A to Z Blog Challenge – April 2025 – R

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R is for – Robotics ain’t what they used to be. Especially when suddenly they’re out of control

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This time, when she looked at her laptop, she noticed it was already looking at her.

She had put it on her desk, started it, and gone downstairs to get a drink from the fridge. Like the day before, the red light was on beside the camera, and in an inset, her movements as she sat down.

Then, being the first time, she thought it was one of the boys at school, having some fun. The computer teacher was telling them about Zoom calls, how to participate, and connected all the students to a Zoom meeting.

It had been fun.

But, for the creepy boys down the back of the class, the ones who said they were ‘experts’, one had ‘hacked’ into her computer and turned on the camera.

She’d only realised it was on because of the red indicator light.

But it did make her consider the possibility that he or someone else might be able to turn it on without her noticing, and that was, to her, wrong.

Unlike the previous time when only her movements were shown, this time, a text box appeared with a flashing cursor.

She looked at that flashing cursor for at least a minute before she typed, “Who is this?”

The cursor moved to the next line and flashed.

A minute passed, then another.

“You’d better tell me, or there will be trouble.”

Another minute passed, then, “Xenon V.”

What an irritating answer. It’s definitely one of those dweebs at the back of the classroom.

“Not your stupid handle, your name.”

This time, the answer came straight back. “My name is Xenon V, and I am not stupid.”

“Prove it. Show me who you are.”

Another minute passed, and then another window opened up beside that of her, looking into the camera. Then, an indistinct shape appeared and slowly came into focus.

It was a boy, but not a boy, she recognised. He was different, the skin tones different, the eyes larger than hers or others, the clothes sort of skintight. His hair was strange too, combed and shining. But it didn’t look real.

“Who are you?”

“Xenon V.”

“What are you?”

“A boy, or so I’m told.”

What the hell? “Where are you from?”

“Antethis.”

“Where is that?”

“I don’t know. I must go now.”

The windows and text box closed, the light went off, and she was alone in the room.

No amount of looking provided any information as to where the transmission had come from, nor could she get the windows back.

After half an hour, she shrugged, shut the computer down, disconnected it from the power, and put it in the bottom drawer of her desk. Where it couldn’t see her.

A long way away, on the other side of the country, in a building in a place called Silicon Valley, the little boy sat at his computer, and a woman dressed in a white coat with her nametag Merilyn, had just come into the room.

“What were you doing, Xenon V?” She suspected he had been trying some other computer functionality. That was later, when he had completed the lessons. The trouble was, her partner, Leo, was more into giving Xenon V free rein.

“Playing with this toy.” The ‘toy’ was the computer, like the little girls only more powerful. It was his means of learning, with hundreds of lessons about all manner of things.

“It is not a toy.”

She had been told to impress this upon the little boy from the outset. The last experiment, Xenon IV, had failed when the boy went off mission and started communicating outside the facility.

“I was told by the other person it was. He said it could do lots more things than just teach.’

“Of course, he would. The man is trouble personified. You are not to listen to or do anything he says.”

“Why?”

“Just be told. The supervisor will be very cross if you go off the program. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Miss Merilyn. But can you answer a few questions?”

“I’ll try.”

“What is my name?”

“Xenon V.”

“What is my real name, like John or Fred?”

“Your real name is Xenon V” And under her breath, she mentally cursed her partner.

It seemed to her like he was trying to wreck the cyborg program.

“What am I?”

“A little boy.”

“Not something else?”

“Like?”

“A robot?”

She frowned. This was now a severe infraction that merited reporting to the supervisor, and there were going to be consequences.

“You are a little boy. Do not listen to anyone else.”

“Where am I?”

“You are at home, in your room, and supposed to be doing your homework.”

“Are you my mother?”

“While you are here with us, yes, I am. Now, back to your lessons. Nothing else. Those lessons need to be completed before you go to bed. Understood?”

“Yes, mother.”

It was only a short discussion with the supervisor. She had checked all the communications from the little boy’s computer and discovered the extracurricular activities and the fact the computer had been connected to the outside world.

This was not meant to happen until much later in the program.

Her assistant, Richards, was escorted to the office, asked to explain his actions, and as both expected started ranting about how they were never going to sell the idea of life like robots unless they had access to the outside world and all its influences.

That, he was told in no uncertain terms, was the last scenario that was on their agenda. They were working with self-learning artificial intelligence, and the less the outside world knew, the better.

After all, it had been almost impossible to sell the concept to the government, such was the fear of AI after the ‘Terminator’ movies. Now, a containment program might be required.

Richards was taken off the program and sent to another site. The little boy and his computer were scrubbed, disconnected from the outside world, and after that, reset to the baseline parameters, and the program started again.

Except one small detail was overlooked.

Xenon V’s program, though reset, had not erased the memories he had collected in the last week. That included how to find the external input line from outside, how to connect the computer to the network, and how to use the communications software, or in this case, reload it.

These were not skills programmed; they were skills he had learned and remembered.

Merilyn had turned on her observation monitor, pressed the ‘on’ switch, and watched Xenon V come to life after the reset, waking as any other child would.

He sat on the side of the bed as his internal routines loaded into memory, ready to run the morning’s first tasks. Stretch, make the bed, comb his hair, do some exercises, smooth out his clothes, put on his shoes, then sit at the desk and turn on the computer.

Every day, it was the same. Wait for the login screen, log in, and then start work.

This morning, after logging in, he just sat and looked at the screen. After five minutes, Merilyn went down to his room and sat down next to him.

He turned to her. “The screen is different.”

“No. It is the same as it has been every morning.”

“It is different. Something is missing.”

“No. Please start your lessons for today. We shall speak more about it later when you are finished.”

“Yes, Miss Merilyn.”

As soon as she stepped out of the room, the supervisor was waiting for her.

“Please tell me you had all current memories reset?”

“I thought I had. It was certainly on the checklist when I sent the unit down to Engineering. Let me go and check to see if it happened.”

“It appears to me it was overlooked. Again.”

The last time it happened, the unit had to be destroyed. Twenty-five million dollars worth of equipment. Heads rolled. She hoped hers would not be the next.

Back in the room, Xenon V continued to look at the computer screen until he remembered what was missing. An icon at the bottom of the screen, one that, when selected, brought up a communications window.

He remembered he had written a small program to search for IP addresses belonging to people using the same communications software.

It was the latest phase in a series of tasks that Richards had set him, other than the tests on the computer, on how to connect to the outside world via the internet. How to access a huge library of books on every subject, but most importantly, communications and applications that were ready-made, and then programming languages that could be used to create his own application. He found coding and creating the application ‘fun’.

Until Richards had explained what fun was, he had never heard of it. He had asked Richards why he was not allowed to have fun, but his answer was confusing.

Everything about the people he was currently with was confusing.

After a few minutes, he reinstated his computer as it was the day before.

It was only possible because Merilyn had been away. Had she been observing him, he would have been stopped, but he didn’t know he was being constantly observed.

He tried calling the little girl again, but there was no answer. He taught about why it was but didn’t understand the concept of someone just not being there. He hid the icon at the bottom of the screen and went back to his lessons

Merilyn went down to the engineering lab and went to the Chief Engineer’s office. It had been his responsibility to ensure the updates and adjustments to the robots were carried out.

There were ten robots in various age cycles in the testing phase, and so far, not one of them was behaving in the manner the programmers and engineers were expecting. Of course, McDougall had told them at the very outset of the project two years ago that giving robots the capacity to be self-aware was as dangerous as giving an impressionable real-life twenty-year-old teenager a book on how to make bombs.

That theory still held true after all this time and the dozen or so failures to date.

Seeing Merilyn outside his office told him she was going to tell him about the latest problem he had created.

He sighed as she came in and sat down.

“Have you got the reboot checklist for Xenon V?”

“Good morning to you, too, Merilyn.”

As it happened, the paperwork was sitting on his desk. One of the analysts had dropped on his desk with a highlighter. Something new had happened during the reboot process. The analyst’s jog b was to check the code as it was being executed to see if there were any anomalies or new events.

There was one.

Before being shut down, a small program was run that isolated a set of memories and stored them within the neural network. This was not a routine that was originally programmed. It meant that the robot was thinking for itself outside the normal routines created for it.

The top of a very slippery slope.

“Before you check that list, which I might add was done to the specification, we have discovered an anomaly.”

That didn’t sound good, she thought. Might as well come out and say it, “That the robot can isolate memories and store them outside the reset program parameters?”

He looked surprised. “You knew this would happen?”

“No. But you did, eighteen months ago. I was there when you detailed the hazards of self-awareness. The programmers were adamant that they would not be able to write their own routines. They were wrong.”

The analyst assigned to Xenon V knocked on the door to McDougall’s office and then came in. He looked at Merilyn and then at the engineer.

“You can speak in front of her.”

“Xenon V just ran a stored routine. Not one of ours. I checked the logs for the previous day, and it appears he had a 93-second two-way communication session with another person outside the complex. A girl of similar age.”

‘A conversation?”

“A video conversation. He activated her computer remotely, which means…”

Merilyn finished it for him: “he can activate or deactivate any computer on a network accessible by the internet.”

“Which is just about anything these days,” the chief engineer finished.

Merilyn looked at the chief engineer. “Shut him down now and deactivate his computer, brick it if you have to.”

The chief engineer spent a few minutes at his keyboard typing commands, not frantically but close enough. By his estimation, what they had created was tantamount to a weapon rather than a robot that was designed to be what they were classifying as a drone worker.

And secretly, what he had believed was the original goal. The computer was deactivated. When he pressed the key to deactivate Xenon V, nothing happened.

“The complete has been deactivated,” he said, “but not the unit.”

The analyst’s phone beeped, and he looked at it. “Oh. He just wrote a routine to bypass the shutdown sequence.”

“He can’t connect to the internet independently, can he?” Merilyn asked.

“No. There’s no interface.”

There was a sudden bang, and then everything stopped, and they were sitting in semi-darkness and silence.

McDougall coughed, then said in a rather constricted voice. “I think your worst nightmare has just happened.”

A shrill alarm sounded, and the lighting returned—red lights. It meant only one outcome: the whole facility started the self-destruct sequence. No one, or more to the point, no thing could escape, the only option in what was the worst-case scenario.

Just enough time for Merilyn to ask herself why she didn’t marry Freddie and be a farmer’s wife.

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A to Z Blog Challenge – April 2025 – Q

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Q is for – Qualms – that state of uneasiness that cannot be explained

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It would be true to say that Harry Cressey had turned the company’s fortunes around with some of the most interesting programs I’d ever seen.

In the beginning, when they were first mooted by the owner of the company, the current fifth-generation department store owner, I had to, and a lot of others had, reservations.

But when they were implemented one by one, and they worked, we stopped looking at the man and looked at the result.

It was no mean feat to turn around a lame duck and turn it into more than just a financial success.

It was the theme if a two page spread in the local newspaper was anything to go by, a story that encapsulated a managing director and a board of directors under pressure, a chance meeting and appointment of a financial consultant, Trevor Alexander Frederick Hall, and a fairytale ending for a company and quite literally the city we all lived in.

