Gone--Part 6

    A squeak came from behind Ashley.  What in the-  Something heavy slammed into her throwing her against the wall.  It was a man.  She struck wildly at his face trying to free herself.  His hand twisted her head and shoved it into the carpet.  Panic struck.  He was trying to kill her.  Her foot lashed out and she heard a groan.  The grip on her head relaxed just enough to allow her to get free.  She rolled away and stumbled to her feet.  He was coming at her again, a snarl on his face, his hands poised for murder.  Ashley took a step backwards and hit the wall.  A cry tore from her throat and she lunged forward.  He threw her to the ground.  A loud crunch reverberated through her skull.  Everything went black.   

~

    This will work out good.  Philip gazed at the unconscious girl.  When he had thrown her, her head had connected with the desk.  Killing her the right way should be easy now.  However, even with that thought, he made no move to touch her.  Something inside of him revolted at the thought of killing.  “Stop it!” he snapped.  He reached down and flipped her over on her back.  Already a nasty bruise was forming on her forehead.  It was going to hurt when she woke up.  “Well, since she is not going to wake up, there is no reason to wo-” Somewhere outside a car door slammed.  He ran into the living room and peered out of the window.  A man slowly walked up the drive towards the house.  Arg!  He had to disappear and fast.  After darting back into the office, he securely locked the office door.  Then he opened the window that showed a view of the woods.  The perfect place to disappear.  He smiled wryly as he hoisted the girl to his shoulder.  With a quick glance around the room to make sure nothing would give away there had been a fight he slipped out of the window and closed it firmly behind him.  Long strides carried him into the woods and out of sight.

    For a long time he jogged deeper into the forest.  The girl was heavy, but not overly so.  Philip was certain that he could hold this pace for quite awhile.  It was late in the day, and quickly growing dark.  He needed to reach that road before it got completely dark.  There he could kill the girl and throw her into the woods.  Or he could tie her up and put her in the car and dispose of her somewhere else. 

    On his shoulder the girl stirred.  He came to a stop and let her slide to the ground.  Not too far off a piece of brown could be seen through the trees.  That must be the road.  And perfect timing to.  The girl was coming to.  Her eyes opened and she stared uncomprehendingly into Philip’s face.  “W-what-“ 

    He licked his lips.  What could he say?  You don’t need to say anything, just kill her!  Philip shook his head slightly.  He just couldn’t.  Not yet anyway. 

    “Wait, you are-you are the one that-” she lept to her feet and darted away only to stop few into her escape and drop to the ground in pain.  Moaning she rocked her head in her hands. 

    “I wouldn’t say running when you’ve probably had a concussion is the best thing to do.”  Where did that come from?  Philip you fool, just take her out!  He grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet.  “Come on.”  She did not resist.  Maybe she was smart enough to realize it would not do any good.  For the last few feet she stumbled along beside him, his hand firmly clasping her arm. 

    His car sat on the road where he had left it.  Philip opened the passenger door and pushed her into the seat.  A few moments later they were headed down the road; a killer in one seat, the victim in the other.

The Voice of the Grave

   I ignored the rain pounding at my face.  It didn’t matter.  Nothing did.  Nothing but this mound of dirt at my feet with a wooden cross in front of it.  “H-Henry?” Ann’s voice quavered.  I looked blankly at her.  Big brown eyes gazed up at me, tears streaming from their corners.

    “What?!” my voice came out coarse and harsh. 

    She stared down at my muddy boots and gulped.  “W-what are we going to do?”

    I bit my lip.  Good question.  One I had been asking myself for the past day.  What could a fourteen year old do with his mother dead, father gone off to war, and a little sister to care for?  Why me?  I looked up through the rain into the gray sky.  I thought you cared.  How could you do this?  What type of God are you?  Then I voiced the words-those three words I had never before thought I would say.  “I hate you.”

    “Sammy!” my voice thundered through the empty barn.

    “Yes suh?” a young Negro boy lept out of the loft and landed lightly on the ground.

    “Get the two Arabians out of the woods.  Then saddle them up and get some food.  Enough to last for a long trip.”

    “Suh, are you leavin?” Sammy’s dark face took on a worried look.

    “Noo!” Ann wailed grabbing my leg. 

    Closing my eyes, I took in a deep breath.  “Ann, stop it.”  I reached down and scooped her up into my arms.  She laid her head on my shoulder, her body still shaking with sobs.  “Yes, Sammy, we are.  I don’t see no other way.  The Yankees are getting closer.  We should flee while we can.” 

    “Where will ya go?”

    I clenched my jaw.  This was the hardest part of it.  “North to New York.  I have an Aunt who lives there.  I’m going to leave Ann with her then come back down and join the army.”  How I hated the thought of having to travel through that hated country. 

    Sammy said nothing.  He just stared down at the ground a mix of emotions on his face.  “I’ll go an’ get da horses.”    

    I kissed Ann lightly on the head, “Come on, let’s get ready.” 

   

    I didn’t pack many clothes.  Food was more important since we weren’t taking a pack horse.  I knew that  was a risk.  Hunting would be a necessity, which would slow us down.  But then there was the flip side.  If we ran across any soldiers, we would be more likely to out run them if we didn’t have the pack horse.  “Ann!” I eyed a set of boys clothes.  She entered my room, face pale.  I tried to smile has I hunkered down on her level.  “Try these on.”  To my surprise she did not voice a complaint, but took the clothing and left the room as silently as she had come.  A worm of fear wiggled through my mind.  Why couldn’t she cry or yell ?  At least she would act human.  The silent act scared me.

