Meet Me Where? [FICTION]

The phone rings. I roll over and put it to my ear. “Yes?”

“Lucille?”

I sigh. “Call me Lucy, Chuck.”

A heavier sigh echoes mine. I picture him gritting his teeth. “Call me Charles. We are not characters from ‘Peanuts’.”

I giggle sleepily. “Fine, Charles, what do you need?” I glance at the clock and hastily add. “At this hour.”

“I need your help, right now, at the corner of Leaf and Vine.”

The address registers in my sleepy mind but fails to complete the circuit. “Leaf and Vine?”

“Just get here quick.”

The phone goes silent. I roll over and close my eyes. The street names echo through my head, denying me entrance to sleep and dragging me from my bed. I rise slowly, fumbling for the wad of clothes on the floor. As I slip them on, I yawn and stretch. I step into the bathroom, not bothering to turn on the light. I raise my brush and realize I still wear an amethyst cowl over my blond locks. I giggle as I remove it and fix my hair.

Soon I am standing on the corner of Leaf and Vine, remembering the significance of this intersection. A large warehouse looms empty over the deserted street. I recognize Chuck’s old yellow Jetta with the black scratch down the driver’s side. I kick the door gently on my way by and step into the dark interior of the warehouse.

My entrance triggers a sensor and soft pink light suffuses the air. In the pulsating glow, I see Chuck’s bald dome gleaming below me in the sunken interior of the warehouse. Metallic clanging fills the air as I hurry down the stairs. Reaching the lower level, I can see the glittery purple goop that has his shoes and ankles pinned to the ground. He wears a tight yellow, spandex unitard with black underwear on the outside and an equally tight shirt, which reveals muscles I never expected on wimpy little Chuck. A black mask covers his head except for his eyes, lips, and bald head.

“Oh, Chuck, what have you got yourself into?”

“I don’t know what it is. I just need you to find a way to get me out.”

I ignore his request. “What brought you to this place anyway?”

“I think you can guess.”

“I could, but I want to know for sure.”

“I’m the Bald Barrier. I’ve been moonlighting for a year now and I think I finally found the Purple Panic’s lair, but she set a booby trap. Just get me free.”

“Sorry, Chuck.” I grin. “I can’t help you.”

“Just pull me out.”

“But then you’ll foil my plan.”

“Your plan?”

“Sorry, Chuck. I have to keep creating purple panic.”

I lean over to push a button, which releases more of the scintillating purple goo until it buries Charles up to his hips. 

“I’m going to have to step out now, Chuck. This is no reflection on our friendship. I just can’t let you ruin my master plan.”

“Lucy, please.”

I give him a reassuring smile. “It’ll be quick from here.”

I depress the button again and pull my headphones from my pocket. As music pours into my ears to block out the sound of his voice, I wave one last goodbye and head for the door.

I hope you enjoyed this week's contribution to the online literary world. Feel free to leave accolades, moral support, and love in the comments. And have a fantastic week.

Rental Car [FICTION]

Since I perpetually run late, I don’t bother to haggle with the woman behind the counter when she hands me the keys to an older model sedan instead of the new compact car I reserved. I frown at her, sign the papers, and take the keys she proffers. I listen long enough to her spiel to know which direction to walk in order to find my car before I sprint in that direction.

Begrudgingly taking time it takes to toss my bag into the passenger seat, I slide behind the wheel and turn the key. The engine purrs happily. I survey the parking lot and back out of the space. Soon fields of towering corn wave from either side of the flat interstate. I marvel at being able to see so far before the horizon appears in the distance. My mind wanders again. When it returns, I check the clock on the dashboard against my watch. Surprisingly, it displays the correct time, which means I am still running ten minutes late for my meeting. 

I survey the road. No vehicles appear anywhere within my line of sight, so I push the gas pedal a little harder. The car lurches forward as if it has never exceeded the speed limit by more than five miles per hour. I leave my foot where it is and wait. The car settles down, but I decide not to push my luck.

Thump. Thump. Thump. I tighten my grip on the wheel, prepared to fight what sounds like a flat tire. The wheel stays steady, as does the thumping. I push the hazard button and edge toward the shoulder of the road. Gravel spins up from the tires as I come to a stop so close to a field of corn that I can smell the sweetness of a few ripe ears. I ignore the grumbling in my stomach and step out of the car. I circle it, kicking the tires, confused as my foot bounces back from four firm surfaces.

“Well, that’s weird.” I mutter as I place my hands on my hips and survey the rear tires critically.

As I mull over this peculiarity, the thumping begins anew. Something or someone bangs against the trunk of the car—from the inside. I step closer.

“Is someone in there?”

The only response is more enthusiastic banging. I rub the key between my fingers and ponder my options. Finally, I lean forward and insert the key in the lock, releasing the catch. I open the trunk a crack and peer inside, expecting the trunk to fly out into my face at any moment. The banging continues, but without enough momentum to open the trunk. I lift it higher, letting in more light. Multiple pairs of oblong eyes gleam back at me in the sliver of sun. I open the trunk a little further and take a better look.