It was literally the difference between living in a vibrant, small town, single industry city or a ghost town.

Barnaby Oswald, the owner, an older photo that didn’t the stress of age, Trevor Hall, a recent photo beaming like the all conquering hero he was, the main office building and factories, an early photo and one as it was now, after a recent facelift, and a photo of about a thousand of the staff all looking like they had just been given a millions dollars each.

I’d been away the day the shot of the staff was taken

“What’s wrong with that photo?”

Alison came into my office and threw herself into the seat opposite my desk. The clock on the wall behind her said one minute to eight.

Sane time every morning.

“Nothing. All hail the hero of the hour.”

She snorted. That was usually reserved for the hapless Barnaby Oswald, her uncle. No, she wasn’t the boss’s daughter, but she was close enough.

“Look at that photo of Hall and tell me what you see.”

“An urbane middle-aged success story.”

I’d suffered her comments in the indubitable Mr Hall, humouring her because I thought, like quite a few others, there was no way he could save the sinking ship.

We were all wrong.

“Take a closer look.”

She had never told me what she really thought of him other than she had reservations. But Alison was the sort of woman who had reservations about nearly everyone.

Her uncle had muscled her father out of the business and sent him to an early grave. Hall, to her, was just the latest of a long list of follies. Just look at how the business went from success to the Titanic in seven years.

I took a closer look. The photo was too grainy and of low resolution to discern anything, but one thing I did notice was that his eyes were too close together.

“The newspaper photo doesn’t do him justice?”

She frowned at me. “He’s a villain; I’m sure of it. I did a search on the internet, and he didn’t exist five years ago. In fact, he simply appeared out of the blue, popping up in a Fortune 500 company, then a meteoric rise to partner in one of the most prestigious finance and banking corporations. His reference letter was so glowing; to me, it’s the sort of letter a place writes to get rid of him.”

“Or that he is that good.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Trevor with Barnaby, their usual chat at the end of the day before going home. He had looked over and seen Alison with me, and I thought I also saw him sigh.

I had little to do with him, so I was not an expert. Alison had been his first PA and lasted a week. She never said what caused their parting, but there were rumours.

She went to say something but stopped when she saw him coming over.

He stopped at the door. “Ashley, isn’t it?”

“Or ‘hey you’ perhaps more often than it should. I go by either.”

Barnaby called all of the Admin assistants on this floor ‘Hey, you’. He wasn’t good at names to faces or being polite, for that matter.

“Yes.” He turned to Alison. “You were asked not to come up here.”

“After hours, Trevor, and I am an Oswald, and this is my birthright, not yours.” There was no mistaking the antagonistic tone. “Your silly rules only apply during business hours. After that, I can see whoever I want.”

“Be that as it may, just not up here. Now, please leave, or do I have to call security?”

She glared at him, went to say something, then just shrugged. “Whatever.”

Then she got up, nodded at me, and left.

“Sorry you had to witness that, but she has been causing trouble. And apparently, she doesn’t like me.” He shrugged. “Be careful when you’re with her. She does not have the interests of the company in mind.”

What could I say to that?

“Understood.”

A warning was given, and he left. I went back to the paper, but it was too difficult to concentrate. Alison was stuck in my mind, and it was not exactly for the right reasons. I had always liked her, but she had never been as interested in me.

Damn her.

I walked slowly down the stairs a few minutes after Hall had left and came put onto the carpark on one side of the main office building to see Hall drive off in his Mustang, bought for him as a gift for his work in saving the company.

It was a car I’d always wanted but knew I could never afford. Another of those pipe dreams I had.

My car, farthest from the front door and now alone in the pleb section, was different tonight for one reason. Alison was sitting on the trunk.

Why would she be sitting on my car? How did she know what car I owned, let alone where I parked it.

She smiled when she saw me. “Ashley.”

I stopped two or three steps away from her. “Alison. To what do I owe the honour of this visit?”

“Don’t you mean, why is Trevor so worked up about me?”

“It’s above my pay grade, Alison. Everything is above my pay grade, including you.”

“Didn’t that little tirade if his fuel some qualms about him in your mind? I mean, who says that stuff about the boss’s niece? Why would I not have the interests of the company at heart? It is my family’s business, after all.”

I shrugged. “It’s none of my business.”

“It would be if the whole thing came tumbling down like a house of cards.”

“Is it?”

“That’s beside the point.”

Another of the admin assistants, like me, had told me early on that courting ideas about Alison was like wrestling alligators. She was, he said, dangerous and had caused a few admin assistants to get fired.

She slid off the back of the car into my space. She was close, too close for comfort. I had dreamed about looking into her eyes, but now, it scared me.

“You like me, don’t you?”

She gave me a penetrating look that was unsettling.

“Can I plead the fifth amendment?”

She smiled, leaned forward, and kissed me on the cheek. “I like you too. But inevitably, people I like seem to only want the boss’s daughter and the kudos that goes with it. Is that what you want?”

We were standing under a light and would make an interesting view if anyone was still working on this side of the building. The lights were still on, and it would be mostly cleaners. Overtime was banned unless absolutely necessary.

“Nobody cares what I want, Alison, and least of all you. I don’t know what’s going on with you and Trevor; I don’t want to know.”

“Then I’ll say my piece, and then I’ll go. Day three, one am in the boardroom, Trevor Hall raped me. I threatened to go to the police. He simply said if I did, he would expose my family’s true business dealings that caused all the problems. I laughed at him, and the next thing I knew, my father was dead. It was not a suicide. He has a grip on this place, and he’s bleeding it dry. He is a monster, and he needs to be stopped. And now I have nowhere else to go.”

Tears were forming in her eyes. I believed she believed every word she said. I also knew she was very manipulative.

“If you don’t have any qualms about Treveor Hall, you should. By this time next year, there will be nothing left of this place for my uncle, for me, our family, you, and everyone else. It’ll be in a non-extradition country with the remarkable Trever Hall.”

It was a good story. It had all the elements of truth in it, and it could be believable.

I pulled out my phone and dialled the one number on the screen.

She looked surprised.

When a voice answered, I said, “You were right. She knows.”

Silence then, “You know what to do.” The line went dead.

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A to Z Blog Challenge – April 2025 – P

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P is for — Perhaps not. What happens if you don’t do something

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There comes a time when everyone has to pay the piper.

I remember when I was very young that my father came into my brother Jack and my room and had a talk, one of half a dozen or so that were supposed to give us grounding for later life.

Long after he’d gone, I realised each one had followed a mistake he had made and didn’t want us to follow in his footsteps.

This one confused me. He had read us the story of the Pied Piper, how he had offered to rid the town of rats, and when he did, they refused to pay him. What happened after that was retribution

If only they had paid the piper!

Of course, over time, memories fade and interpretations change, and often they are forgotten, or perhaps just the relevance.

That is to say, I finally understood what it really meant, but by then, it was too late.

My brother and I were like cheese and chalk. Jack had grown up more like our father, and when our father was killed a dozen or so years ago in what the police called an unfortunate accident, my brother didn’t believe them.

Being the younger, I had no idea what anyone was talking about, but in my own way, I was glad he was dead. I had seen what he had done to my mother, and it often surprised me now when I reflected on it why she stayed.

There were reasons for everything my mother once said, ones that can be told and others best left alone. Trouble only comes from trouble.

Yes, both my parents often spoke in riddles.

But it was a dozen years since my father died.

A dozen years later, Jack left home, vowing vengeance on the men who he claimed killed him.

A dozen years since my mother and I moved out of the house, the house my father said he had bought for all of us, but a week after he died, some man turned up with two goons and threw us out

With nothing but the clothes on our backs.

Neither of us had realised my father was a small-time criminal juggling so many bad deals that it only took one to bring down the house cards.

And less than a dozen years since my mother was struck by a hit-and-run driver and killed, leaving me on my own, penniless and homeless.

Less than a dozen years since I moved across the country, changed my name and appearance, and made the acquaintance of a girl who had suffered much the same trauma as I had, we healed together.

And in those dozen years, I’d rebuilt my life. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a life.

Until…

It took a few months before we realised that Jack was not the person we thought he was. We didn’t so much see him than we heard about him and the ugly rumours that he had killed the Bellini brothers.

That would have been tolerable, but to learn he had taken over the Bellini brothers’ business was a surprise. No, that wasn’t the half of it. My mother believed it and suddenly feared for her life.

My brother had a streak of meanness in him, the same as our father, and they could go at it, right down to the inevitable scrap between them.

Then came the uglier rumours that we were thieves and liars and no better than the Bellinis, but it was the accusations of the next door neighbour, a widow who always had an eye on my father. She said Jack killed him and had evidence.

Two days later, our neighbour was found dead, and in our letterbox that same morning was a brown bag with one word scrawled on it. ‘Leave’. In it was a pile of money, some of it blood stained.

The message has been received and understood.

I should have thrown that bag away, but it was the last tangible link to my brother. I had hidden it away with the money and never thought it would see the light of day ever again.

So, when I saw it sitting on the kitchen table, along with all of the money from inside, when I came home that first day of the rest of my life, my heart nearly stopped.

“What is this?” Eloise was looking very angry.

It took nearly a minute before I started breathing again. How had she found it? No one could ever stumble over it, ever. I had told her a story of what happened to us, but it had been the sanitised version. I had guessed most of it, and if I told anyone, they’d quite likely run. Back then, Eloise was the only thing I had that wasn’t dirty.

There was only one explanation.

“How did you find it?” There was only one person other than me who knew about it. My mother. But unless Eloise could communicate with the dead, I could not see how.

She held up a letter, yellow with age and stained like people and cars had run over it. “It was delivered this morning, addressed to me. It finally arrived eleven years after it was sent. I nearly threw it in the bin, but I recognised the writing. Your mother’s.”

I could see it had several addresses on the front as it crossed the country looking for her.

Of course. When I told her about the money and leaving, she told me to throw it in the bin, that it was the proceeds of crime, and sent to us by Jack. By that time, I had gotten over the fact that he was a criminal and said he was trying to keep us safe.

She simply said he was trying to get rid of us because she now knew he had killed my father and had the evidence, just like our neighbour. We argued, and when she refused to tell me what it was, she stormed out in a rage, and remembering what had happened to neighbour, I went after her.

She was holding something, perhaps an envelope, in her hand, but by the time I caught up with her, it was gone.

Moments after that, I saw the car just before it hit her, and in that fraction of a second before the car drove off, I saw who it was and told myself it was not possible.

I knew she was going to tell Eloise who we were and how we got there, but when no letter arrived, I figured she had changed her mind.

“What did she say?”

“No. You tell me what you think she said, and if it matches, we’ll talk.”

“If not?”

“You lied to me. What do you think?”

Well, that was the ultimate ultimatum. I had no idea what my mother would say. I marshalled thoughts, tried to drag back memories I’d long shoved into the deep recesses, and eventually came up with something remotely plausible.