    I tightened the saddle bag and swung it over my shoulder and headed outside.  The horses stood calmly in front of the house, their heads held high.  They were the finest stock around.  “I’m sure glad we hid you when the army came lookin for horses.”  I patted the gray’s neck then tied my saddle bag securely to the saddle.  A sack of food hung from each saddle horn and a rifle sat in the boot.  “Thanks Sammy,” I shook the black boy’s hand firmly.  “I’ll miss you.”

    “Yes, suh.”  He looked away quickly, trying to hide the tears in his eyes. 

    The front door opened revealing a pale faced Ann.  The clothes had fit perfectly, and with a hat, she could pass for a boy.  She ran down the steps and into my arms.  Her small body quivered in my grasp.  I hugged her tightly then swung her up onto the bay’s back.  I shook Sammy’s hand one more time before mounting.  Without a backward look I rode out of the yard and past my mother’s grave.  I tightened my grip on my sister’s reins.  We would make it.  We had to.

Cadie's Story

Lovely! The world had never felt so beautiful to me before with the birds singing in the fresh green trees and the flowers all bowing their beautiful heads to me, the bride to be of the handsome Lard Flabblegum.  The lake I was passing glistened like liquid diamonds but to my intoxicated mind it seemed as is if even it couldn’t have more sparkles than my large diamond ring.

Just in case you are wondering, that was total sarcasm.  Bitter, angry, defiant sarcasm. This truth was I was furious. The world seemed like it hated me, the birds like they were laughing at the torture I was going through, and the flowers like they were ducking their heads only to hide their triumphant smirks. I was mad for several reasons. First, because I did not want to marry the ugliest, fattest cruelest old man in the kingdom, second, I hated rings with big diamonds and third because all the gossipy old ladies in town were pointing at me and giggling every time I passed them. One especially sour old lady would throw rotten vegetables at me and screech that I had no business setting my cap for the Lard like I had.

“T-Take him! He’s all y-yours!" I would screech back "I kn-know you’ve always w-wanted him. Y-You’d be a ch-charming match! An ugly old m-man and an uglier old w-woman! Why d-didn’t you t-think of it sooner?”

“Watch your stuttering foolish mouth barin! Just because you’re engaged to the richest man around doesn’t mean that you can hold your head and skirts above your elders! Respect us who have worked to give you everything you ever had!”

“T-The only things y-you have ever g-given me—M-MA’M—were t-twisted ears and rotten v-vegetables. Y-You can k-keep those as far as I’m c-concerned! They m-match your face and t-teeth.”

I stalked off and tried to find comfort in the woods by myself. It didn’t work, everything seemed to watch and laugh at my misery. Finally I flung myself full length in the leaves and cried until my eyes burned.

I felt a light but firm hand on my shoulder.

“Are you all right Miss? Is there anything I can help you with?”

I jerked my head up defiantly.

“N-no! J-just g-go away and s-stop laug—“ The words died on my lips. Two of the bluest eyes I had ever seen were looking down at me full of kindness.

“Can I help you Miss?” A young man's pale face looked anxiously down at me.

My mouth hung partly open the unfinished words still hanging on my tongue. The blue-eyed young man drew me gently to my feet and steadied me with his small but strong hand on my elbow. I was surprised to see that I was actually taller than him. Taller and thicker, something rather unusual for the half starved orphan girl.

“No. I don’t think you could do what I really want done, you’re too small.” The words would have popped into my head and onto my tongue for anyone else who looked like him but somehow those blue eyes chased all my fears away and made me quite confident.

“Yes. I’m engaged to the most disgusting person and I don’t want to be.”

“I see.” His face didn’t show surprise only concerned interest.

“It’s like this, I’m and orphan and he’s a Lord. He’s been a very unbeneficial benefactor for three years now and insists it’s time for pay back. So he says I have to marry him. Somehow he’s my legal guardian, though I know Mother (who was sick and died eight years ago though I tried to nurse her back to health) never signed over my papers and I certainly didn’t. Anyway he says I’m going to marry him and if I try to run away he’ll find me and bring me back to make my life even more miserable.”

“I  see.”

“So what I am to do? He’s a creep and the last person I would want to marry and besides that, I’m only seventeen. I’m not ready to lead the life of a grown up! Seventeen is too young.”

“Seventeen is too young.”

Something in his voice made me look up I was startled to see and almost bitter smile playing around his mouth.

There was an awkward silence and I unconsciously began to tap my foot impatiently.

“I’m sorry; I know I am taking a long time before I make any helpful suggestions.”

“Oh… it’s okay. I just tap my foot sometimes.” I stood on it to make it stay still.

I heard a horse’s hoof beats coming towards we both and instinctively ran for cover. Ducking behind a large bush we saw an enormous gold and black horse sweep past us. He was riderless.

“Hey where’s he going?”

The young man leapt to his feet and I let out a stifled scream as a horse’s head appeared over the bush.

“Iiippp!” the young man jumped back and then laughed and put his small white hand on the horse’s gold nose. “Rosh! When am I ever going to get over you doing that to me?”

