardback–hardback–paperback.  There it is!  Paperback!  Tucked at the edge of the shelf, hidden in the shadows of overhead lights, is The Chronicles of Vladimir Tod: Twelfth Grade Kills.

I grab it and drop it on the floor.  I’m so excited I can’t even hold it!  I dash over to my husband who wanders the CD racks, of course.

“Oh, this trip was so worth it!” I say.  I have waited so long.  I smile, I gleam, I may even be glowing.

How many more times will I feel like this?

How many more times will I be this excited about a book series–so excited!–so excited for a paperback because it’s cheaper and lighter and more flexible than a hardback?  How many more times will I be able to walk into a bookstore, pick up a book made of paper and walk out with my treasure?

A purchase.

The glisten of a glossy cover.  The ruffle of pages flipping through them.  The smudgy fingerprints in margins from cheap ink.  The triumph of finding what you want.  To leave with the treasure.

There’s joy of being able to flip through a book for a sample; through the entire book, not just some random chapter.  In fact, by doing this now, I find another YA novel to buy.  That book is here but more expensive at $9.99.  I’ll wait for another coupon.

An actual purchase.  Even the smell.  I pull it up to my nose, to make sure.  There’s that musty, raw dusty smell.  Yes.  The delicious anticipation.  Page One awaits.

With the dying brick-n-mortar stores going the way of the Dodo, I will probably not have many more moments like this.

I walk by the shelves one more time to relive the glorious moment.  It’s the only paperback there.  Or it was.  It’s mine now.

Vlad is $8.99.  I use the coupon, but I would have bought it without one.

Even the receipt is a bookmark.

 

An Experiment

digital_book_thumbnailHot Blacktop started as an experiment. I wanted to find out if I could produce a well-devised chapter each month. On July 10th, 2015 I did just that. The journey has been fulfilling. I’ve written, with the help of my editor, Phil, a work that I’m proud of to call a success.

Now that I’ve finished the novella, what comes next? Dipping my toes into an ocean caught in an ever-expanding maelstrom of indie authors that have decided not to go the traditional route is a scary endeavor in my designs for success. Is it better to query several agents knowing the outcome could be a quick toss from the slush pile to the trash after reading the first sentence of the novella or listening to voice from a surprise phone call hearing someone tell me they’re interested in my work?

The first is common. The second is rare but more satisfying. Is it a safer to get my work up in e-book format and see what happens, knowing that it’s finally out there in the world of e-commerce so people can read it right away, no chance that it will be rejected and not seen at all? In the back of my mind, these questions have had me waffling all year. My brain feels like I’ve been balancing one foot on a thin board while my arms get heavier and heavier with the weight of each decision as I rebalance myself. It was a difficult decision.

Finally, I decided to take the leap. I’ve started the process to e-publish. A few of my writer friends have already jumped in, and it seemed painless if not time-consuming, and they appear to be happy with the outcome. So I’m going to reach forward with long strokes and swim in the sea of indie romance writers, and hope that I gain a following, hope that readers like what I have to offer, and hope that Hot Blacktop becomes a success.

Coming in January 2017 the full novella,
Hot Blacktop by Wendi Knape

Also coming in January, The Hot Blacktop series continues with Christof and Megan in:
Hot Turns

Hot Blacktop Ch. 16 – The Home Stretch

brighton-erA whirlwind of motion flooded the hospital emergency room when the four of them entered. The staff tried to take Danny from Gunner, and he growled like some wild beast. They backed away. Saint said something quietly to him. Gunner’s shoulders sagged, and he nodded as Saint backed up and the attending moved in with a gurney.

“Sir, please. You’ve got to let him go. He’s in good hands.” A male nurse said, approaching inch by inch. Gunner’s gaze lasered in on the nurse. The guy didn’t back down. Danny didn’t make a sound when Gunner set him down gently. The staff moved at warp speed after that.

“Sir you can’t come in here. It’s better you stay in the waiting room.”

“Try and fucking stop me. Where the boy goes, I go.”

Sienna’s focus sharpened on the big man holding Danny until she realized the tears streaming down her face. She blinked.

“Sienna, honey let’s get you into emergency too.”