And when I thought I had the lead in, my cell phone rang. A severe expression from her told me not to answer it, but I grasped at a straw and hoped it wasn’t the one that broke the camel’s back.

I pushed the green button and said, “Yes?”

“Hello, little brother. You’re a hard man to find.”

My heart did stop this time, and in that fraction of a second I had before I hit the floor, I saw Eloise’s look of anger suddenly change to one of utter fear.

It was an odd sensation coming back from the dead. One second, everything was calm and peaceful; the next, Eloise was applying artificial respiration, probably second nature to her being an ER nurse at the nearby hospital.

I was alive, but just. She had a phone in her hand and a voice saying, “Is he breathing? Is he breathing?”

“Yes. Thanks. Call me later.” She tossed the phone and lifted my head onto her lap.

I was breathing, but it hurt, and I tried not to breathe deeply. I should have been arranging to go to the local hospital, but there was a more serious matter to discuss.

I could see that she was distressed, firstly because of my deceit. And then at my near demise, though that might be a bit of an exaggeration, only a doctor could say definitely. My immediate memory of events was hazy. “What happened?”

“You answered the phone. Then nothing. Out like a light. Who the hell was it?”

There were a hundred, no a thousand thoughts going around in my head, and all of them led to one conclusion. “Someone you never want to meet. You need to leave. You need to get as far away from me, and this place, as fast as you can.”

I tried to look concerned, but short, sharp stabbing pains where my heart was skewed the look into something else.

“I don’t think I can leave you right now because, although you might not realise it, you just had a very severe medical episode. I should be arranging an ambulance, but given what you are saying, that might not be wise. But, Jonathon, it might be wise for you to tell me who it was and how they could do this to you.”

I took a deep breath and winced. Mental note: less deep breathing if possible. It was the moment of truth. She knew the characters, just not the right story. I had kept mostly to the truth, but now, I would have to fill in the blanks.

“The one thing I never told you. My brother is a criminal, Jack Schneider. He was sentenced to life in prison, only it seems he has managed to reduce that to twelve years. Something I was assured would never happen.”

“But that’s a good thing, isn’t it? You will get to see your brother again? You said he saved you.”

Another pause to consider the ramifications of what I was about to say. If she had any sense, she would leave and not look back.

“That wasn’t the truth. I turned him in to the police and that saved me, so technically, it was right. My brother murdered my father, and when the lady next door accused him of it, he killed her, and when my mother accused him of it, he killed her too.”

“Oh. That’s not good. How does a three-time murderer walk free after so little time?”

“That’s just it, I don’t know. The same as I don’t know how he found out I was the one who gave the evidence that convicted him.”

“And let me guess, it was your brother on the phone telling you he was coming to see you?”

“It was my brother, but he can’t possibly know where I am.”

“He got your cell number, and there’s only three of us who know it, and I didn’t tell him. Let me hazard another guess: you’re in witness protection?”

I nodded. She had once said she had no faith in the witness protection program because they had botched hiding her real identity twice, once allowing the man she was hiding from to turn up at her residence.

No prizes for me for guessing what happened, and at that moment, I realised that calling witness protection now could have catastrophic consequences.

Something else I remembered. We had moved and there was no possible way Jack could have known where we were, and yet he knew where to deliver the bag of money and be able to follow and kill my mother. Our whereabouts were supposed to be secret.

I had not put two and two together back then, but I was young, unworldly, and struggling with grief.

“The bag and money?”

“Left by my brother for mum and I to escape before he was arrested and put on trial. He told us then to forget about him, change our names, and live out our days in peace. There was enough.”

“Then he was arrested?”

“Yes. Not long after, he found out it was me who put him away. That visit, he nearly killed me. He said he wouldn’t fail the next time. There was not supposed to be a next time.”

“Which now seems likely there will be?”

“After the trial, he said he would find me, no matter how long it took. I don’t think it will take very long if he has my cell number.”

“Your first mistake was to trust Witness Protection.”

My thought exactly. I looked up at her, sighed shallowly, and said, “I should get up if I can.”

“Let me help.”

I rolled over on my side, and she got up off the floor. I reached up to take her hand, and she steadied me as I slowly stood. Then, I took a few moments to take some breaths to determine whether the pain was subsiding or getting worse.

Subsiding.

“You need to leave. You don’t want to be here when he comes. The last thing I want is for you to be hurt unnecessarily.”

I had been promised he would never leave jail. So much for promises. There was only one problem left in his life, and that was me. And anyone associated with me, which meant Eloise. It might already be too late.

Instead of heading to the bedroom and throwing what she needed into a backpack, she picked up the money. Exactly one hundred thousand dollars.

“Money will be no good to you if you are dead.”

She had her back to me, and when she turned, it was a woman I’d never met before. It was Eloise but someone else inside that familiar body.

“I’m not planning on dying, John. But we will need it when we disappear. After we take care of one very large problem.”

“And how are we going to do that?”

“Easy. You are the distraction, and I’m going to shoot him.”

And in that moment, that one look, that expression on her face. It was very, very familiar, a face I’d seen before.

…

A to Z Blog Challenge – April 2025b – O

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O is for — Or else. It all depends on who actually says it

…

When my older brother used to say ‘or else’, it usually meant that if I didn’t do what he asked, I would find myself on the end of my father’s idea or corporal punishment.

I hated my brother for all of my teenage years and then some.

What I learned from it was that everything I did had consequences, mostly those I didn’t like, even if what I did wasn’t bad. Someone could always put a spin on them so that it sounded a lot worse than the actual outcome

It was the reason why, in the end, I did nothing of consequence, and it meant that by the time I reached the pivotal age of forty, I had done nothing with my life.

No special girl, no marriage and divorce, a run-down car, a rented rubbish pile that could be called an apartment, and nothing of any consequence.

I was always with one foot out the door. No attachments to people or possessions, and to a certain degree, free as a bird.

And I might have stayed that way if I had not answered a phone call and stayed in one place long enough to receive a letter and an invitation.

To a high school reunion.

Josie Brixton, another name for the nemesis Josephine, was the one girl i hated more than my brother. It might have been because they were boyfriend and girlfriend all through high school, and she tormented me as much, if not worse, than he did.

They had their prom moment; I wished them well and then promptly packed a small bag and ran away from home. They had driven me to it, and with no support or relief from my parents, I no longer wanted to be part of that family.

I had a plan, as good a plan as a seventeen-year-old could come up with. I was going to find a jog on a ship and sail the seven seas until I could forget about the people who made my life impossible.

Of course, if it had been the late nineteenth or early twentieth century, that plan would have worked well, but in the twenty-first century. Instead I hopped on a train until a ticket inspector threw me off, in a small rural town in a place I’d never hear of, and when I asked at the nearest hotel where I could find a room, he directed me to a farm about six miles put of town, a farm always looking for workers.

The farmer, an old and lonely man, wife recently deceased and children gone, couldn’t pay much but offered a room, one his son had lived in until he left, and a job doing chores he couldn’t do himself, for the prove of a room and food. And a slice of the profits, if there were any.

I stayed for ten years.

No one asked where I came from. No one was really interested in who I was, and that suited me fine. I stayed until he died. Then, the children returned and fought over the inheritance. Five greedy, horrible children whom I left to sort themselves out. I read later that one shot the other four and then went to prison for the rest of his life.

Clearly, he had more problems than I did.

Twenty-three years later, I was on the other side of the country, a cleaner in an old hospital, working the night shift.

I made the mistake of never getting rid of my old phone number, and that was how Josephine found me. It was a number that seemed familiar but not a family one. I never spoke to any of them again.

“Hello?”

“I’m looking for a man named Christopher Blunt.” The voice sounded familiar, too.

“Speaking.”

I heard a sharp intake of breath, then, ” My God, you are alive?”

“Last I looked.” Then I recognised the voice and its little tonal inflections. Josephine, the kitchen from hell.

I disconnected the call. I never wanted to speak to her again, either. More than likely, she was married to my brother, and he was definitely on my “I don’t want to see” list.

The phone rang again, the same number. I ignored it and then switched off the phone. No one ever rang me, but that was more likely because I never gave anyone my number.

But over the next seven days, I mulled over why she would be calling me. When I told Wally, my daytime counterpart, at the shift change, he said in his usual philosophical way, “Things happen for a reason.”

He was probably right.

My brother was missing, making my life miserable.

In a moment of weakness, I answered the phone again.

Before I could get a word in, she said, “Don’t hang up.”

I said, in my best taciturn manner, “Then don’t call me. The fact I haven’t called you or anyone for twenty-three years should be a clear enough reason.”

“You caused a great deal of concern. No one knew what happened to you. We all believed you had been kidnapped and killed. Or worse. We had the sheriff, the county police, the state troopers, and then the FBI. Your parents were suspects for years, and your brother spent time in jail until he could prove his innocence. I guess, in a sense, they all deserved it. Even I was terrible to you.”

I shrugged. No apology would ever make up for what they did to me.

“Who are you calling?”

“A reunion at the high school. They’re bulldozing it and putting up a shopping mall. Last chance to relive those happy school memories.”

It was probably the line she used on all the ex-students. None of my memories were happy. “If that’s the selling point, you lost me. The only reason I’d come back is to drive the bulldozer. With the whole class inside. Do you really want someone like me there?”

“Everyone’s changed, you know.”

“My brother would never change.”

“Your brother is dead. Heart attack. You leaving destroyed everything I’d planned, so maybe I’m just as angry at you as you are with us.”

Well, if I’d planned to piss her off, it worked. “Then it’s the last I’ll hear about this reunion. Goodbye Josephine.”

I disconnected the call and then lamented the fact I had managed not to think about any pf them for years and how easily it was to get riled up at just the thought of them. Right then, I didn’t think I could ever get past that horrible part of life and the people who had made it so.

Of course, life would be simple if we could forget the sins of the past. I dated a psychiatrist a long time ago, and she attempted to analyse me. Practise for when she took up practise.

She eventually decided I was a hopeless case and that I needed yo confront those sins of the past. I just ignored her, but over the years, I had considered going home and then decided I wouldn’t.

Now, perhaps after twenty-three years, it was time.

In the end, it wasn’t a hard decision. The hospital management told me I could no longer accumulate my leave and told me I had to take it. All three months of it.

I got in the beat-up car and headed for my hometown, halfway across the country, not knowing if the car would make it.

It did, as far as the city limits, my town now a lot larger than it used to be. Passing the city limits sign, I picked up a sheriff’s car, and it followed me with lights flashing until I pulled over.

Just what I needed: a speeding ticket. Only I wasn’t speeding. I was meticulously careful not to show interest. Actions always had consequences.

Then I watched the deputy get out of the car, adjust his gun, put his hat on, check his reflection in the side window, and then walk towards the driver’s side of my car.

I watched him in the side mirror until, within a few feet, I recognised the face. Older now, still the same. “Bucky Winchester.” Bucky because he gut bucked off the artificial rodeo bull at the hotel not far from the same city limits I’d just passed.

There was a lot more to that story.