I looked at him curiously.

“This is my horse, if you haven’t guessed. Sometimes he randomly…Um…often he comes and—and—finds me.” He coughed and looked away.

“Who are you?”

"You mean, 'W-who are y-you?"

The amazing blue eyes turned on me and only then did I  realize I was no longer stuttering.

“Who am I?" the blue eyes laughed. "Who are you?”

I found myself laughing too. Just like me, forget that I never told someone my name and forget to ask for theirs until something more than politeness prompted me.

“My name is Cadie and I think you already know a lot about me so that’s all the introduction I’ll give you.”

“Nice to meet you Cadie. My name is Isaac Ruebens and I am going to get you out of this situation. The only other introduction I will give you is that I’m sometimes called The Iron.”

So that is how I met The Iron.  And thanks to The Iron's wonderful care my stutter has almost disappeared except when I get very nervous. You might also be glad to hear that I am very happily situated, (I’m hoping that soon I’ll be even happier!) and not married to Lard Flabblegum. Another piece of interesting news is Lard Flabblegum, after searching unsuccessfully for me finally gave up and married the old lady who threw rotten vegetables at me--I was right about what a charming couple they would make. There is nothing more I can tell yet because it would endanger too many people’s lives including this very special Iron…and… one other…very special…person. Maybe some day I will write more about The Iron who has done so much, but then again, I’m not a very good writer and maybe…Jeri-- the other person will write it instead.

The Dinner Guest

The leaves crunched under my feet and the wind blew my blonde hair gently. It all seemed so peaceful and happy, unlike me. I chewed miserably on my already raw lip.

The smell, the haunting eyes, the screams and tears of those beautiful people were always present no matter where I went and what I tried to block them out with. I was told we were helping them, taking the heathens to a land where they would be owned by "good christian folk". My stomach flip-flopped. They might have been heathens in their own land but England couldn't be much better. That I was never going back to sailing on a trader was sure but, what was I to do now?

 I had posed that question to a lady friend of my mother's, who was as naive as she was old, named Mary Newton and she had given me a strange answer.

"Come to my house tonight for supper!"

"Well," I was taken off my guard by her startling answer. "That is very kind of you and I'm very honored, but-"

"Wonderful! John and I will expect you at seven thirty then!"

I stammered out a garbled "thank you" and showed the lady to the door wondering why I hadn't been able to come up with a reasonable excuse not to go. Of course I could have simply told her the truth but saying "I couldn't possibly come to your house and be anything but miserable." would have sounded very rude.

All afternoon I tried to think of some way I could delicately brake of the engagement but to my annoyance nothing came up. So, here I was, a haunted man, looking for my future at a supper with two very sweet but very simple elderly people. Probably they were just lonely and looking for any excuse to see someone--I laughed at myself, John and Mary Newton always had guests, they were never lonely.

John himself answered my timid knock.

"Come in, come in son! Our dinner is almost ready but while we are waiting there is someone here I would like you to meet!"

"Someone you would like me to meet?" I immediately thought of my grandparents who were always inviting me over and introducing me to someone they "would like me to meet". Much to my discomfiture these someones were usually eligible young ladies with powdered hair and painted faces, nothing like what I was looking for.

John led me through a small wooden door to a comfortable sitting room where I could hear a low murmur of voices.

"Ah! There you are! I should have mentioned to you that we have other company here tonight. I hope you don't mind but I really thought you should meet him."

I let out my breath. Him. What a nice word.

A  young man appeared from the depths of a arm chair. His gaunt face looked worn and haggard but his eyes burned with a passionate fire making him quite handsome. He held out his hand with a kind smile to me.

"Son, this is William. Perhaps you have heard of him? I think he would be interested in hearing the story of your recent voyage on the slave trader."

"Oh." I didn't want to talk about that.

Dumbly I reached out and shook his hand. "Pleased to meet you mister--?"

"Wilberforce."

Hidden

   He was dying; blood dripping from his mouth; his arm mangled and torn.  As he lay there on the ground, his blood watering the soil, a soft voice said, “You are the one.”

    Gasping for breath he lifted his head and tried to focus on the figure standing before him.  It was a young woman dressed in a white silk gown.  She knelt beside him and gently laid a hand on his brow.  Closing her eyes she began to sing a soft, lilting tune.  Darkness began to swallow him.   Before all vanished, a figure appeared behind the women. 

˜      

    Rotern sat upright, his pulse pounding.  The quite snores of his little brother drifted over to him.  He glanced at the small figure laying there, his mouth slightly open, an angelic look on his face.  Fear snaked up and down his spine.  The dream had seemed real, too real.  

    Slowly, so as to not wake up his brother, he slipped into his clothes then climbed out of the loft into a tree.  His bare feet felt for the all familiar branches until he was able to drop to the ground.  Off in the distance a slight glow surrounded the mountains signalling that a new day was about to begin.

   Shoving his hands into his pockets he jogged across the hard dirt ground towards the small sloped roof stable.  The weathered wood showed its age.  For as long as Rotern could remember, this building had stood here.  It was his refuge, a place he went to when confused or angry.
    The door screeched a complaint as he pushed it open.  It was empty, just like it had been for the past month since raiders had taken all their livestock.  Rotern ground his teeth.  What he would not give to take a sword and go after them himself.   What egged him even more was that the king claimed to be trying to stop them.  “Sure he is,” he kicked a moldy pile of hay.  “He’s in liege with them. "  

    “I wouldn't go around talking like that.”