“What?” She looked up, Saint’s fingers wiped her streaked cheeks. He guided her into a wheelchair a nurse parked in front of her. “Oh.” She still clutched his hand when they started to roll her away. Sienna struggled to keep hold of him, not wanting him out of her sight after what she’d let happen. She tried to turn in the chair. A hiss of pain made Saint’s eyes narrow. She gripped him harder, but he slowly slipped away, the release causing a chill to mark her skin. She’d told him she loved him but would he still want her after all she’d heaped on Saint?

“I’ll be here. I’ll come back to you as soon as the doctors let me,” Saint said.

The nurse nodded at him. “As soon as the doctor says it’s okay,” the nurse told her. “Not a second before,” the older woman scolded.

Sienna reached out to him again and moaned from the pain.
The nurse patted her shoulder to still her. “You’ll be done in no time.” Sienna glared at the nurse and winced. She wanted to hate the older woman pushing her, but she seemed nice if she looked beyond her bossiness.

“Mmm, mmm, that man is hot. You’re one lucky lady. If my Reggie had a face and body like that, I might have overlooked his wandering eyes. And hands. If you know what I mean. With a man like that, it would have been worth it.” The nurse kept chattering on and on, and Sienna toned her out thinking about what she could say to Saint to make up for pushing and yelling at him. What if the result of his fall was a cracked skull? She was lucky that all he had was a sore head and some stitches.

Going through the stark double doors further away from Saint felt like a chasm had opened up, like he would forget about her, disappearing like every other good thing she’d tried to hold onto in her life. The last glimpse was of Saint staring at the floor. What did that mean? Was he rethinking being with her? Had she ruined everything?

After being poked and prodded, a few hours passed. Sienna finally drifted off to sleep, her injuries not as severe as she’d thought. X-rays revealed her ribs were bruised but fine. She was battered badly and would heal in time. Sienna knew she’d be fine, at least she thought she would. But more so, she was worried about what Saint was thinking. Even before they’d reached the hospital, he’d been terribly quiet in Gunner’s SUV.

The arms of the clock slowed as if sculpted with concrete, and Saint still hadn’t made an appearance. Even the nurse came by more than a few times to check on her. The shift even changed. When the nurse stepped up to her IV bag and switched it out with another, things started to blur. She didn’t want to fall asleep without seeing Saint.

“Where’s Saint,” she thought she’d asked. The nurse’s lips moved, but all she could hear was a jumble of noise. Her eyelids kept slipping closed. “Saint?” She struggled to stay awake. Everything had to be alright between them, she was frantic to see him. But her limbs fought against her and became heavier. She eventually succumbed to the drugs dripping into her system and sleep washed over her.

Voices woke her with a jolt, unexpected words entering her mind. Her eyelids hung heavy, and she struggled to open them.

“Three of Danny’s ribs… I thought…lung…punctured but he got lucky.”

Sienna opened her eyes, things still a little fuzzy. Two figures stood by the window in her room. She blinked.

The forms finally cleared and one started to speak again, Gunner, she thought, emotion ripping through his voice. “He…when I found him…God dammit!”

Was he crying?

“When I found him, his pants were around his ankles.”

She gasped.

“Sienna, you’re awake.” It was Saint’s words that drew her attention.

She tried not to read into what Gunner had just revealed. Did Marco rape him? She whimpered. “Where’s Danny? What did that fucking bastard, Marco, do to Danny?” Her words were small, the pain for what Danny endured too large to make it past her aching throat. And then she remembered the blank stare of her mother when Marco had carted her into that small shack. Sienna didn’t know how long her mother had been dead before she had arrived. “Ohh,” she groaned.

Saint came to her side and took her hand. The relief she felt from the contact making her sharp breaths ease only a little. Sienna had to focus on something else. She couldn’t think about her mother yet. She’d known it was going to be bad. She pinched her eyes closed and tried to shift her thoughts to something else.

