In The Shadows

In The Shadows

by Leslie Johnson

He crouched there in the shadows, waiting for her to come home. He knew she was out with her friend Angela. He’d waited for them to leave before letting himself in with the key she didn’t know he had. He imagined the two women having a delicious supper at The Bistro, perhaps a couple of glasses of wine. Just enough to shave off the edge - so she would be less aware of her surroundings when she returned home.

He expected her to arrive happy and carefree. He imagined her coming in, still laughing at something Angela said. With a satisfied grin on her face from a nice evening out with a good friend, she would walk into her living room, toss her coat over the chair and flop down onto the couch. Then she would reach over and turn on the lamp.

That’s when he would pounce; when she was off balance. Her face would show terror in that instant as she would be caught unaware. He imagined she would scream, a high pitched primal scream. She might even scramble backwards or try to flee. Oh, that made him smile. The thought of catching her by surprise, knowing she didn’t have a clue. She wouldn’t be expecting to see him here - in her home.

The anticipation made him nervous. The more he thought about scaring her, the more hysterical he became. He began gulping in air, trying to calm his nerves as they skittered around under his skin. He wanted to move, He needed to move but couldn’t. She would be home any minute. The last thing he needed was to get caught, She needed to be vulnerable. He needed to be between her and the door when she realized she wasn’t alone. He  took another deep breath and thought about the first time he saw her.

There were eight of them on that trip to the mountains. He enjoyed watching her as they hiked along to the falls. Long brown hair, laughing eyes, her slender body moved lithely. They didn’t know each other then and she treated him like he was invisible. Soon, she would see him for the man he was.

Lights flashed across the picture window. The taxi - bringing her home. His breath caught in his throat. His heart fluttered, the staccato beat - off kilter making him light-headed with anticipation. Deep breaths, or he would burst out laughing the moment she opened the door. Keys jingling, metal scraping on metal. She was close now. Soon, my darling. Soon.

As he imagined, she didn’t turn on the lights. She came into the living room, humming a song. What was that tune? Perfect by Ed Sheeran? She’s right - it is perfect and she is going to be perfectly frightened in just a few minutes.

From his hiding place behind the couch, he felt her sit. In the shadows created by the lights coming through the sheer curtains behind her. He saw her flex her head back, her hair spilling over the back of the sofa. Then she stretched out her arm toward the lamp and he got ready to spring out.

He felt her hesitate. Did she sense she wasn’t alone? He held his breath, waiting, counting the seconds, waiting for her to relax again. She shifted closer to the lamp and switched it on. Everyone sprang out from their hiding places. He made sure he landed just in front of her. She gasped and moved back. Her face tight with fear. He smiled.

“Surprise!” the room of people shouted together. For a moment, he wasn’t sure what was happening. Engrossed in his fantasy, he’d forgotten he wasn’t alone. In that instant, he saw her look from him to one of her friends. She relaxed and laughed.

“You guys scared the crap out of me.”

Jillian stepped forward and handed her a large gift bag. “Happy Birthday!”  Other presents appeared and someone started handing out drinks. He stepped to the back of the room and watched.

Angela came up to him, smiling.  “Thanks for doing this, Kevin.” She put her hand out. “ I’ll take my key back before I forget.”

He handed her the key, smiling. “No worries - happy to help.”

She moved away and he returned to watching. She was laughing at something someone said. She threw her head back and he felt the ache of desire rise. He longed to wrap his hands around her long, slender throat. He wanted to see the fear again. He wanted to watch the light fade from her eyes.

He thought of the key he had cut, the copy of Angela’s. And he knew that soon, he would be waiting for her again, only next time, he would be alone. Next time, she would pay attention to him.

Haunted

Haunted

by Leslie Johnson

Five year old Lisa crawled into her bed, hugging a soft teddy bear to her chest as her mother pulled the cover up tight to her chin. “Make sure Buttercup and Cuddles are tucked in too, Momma.” She implored.  Her mother reached behind the girl and tucked the other two stuffed teddies under the covers. Lisa couldn’t bear the thought of either of them being alone and scared - especially in this new house. Everything here was strange and unsettling and her brother told her the house was haunted.

Her mother stepped to the door and turned off the light. Lisa looked at her mother’s silhouette and wished she had the courage to ask her to stay. But she knew she was meant to be a big girl - she was supposed to be strong. So she stuffed her fear deeper as she hugged Fuzzy Wuzzy closer.