    Rotern turned and gave a sheepish grin to the tall figure. 

    His father gave him a hard look, “You don’t go around talking like that.  The king has ways of finding out when people say things against him.”

    Rotern rolled his eyes.  “Aren't you being too cautious?  We are way out here, how could he find out?” they had had this conversation before, but his father never gave a satisfactory reason.

    “You don’t know that.  We have to be careful.”  His father’s eyebrows drew together sharply over his dark eyes.

    Determination surged through his body.  He was going to get an answer, a real one.  “What are you hiding from me?  Why won’t you tell me the real reason?”

    Muscles flicked in his father’s cheek.  He turned and left, shoving an old rake out of the way. 

    Rotern eyes followed his father’s retreating back.  There is more.  There has to be.  He has never acted like that before.

Gone--Part 5

    “Still no word?” Ashley nervously twisted a piece of ripped leather hanging off her car’s interior.  The overcast sky loomed overhead causing the already nerve racking situation to get even more tense.  “You checked his office?” Where can he be?  He may be eccentric but he never goes out of town.  She bit her lip.  “I’m going to go check at his house again.”

    “Ashley,” her brother’s voice trailed calmly over the phone, “He’s not there.  He probably went out of town, okay?  You are getting worried over nothing.”

    She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.  No matter what her brother said she was sure something was wrong.  She could feel it.  “I’m still going over there, it can’t hurt.”  She hung up quickly to avoid being lectured for overly suspicious nature..  A few raindrops splattered on her hood as she pulled out of the gas station and headed up the country road. 

    From the outside the house looked just like it had when she had visited it two days ago.  There was still a pothole in the driveway and one of the weathered green shutters still hung lopsided.  Ashley stepped out of the car, leaves crunching beneath her feet, and bent her head against the wind and rain as she jogged to the front porch.  Leaves had been blown up against the door creating a small mound, a sure sign that the house was still vacant.  She quickly unlocked the door and stepped in out of the wind.  “Anybody home?”  The house was dark and silent.  Perhaps he is in his den.  She encouraged herself while quickly making her way to the other side of the house.  She turned the knob and pushed.  More darkness.  Where’s that light switch?  Ah hah!  The lights blinked for a moment then came on.  Papers lay in random heaps on the desk and the floor.  Still no one. 

   

    Philip peered through the ajar closet door.  He could not pounce now; he would have to wait until her back was turned.  He flexed his hands then carefully touched the side of his jacket to assure himself it was still there if needed.  His superiors wanted it to look like the others, but he would take no chances.  She was just a girl, but the one who had give him the scar on his temple had been just a girl too. 

    The girl gazed around the room.  “Where are you?” her voice quavered.

    I don’t know, but it isn’t he you should be worried about.  It’s you.  He smiled wryly, stuffing the little condemning voice in his head back in its box.  I’m doing what I’m paid for! 

    Philip tensed.  She had turned her back and was heading toward the door.  It’s now or never.  

Alright, I need to know if you guys want me to keep posting parts of the story, or if you want me to come up with other stuff to post.  I have no idea how long this story will be, so it might go on for a long time.  :) 

Quote

"Trying to write is like trying to put a Chinese puzzle together.We have a pattern in mind which we wish to work out in words; but the words do not fit the spaces, or, if they do, they will not match the design. But we keep on trying because we know that others have succeeded and we are not willing to acknowledge defeat."--Helen Keller

The End

  Just to give you a break from Gone (and because I haven't been able to work on it a bunch) I am posting another one of my older stories (so, don't expect it to be good, because it isn't).
    

    The German pilot leaned over his control stick as he looked ahead through the bright sunshine.  He squinted at the sun overhead.  That was the one thing that frustrated him about flying:  there was too much sunshine and not enough clouds.  His eyes wondered forwards to the leader of the pack of Messerschmitt 109s.  As he did so, he relaxed against the back of the airplane seat.  All seemed to be going well. 

    

    Off in the distance, the sun gleamed off a wing tip in front of the pack.  He sat up quickly, and peered ahead his heart rate increasing.  It was a group of enemy airplanes!  Setting his jaw, the pilot mentally prepared himself for the battle that about to ensue.  He was an experienced pilot, but each clash with the enemy sent his stomach into an acrobatic act.

    

    The P-51 Mustangs shot past the Messerschmitts.  The German pilot, the lead plane’s wing man, jerked his control stick to the right to execute a tight turn.  It almost seemed to him as if they were on an invisible racetrack; the Americans on one side chasing the Germans on the other.  After making two large circles the Mustangs gained the advantage and pulled up behind them.  The German pilot followed the lead of the rest of the pack, and leveled out his plane.  They were going so fast that the plane was shaking.  However, the pilot could tell that the Mustangs were gaining on them.  He gulped and whispered a prayer.

    

    With a surprised jerk, the German pilot saw the last plane in the German pack roll over, and then plummet towards the ground.  He gripped the control stick desperately determined.  He must not go down! 

   

   Anger and surprise flooded him when he saw the plane behind and the plane before him, give up and pull away from the pack. Now he was the only one remaining in front of the Americans.  Cowards! 