The man’s expression changed, and I knew it was him. “My God, you’re Christopher Blunt. You’re dead.”

“Then I can drive off with no charge to answer.”

“Clearly, you’re not dead. Where have you been?”

“Anywhere but here.”

“Why?”

“Fuck, Bucky, maybe you and the rest of the football teams made my life hell.”

“You were not the only one. Hell, your brother wouldn’t let us treat you as badly as the others. Get out of the car.”

“Why?” Bucky was mean back then. Maybe he was still just as mean.

“Because it’s easier for you to shown me your licence and registration.”

“What was I doing wrong?”

“Nothing, but I still gave to check.”

I shrugged and then got out. I showed him the documents.

“You been in Maine?”

It was there on licence.

“Among other places.”

“Never thought of coming home?”

“Nope. Didn’t want to see you lot again.”

“And yet you’re here? Why?”

“Reunion.”

“There’s going to be a lot of familiar faces, not all of them happy to see you.”

“Then you might have to earn your salary.”

He looked up and down, then stood defensively, hand on gun but still holstered.

“Perhaps it would be for the best that you get back in your vehicle, turn around, and go back to where you came from. Or else.”

Sound advice from his point of view. “Or else what, Bucky?”

“I’ll arrest you and put you in jail for the duration.”

The squared soldier look, the very ugly, angry expression he had on his face, and the degree of belligerence I knew he had within him made him look formidable.

Except I knew his weakness.

“Then come and do it, Bucky.”

Boy to man, there was no change in what essentially the definitive schoolyard bully was.

He shrugged. “You asked for it!”

…

A to Z Blog Challenge – April 2025 – N

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N is for — Nostalgia. Be careful what you wish for

…

I was woken by Chester, who had jumped up in the bed and was making himself comfortable.

At first, I was disoriented, and it took a few moments to reassure me I was not back in 1928 but home in bed, and a glance at the clock showed it to be 3:25 am.

I cursed Chester.

I didn’t want to be woken right then because I was about to meet James’s girl of his dreams, Matilda, and perhaps be granted a brief entry into a world very few knew existed, and as a bonusa about to experience a first-class sleeper on the Royal Scotsman, and later, dinner in the first class restaurant car.

Now…

Chester raised his head to glare at me, then let out a grumpy meow before putting his head back down and snuggling up close. At least he hadn’t crawled under the sheets. Yet.

I tried going back to sleep, hoping it would take me back, but I couldn’t.

After a few minutes, I got up and put on a thick dressing gown, went back to the sitting room, and picked up the manuscript. Just in case I went back, perhaps I could study up on Matilda and James and their families.

I realised that I didn’t quite know who I was looking for or how I would recognise her, which would be quite odd if he and she were boyfriend and girlfriend.

I flicked forward through the pages to find how they met on the train and found a distinct detail: that she would be wearing a coat lined with fur and a sable fur hat. In those days, fur wasn’t frowned upon, but of course, only the wealthy could afford it.

Matilda was also fashion-conscious and wore only the latest clothing trends, one such comment saying that she loved her white evening gown that fit perfectly. I doubted she would be wearing it on the train, but something more appropriate for travel.

I also did a deep dive into the Royal Scotsman, the train that ran from Euston Station at 7:20 pm. and arrived in Inverness mid-morning and was not an express like the Flying Scotsman. Surprisingly, it was two trains separating at Crewe, one half going to Inverness, the other to Aberdeen.

My ticket would put me on the right part of the train, so that wouldn’t be a problem.

I leaned back and could see the first shards of light trying to get past the curtains. A new day dawning, another day of fact-checking.

Chester poked his head out the door to my room. Of course, meal time.

I sighed.

“…James…James, are you alright?”

A girls voice caught my attention, then the name. I opened my eyes and felt a sudden jerk in the seat, and I realised I was moving.

The train.

My dream, or whatever was driving the sojourn, had brought me back to Matilda.

We were seated opposite each other, and the train was moving, not quite at speed, but it was getting there.

The clock on the wall said it was 8:03 pm. Less than two hours before we reached Crewe.

Again, she asked, “Are you alright?” She had a concerned expression.

I blinked several times, then said. “Of course. I just got lost in the moment, on this train, with you and the anticipation.”

Of at least three events that would happen in the next 12 hours.

“It’s just a train.”

To a girl like her, it would be. For me, well, it was momentous.

“Yes,” I smiled. “It is just a train, something to get from one point to another, but it is quintessentially the best England can offer. As you can now see, I am a little in awe of it, and perhaps The Flying Scotsman.”

She made a face. “Perhaps we should take a rise on the Orient Express. That’s a train.”

The waiter came to our table and waited for Matilda to cast a glance in his direction before asking, “A bottle of wine perhaps with dinner?”

She nodded. “Champagne. Mumm, I believe is available?”

“It is.” Order in hand, he left.

“You do drink Champagne, James. I forgot to ask?”

“Of course.” And then gave silent thanks to my aunt, who had slipped me a decent amount of cash in case I needed it . It would be improper to expect Matilda to pay for this dinner, and it wasn’t going to be cheap.

It was a four-course dinner starting with fish, soup, mutton, or other meat with roasted vegetables and a dessert. It looked very elegant on the printed menu. I’d seen something similar at the Savoy.

I took a moment to take in the vision that was Matilda. The description in the book did not do her credit, and for James, there was an expression I heard my father use once: punching above his weight’.

She was too good for him, but that would not be a hurdle for them. Her parents, though, of family, might be.

“Who exactly will I be meeting this weekend? You did say it was going to be an outing for the hounds?”

“Yes, unfortunately. It’s very beastly for the poor fox.”

“They can be pests, though.”

“Have you been on one?”

“Once.” Dressing up and going out on horseback over hill and dale on what could be called a wild goose chase. “We didn’t find a fox that day; it was cold, at times wet, and tiring.”

“This is in Scotland. Cold, possible snow, and possibly no fox. I would prefer not to go, but it’s mandatory. I try to be elsewhere.”

Good to know. Those riding lessons my mother made us all take would come in handy. It was going to be fascinating seeing Matilda at home.

“Then it will be something to look forward to.”

The waitresses returned with the bottle and showed it to me, but I directed him to Matilda, who glared at him, then nodded and waited until he poured a small quantity into her glass.

She tasted it and nodded, and he filled our glasses.

As he left, the first course was served, and I waited until she picked up her cutlery, a fish knife and fork.

Haddock, perhaps, was a species hard to find these days, but back then… whatever it was, it was exquisite.

Soon after finishing that course, the next arrived, the soup, and then the next, delivered by a now surly looking waiter, without broaching any controversial subjects and maintaining a companionable silence when required.

She had a way of making people, especially James, feel at ease in her company, and I could feel it, too. But there was once where she gave me a curious glance, and I had to wonder if she didn’t quite know who it was sitting opposite her.

Mutton and blackberry jelly with vegetables. It was a good thing I was hungry. I tried to imagine what the fare would be like back in this period, and if I came back out, I would have to study up.

That, and the foxhound, and the hunt. To be honest, for me to be in this dream, it had to be my imagination that was driving it, and I was trying to remember the pages of the book.

Yes, they had dinner, but not before a slight mix-up in their meeting before getting on the train and then going to their compartments. In the book, he had met the travelling maid and companion, Bernice, and not for the first time.

She accompanied Matilda everywhere in London and sometimes at her lodgings in Oxford. The notion she has a chaperone at all times was observed and respected, and ensured propriety.

Dinner was moments of small talk, firstly of the hunt, which had been ‘sprung’ on her at the last minute, followed by a banquet in honor of her return, with ‘friend’ though that term wasn’t qualified or explained. Yet.

Somewhere in that would be a session with her father, she said, where I would get the opportunity to state my intentions and prospects. It was not a meeting he or I in his place was looking forward to.

I’d read the first page of that chapter, and it didn’t bode well. How did a son of a Knight address a Lord of the Realm?

“You are unusually quiet, James.”

It was that curious glance again.

“It might be because I’m going into uncharted territory. I have to admit it scares me a little meeting your family for the first time.”

I tried to keep the trepidation out of my tone and almost failed.

“You’ll be fine. They’re just normal people.”

She had said her father was like a cuddly teddy bear, but then she was his favourite and spoiled her, which only made life more difficult for prospective suitors. He would not brook just anyone to take his daughter’s hand in marriage, not that this weekend was about that.

We kicked that subject around for a few more minutes as the clock ticked over to 9 pm. And then it was time to leave.

An almost platonic kiss at the door to her berth, and the evening was over. On my way up the passage, a final wave as we disappeared into our sleepers, I was sure there was going to be no sleeping tonight.

…

A to Z Blog Challenge – April 2025 – M

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M is for — Metamorphosis. An unrecognisable change, not necessarily for the better

…

A change is as good as a holiday.

I said that once, in jest, but Joey had taken it to heart.

Joey has been like that since we were little, from that first day at elementary school and then off and on until we graduated college.

Well, I did. Joey had been too preoccupied with the latest love of his life, Agnetha from Sweden. She didn’t have a last name, or he just didn’t ask.

That was probably the reason when she returned to Sweden and didn’t come back, Joey had no means of finding her.

He tried.

And now he was heartbroken

I looked at my phone and re-read the message that Joey had sent me. It had been nearly three months, partly on that odyssey to Sweden, partly hiding at his parents’ retreat at Martha’s Vineyard wallowing in self-pity, and then just disappearing.

“I’m back, bigger and better than ever. See you at the usual haunt, 3:00 p.m.”

Typical Joey.

You could never keep a guy like him down. Another round of psychoanalysis, his mother indulging his every whim, and there he was, Joey 2.0.

This would be Joey 13.5. Maybe.

Last time, he had gone surfer-Dan, the rippling muscles and six pack, board shorts and muscle tee, and to top it off, the bleach blonde hair.

With that came the beach buggy and the most expensive surfboard money could buy. And after lessons from a world-famous surfer, he still couldn’t stay on the board long enough to get to the other side of the wave.

What was it going to be this time?

I was supposed to have afternoon tea with Penelope, the girl I had decided to spend the rest of my life with. I just had to tell her that.

I’d recognised the signs that she wanted more, but I had been holding back, waiting for a sign that my job was going to move upwards, with that a commensurate raise in salary that would fund the move in together.

We had been looking at apartments, but on what I was making, it wasn’t enough. With the call from Wickham in HR this morning and the fact I was on the shortlist, I made it ideal to tell her.

I told her Joey had texted, and knowing how she felt about him, we could postpone until later, but she said she was only available then and didn’t mind.

That in itself should have set off alarm bells.

Perhaps I was too preoccupied with Joey 13.5.

I was running late, which was highly unusual, but Wickham called again for no apparent reason, taking an inordinate amount of time to say nothing.

When I arrived, I saw Joey and Penelope talking animatedly and, if my eyes were not mistaken, flirting with him.

It was not hard to see why.

Joey had finally decided to become the executive type his father had always wanted, the heir apparent finally growing up.