The door slowly closed and the room dropped into darkness. For a few minutes, Lisa panted in fear. She reached behind her and pulled Buttercup and Cuddles under the covers in front of her - all three fluffy friends squished into her tight embrace. Comforted by their presence she allowed sleep to catch up to her and she drifted off.

~ ~ ~

The sun felt warm on her face as Lisa rode her horse toward the barn. She loved Paddy, her big bay gelding. Leaning forward, she lay down across his neck, dropping her arms down to hug him. Sitting up, she encouraged her horse to step into the barn. She knew she was supposed to lead him in, but she preferred using the manger to dismount since the ground was a long way down.

In the center of the barn, Paddy stood for a moment before the floor opened up beneath them. Hurdling downward, they crashed through one floor, then another and another. Too many to count. When they finally stopped falling, they were in a dark pit - seemingly unscathed. Though it was too dark to see where they were she knew there was no way out.

~ ~ ~

With a shudder and a muffled scream, Lisa awoke. It was the fourth time she’d had that dream. Laying there, her heart pounding in her ears, she slowly opened her eyes. The hair on her arms stood on end as she saw an orange glow near the foot of her bed. When she sat up she knocked Buttercup toward the light. She noticed that her bed and the other one in the room were positioned end to end in the corner. The beds and the wall formed a square where the light was coming from.  

Her heart skittered in her chest. She didn’t know what was happening, but everything in her was screaming at her to run. Buttercup lay exposed near the foot of the bed - she needed to save him. Rising to her knees she reached out to grab him just as a shadowy black arm slithered out from the orange glow and snatched the teddy bear, dragging him out of sight.

A little scream escaped her lips. “Buttercup!” Scrambling to the edge of the bed, she looked down into a pit. It seemed to go on as far as her eyes could see. There in the bottom, stood a horse and rider. The horse edged nervously in a circle - the little girl clinging to his neck and sobbing quietly. She didn’t know how - but she knew she was seeing herself in her dream.

She forgot about her lost teddy bear and the dark arm that had snatched him off her bed. She stared at her lost self as she slipped her feet over the edge. Suddenly, two arms reached out and grabbed her ankles. She screamed and kicked but it was no use. Those cold hands held fast.

Still shrieking, she twisted onto her belly and grabbed hold of the covers trying to pull herself toward to top of the bed. The blankets proved useless as they gave way. The shadowy arms pulled her off the bed, the covers falling down on top of her.

Landing hard on the floor, Lisa started to cry. Moments later, her mother was there, hauling her back onto the bed and yanking the covers off the floor. Buttercup lay where he’d fallen near the foot of the bed and Lisa hugged him close to her chest when her mother rescued him. It was a dream - it was all a dream, Lisa told herself as she curled her tiny body around her three fluffy friends. Her mother tucked the covers tight around her before stroking Lisa's soft hair off her forehead. Neither noticed the long shadowy fingers slithering out of sight under the bed.

Something Wicked This Way Comes

If you’re a watcher in this old world - someone who notices the subtle nuances that are all around us - then you won’t be surprised when I tell you that Fire, Wind and Heat are best friends. With hearts as black as the grass and trees they leave behind when they play together, they are a force to be reckoned with. They are as old as the universe and as young as today - everlasting - long living - youthful - crafty bitches.

Fire and Heat had been having a wonderful summer - burning grasslands and forest with great delight all across BC and Montana. After last year’s battle in Fort McMurray it was calming to think that our province would be left unscathed this year. But Mother Nature had other plans. She was tired and more so after a long hot summer. A nice burn was what she wanted, so she clapped her hands and brought the girls together, setting them on the cusp of Waterton Lakes National park. When a new playground opened up, those little bitches laughed with delight. Not only did they have fresh ground to cover, but this was the area where wind lived. They could hardly contain themselves when they imagined the havoc the three of them would wreak.

At first they were coy with one another - trying to best one another - test out the alpha in the group. As they grew more familiar with the hierarchy, they became bolder. By the time they hit the peak on Monday - they knew it was going to take a mighty big hand to rein them in. Laughing with joy, Fire looked over her shoulder as dashed across the expanse, her long red hair flowing across her shoulders, her dress flouncing around her knees. Reaching up along tender tree trunks her mirth skittered upwards before leaping from the top of one tree to the next. Her left hand was held tightly by Wind who pulled her along, relishing the chaos left behind.