    With grim determination, he snapped into a tight turn.  The Americans would not win this fight!  He had made the twist so quickly that the Americans were unable to follow.  With an idea begging to form he pulled behind the leader’s wingman.

    The wingman, in his surprise, broke to the left to try to lose the German.  The German pilot laughed.  He had scared this ‘brave American’.  The Mustang dove and the German pilot followed, just waiting for the right moment to blow him out of the sky.  Fear pummeled him as he realized the truth.  It was a trick!  The lead Mustang was on his tail!

    Leveling out, he made another tight turn.  The Mustang was flying too fast to follow.  The German pulled up behind the American and let out another laugh.  They had had their joke.  Now it was time for him to have fun.  Desperately, the Mustang pulled upward into a near vertical climb.  The German pilot was not going to give up so easily.  He pulled up after it.

      Suddenly, chills broke out on his arms.  What if his plane stalled?!  He took a deep breath to steady his nerves.  It was a German plane.  It would not stall.  The next second his plane shuddered; the pilot with it.  His plane was stalling! 

    “No! No!”  He furiously worked the controls as his airplane fell over backwards towards the earth. 

    He struggled to gain control in time to keep it from exploding against the ground.  He took a ragged breath and looked around for the Mustang.  With a gasp, he located it on his tail.  Once more, he pulled the tight turn.  It had to work, it always worked.  Then his worst nightmare happened.  The Mustang copied the turn. 

     Helpless, the German pilot pulled his plane into a near vertical climb, all the while knowing that his plane would stall first.  A flash of light flickered past him.  Tracers!  he realized.  He had never before hated the Americans so much.  Then some fifty caliber rounds ripped through the wing root and his canopy.  Glass flew everywhere.

    Wounded, his plane stalled and fell towards the earth.  His heart sank to his stomach as an overwhelming fear slithered through him.  He was not ready to die!  He jerked the control stick frantically, even though he followed.  There had to be some way to keep from dying! 

    Then the smoke cleared away just enough for him to see the ground rushing up towards him.  The next second, his plane slammed into the ground forming a fiery explosion.  The impact itself killed him.  There, his body lay in the burning rubbish while the American flew away unharmed.

Through the Ivy Covered Wall - It's finally finished!

I finally finished writing "Through the Ivy Covered Wall." Please go check it out on my blog at www.wearewindows.blogspot.com. If you haven't read any of it previously you may have to search for part of it in the labels. It should be under short fiction. Please comment and let me know of anything I can do to improve.

The Blood that Covers Me

      Okay, this is probably one of my worst written stories, but I need some help with it. I'm not completely sure what I need to do to improve it. Please let me know your opinion.

       I shiver violently, hugging my soaking self, and sobbing. It was all my fault. Why had I been so stupidly dumb and selfishly uncaring? He did not deserve to die yet. Not one bit, though he would have said otherwise. “We all deserve death, Kathy,” he had said once. “Christ is the only perfect one. That's why He could be the only one to die for us.” He had said it so sincerely, his deep blue eyes staring straight into mine. I had felt like he was looking straight into my heart, reading all my secret thoughts. He had me completely confused me, and he knew it. In my book, Samuel was perfect. Compared to me and all my friends, he was a stainless T-shirt. Samuel never missed a Church service or activity. I had never heard a cuss word or crude joke slip from his lips, and he never dated. My friends and I, on other hand, have probably committed every sin in that old book called the Bible. He had quickly earned the name “Preacher Boy” because of his dream of going of to Bible college to become a preacher. Most people really hated or liked him. I happened to be one of the latter group. His personality and broad smile were so attractive. Samuel didn't care if you were popular, ugly, or weird. He loved everyone. Samuel truly reflected the life of the one Christians call “King.”

He seemed to have a special interest in me. I have never figured out why he did, but I enjoyed it. That's when the trouble started. My boyfriend Blake did not approve. His dislike for Samuel seemed to grow daily. He did everything he could to keep me away from Samuel, and his rudeness bothered me. Eventually Samuel convinced me to start attending youth group with him and told me that if I really wanted to change my life, I should quit spending all my time with my friends like Blake. This made me super mad. I stormed out of the Church building and ran down the dark alley towards my home. I decided to call Blake and ask for a ride. Something didn't seem quite right about him when he answered the phone, but I pushed it aside. Blake arrived soon after, and I told him about what happened as I climbed into the truck. Just then, I saw Samuel round the corner, waving his arms and calling my name. Blake cursed and slammed his foot on the accelerator. The truck plowed straight towards Samuel. I watched in horror as the truck slammed into the boy calling my name.

Now I stand in the hallway of the hospital, shivering with guilt and grief. If only I had not gotten so angry with Samuel. I would have never left the Church building. Samuel would have never come after me. If only I had grabbed the wheel and tried to stop the wild Blake, but it was too late. Samuel's Father glances at me through tear-filled eyes. I know he blames me, and I deserve it. It should have been me under the truck's tires.

A nurse places her hand on my shoulder. Her eyes questioning. My shirt is soaked in blood. “Are you hurt?”

“It's not my blood,” I reply. I had been the first one at Samuel's side. A new round of sobs breaks through my chest. Samuel's Father looks at me again, his anger vanished. He quickly closes the space between us and wraps his arms around me, and we cry together.