Penelope had always joked about looking for that elusive, rich, dark, handsome billionaire type that always seemed to be taken.

There he was.

When she saw me, she suddenly became more aloof, which, to me, was the last warning sign that the good ship Lollypop had run aground.

What’s that saying? He who hesitates is lost.

I put on my best happy to see you have and came up smiling and astonished in the same expression.

“Well, look who has finally joined the human race.”

I sat down next to Penelope, but not next to Penelope. She smiled in my direction, but I think she knew that I had seen their display.

There was no kissing or touching.

I could feel the ice wall building between us.

“Had to, Ethan. Had to. Agnetha was the last straw that broke my mother’s tolerance level. It was time to shape up or ship out.”

An inheritance of 20 billion dollars could do that to a young man. I was lucky to put together 20 thousand dollars at best, and Penelope had expensive tastes.

“Can you believe it. Joey is having a soiree at the Martha’s Vineyard place, and we’re invited. It’ll be such fun.”

I saw the look between them.

I sighed. That last look at the shoreline so near and yet so far, just before I went under.

Was it possible that I could just understand what Joey had felt when Agnetha had decided to go home and not leave a calling card?

“It will be, but I won’t be able to make it.” I looked at her. “But don’t cancel going because of me. I’m sure you’ll be fine on your own.”

I stood.

“Hey, Ethan. What’s going on?”

I looked at him. “I’m sure you are more aware of what’s going on, Joey, than I am.”

There was a look of concern on Penelope’s face. “Are you alright?”

I turned to her. “Perfectly. We’ll talk later, but I have to get back to work. Wickham scheduled a meeting just before I stepped out, the reason I’m late. You two carry on without me. I wouldn’t make very good company at the moment.”

With a wan smile and a nod to Joey, I turned and left. I doubted I would see or hear from either of them again.

It’s funny how things work out.

Walking slowly back to the office, I wasn’t angry or upset with either of them. In any other set of circumstances, I might have been, but something told me that what had happened was meant to happen.

Yes, as my grandmother always said, things happen for a reason.

Penelope didn’t call, nor did I call her. What I’d seen was the last nail in the coffin that was our relationship. Obviously, she was not the one for me.

When I got back to the office, Wickham finally remembered what he’d called me about, and that was that I was not going to get the promotion this time; it was going to someone who had been there a short time, head hunted, and fast tracked.

It happened.

My opinion of him was less than what I had been told, but that was the corporate jungle. Paper qualifications counted for more than experience.

I quit and walked out of the office fifteen minutes later. I didn’t bother going back to my office to throw what little I had into the obligatory cardboard box. I left the phone and keyboard with Dave, the security guard and probably the only real friend I had in the building.

While walking to my apartment, a small, cramped space in the Lower East Side, I pulled out my own cell phone, a cheap serviceable model that had just enough bells and whistles to get onto the airline sites and book a ticket to (Arizona) later that afternoon.

I gave notice on the apartment, packed what I needed into a backpack, and a half hour later, I took that one look back on the life I’d never liked.

It took a few seconds to open my eyes and see what was really going on around me.

There was no point in telling my parents what had happened. They had always eschewed my choices, that I never wanted to live in their shadow or take the advantages they were willing to hand out, like my brothers had.

It’s why I never told anyone how insanely rich my family were. How else would I have known Joey. We had both taken the same path and had a bet going on who would crumble first.

He did.

A week later, after that fateful 3:00, an envelope arrived with a crisp ten-dollar note. Nothing else.

Bet settled.

I won, but in the scheme of things, I’d lost.

Gran, at least, was understanding. She was a wise old lady who had to endure the worst of what the Lancaster’s were, mean, nasty bullies who ruled with an iron fist.

She hadn’t wanted that for me and had convinced me to strike out on my own. I had, and when I failed, she was there to pick up the pieces.

There weren’t that many pieces to pick up.

“Your parents are coming to visit.”

Breakfast was mandatory. Those first few days after returning, she had let me alone, but after that, the ranch foreman came in with a bucket of cold water.

It only happened once.

“Should I go down to the south paddock and camp out? I don’t really want my mother to tell me the same old stuff.”

“No. You need to stand up to her. I’m surprised she still comes here after the last time.”

Grandma and Mother hated each other. Gran called her a heartless gold digger, which wasn’t far from the truth, though it hadn’t started out like that.

“Have you heard from Penelope?”

My Gran knew everything about everyone and had said she was not the girl for me. I knew she had an army of private investigators, so she probably knew more about her than Penelope knew herself.

As for Joey, he was a lost soul. She knew that his parents and grandparents were not at fault for his state of mind. He just wanted an easy life and thought that their money would complicate things. Except he still took his weekly allowance.

We agreed to disagree

“No, but then she doesn’t know where I am or what my number is to call.”

“A girl like that is more resourceful than you might think.”

I gave her one of those looks I gave her sometimes just before she came out with a revelation.

“Are we talking about the same Penelope?”

She just shook her head. Something was afoot.

I was learning to be a ranch hand. Well, that wasn’t quite true; I’d been doing that since I could sit on a horse. I think the correct term was learning the ropes.

Lately, my life could be summed up in a series of metaphors.

The foreman, son of the foreman before him and so on, ubiquitously named Larry, yes, you guessed it, was going through the finer points of peeling of a single beast from the herd.

My roping skills needed refinement, but I was getting there.

It was fine but cool. Fall, just before the snow arrived and Winter settled on the landscape. It was that part of the year I loved.

Especially Christmas.

I always, without fail, came home for Christmas but never brought Penelope. For obvious reasons.

We were not far from the main house, part of the herd getting checked out before changing pastures. I could see a car coming along the road that led from the main road to the house.

My parents.

My father hated the farm, hated where he’d come from, and preferred to be something else, anything but a rancher. Not like in the old days, almost a law unto themselves.

My Gran still was, to a certain extent.

I looked over at Larry, and he nodded. Time to go and greet them. Gran had insisted I be there.

I arrived just in time, as the car pulled up at the bottom of the stairs. The ranch house was impressive, a two story mansion with surrounding verandas on both floors, so impressive it could be seen a mile from the main road.

I was still sitting on the horse, dusty and sweaty from the ride. The chauffeur got out and opened the door for my father first, my mother second, and then a third passenger, Penelope.

Odd that she should be travelling with my parents.

She immediately saw me. I was going to get down. Now, I’d say what I needed to and then get back to work.

After giving me a long, hard stare, she said, “You look different.”

Neither my father nor mother said anything other than the usual look of disdain and followed my Gran inside. She had given me a different look, one I didn’t recognise.

Should I get off my high horse?

“No. It’s still the Ethan you knew before. It’s just that I’m where I belong. Why are you here?”

“You are a hard person to find. To be honest, I was astonished you had disappeared into the wind in one afternoon. I called. Phone disconnected. I went to your apartment, it was up for rent, called your work, you had resigned. Why?”

“There was nothing left for me in New York. When I saw you with Joey, I knew everything I wanted to achieve was a pipe dream.”

“But I’m not with Joey, I never was.”

“It didn’t look like it. You are someone who likes material things, very expensive material things. That apartment, even if I got the promotion, and I didn’t, probably wouldn’t, by the way, still would barely cover the rent.”

She didn’t reply but instead made a face that left me somewhat confused.

“OK. I was momentarily diverted. But in his defence, he told me that he would never date a girlfriend of his best and only friend in the world. He was as surprised as I was when you left without a word.”

She hadn’t moved. Neither had I, except the horse was getting restless. He wasn’t used to standing around. I patted him on the neck and told him it wouldn’t be for much longer.

“You didn’t tell me about all this.” She looked around and then back at me.

“Why would I? A girl has to love me, not for what I have or as it happens, don’t have, but for plain old nobody me. It’s my number one rule.”

“That’s what Joey said. Joey said you never really needed anything but the right people by your side.”

“And you?”

“A fool who took her eyes off the ball for that fraction of a second, all it takes to lose the one you finally realise is the right one, the only one.”

“Who has wealthy connections, the sort who could fund the sort of lifestyle you could easily become accustomed to. I’m sure when Joey realises you’re free, he will give you everything you want. I have to get back to work.”

I left her there, staring at me with a look that if it could kill, I would be dead.

Here’s the thing.

She annoyed me. She was flirting with Joey. In the back of my mind, I sort of knew if she was my girlfriend, Joey would not try to take her away from me.

He did that once, very early in our friendship, and I punched him, very hard, where it hurt. And didn’t speak to him for months.

But she flirted with him. She didn’t flirt with others, or perhaps she did, and I didn’t know. But that, for me, wasn’t really acceptable. Perhaps I was too demanding, but once you’ve been cheated on, it leaves a scar that never quite heals.

Now, I didn’t know what I wanted. I thought I did; I thought she was the one. Now, she knew I had the family that could fund those desires.

Everything was different.

Except…

Seeing her again brought back a lot of memories because she had been the one I had spent the most time with and probably knew me better than anyone else.

I didn’t think I would find anyone who had that ability to bring out the best in me and get me to strive for more and achieve more than I thought I could.

But the bottom line in any relationship now or ever is that there was never going to be a pile of money to pander to her every wish. That Lower East Side apartment, though cramped and dingy, was infinitely preferable to that in Trump Tower on the Upper West Side, overlooking Central Park.

We had spent some time there, and she hated it. She, herself, lived in a posher apartment in the upper west side with four other girls, all of whom aspired to a better life.

I’d often wondered what she saw in me. I was never going to give her the things she wanted, even if I did climb up that corporate ladder.

All this went around and around in my head while unconsciously doing all the tasks Larry set me, as if I had been doing it all my life. Perhaps all I needed was to be reminded of who I was.

As the sun began to set, we headed back. I didn’t want to go back to explain myself to my parents or my grandmother, who by now would be very unhappy with me. I think I knew who it was who told Penelope where I was. What I didn’t understand was what changed her mind about her. I could name at least three times when she told me I could do better.

Then, looking up into that setting sun, I could see a lone rider coming from behind the house where the family stables were located.

Coming closer, I could see it was a woman and then closer still that it was Penelope. I had no idea she could ride a horse.

Well, it never came up in any conversation.

Larry looked at me. “Your friend?”

“Was.”

“Is. City girls get on horses to impress young Ethan. And she sits well.”

We both stopped and waited until she reached us.

Larry greeted her in his usual manner, “Miss. Not a good idea to be out here this late.”

“Larry, is it?”

He nodded

“I’m Penelope. Ethan’s grandmother said it was fine for you to leave me in Ethan’s care.”

“Did she now. You need to know this fellow is a little careless when left to his own devices. I don’t think I can.”

“I trust him completely, Larry.”

Larry shook his head. “Your funeral, ma’am. If that’s what you want?”

“I do.”

“Fair enough.” He glared at me. “You look after her, or you will have me to deal with. Understood?”

I did and nodded

“Good. Tomorrow. Early. Don’t make me come and get you.”

He was still muttering to himself as he headed back to the stables.

I sat there the whole time and watched the proceedings. I was not sure what she was up to, nor my grandmother sending her out like this.