Her eyes flicked back up to Gunner’s his arm bandaged where he’d gotten shot. He continued speaking. “The doctors said there was no evidence of sexual violation. Thank God. But until I talk to Danny…” His words trailed off, and he took a deep breath. “He was so dirty by the time I got to him,” he took another harsh breath, “that I didn’t notice the cuts in his abdomen. Christ!” Gunner rubbed his face with rough, jerky movements. “The doctor said he cleaned and stitched the wounds. There were no serious internal injuries. He’s bruised more than anything.”

“He’ll be okay right,” Sienna asked.

“Physically? Yeah, mentally, I won’t know until he wakes up.”

“You haven’t talked to him yet?” She said. “What time is it? How long have I been asleep?” Her words tripped over one another, pain sliced through her lungs with each breath, her ribs taking that moment to reintroduce themselves as the medication disappeared.

“Calm down, baby,” Saint said. “Danny’s asleep. He’s going to be fine.”

Sienna watched Gunner’s eyes move to the floor, and his body shake, with what? Anger? Fear? Guilt? She couldn’t know.

Gunner interrupted her thoughts. “I’m going to head out.”

“But, what about…”

The man steamrolled over her. “Don’t worry about Danny. I’m taking care of him when he gets out of the hospital.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. Why would Gunner do that? He didn’t seem very child-friendly.

Saint asked what had stuck in her throat. “You are?”

“I know a few people,” he grimaced.

“But the woman I spoke to with social services said she’d try to have Danny placed with me,” Saint said. Gunner shook his head.

“It’s nothing against you, man, but I think I’m better equipped to deal with the boy than you are.”

“How so?” Saint asked as he stood up and crossed his arms facing Gunner.

Gunner just smiled, it not reaching his eyes. “Just know that I have his best interests at heart.”

“Yeah, now you do,” Saint whispered just loud enough, and Gunner grimaced.

Silence trickled on for long seconds, and Gunner finally said, “I’ll let you know when Danny’s released and where we’ll be.” And then he turned around and exited the room, his stride sure and quick.

Sienna was so focused on the doorway that she jumped when Saint sat on the edge of the bed.

“How are you feeling, baby?” She couldn’t speak. “Sienna? Are you hurting? Do you need me to go get the nurse?” He stood up. She grabbed onto his shirt not caring about the pain, and her forehead fell against his chest, and she let loose her tears. Saint enveloped her with his arms forming a cocoon of warmth, holding her close.

“I’m fine.” She breathed him in. The memory of hearing him yell out for her, storming into the small shack, him taking the too tight blindfold off her face. “God, I’m fine. I love you! I love you so much. I’m sorry I said all those nasty things. I didn’t mean them. I didn’t mean to push you. When Danny told me, you’d fallen…” Her words rolled right over each other and Saint seemed to hold her tighter.

“I know, Sienna. I know you didn’t mean what you said or did,” he replied. “I love you too.” He kissed her temple and then her lips, barely a touch. She wanted more, and she needed more. Her fingers curled in his shirt, pulled him closer and took his lips. He moaned in surprise and gently pulled her back and looked down at her.

“Saint, please kiss me. I need it. I need you.” Lifting her head and leaning in again she tried to reach him, but he held her off.

“Sienna, you’re hurt. You need to rest.” He smiled down at her.

She pouted, trying not to wince when she figured out her lip still really hurt where Marco had hit her. Saint chuckled and gave her a quick peck on the lips. Sienna exhaled and linked her fingers tightly in her lap and tried to lean back on her own but Saint was there to help relax back onto the bed.

“See. You need to heal.”

Silence lingered. “What now?” Sienna asked.

“Now, we wait until you’re released and make sure Danny’s okay with Gunner. I’m still not positive he should go with Gunner.” He looked toward the window.

“What’s wrong with Gunner? He saved us both by killing Marco.”

“I don’t know. Gunner’s got secrets. I don’t like it.”

“Well, I think it will be okay,” she said and closed her eyes. “If Social Services believes he’s the upstanding guy they think he is then we should let them be.”

“How can we do that when I know for a fact, he didn’t help Danny in that damn house. He let Danny’s mother beat the shit out of him. It’s not right. I want him with us.”