It is during this moment that I finally grasp the message that Samuel had been trying to get through to me all along - the message about what Christ has done for me. I realize this is what it's like when God the Father looks at one of His adopted children. All He sees is the blood, the blood of His Son. He sees the great love that His perfect Son has for imperfect people. The dark, dirty sins that lie beneath are gone and forgotten. I suddenly want to accept this gift. This is what Samuel wanted for me.

Through Iron's Eyes--Part 2

I wasn't intending on writing any more to this story but Angela asked me why he was wearing makeup. So I had to write more and answer that question. There will be no more to this story though. Sorry, hope I didn't leave you hanging too much!



“Really Mister Iron, I wouldn’t have recognized you since you covered up your scar with makeup only your eyes really are quite attractive. I think I have yet to meat anyone with eyes quite as attractive as your blue ones!”

Lard Strathford chuckled an ugly little chuckle at his comrade’s comment.  

“Oh yes? I have been told that a few times in my life I suppose.”  I tried to see my reflection in the glass windows of the train. Could it really be that after all this preparation I had forgotten to put in my brown contacts? Yes my eyes were “attractive”, in an altogether too dangerous way!

“Ah! Here we are. Sooner than expected. Please allow me to take you to my lovely home nearby where I will do my best to entertain you!” the train was slowing down as Lard Strathford spoke.

“May I escort you?” Sir  Bander cooed in my ear persuasively. “I wouldn’t want you to get lost in the crowd you know.”

Inwardly I recoiled from this man and his cooing. He disgusted me, but there was also another emotion I felt towards him, one that most of the Circle even didn’t realize I had—Fear. I was terribly afraid of Sir Bander, mostly because I didn’t know exactly how much he knew of me. I couldn’t gage his knowledge of my background and be prepared for what past horror he would hurl at me.

“I thank you but it I think if I was escorted by just you I might still get lost. Could perhaps two of your guards do it? No offence to you but you know the old saying, ‘Two is better than one’ .”

 “Oh, but I wouldn’t have thought your royal blood would permit you to be touched by blood not as noble as yours.” He said charmingly.

My stomach churned again. So that was one more thing he knew about me that I wished he didn’t. He knew how helpless I was in his hands and so he didn’t mind standing here on the train bantering with me. I felt a strong urge to make a desperate struggle to get out of here now and with a twist I was free of his arm. In a fraction of a second I had jumped free of the still train and was running desperately straight for the slums.

I heard his footsteps behind me. He sounded like he was hardly even jogging.  My breath came in short gasps; I was a sprinter, not a long distance runner like Sir Bander. Already I had nearly used up my strength. Should I use it now? The thought crossed my mind but I pushed it away. Only for emergencies, only as a last resort would I use that and expose my strongest weapon.  It banged against my heaving chest I could feel it dripping with my sweat. I must not use it yet, I must save it, there was one more thing I could try first.

I faced about and drew a long knife from under my cloak. Sir Bander stopped and looked at me for a while and then threw his head back and laughed loudly. It was a ridiculous idea for me, with a knife, to attack a man with a sword. He continued to laugh, his head thrown back his arms wide apart he was wide open. I jumped.

Sir Bander hit the ground with a thud as I landed on top of him but was well trained for things like this.

“You miserable little cur!” his large hand sent me sprawling with my ears ringing. He came and stood over me, his eyes glinting dangerously.

I had no choice but to use my last resort. I pulled the beautiful sliver whistle, with the mark of The Iron on one side and a galloping horse on the other, from under my shirt and blew as loudly as I could. It was as I expected, Sir Bander suspected me of treachery and the last thing I saw was a raised sword gleaming in the sunlight.

Gone--Part 4

  This part of the story didn't turn out quite how I wanted it to, but it will have to do because my brain isn't helping to make the needed changes.

    A knock echoed through the nearly empty house.  Philip parted the curtains carefully his nerves taunt.  He had to make sure it was the right one.  Outside the door, a tall man with broad shoulders, stood there, impatiently tapping his fingers.  "Good," Philip muttered, reaching out for the door handle.  “Come in,”

    The man’s piercing gaze swept the dimly lighted room.  “We are alone?” the door closed behind him with a click.

    Impatient, Philip's voice sounded tense, “Yes, of course.  That is what you wanted.  When have I not followed orders?”

    The man walked past him and opened up his leather coat pulling out an envelope.  “Up to this point, you have done well.  Hopefully you will keep it up.”  He paused, then continued, “Here are your next instructions.”

    Philip accepted the envelope.  “How are things?”

    “Fine I suppose,” the man glanced at his watch.  “But there just aren't as many as we wanted.  We need more,” he nodded at the envelope.  “That is what that is for.”

    Realization flooded over Philip.  He licked his lips, “Sir, t-this isn’t what I volunteered to do-“

    A few long strides and the man stood face to face with him.  “You volunteered to do what is necessary!  That is necessary!  Now you listen to me.  If you do not carry out those orders, I promise you, you will regret it.  You will pay for it.  Do I make myself clear?”  His steel blue eyes bore holes in Philip’s skull.

    It was a question that needed no answer.  The man walked towards the door leaving Philip standing there, face pale, staring at the envelope.  