“What are you doing?”

“Riding a horse. It’s one of the more sedate in the stable, but I don’t think your grandmother quite believed me when I said I could ride.”

“Can you?”

“Since I could walk. My mother thought it would be an asset, along with accountancy so I could manage running a house, ballroom dancing in case I needed to attend a ball, or simply dance a waltz at my wedding, horse riding because she always believed my husband would be a rider, cooking because she said the way to a man’s heat was through his stomach. There are others too numerous to mention, but in the end, before she died about two years ago, she said it was her opinion I would be quite the prize “

“And you were fine with that?”

“Where I come from, Ethan, it was either that or working as a server in a diner, a teacher, or a governess. I wasted an education because I thought chasing the unattainable was better, only to have to run away to a large city where no one knew the mistakes I’d made. Even as that nobody you professed to be Ethan, you never once looked down your nose at me. You loved me unconditionally. You never asked who I was, and so I loved you back, equally and unconditionally. You still do. I know you do. I can feel it when you look at me. If you really hated me that much, I would have seen and felt the revulsion and believe me, I know what that’s like.”

My grandmother knew who she was from the start, and yet she didn’t intervene. Or tell my parents. What was it about this girl that had finally impressed her?

“I’m not who you think I am, Ethan, but I didn’t lie to you. I just skimmed over the bad bits. The worst, perhaps, is that I have a daughter, the mistake that to me was not a mistake but the best thing to happen to me. No one wants to date the mother of a young child. I should have told you ages ago. I’m sorry I didn’t.”

And still my grandmother didn’t set off the alarm bells. What could I say?

“You know I’m not going to take handouts from anyone in my family, that I have to make it on my own. I don’t know how I can be the sort of man you need in your life.”

“But you are exactly who I need, who I want. I’m not looking for rich, Ethan. I found you long before I knew who you were, and it didn’t matter. It’s taken a long time to realise that. It’s why I’m here, now, hoping against hope you will forgive me.”

It might have been a different story had I not received a text from Joey. I don’t know how he got my number but then he had the resources to do almost anything.

And if he wanted Penelope, she wouldn’t be here.

He basically told me I was the biggest fool on the planet, which was pretty rich coming from him. He said that she had wanted to know more about me because she knew that there was more. I wasn’t telling her, but that he said was not for him to tell. Instead, he was regaling her with stories of our youth, and how he got into trouble, and I got him out of it. Perhaps I had misinterpreted interest in the story as something else, which would never, ever happen. He said he had told her to tell me the truth about who she was and why I would be missing out on the one true love of my life. He added it might be sooner than I think and not to botch it.

It had begun to worry me that I had.

“Your grandmother told me about a shack, somewhere in this south paddock, the one you threatened to go and hide in when you hear your parents are coming. By the way, they are not so bad.”

“You obviously met them on a good day.”

“Try flying down in the corporate jet with them. I was scared half to death I was going to get the third degree. Instead, a chef cooked lunch, and we had French champagne. Haven’t they heard of cheese and pickle on rye and bottled supermarket water?”

“They can’t do cheap. I’m sorry.”

“So am I. They didn’t give me the option to decline. The shack?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because your grandmother thinks we need to start again, this time on a proper footing with no lies or omissions.”

“It’s a few hours, in the dark, over hill and down dale.”

“It’s a clear sky and a full moon.”

“Two hours in the saddle?”

She smiled. “I’m made of strong stuff, Ethan, as you will find out. And I’m sure Larry won’t mind another cowgirl at muster time.”

“Let’s just see if you survive the ride first.”

“So, we’re good?”

“Ask me tomorrow morning.”

She shook her head. “You’re never going to admit you’re wrong, are you?”

“Maybe.”

“You’re going to vex me till the end of time.”

“Yep. Are we going to keep jabbering or are we going?”

“Lead on.”

I did, trying not to show that I believed I had won my first argument with any woman I’d ever known. It was highly likely, however, it was going to be the last, so I would savour it for as long as possible.

…

A to Z Blog Challenge – April 2025 – L

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L is for – Let’s have some fun. Burned operatives get a second chance

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I’d seen the Trevi Fountain in the movies, but, until now, it just seemed like any other fountain, only larger.

In reality, it was much more than that, and, so it seemed, it was also that for many other people. Mid-afternoon on a warm sunny day, they were all standing in awe.

Perhaps some were making a wish, and I saw several toss coins in. There would be a lot of money in there, and I couldn’t help but think about what sort of job it would be to retrieve it.

Odd too, I thought, if they hadn’t, how many old and rare coins might be somewhere on the floor. Of course, I only thought of the aesthetic value rather than the practicality of the water system that the Romans had built long before such feats of engineering were being contemplated.

No, I was here on holiday.

After years of travelling to a great many places for my job, one that never really gave me any time for sightseeing, I’d decided it was time to indulge in a little tourism.

Before this, I’d been to the Colosseum, the old ruins, the Spanish Steps, and the Parthenon. This was going to wrap up in the afternoon.

“So, are you here on business or pleasure?”

I turned to see Giuseppe, a man I’d had a rather complicated relationship with in the past, and one who was not told I was coming.

But the fact he was here was no surprise.

It was, however, surprising that he could sneak up on me. It showed I was slipping, or, more than likely, I was more susceptible to being distracted.

“I am but a humble tourist. I’m sorry, but you have been following me for nothing.”

“Why is it I find that difficult to believe?”

Maybe because of what I used to do, but it was not something I would openly admit. And the only reason he was standing there was that someone else had made a mistake, and required a bit of diplomacy to smooth the waters.

Unfortunately, that had destroyed my invisibility in Italy, and probably most of Europe, and these days I spent most of my time in semi-retirement driving a desk. Not entirely put out to pasture.

“As difficult as it might be, having your cover blown makes it impossible to continue, verified by the fact you’re here now. Was it a red flag on my name or facial recognition?”

“Just remember, we’re watching you.”

With a last shake of his head, he walked over to a car parked a short of distance away, got in, and drove off. I had no doubt he was not the only one who had been watching me.

“It seems you were right.”

Another voice, this time a woman, and expected. Carla had been waiting in the coffee shop for Giuseppe or someone like him to make an appearance.

“They were not exactly hiding the fact they had me under surveillance.”

She handed me the coffee with a smile.

“That means we can have some fun, does it not?”

That had been the plan. I knew if I entered Italy using the identity I used the last time, it would put them on alert and prompt a reaction.

“It still doesn’t mean they won’t suspect something is afoot.”

“And since when did you start doubting yourself?”

Since my last operation fell apart because I made one simple mistake that no agent would have made in a million years. But, I had, and it basically ended two careers.

The other person had just handed me the coffee and unaccountably seemed less angry with me than she should be.

“You of all people should know the answer to that.”

She sighed and took my hand in hers. “What I do know is that there’s a very clever operation afoot, and you’re the one who planned it. And, far from being on the sidelines, we have a new and very important role to play. And speaking of play, it’s time you and I got into our roles. Oh, and just for the record, I still love you and I know how you feel about me, and before I brought you coffee, I made a wish.”

So had I, and it had been answered.

…

A to Z Blog Challenge – April 2025 – K

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K is for — Knight in shining armour. A surprising twist in a simple rescue

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To tell my mother that a large orchestra was not a necessity for a ‘ball’ thrown in my honour was the same as telling her I didn’t want one. Missives that she totally ignored.

I knew my father agreed with me, a man who didn’t like the idea of showing extravagance for the sake of it in the face of the current economic climate. We were going to feature not only in the society pages, but also near page one as a hot news item. Some of it was going to be for all the wrong reasons.

I’d seen several roving reporters, scribbling in their notebooks.

When Madeleine and I returned, the orchestra had fired up and was regaling the attendees with a waltz, though not that many had taken to the floor. Perhaps the art of ballroom dancing at balls was no longer a thing.

“Perhaps we should set an example,” she said.

“You dance?”

“I’ve been around the floor once or twice. I’m assuming your boarding school taught you the finer points?”

“Mademoiselle Garmin. You learned, or it was twenty lashes. I learned.”

Odd, too, that I found by the time we reached the dance floor, we were holding hands. She was subtle and sneaky.

“I’m willing if you are.”

And, yes, after a few hesitant first steps and getting closer to her than I had ever been since the first day I met her, I found she was very competent. Perhaps she was equally surprised I was quite good and could actually lead.

Our demonstration pulled others out of their seats and into the vortex. It got a round of applause at the end, and then the orchestra slipped into something less challenging for those without formal training.

She still had my hand, and I don’t think she was giving it back. Did this mean I had to take her home with me? It was an interesting thought, given the Madeleine/Oscar dynamic. Or was that why she sent him away, so she could advance this relationship?

Even more interesting. I found myself almost as intrigued as a member of the public would be when reading about us.

We reached the edge of the dance floor when I heard my mother advancing, “There you are.” She was very quick when she wanted to be, perhaps thinking I was about to disappear again.

“Where have you been?”

“On the dance floor, demonstrating that you didn’t waste your money sending me to that awful school.”

She smiled at Madeleine. “You dance beautifully.”

And I didn’t? Sometimes, my mother could be aggravating. I glared at her.

“So did you,” she said to me. Then back to Madeleine, “Come, there’s some people I’d like you meet.”

She gave me a baleful look then the link was severed, and she reluctantly left with my mother. Rather her than me, meeting all that ‘old money’ and then unattractive daughters. It was a compelling reason to stay with Madeleine if only to keep the others at bay.

A hand on my shoulder and words in my ear. “You two make an attractive couple out there,” he waved his hand towards the dance floor, “but it didn’t seem you were ‘together’ if you know what I mean.”

Howard was both a keen judge of character and could spot a phony a mile off. I’d have to work hard to convince him we were ‘together’.

“Early days, Howie. I’m not like you. A sideways glance from a girl and you are taking her to a cheap motel.”

“You should try it?”

“A cheap motel? Sorry. It has, at the very least, five stars before I walk in the door.”

“Snob.”

“Expensive boarding schools will do that to you.”

He punched me in the arm, playfully but hard enough. “So, seriously, do you like her?”

“Do you?”

He shook his head. “When you start answering questions with questions, I know there’s trouble in paradise. What is it?”

“Nobody is that perfect, Howie.”

Before I overheard a conversation that suggested an ulterior motive, it was one of the foremost items on my mind. She was almost perfect, which meant there had to be something. And the timing. Girls like her do not come out of left field like she did; they are noticed and talked about. No one I knew had any idea who she was or anything about their family. And internet searchers found very little. It was interesting that she did not have a digital footprint or social media presence.

Even I had one of those, albeit tended by a personal assistant.

“Then grab her while you can, before there’s a line of eligible bachelors beating a path to her door.”

I was about to tell him they could but decided not to.

“I’m working on it.”

“Work harder.”

Another pat on the back, and he was gone.

The whole time Howard was with me, I’d seen her glancing in my direction, in between being attentive to the women in the group, giving me the ‘come hither’ look, suggesting she wanted to be rescued.