Sienna’s eyes snapped open, but she couldn’t look at him. Not yet. She focused on her fingers the red skin mottling to a white as she gripped harder and harder. Hope bloomed in her chest making her heart ache. Was what he felt worth more time than just a few weeks they’d spent together? He told her he loved her but did he mean more than the passion they’d shared so far? She wanted to grab on tight to the word ‘us’ and never let it go. But she was scared to ask him what he meant directly, so she focused on Danny instead. “Danny and I don’t get along. How well do you think he would handle me helping take care of him? Especially when you’re living above your garage, and I live at my house?”

Saint gently lifted her chin with his fingers and caressed her jaw back and forth, back and forth. When Sienna’s eyes met his, she fell into the depths of love there wanting to stay forever.

He shook his head and smiled one side lifting up knowingly. He kissed her and held his lips over hers for too long. When he didn’t move away, his next words tickled her when he spoke. “You’re worried I don’t love you enough.” His lips lingered on hers, and his tongue slipped out softly to slide across hers. She moaned, and his smile felt good against her. “Don’t. ‘Us’ means you and me forever, Sienna.” Saint’s kisses brushed across her jaw as he leaned in closer. She lifted her chin, and then his lips met the soft spot below her ear, and he nipped her there leaving his mark. Then he slowly came back to her lips for another drawn out soft kiss. “Even though our time together has been short, I know you’re it for me. I knew it when I carried you to your bed with that migraine. I surely knew it when I didn’t know if I’d reach you in time when Marco had taken you. I love you, Sienna.”

He wiped her cheeks again and she laughed. “I’m a mess.”

“You’re a beautiful mess. My beautiful mess.” He took her hands. “I don’t care how we do it. The ‘Us.’ Just as long as we’re together. You can move into the apartment above the shop.” He laughed when she wrinkled her nose. “Or I can move in with you. It doesn’t matter as long as I’m with you.”

He gave her some much-needed tissues.

“What do you say?”

“I say, yes.”

Saint smiled, and she started to giggle as he crawled onto the small bed with her and he replied, “I can’t wait.

 

The End

 

Coming in January Hot Turns in the Hot Blacktop Series

Star Trek Heritage: Chapter One, Pt. 1

She was having trouble concentrating with that incessant beeping coming from the proximity sensors, but she didn’t stop working. The Borg Cube was closing in. They hadn’t sent any members of their hive onto the ship, but that was hardly reassuring. The rest of the crew aboard the USS Heritage was currently unconscious and that left Ensign Meva Skogland the lone soldier.

She wasn’t entirely sure why whatever knocked out the crew hadn’t affected her, but she thought it might have something to do with her being in decontamination at the time the Borg ship had appeared. She’d have to remember to ask Doctor Syversten about it when this was over…assuming they all survived. What a terrifying thought.

Meva’s hands flew across the console as she assessed the damage to the ship, checked weapon and shield statuses, and monitored the Borg Cube, which was now currently maintaining its’ distance. Whatever the Borg had done had disabled the Heritage’s warp engines, so they weren’t going anywhere anytime soon. Everything else, however, seemed to be functioning properly, the most important system being life support.

Meva had never seen a Borg ship in person before, had never seen the Borg themselves at all, but all the reports said the same things. The Borg disable a ship, send over their hive minions to leech data from the ships computers, and assimilate all members of the ships crew. Not necessarily in that order. Then they move on. Another ship. Another crew. Gone. Assimilated.

So…why weren’t they doing that? Why were they just sitting there? Sure they had disabled the ship just like previous reports said they would. But they hadn’t started the rest of it.

“Shit. What am I supposed to do with this?” Meva muttered to herself. Speaking out loud to herself made her less out of control. She was just an Ensign who worked in the Science Department. She was fresh out of the Academy. Everyone else on board, literally everyone, outranked her. Except now everyone else was out cold, which left only her.  And she knew procedure. They trained you for hostile situations. But you weren’t prepared. Not entirely.

Of course she had basic training in the use of the weapons systems. Everyone on the ship did. Every good Captain insisted on it and Captain Miles was a good Captain.

“He’d be a better Captain if he was awake.”

Meva wasn’t confident in her ability to use the ships weapons systems against this particular enemy and survive. She needed a plan. She worked in the Science Department. Maybe she could science a way out of this. For now it seemed she had the time. The Borg were just sitting there. It was creepy.