Heat was everywhere. She paved the way - making it easy for Fire to leap up and to run fast. She swirled among the ashes left behind and laughed with delight as she watched Fire touch and destroy the beauty before her. Heat’s long honey-brown hair whipped across her face and she shook her head, laughing as Wind tousled it again.

Wind became stronger - gathering momentum from Heat - she grabbed at Fire and threw parts of her ahead. She didn’t need to aim - wherever Fire landed was good enough for her. A tree top - some bushes - tinder dry grass - she shrugged nonchalantly. It was just so beautiful seeing the orange glow whoosh from a speck to a large force.

Hand in hand, these three raced to the top of the mountain and as they crested it - they heard the Firemen call out to one another - “Something wicked this way comes!” The girls whooped with delight at the fear they evoked. They exploded down the mountain side, not caring what they left behind. Wind realized the danger of being stopped, so she grabbed Fire’s hands and pulled her back and away - setting parts of her in a whole new direction.

Heat and Fire continued to race to the bottom, licking at the roof tops and hoping to find sanctuary. They’d been here before - this was familiar territory - but they were rebuffed by their old foe - that playground bully - Water.

Water, her blonde hair pulled tight to her head was ready. She knew those three bitches well. She detested them. She was strong in her own right - a force of nature - capable of doing great things and capable of great destruction as well. Today, she stood ready to protect those vulnerable structures that were unable to look after themselves. Showing no fear, she wrapped herself around her charges and waited for Fire and Heat to do their worst.

The three wenches were not worried about Water. They pretended to push forward, all the while ensuring the expansion of their territory to the north. Here, they had free reign again - free to run - free to carry on wreaking havoc. Excited with the freedom they found here, they pushed forward, leaping across highways, fording creek beds and roaring across meadows. Nothing could stop them - they felt invincible.  

Houses - barns - corrals - sheds. It was all the same to them - something to destroy - a way to leave their mark. They left vast green spaces behind - places where water was sure to have the upper hand. They refused to play her game. Onward they ran - hand in hand - laughing and skipping like they hadn’t a care in the world. Wind lifted Fire across the river and they rushed up another hill - slowing from the upward momentum. Cresting the top - they fell on their sides and rolled downward - stripping away the native grass and leaving nothing but blackened soot behind.

Tired and uneasy now, they skipped back across the river. Another house, another barn but they faced a band of fearless fighters, intent on keeping what was theirs. They hit again, circled back and attacked from another direction. They went low - then they went high and at every juncture - they were met with resistance. Weak and tired from a long night’s journey, Wind gave up. She realized that the fight was useless against these humans. Without her guidance, Fire and Heat felt a little lost. They retreated back to the mountaintop to rest and lick their wounds.

The battle had been a long one. Heat succumbed to her wounds and Fire was on her own. Valiantly, she battled on - her destruction minimal without the help of her playmates. But she doesn’t care. She knows she’s a bitch - she’s proud of it. And she’ll live to fight again - and again. But she has a lot more fun when it’s the three of them - that deadly combination that makes her job unpredictable and delightful.

She’s not dead - she’s biding her time - waiting for Heat to resurrect herself - waiting for Wind to come back to the playground from wherever she has gone. And then the three of them will join hands once more and run and skip and play like they haven't a care in the world.

If Only Walls Could Talk

I know you’ve heard it said - if only these walls could talk… well - it’s not wishful thinking. They really can talk. Not everyone can hear them.

I don’t know why I hear them. It’s like that movie kid - “I see dead people”. Only I hear the memories of those who’ve gone before. It takes patience and an almost uncanny willingness to let the voices in where the heart can interpret them. They can’t be heard with your ears - can’t be understood by your brain - it takes your heart.

Maybe since I’ve been through so much - my heart is different than most. It’s scarred and battered - bruised and mutilated - but strong and resilient. It keeps beating despite my sometimes overwhelming wish for it to stop.

I was eleven the first time a house spoke to me. We had moved to this old house in Parksville a month before. Dad had another new job - the third one that year. I was in bed, wrestling with some demons in my brain - the ones with two legs, evil minds and black hearts.