Through Iron's Eyes

This story is a companion to a book I am writing called The Iron. This story is actually through the eyes of the main character while the book is written about him but through one of his followers. Tell me what you think, especially about the main character please. Like, is he a good character or does he need some rounding out of some sort?

Through Iron's Eyes

The door slammed to, a whistle blew and the rhythmic clatter of the wheels announced that I was leaving. Could it really be true?

Better rehearse, I could be asked about myself anytime. But where should I start? Name and age, that would be most important.

I am twenty-five years old and my name is Alex Goodwin. I live in Basule and am on my way to visit relatives for the day in Camor.  I will be coming back by the midnight train; here is my return ticket to prove it.

I bit my lip, and tried not to rub the sticky makeup off my face. Did I look twenty-five? Everyone else thought so I guess since I had passed at approximately that age for five years now. No one except my adviser and I knew how old I really was and it was a long ways from twenty five.

“Your name, age, place of birth and current residence?” A soldier and his officer eyed suspiciously a women three seats ahead of me.

The blood ran away from my face. Place of birth? I hadn’t planned on that question.

“Your name, age, place of birth and current residence?” The soldiers were questioning a man two seats ahead of me now.

I could just say I was born in Basule. My breath came out in a relieved sigh that was louder than I intended.

“I’m sorry Mister Iron, did you say something?” The officer turned to me and I felt my heart stop as I saw his eyes. There had always been something creepy to me about them, creepy I mean besides the fact that one was green and one was blue.

“W-Why! L-Lard Strathford! I didn’t expect to see you here!” I stuttered and my stomach was making me feel nauseated.

“I didn’t expect to see you here either Mister Iron. What may I ask are you doing on a train away from your very important headquarters? Surely you are not going to leave us? We were hoping to have at least one more chance to speak pleasantly with you and your genial friends.”

“I-I had business in Camor.”

“Ah! You have a speaking engagement no doubt? I have heard you are quite the moving orator. In more ways than one seeing that by the time I get there to hear you, you have always hurried on to your next one and left me in the lurch! Perhaps you’ll oblige me by speaking to Lard John Halcrust, who I believe you already know, and some of my other friends while enjoying my generous hospitality tonight? I’m sure we would all enjoy the entertainment.”

I could bet they would! Swiftly glancing around I saw what would be my only chance.

“Of course, of course, Lard Strathford! I’m sure they would and I would love to give it only, as I mentioned before, I have a very pressing engagement in Basule.” My outward coolness was regaining itself and I even found it in me to smile at the creep who was after my life. “By the way, may I ask how you are getting along without your slave lass? I’m sure you miss her and she misses you to. In fact it’s lucky we met since I actually have a message that she asked me to deliver to you.”

His eyes darkened and glittered to my delight. My rescuing his slave girl was still a sore spot then!

“Let me see, where did I put that?” I unbuttoned my coat and began searching through the inside pockets. “Ah! I remember now! I left it at home in my other coat! I’m sure if you called on my apartments and cared to look in my dining suit pockets you could find it. I’m sure you’d be relieved to hear though that she is doing quite well and is enjoying living in the new country.”

“Ah yes, wonderful news.” His easy demeanor was slipping under my oiling. Perfect.

“Oh and also, as you can see, the little cut I received one of the last times I saw you, is doing quite well. The makeup in it doesn’t burn too much.”

“Delighted.” His eye brows were down.

“I heard you got tussled a little that time too. You were laid up in bed for several weeks. I’m sorry to hear that. I hope you are feeling better now?”

He leapt at me and stepped coolly back.

“Careful Sir! These seats really seem good at tripping people, I trust you aren’t hurt?”

He roared and leapt at me again, there was murder in his eyes.

I felt the doorknob in my back. Once more please, just once more I needed him to jump at me. If he stepped off and called his soldiers all would be lost but as it was he was blocking their way and giving me an excuse for getting closer to the door.

“I’m sorry Lard Strathford, did you say something?”

My wish was granted. I opened the door quickly and paused only a moment on the edge. There was a sand pile, not the softest landing but better than nothing! My legs bent and I squeezed my eyes shut. A strong arm passed around my waist.

“Not so fast Mister Iron.” His voice cooed in my ear. “I’m really looking forward to that speech you are going to give later tonight-- too much to let my foolish friend lose you.”

My heart gave one painful thump and stopped. No one except my adviser and I knew how old I really was or what I really was—my adviser and him.  I felt sick. This was even worse than I had expected.

The Light's Last Touch--Part 3

I wrote this a different day than the rest and I wasn't in the same mood--I don't think it is very good. But I promised I would post it so here it is:

“Missus?”

The voice woke me from my reverie.

“Missus?” the voice sounded nervous.

“Yes Cadie?” I retreated farther into the darkness so my slave wouldn’t see me.

“Thay’s a man here, says he’s brought a trunk with things that belong to you, Missus.”

“Ask Tom to bring it up here.”

Was that voice mine? The voice that spoke nicely to Cadie, after anger had spoken to her so cruelly the past months? Was this my voice that gave the orders for the trunk, that he had taken to the war with him, to be brought up here? Here to my room where I was trying to shut out all memories of him?

A hesitant knock sounded on the door and I quickly drew back even further into the sheltering darkness.

“Come in Tom. You can put it at the foot of the bed.”