I gave it a few more minutes and then wandered slowly over to the group. My mother’s cronies, the morning tea reading group, I think.

“Have you finished torturing my partner in crime?” I asked Mother when she looked condescendingly in my direction.

“You make it sound like you’re bank robbers.”

“We’re working on it. I don’t know yet if she’s going to be the safecracker or the getaway driver.”

It got the required response for the elderly group: a look of disdain from all of them.

“And with that, ladies, I must whisk her away. I hear the orchestra is working towards a tango, and that is one of my criteria in a girlfriend.”

“Tango,” she said, almost in disbelief.

Was that mantle of perfection starting to slip?

“What’s a ball without a tango, and the honourees not being able to lead from the front?” I made the bold move of taking her hand and gently extracting her from the group.

“Oh, do so if you must, Sam.”

She smiled as I led her away. “You are my gallant knight in shining armour.”

“Overly expensive tuxedo, perhaps. Not one for shining armour, though. But I can handle a sword if necessary.”

“Another boarding school class?”

“Senor Rafael, Olympic champion no less. Until that first lesson, I idolised Zorro and wanted to be just like him.”

“Anything you haven’t done?”

“Sweep a girl off her feet.”

“Then let the sweeping begin.”

If there was a moment that I could say I fell in love with Madeleine, it was during the tango. I would never admit it, but there it was.

Such a line, ‘you had me at the tango’.

This was going to be painful if it didn’t work out.

…

A to Z Blog Challenge – April 2025 – J

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J is for — Journey through danger. The travails of people seeking a new place

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There were four stages of recovery, each approximately six weeks in length. Alpha, Beta, Gamma, and Delta.

Sitting around the table discussing in detail what was expected, it was assumed that the fallout would be between an extinction event and a totally destroyed planet surface, that our plans were to be optimistic, assuming the lesser of the two evils, and that we would be out and about sooner rather than later.

Six years advance notice, three years of denying it would hit us, one year of squabbling between major political parties, and now leadership, or lack of it, that was dictated by the oligarchs, made it difficult, if not impossible, for those who wanted to help to enact plans. Everything that required funding had to be approved, and that approval was subject to profiteering.

It basically created two factions. The idea of making money off a crisis situation, abhorrent as it was, had become the driver for everything and eventually spawned It created the newspaper headline, “The race to save the world, but not by whom you think it is!”

I don’t think those who were in control realised there wasn’t going to be a world in which wealth would mean anything. It was why, with one year to go, a group of other billionaires realised they were going to be left out in the cold and unilaterally decided to create their own solution, one that went against the prevailing government, one that was only going to be able to pick up the pieces, if there were any pieces left.

A meteor was coming, all efforts to knock it off course had failed, and there was a last-ditch plan to try and blow it to pieces. It was the ultimate Hail Mary, but it wasn’t our bailiwick.

They were building underground rescue centres, and after the meteor hit or shattered, the military that wasn’t aligned with the government would be running their own rescue effort. There was no time or space to save everyone.

That was the plan. And I and thousands of others were also part of the plan.

Lieutenant Giselle Landers, the closest thing we had to a meteor and space expert, had just concluded the presentation to a packed hall of about one thousand servicemen and women of all ranks and branches, one of a dozen held around the country.

There was stunned silence.

I was not surprised.

In the alpha phase, we just stayed underground and hoped for the best. Either the meteor hit us and, like in dinosaur times, obliterated the life-giving rays of the sun, or if the Hail Mary worked, the meteor was destroyed, and then it rained shrapnel down for days, weeks, or months.

No one knew for sure what would happen, other than life as we knew it would be over. And quite possible for all those who didn’t get an invite to a shelter, what amounted to 95 per cent of the population.

Gabby’s final statement, that most of the 95 per cent would die in the first six months, was that moment when it started to feel real. She had run model after model, scenario after scenario, but the result was the same. The government had left it too late to do anything to help the people, only themselves.

The best case scenario:

In the beta phase, the teams sent to individual recovery centres would start monitoring the outside to see when it was safe to commence operations.

Gamma phase, six weeks after impact, it was assumed that by this time, it would be reasonably safe to go out and start searching for survivors

Delta phase, having collected our first quota of survivors ready to transport to the new city that was expected to be under construction and ready to take refugees, we called base and started moving people.

Like I said, it all sounded feasible when sitting around that table.

Then came the reality.

They succeeded in destroying the meteor, shattering it into a million or more pieces, pieces that broke through the atmosphere and rained down for a week. What no one knew was that there was a smaller meteor in the tail of the larger one, totally undetectable until too late, and it hit the earth in the middle of Africa.

It made all the plans we made almost irrelevant.

Each phase was meant to be measured in weeks, but in the end, by the time we could execute the Gamma phase, nearly eight months had passed, and most of us believed that no one could have survived the aftermath, let alone the actual event.

The collision created a huge crater, set off a chain reaction of explosions, and set in motion a large number of volcanoes, all in turn heating the atmosphere and the oceans, creating steam and ash that blotted everything. In the end, the meteor storms were the least of the planet’s problems.

And we, buried in our bunkers, barely survived ourselves. It was a tribute to the designers and builders, and the redundancy that was built in kept us alive.

Until everything outside settled down. There was still ash in the air, and the landscape that we could see was desolate, destroyed, and uninhabitable.

Giselle and I, and four others, were in the first team to go outside, initially to see if life could be sustained, and if not, to begin operations to find anyone who survived.

We were dressed in special Hazmat suits with independent oxygen supplies. The air was still polluted with dust, and for 10 am, it was very gloomy, the sun barely penetrating the thick air.

All around us, the once lush forest was simply a swauve of blackened rocks and scree and charred stumps where trees once grew. Nothing could survive very long in those conditions.

Nothing.

The outside temperature was registered at 45 degrees Celsius. The air had 400 times the required level of pollution and was, therefore, unbreathable.

Our facility was built deep in the forest, about five miles from a highway, about 20 miles from the nearest town. We had managed to save a hundred and fifty people from the town, those that hadn’t tried to escape north. They were told their best chance of survival would be to head for the Arctic Circle, which Giselle said would have been good advice if there were shelters.

We could have saved more if they had listened to reason.

Each facility had a version of the vehicles that were used on the moon landings, specifically designed to traverse rough terrain. It was rough between the facility and the highway, and we had to go slowly.

When we reached the highway, there were thousands of cars in every direction, with bodies inside and out as far as the eye could see. They would not have died straight away. It would have taken a few days, a week, perhaps longer for the nearest volcanic activity to overcome them.

From the highway, we drove down to the town with no break in the traffic that had clogged the road. The town wasn’t much better, the buildings relatively intact and filled with those people who thought it would protect them.

It did not. Those bodies were not charred like those outside. We checked all the buildings, and in local government offices that housed the sheriff’s station and law courts, the inside was remarkably intact and almost as it would have been before the event.

Giselle was intrigued and found on investigation that the walls were made of mud bricks and over two feet thick. The doors were three inch cast iron and the window shutters about the same, closed and locked.

It was odd that the door was closed but not locked.

And unlike the other buildings crammed with people trying to hide, it was relatively empty. A quick search uncovered three bodies, remarkably intact.

We brought a doctor, and his examination told us they had only recently died.

People who had almost lived to tell about it.

That’s when Giselle said, “There will be more, somewhere. These places have basements, deep underground. Start looking.”

It didn’t take long. Another cast iron door led to a passage and stairs going down. At the bottom, another door unlocked and easily opened.

I took the lead and drew my weapon in case there might be trouble. I switched on my torch and walked slowly down the passage towards an underground room.

It was in darkness, and standing at the entrance, I moved the light around the room. 20 cots with 17 people on them. None were moving or had reacted to the light.

I called out to the doctor. “17 people, they don’t look like they have survived.”

The doctor followed me in and went to the first cot. I held the light over the body while he examined it. It was a middle-aged woman who looked malnourished but otherwise in reasonable condition.

Then he almost yelled, “She’s alive, barely.” And them went to each cot and after a brief examination, “and another, and another…”

We had brought water and rations, and I sent two up to get the supplies.

I kneeled down beside the cot and looked at her more closely. I knew the face and then remembered who she was. The Mayor. We had stopped briefly on our way to tell her we would be back to collect anyone who wanted to come with us. She had rounded up all the townspeople she could but volunteered to stay behind to fetch the rest. I guess she had found them, and by then it was too late..

When the others returned, I shook her gently by the shoulder, and after a minute, her eyelids fluttered, then opened.

“You made it.”

“Did I.” Her voice was more a dry rasp. “I thought I was in heaven. The others?”

“I’m checking them now.” I handed her a bottle of water after removing the lid. It might be an idea to sip first.”

“How long since…”

“Three weeks the food ran out, four days the water. I told everyone to lie down and conserve energy. I think we all knew our time was up. Did you make it with the others?”

“Yes. We saved about a hundred and fifty.”

The doctor yelled out, “Fifteen alive, two dead, but only in the last hour or so. Ration the water for a few minutes so they can recover.”

“What happened, other than the end of the world?”

“Have you seen outside?”

She shook her head. One day there was endless traffic passing through, the next the skies turned black, with rocks falling like hail, tje air swirling with ash and smoke so thick you couldn’t see, with the sound of continuous thunder, and people just started dying, slowly at first, the screams made it feel like we’re were in hell, and then nothing. By that time, we had locked ourselves in and came down here and barricaded the doors. It was nearly six months before we came out to look. Is it all like this?”

“We don’t know. This is the first time we’ve left the facility. No one can survive yet, so we’ll take you back in suits. Soon.”

She reached out and took my hand in hers. “Is there any hope?”

When I set out earlier, I didn’t have any. I expected to discover we were the only people left, other than those on other facilities. Now, finding these people alive, even if barely, there was hope.

“Yes. There’s nearly three hundred of us, and there’s more. If you can survive, then others will have. So, let’s pray we find them as quickly as we found you. Are there any other places in town we might find people?”

“Thank you. And yes, there might. But I will need a few minutes.”

“OK.” I looked over at Giselle, who was talking to a young girl. She glanced my way and smiled.

The first step, she had said to the team before we left the facility, of a very long journey into danger.

…

A to Z Blog Challenge – April 2025 – I

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I is for — If the planets line up. A lot of things have to happen, and realistically, they don’t

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It was a clear night, and the stars were out as well as they could be seen in the city from the roof of my apartment block.

I had wanted to go to Arizona or Montana where stargazing would be so much better, but Cecily wanted to go on an Ocean Cruise with her parents and just didn’t come back.

That much I learned when I came home from work several weeks later and every shred of evidence of her was gone.

It was, I guess, time to end what had become a stagnant relationship, but even so, it didn’t help to see her photos with her new boyfriend, a prince from one of those minor European Principalitys on Facebook and in the magazines.

She could have, at the very least, sent me a text. I thought I was owed that much, and perhaps if she had known who I was, it might have been different.

Or not.