My heart broke open as I relived the events of the day. Some mean girls dropped me head first into the toilet - an unclean toilet - and then flushed.  The water rose up - over my eyes and nose - almost reaching my mouth before it finally receded.  My tormentors were elated as I lay retching on the tiled floor, my long hair soiled with excrement. Mrs. Henderson heard the laughter and came in to see what was going on. The girls scattered and were gone.

I didn’t tell her their names - though I’m sure she knew them. She took me to the staff room where she washed my hair in the deep sink. She was so kind, I wanted to curl into her arms and never leave. Why can’t all mothers be that loving?

But back in bed, I heard a noise that made my hair stand on end. I sounded like voices, but I was home alone? Mom and Dad were over at the neighbours. I could hear them laughing through the open window - I knew it wasn’t them.

I waited - the silence smothering me and nothing. I turned off my light and slipped down deeper under the covers and there it was again… a moan or a murmur? My ears tingled with anticipation. I strained to catch the sound, my heart pounding wildly in my chest. Nothing. I quit trying and the sound washed over me again. Another moan, another murmur and then a baby cried.

The murmuring became louder, the baby stopped crying and I heard her name, Ella. As clear as if I had said it aloud myself. Ella.

I didn’t hear the house speak to me again for over a year. I thought I dreamt the whole thing. It was about the same time of year, only this time we were getting ready to move. Dad had another new job in another new city. My room was a jumble of boxes and bags. My tormentors from school were leaving me alone for the most part. Tripping me in the hallway, or accidentally jostling me into the lockers - nothing I couldn’t handle. I was thinking about them though, because I wouldn’t get to see them - I wouldn’t get to see their expressions when they each opened their lockers in the morning to a big surprise.

I snuggled down under the covers and was about the fall asleep, when I heard the sound again. Just like last time, the hair on my head stood on end and I strained to hear more. It was quiet. Then I remembered that if I didn’t try, it came more naturally, so I relaxed.

Ella was chattering away, making sounds maybe even a mother wouldn’t be able to understand. She sounded happy. Her mother came in and Ella squealed with delight, clapping her little hands… I lay there in the dark, listening to them talk to one another, one making sense, one not so much and I smiled at how lovely it was to share this space with so much love.

In my next house, the sounds came more often and they weren’t good sounds. The sounds of doors slamming, glass breaking, shouts of anger and rage hurled around many of the rooms. My mom found me crouched behind the sofa one Saturday afternoon, crying. She wanted to know what was wrong and I tried to tell her that the house had bad memories, but she didn’t understand. She sent me to see a psychiatrist who was very curious about my life. I made up stories to keep him from finding out what was really going on. I don’t know if he bought it or if he knew I was lying. I didn’t care.

Listening to house - to the walls talk became easier as I grew more confident and less afraid of the sounds. The stories ran the gamut of life’s adventures - happiness - to sorrow - love and adoration - pain and suffering and even murder. It was this latter that got me involved with the police. I offered my help and was rebuffed many times until one detective decided that he was willing to try anything to get answers. He took me to the house. I was a little nervous - well - I was a lot nervous - so the house wouldn’t talk right away. It took some coaxing on my part before it began. I listened quietly, nodding from time to time while to detective hissed at me to tell him what was going on. I just touched my finger to my lips and listened.

Eventually, he stopped asking and went outside. When the house had given up her secrets, I met him on the front lawn and told him what the house had said. He was elated. He knew he was on the right track all the time. He felt assured that now he would get his

conviction. He found the gun - right where the house said it would be - behind the fourth brick from the floor on the right side of the fireplace. Fingerprints and the ballistic reports would seal that evil man’s fate.
I know there must be more like me out there in the world. It would be really nice to meet someone who listened to houses like I do. It’s rather lonely not being able to share my experiences - although the detective has called me more than once - wondering if I’d like to go to dinner. I think the next time he calls - I’m going to say yes - because even though he can’t hear the walls talk - he believes I can.

The World (In All Its Glory) Was In Bloom

The World (In All Its Glory) Was In Bloom

By Leslie Johnson

It was long past Groundhog Day - when the world in all its glory was in bloom. I’m on an emotional roller coaster and right now, I’m madder than a wet hen.