“Yes Missus.” I waited until I heard the door close softly behind him and then I got down on my hands and knees and groped forward.

My hand struck the chest and I pulled it back in pain. The pain was not only physical. I wasn’t ready, wasn’t ready to look at what a man he had been. And what a woman I had been at his side--at the woman I should still be.

I rested my head against the side of the bed. Not yet, I wasn’t ready yet. Maybe if I could forget about it for a while, maybe then I would be healed.

I crawled on hands and knees to the cabinet that I now knew so well. My hands felt around inside. It was empty. I had nothing, not way to make myself stop thinking. Alcohol, my constant companion for that past several months was gone. Gone, like everything else. Like him, like our dreams together for the future, like all the money from our plantation, like the light.

I looked toward the window, my mind remembering the light’s last touch. Was it gone forever for me? A faint glimmer looked back at me. What was that light? I again crawled across the floor and pulled myself up on the window sill. A star shone brightly in the dark sky even though the sun had gone down. Was there still hope for me even though the light’s last touch was gone? No, there was nothing to save me. Nothing and no one now that he was gone.

“Cassy do you trust me? Will you trust me?” the gentle voice came back to me again.

Was there someone then? Some one who wanted me to trust them? Some one who could save me, save me from this pit I was falling--allowing myself to fall into? Perhaps, perhaps this someone had been there all the time, waiting for me to trust them? Perhaps I had known it? Known they were there but instead chose to walk open eyed into the pit I falling in? Could they catch me, pull me out to safety, and most of all, would it hurt?

“Who are you?” the tears coursed down my face and I began groping frantically for his chest.

My fingers found the latches and I undid them fumbling in my hurry. They were undone, and I threw up the lid.

His smell wafted up to me crying at me to stop, my emotions couldn’t handle this right now but I put my hand in and immediately felt what I was looking for.

I pulled out the small leather book and hugged it to my chest then I crawled to the door.

“Bring me a lamp quickly please Cadie!”

I heard a slight gasp and then hurried footsteps came from Cadie’s room which was next to mine. Her door opened and she appeared holding a lighted candle.

“Give that to me please Cadie!”

I took it out of her trembling hands and shut the door behind me. The worn book felt soft in my hands, where in all it’s hundreds of pages was I supposed to look? I was sure what I was looking for was there, but where?

It fell open and I saw a sheet of plane paper flutter to the floor. My hand trembled as I picked it up; it had his writing spelling my name on the front!

I smoothed out the paper lovingly and laid it on the floor.

“Dearest Cassy,

The doctors have given me four days to live. I will soon be in heaven with Jesus. I wish you would meat him Cassy because I would love to share paradise with you. Please, for my sake, read my Bible, you will find hope and strength to guide you through what may be coming. You will need it, for, as a Southern lady it will be hard to survive when this war is over and the North has won. Yes Cassy, I have been in fights, and I have seen the North and they, with their new general, Grant, will win this war. God bless you dearest Cassy. It is my prayer every night that you will come to know God like I have. Let me share with you my favorite verse,

John 8:12

Then Jesus again spoke to them, saying, “I am the Light of the world; he who follows Me will not walk in the darkness, but will have the Light of life.”

I love you dearest Cassy!

Your loving husband,

John Warth”

There was someone there, some one who could bring me back to the light. I felt the words pouring out from me in a torrent I couldn’t control. I lay face down on the floor and begged for God’s forgiveness, begged him to take me out of this darkness. As I finally ran out of words the morning’s first rays of light poured in through my window and lit my face.  I closed my eyes and basked in it warmth until a bird landed on the sill and began to sing.

“Yes sing! Sing your heart out to God!” I jumped to my feet and began to wildly tear down the thick curtains around the other windows. The light and fresh air poured in. I leaned out the window and took in breathed in deeply, John’s Bible still held tightly in my hand.

I saw a horse gallop up the drive and Tom flung himself off it.

“Lee’s surrendered to Grant! The war is over! We all free! Free!”

I smiled as I leaned against the window and began to read John’s Bible. The hard times were coming as John had predicted and I wanted to be ready for them.

Gone--Part 3

    Wearily Mary paused in front of the door to her home, then swung it open, revealing a quaintly furnished living room.  She dropped her purse and keys on the coffee table and then allowed herself to collapse on the couch.  For the longest moment she laid there, hair streaming wildly over her shoulders, her eyes staring vacantly at a blank TV screen.  Thoughts and images from the day pounded through her head.  She closed her eyes tightly.  Everything in her life was going downhill.  The bank was threatening to foreclose on her house, today she had been laid off of her job, and on the way home she had gotten into a huge fight with her mom over the phone which meant she would get no financial help from her.  More tears rushed down her face.  Why was life so hard?  For awhile she just let the tears pour, while allowing herself to sink deeper into a puddle of self pity.  
    Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that a meal was due.  Rubbing a hand over her face she stood to her feet, clicking on the TV.  Perhaps the noise would drown out her thinking as she found something to eat. 

    She entered the dark kitchen her fingers groping for the light switch.  The lights came on clashing with the darkness she had just left. As she headed across the floor a shadow fell upon her.  She whirled around and looked up, freezing in panic.  It was here; it had been waiting.  Grabbing her it lifted her kicking and clawing off the ground.  Her screams, filled with fear and pain, drowned out the noise of the TV.