Long ears. Twitching noses. Protruding teeth. Bunnies?

I gently close the lid and lean against it. Who would fill the trunk of a rental car with bunnies? And then leave them there? And why? I shake away the questions and get back in the car. I’ll play amateur detective after my meeting—if I make it in time. I sigh and pull back out onto the road, risking the high speed lurch again.

Somehow, I pull into the conference center with a few minutes to spare. I grab my purse and race into the building, scanning the map at the entrance. I find the right room. I answer questions by rote. My mind keeps wandering to the strange find in my trunk. If I don’t get the job, can I sue the rental company for fouling things up with their wrongly assigned rental car and its mystery cargo?

As I stalk across the parking lot, I pull my phone out and scroll through the recent numbers until I find the car rental agency. I stab the screen maliciously and wait for the call to connect. A chipper voice on the other end inquires how she can help me.

“I have a problem with my rental car.”

“What is the nature of your problem?”

“You gave me the wrong car and the trunk is full of bunnies.”

“Excuse me?”

“The trunk of my rental car is full of bunnies.”

Silence answers me from the other end of the line.

“I expect some sort of compensation when I return the car.”

“We check all of our cars. If the trunk is full of bunnies, you put them there.”

As I near the car, a faint aroma wafts out at me from the trunk. “I think their output will verify that they were in the car before I got the key.”

She resumes her chipper speech, after a moment of silence. “I will alert the manager that you want to speak to him. When can we expect you?”

“An hour if all goes well.” I glance at my watch.

“We look forward to helping you. Drive safe.” She hangs up before I can say more.

As I pull into the rental lot, I decide to park right outside. Pulling up to the entrance, I see two men arguing just inside the double glass doors. One wears a suit and tie while the other seems ready for a gala, decked out in a tux with long tails and a black bowtie. Their attention turns my way as the car jerks to a halt. The man in the tux waves his arms excitedly toward the car as he barrels through the door. The other follows in his wake. I open my door.

“There must have been a computer error, Mr. Magnifique, but the car is here safe and sound.”

“If one of my little darlings is hurt…” The man’s tirade dissolves into a mix of French and English too confusing to follow as he races to the back of the car and begins cooing at the trunk. After a moment, he turns to me. “Le clé.”

“Um.” I say, glancing between him and the man in the suit.

“The key. The key.” The man shouts as he takes a few steps toward me.

I put the other man between us. 

“Sorry for the inconvenience, ma’am. I am Mr. Hiker, the manager of this branch of Reliable Rentals.” He holds out his hand as if to shake mine.

I shove my hand further into my pocket. He frowns and turns his attention to his other irate customer.

“Please be patient, sir. You shouldn’t have left anything, particularly live animals in the car when you returned it. Even if you planned to rent the same car the next day.”

“I could not take them with me. I reserved the car.” The man blustered.

“But that only meant it would be available the next day. Not that it would not be used again before then.” He held up his hand to stop further protests and turned to me. “Maureen is prepared to provide you with a full refund and a voucher for a free day rental if you will just give me the key and go inside.”

I start to pull the key from my pocket and pause. “If I give you the key…”

He raises his hand to me this time. “I promise you will receive the full refund and the voucher. Then I can resolve Mr. Magnifique’s concerns.”

As the thumping began again, I pull the key from my pocket and hand it to Mr. Hiker. 

Break My Heart (FICTION)

Break My Heart

“We need one more song. One with a hook.” Janice whined as she looked through the stack of lyrics again.

“They all have hooks.” Lydia raised a drumstick defensively.

“Not the right size hook for the fish we want to buy our album.” Janice rejoined.

“I think that…” I started but Artie’s ringtone broke my focus.

Janice rolled her eyes. “Go ahead. Answer the call of your one true love.” She grabbed her guitar and headed toward the door with a beckoning gesture to Lydia.

Lydia pointed her drumstick at me encouragingly and reluctantly followed. As they closed the door behind them, I could hear Janice strumming her guitar to a rhythm Lydia banged out on the doorframe. I swiped the screen and raised my phone to my ear.

“Hey, Artie.” I felt my stance change, relaxing. My hand strayed to my hair, twirling it slowly as his voice filled my ear.

“Kim, I need to see you.”

“I want to see you, too.”

“Good. Buck’s coffee shop? In a half hour?”

“Well, that’s soon…” My heart skipped a beat to know he couldn’t wait to see me. 

“I know you and the girls are practicing, but…” He failed to find a reason, so he switched gears and begged. “Please, Kim.”

“Alright. See you in a half hour.” I agreed.

We rushed our goodbyes and hung up. I glanced in the distorted mirror leaning against one wall. I adjusted my shirt and wondered if a half hour was enough time to freshen up. With travel time, I’d end up late, and I never wanted to make Artie wait.

“Is Artie on fire?”