“Alright then. Let’s see if we can get these warp engines running. Or at least get it to impulse power. If I can’t do that maybe I can figure out how to wake Syver. Or the Captain. That would be nice.”

Meva grabbed a Data PADD so she could continue to monitor the consoles on the Bridge and headed for Engineering. There were crewmembers all over the place. Many had simply fallen wherever they had been standing when the attack came. Some sporting bruises from hitting the walls, the floor, each other. Some were lying in odd, and obviously uncomfortable, positions. She wished she could help, but with no proper medical training she didn’t even know where to begin.

‘This is one hell of a first assignment,’ she thought as she headed for the turbo lift. She sincerely hoped that the turbo lift didn’t malfunction. She didn’t need to be trapped in an elevator on top of everything else. Then they would all be screwed. ‘As if we aren’t already.’

Meva Skogland had been so excited to be given the chance to serve her first Starfleet assignment aboard the Heritage. It was the ships’ maiden voyage through space and a spot aboard was as coveted as a spot aboard the Federation Flagship Enterprise.

She reached the nearest lift and, surprise surprise, it wasn’t working.

“Great. The Medical Bay it is then.”

Heading toward Dr. Syversten’s office she tried to remember anything she may have learned at the Academy that might help with this. The Kobyashi Maru maybe. Except she failed that test. Everyone did. If she couldn’t wake Syver then she knew it was over.

She reached the Medical Bay in record time. Just like the Bridge and the hallways the bay had personnel laying and sitting wherever they had been. She found the Chief Medical Officer sitting in his office chair, his head lying on his desk like a kid who had fallen asleep at school.

“Doctor?”

Meva shook the doctors shoulder, as if that would do any good. It didn’t. She began looking through drawers and in cabinets. Assuming everything was properly labeled, which it always was, she was hoping to find anything that might be used to wake someone up.

While she searched for something, anything, that would help she continued to monitor the Data PADD. There was still no change from the Borg Cube and Life Support Systems were still functioning. Good. She still had time, but that could change at any moment.

Finally she found a stash of hypo sprays. She looked through them until she found one labeled ‘Epinephrine’.

‘Well, this will either wake him up or give him a heart attack.’

She read the label of the hypo spray, checked Syversten’s medical record in the ships’ computer to make sure he wasn’t allergic to anything, and then, taking a deep breath she stuck the hypo spray into Dr. Syversten’s neck and waited. It didn’t take long. The Doctor’s head shot up as if he’d just had a bucket of water dumped on him.

“What the hell…” he muttered. He was looked groggily around the room.

“Doctor. Are you alright?” Meva asked.

“Ensign Skogland? What’s happening?”

“The ship was attacked, Sir. I think. A Borg Cube sent out some kind of energy pulse that shut down the warp engines. It also seems to have rendered the crew unconscious. Everyone except me anyway. And now you. I was going to try to get the engines back online, but I can’t get down to Engineering. Thought I would try to wake you up instead. I’m really glad it worked.”

“The Borg? They’re here? Why haven’t they taken the ship yet?”

“I don’t know, Sir, but they’ve been here for several hours now. They disabled the ships ability to move, but haven’t done anything else. I’ve been using the time to try and either get the ship away from here or wake up someone who can. That’s where you come in.”

Dr. Syversten got up and looked around. “What did you use to wake me up, Ensign?” he asked.

“I used a hypo spray labeled Epinephrine. I only have Starfleet’s basic first aid training. I was kind of guessing and hoping it worked.”

“I’m very glad you guessed correctly, Ensign. Were you able to wake anyone else?”

“No, Sir.”

“Alright. Well, the best course of action then would be to wake the Captain and the rest of the bridge crew. They’re better trained to handle these sorts of situations. That will give us the time, hopefully, to start taking care of the rest of the crew.”

“Hopefully is right. The Borg haven’t fired on the ship yet, which goes against every report I’ve ever read about them. Granted there aren’t many so we’re probably missing information. We need the Captain.”

“Okay. Let me grab what I can from here and we’ll head to the Bridge.”