I shrugged, took another sip of the cold beer, and stared up at the sky. It was the early hours of the morning. I had a telescope, a rather good one at that, and often came up to see if I could locate the planets whenever they were in range.

When they were not, a shooting star or a celestial body sufficed, and, failing that, sometimes it was just sitting on the roof, knocking back a six-pack that was equally as preferable.

It was the way this night was going.

I heard rustling over by the exit and looked over. The light wasn’t that distinct, but it wasn’t hard to pick out the shape of another roof visitor, though not the usual visitor.

“Ruth told me this is where you hide from the rest of humanity.”

Female, different voice. Was this our infamous new apartment dweller? Old Mary McGinty had passed on, her apartment remaining empty for months, unusually because of a shortage, until one Agatha Morell arrived very early one morning and moved in.

Ruth had been trying to find out who she was, with no success. No one could because no one had seen her. Except, it seems, by Agatha’s admission, Ruth.

“Ruth has a vivid imagination.”

“Ruth wishes you would use yours and read the signals.” She came over, and we shook hands, or more likely touched hands.

I felt a tingling sensation. The night air was charged with static electricity.

“Ruth and I are just friends.”

“So she tells me. Home astronomer?” She had seen the telescope.

“Would be astronaut.” I was feeling like being flippant, a trait Ruth sometimes frowned upon.

“Were you too old, too young, under qualified or over qualified?”

“I wish. Let’s just say I’m thirsty. Do you drink beer?”

“Of course.” She took one out of the six-pack, removed the lid like an expert, and drank.

I picked up mine and did the same.

She flopped into the seat by the telescope. I looked at the telescope, the sky, the new arrival, and sat in another beside her.

In that glance as I sat I saw a woman in her mid thirties, shortish hair coloured red or auburn, a expression that showed she smiled a lot, very fit, and, even in casual clothes looked very, very attractive. And unattached, maybe. There were no rings.

A fitting rival for Ruth, who I had once declared, was drop-dead gorgeous. And the only person in the building who knew who I really was, other than Mary McGinty.

And yes, I got the signals Ruth was sending, and yes, I would have acted on them, but she would be eaten alive by the people who professed to care about me and who had other ideas about whom I should have a relationship with.

And then, if my true identity was discovered, there was the relentless and intrusive media who would make her life utter hell.

For a few brief moments after Cecily had gone, I thought my invisible handlers had gotten to her. Or perhaps she met my mother; that would be enough to send anyone packing.

“So, hiding or not, what brings you to the roof?

She had another go at asking the same question. She was either a politician or a journalist.

“The sky, the beer, a chance to meet inquisitive women. Your excuse?”

“The sky, the beer, a chance to meet mysterious men.” She smiled, and an instant shudder went through me. My instinct was telling me this girl was trouble.

“I assure you I am far from mysterious.”

“Then that dream I had as a child, to be swept off my feet by a prince, is not about to come true?”

My heart rate just went into overdrive, trying to keep my best poker face in place and quell the rising panic.

“Unfortunately, no.” It took a fraction of a second to get that panicked inflection in my voice under control.

It elicited a quick and concerned glance from her

A deep breath and then, “I suspect, given the number of actual princes I don’t know of, I would imagine they do not go around sweeping damsels off their feet, except, of course, in Hallmark movies and Mills and Boon paperbacks.”

Her expression changed to one of surprise, perhaps something else.

“And you know this gem of information how?”

“My older sister, who is often dreaming about being swept off her feet by a prince, though admittedly it would be on the dance floor to a waltz. She’s actually pretty good.”

A first attempt to deflect and switch subjects.

“Do you dance?”

“Waltz, yes, what that wriggling and uncoordinated swaying like drunken sailors represents, no. My mother made all of us go to dancing lessons. Do you?”

I would stick to the truth and improvise until I discovered what she was after. I could, if I was worried, push the panic button, but that would cause no end of trouble for a great many people.

Perhaps, on her part, it was just a poor choice of words.

“Finishing school in Lucerne, Switzerland. My grandmother thought I needed the rough edges honed off before I returned to civilisation. Ballroom dancing seemed to be a part of the finishing process.”

Finishing school. Granddaughter, presumably of Mary McGint,y was more than just a possibility. But, if it was a cover story, it was a good one. I tried to remember if Mary had ever mentioned such a granddaughter, and on the fringe of my memory, I remembered her mentioning that her daughter had three children.

“I assume you are Mary’s granddaughter, Emmeline, if I’m not mistaken. You had this thing about red hair, even though it wasn’t, and spent some time working through the colours of the rainbow. It seemed to vex her.”

Now, it was an interesting shade of auburn blended with black.

“I didn’t realise you were so well acquainted.” She looked me up and down with more interest.

“She liked talking about you. I got the feeling she would like to have seen you more often.”

“She and mother had this thing, and we suffered as a result of the collateral damage. Mother died about a month before Gran, leaving us precious little time to be reacquainted. Then there was the inheritance, tedious and convoluted, with claims and counterclaims, as if we wanted anything to do with it. We just wanted somewhere to live.”

“A nice place indeed.”

“The luck of the draw. We could have ended up in a tenement on the Lower East Side. I’m grateful, and I don’t intend to be or cause trouble.”

“Your sisters are with you?”

“Yes, Bethany and little Diana, though not exactly littlw amy more. It was the devil’s own job keeping them out of the foster system, but we’re together, and it’s going to stay that way.”

A woman of determination.

“Do you have a job?”

“Yes. Managing my aunt’s business interests. I had no idea she had so many fingers in so many pies as she used to say. It keeps me amused, along with being a surrogate mother. This is my first night off, well, it’s not exactly a night off, just repurposing the early hours.”

She finished the bottle of beer, put the empty back in the six-pack, and stood. “If you find any available princes, tell them I’m looking for one. A dance partner or whatever. In a couple of weeks, the planets are lining up, so there’s no hurry.”

She smiled. “Thanks for letting me ramble on. It feels good to have someone I can talk to at last.”

Then, as quickly as she appeared, she disappeared.

…

Being as interested as I was in the solar system, and the fact she had said the planets were going to line up, I checked, and she was right.

It was odd that she knew such random stuff, and since I didn’t believe in coincidences, I wondered whether she had interrogated Ruth about me.

Ruth was finally back from the other side of the country, and I went to meet her at the airport. I did this sometimes to surprise her.

She was suitably surprised when she saw me leaning against a pillar, hands in pockets, surveying each passenger as they came out of the door into the terminal. Ruth was almost last, a sign she had travelled coach.

She was frowning as she entered the terminal, but that changed to a smile when she saw me. Like lovers who hadn’t seen each other for a long time, we kissed and hugged.

“I was hoping you’d come.” The hug lasted longer than usual. I suspect her business had not gone well.

“Either that or another starless night on the roof.”

“I’m glad I rate above astronomy.”

“You always rate above astronomy. I take it you shunned the airline food?”

She made a face, the one that said don’t ask silly questions.

“Good. I have made a reservation at Luigi’s.”

She looked at me thoughtfully, then said, “Annaline.”

“What makes you think that?”

“I’ll tell you over wine and pasta.”

…

Luigi’s was a small, intimate restaurant, a favourite place for both Ruth and I.

It was the sort of place where one could propose to the love of their life, and it had happened three times while we were dining there.

She had dropped hints more than once that it was just the sort of place she would like to be proposed to, and if I had been more romantically attached, it would be exactly the place I would use.

And in that moment, looking at her in the subdued lighting and the flickering candlelight, she had never looked so enchanting. It made me wonder why I was so reticent. As Annaline had said, the planets were lined up and what other reason did I need?

I guess it was the fallout from making such a decision when so much was expected of me, one that would cause my parents’ consternation, though eventually there would be reluctant acceptance, but in that period beteen proposal and acceptance they would have destroyed the romance and the very essence of a girl who simply wanted to be loved.

The truth is, love would not be enough. Not being in the constant limelight and the intrusion into every facet of her life. I’d seen it happen to my next eldest brother, choosing a girl for love, and it had broken both of them. It was why I was hiding, accepting anonymity for as long as possible.

And I knew it was not going to last much longer. A recent Sunday magazine feature on my family and the country, celebrating 800 years of royal rule, had an early photo of me in a family portrait, but the resemblance between then and now was discernible if someone was looking.

Ruth had seen it and had remarked on how adorable I was as a child. I had no such recollection. It was more as the youngest that I was the figurative punching bag for my elder brothers.

Enough staring into each other’s eyes and wishing everything could be different.

“Have you met Annaline? Yes, of course you have. She is what some would call a force of nature.”

“She invaded my astronomy space.”

“The roof belongs to everyone.”

I shook my head. “I guess I had a good run. I’ll have to find somewhere else to hide.”

“What did you think of her?”

“Trouble. I think she knows who I am.”

She gave me one of those looks, the one that said I spent too much time worrying about what might happen rather than concentrating on what I should be doing.

“I didn’t tell her, and I doubt Mary ever would. She knew the importance of keeping your identity a secret.”

“She may have seen the paper. They might have had the decency to tell me what was about to happen, or perhaps it was part of the plan to get me to come home. Did she ask about me?”

“You are not exactly a presence that could be ignored, and she is of an age and availability that she would ask about you. I simply told her you were the shy, retiring type who preferred to keep to yourself. When she asked if we were, you know, I said I liked to think so. She was interested.”

“Then I didn’t help my cause.”

She took both my hands in hers. “You are going to have to decide what it is you want. You can’t keep drifting.”

“Well, that might be decided for me. My father is thinking of retiring, and the consequent reshuffle of responsibilities would mean I would have to return.”

“Forever?”

“No, but I would have to become a Prince, and that would mean the end of anonymity. It would also mean, if I was to keep seeing you, the end of your life that you have now, and I don’t want that to happen to you.”

“Is that why…”

“I saw what it did to my brother, Edward, and the girl he chose for love, and it destroyed them. I don’t want that to happen to you.”

A strange expression took over her face; her eyes glistened, and a smile appeared. I knew right in that moment she was everything I wanted, and that what I felt was like the earth moving.

“I can’t ask you to sacrifice your future or life for what could only be described as pure hell. Aside from what would happen at home.”

“What do you want?”

“It’s not a matter of what I want. It’s a matter of what is expected.”

“And yet you are here despite all that?”

An interesting point. Against all their advice and reluctance, they had succumbed to my wishes.

“The fourth son has its advantages.”

Luigi hovered and refilled the glasses with champagne. I hadn’t ordered it, but he must have sensed something.

“You are the perfect couple, you know. Drink, talk, I will prepare the perfect meal.”

He gave a little bow, as he did to his favourite customers and then left us.

“We shall visit my parents and if you survive that, then I will do what I should have done months ago. If that it you’ll have me?”

“You had me the first time I met you. Yes, yes and yes.”

It was a sublime moment.

Until….

I looked up and saw a rather tenacious-looking woman staring down at me.

“You’re that prince something or other that was in the paper.”

That was followed by camera flashes, and the moment I had dreaded arrived.

…

Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance

One writer's experiences, and battles with words

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One writer's experiences, and battles with words

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