“Are you going to blow him out?”

I ignored my friends’ jibes as I hurried to my car, but called over my shoulder. “I’ll be back soon. Hopefully, with big news.”

I waved off their hoots of encouragement as if they didn’t matter, but their reassurance warmed me as I turned on the car and headed into town. I arrived at the coffee shop ten minutes early. Peeking through the large glass window, I saw Artie seated at a table in the back. As I raised my hand to wave a cheerful hello, I realized he already had a companion. My eyebrows furrowed.

Long blond hair swung back from narrow shoulders as she tossed her head and laughed. Artie leaned in to whisper in her ear, caressing her cheek with his lips as he pulled away. The warmth in my heart faded, leaving an intense cold before giving way to  fires of rage.

Without conscious thought, heavy footfalls carried me to the door. I pulled the door open and released a volley of words before I realized I had decided what to say. “Artie, how could you?”

“Kim, I was going to explain…”

“So you brought my replacement to help?”

“It’s not like that…”

“I don’t care how it is. How dare you…”

He tried to explain, but the rage burning through me plugged my ears. I shook my head and turned away. As I crossed the threshold of the coffee shop, I turned toward my car and quickened my pace. Hoping he wasn’t following me, I balled my hands into fists and raced to my car. Hopping behind the wheel, I checked for anything in my path and pulled out of the space.

As I drove, a song hummed through my mind. By the time I reached my house, lyrics began to take form. I fumbled in my console for a pen and a takeout menu with some blank space around the edges. I scrawled words as they entered my head.

“Sing my song, break my heart

And tear my whole world apart.

With just one kiss from your lips

I lost all control. My mind slips

When your eyes fall on me,

But I’m not the only one you see.

Sing my song, break my heart

And tear my whole world apart.

I love you still. You loved for a moment.

All the words of love you sent

Melted into a cloud I cannot reach

This is the heartache only love can teach.

Sing my song, break my heart

And tear my whole world apart.

You sing my words of love to someone new

And I find myself lost to all I once knew,

So sing my song, break my heart

And tear my whole world apart.”

I know I should be posting a mushy love story for this week, but this might be more of interest to those celebrating Singles' Awareness Day.

Out of House and Home [FICTION]

Jacqueline and Gill stroll through the forest, enjoying the cool shade of the leafy canopy. They jump occasionally at the soft sounds of creatures in the underbrush. The birds in the treetops sing soothingly to calm them again. 

“I love being able to be outside without sweating my skin off.” Jacqueline releases her dark hair from a ponytail.

“Who knew I’d love trees so much?” Gill asks with a glance at her high-heeled boots.

“Even a trendy, city girl can be a treehugger.” 

“Given the right trees.”

They laugh and settle into peaceful silence, calmed by the sound of their shoes breaking twigs and shuffling through old leaves. Eventually, Gill’s pace slows. She finally pauses to lean against a tree, unzip her boots, and rub her feet.

“This city girl will have to buy some country shoes before our next walk.”

Jacqueline glances at her watch. “We have been walking for over an hour. We should head home.”

Gill nods agreement. “I have never been this far into the woods before.” She bites her lip.

Jacqueline glances up and down the deer path. “Head back the way we came?”

“That seems like the wisest choice.”

Jacqueline offers Gill her arm. Her weary friend takes it gratefully. As they head back along their previous path, they chat softly. Their conversation comes to a halt. Their mouths drop open as they gaze at the obstruction before them.

“I think I should have drank more water. I’m hallucinating.” Gill whispers.

“If you see a Christmas tradition large enough to move into, I think we are sharing one.”

They look at each other then back at the house rising before them. White ribbons accented by colorful gumdrops break up dark gingerbread walls. Chocolate beams form a sturdy door. An immense globe of spun sugar makes a doorknob too sweet to turn without a taste.

“It can’t really be…” Gill begins as they step closer for a better look.

“Of course not…” Jacqueline pauses and sniffs the air. “Or can it?”

Ginger, cinnamon, and a billon traces of sweetness mingle in the air. The closer they step to the house, the more their minds swirl. All thoughts filter from their brains except sweet, sweet deliciousness. Soon they their lips are close enough to kiss the door frame. As spiced, delicate cookie fills their mouths, their eyes close. They remain closed as the door swings inward and a wizened old woman steps out. She cackles softly.

Gill’s eyes open slightly. She eyes the woman suspiciously until she takes another bite. As the cookie caresses her tongue, she forgets about the strange woman. Jacqueline doesn’t react at all, too lost in flavors to give attention to any of her other senses. 

The old woman reaches into the oversized pockets of her black apron, producing a warm gingerbread woman in each hand. She dangles these in front of the girls. They stop gnawing on the windowsill. Their noses twitch as they hone in on the freshly-baked sweet treats. Their eyes remain closed as they follow the old woman into the house. 

~~~

What happens next? Help decide.

1. The girls escape.
2. The girls become a savory meal for the owner of the sweet house.