First off, I  caught the apple of my eye with his hand in the cookie jar. He has a face only a mother could love and it caught me off guard - again. Thankfully he wasn’t caught with his pants down. That would be a sight for sore eyes. He started giving me the old cock and bull story. How many times had I asked him to change his tune?

“All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy!” Jack started. I cut him off at the pass.

“An Idle mind is the devil’s playground you imbecile. And the early bird gets the worm.”

“Another day and another dollar is another nail in my coffin.”

“Are you a man or a mouse?”

As luck would have it, we were interrupted. It was his mother who is built like a brick shithouse. As always, she was as welcome as a skunk at a lawn party. She batted her baby blues and said, “Can’t you see his back is against the wall. Give him a break, for crying out loud. He’s a babe in the woods not bad to the bone. Don’t send him back to the salt mines.”

She turned her attention to me. “I see you’re having a bad hair day.”

If she was trying to get a rise out of me, she was barking up the wrong tree. Even though it was not the eleventh hour, I could tell she was bombed - plastered - out of her gourd, three sheets to the wind. “Get a life.” I sneered. “I believe in calling a spade a spade. Your son sits around like a bump on the log most days. If I didn’t have a bun in the oven he wouldn’t need to burn the candle at both ends. But I am - so it’s business as usual.”

“Can it.” My husband interrupted. “Cry me a river, Jill. You can’t get blood from a stone if you catch my drift.”

His mother patted his cheek, “You’re a chip off the old block.”

“As usual, it’s pretty cut and dried - isn’t it.” I snapped. “That makes me chief cook and bottle washer.”

“Now cut that out!” My father-in-law, who’s a few fries short of a happy meal, shouted. “If you want him to do something, dangle a carrot in front of him. Don’t chew him out.”

“Shut up! You all drive me crazy! And you,” I said pointing at Jack, “Are a thorn in my side. A good man is hard to find.”

“Now dear,” my father-in-law interjected, “Seriously, it’s really as easy as pie.” He was firing on all cylinders now. We were heading for a Mexican standoff. I needed to cut to the chase.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot here.” I said. It was a good rule of thumb to give a glimmer of hope to a half baked idea. I was beginning to think I should cut bait and move on to greener pastures despite the creature growing like a weed in my belly. I’ve had it up to here with this Jack of all trades and master of none. Except I know which side my bread is buttered on! I live in the land of milk and honey.

A leopard cannot change his spots. It was time to let bygones be bygones and let sleeping dogs lie. My husband can be like a bull in a china shop but love is blind. There is more to him than meets the eye. And though we are as different as night and day - as chalk and cheese - he is my knight in shining armor. I guess there is no accounting for taste. Besides, there is no place like home. I decided to take another stab at it.

“I’m not asking you to work like a dog.” I ventured.

Jack replied “There’s more than one way to skin a cat, babe.”

“True, but there’s something fishy about that.”

“You’re tugging at my heartstrings, babe. I’m gonna turn on a dime here.”

“Are you yanking my chain?”

“Nope. I’ll do it - you can take that to the bank!”

You could have knocked me over with a feather. “One man’s garbage is another man’s treasure.” I hollered as Jack took the trash out.

A View From The Tree

A View From The Tree

by Leslie Johnson

“Whoopsie Daisy! OOH! Deep breath! Deep breath. I love the roller coaster!”

“It’s not a roller coaster, you idiot.” Green Ball shouted down to me. “Mr. Davidson is moving us out of the garage.”

“Really? Wow! That means it’s almost Christmas - the most magical time of year! Whoo hoo! Oops - bumpy ride - bumpy ride. Steady as she goes, Mr. Davidson - steady now! Are we down?”

“Everybody, quick! Close your eyes!” Gold Ball barked. PPOPP! The lid to our plastic tote pulled away and light streamed into our darkness. “Slowly, now. Open your eyes. Blink - blink!”

“Wow - they’ve painted the living room since last year. I like that colour - what would you call it? Buttered Rum? Nice and look - the alcove is Moroccan Red! They look nice together. I like it. Goes so well with the faux brick wall.” Red Ball exclaimed.

“I can’t see anything - what is buttered rum?” I shouted from my place near the bottom of the tote.

“There’s the tree.” Red Bulb continued. “Gosh it’s a beauty - so full and lush. Breathe deep guys - that’s pine - isn’t it nice. The Davidsons never go with artificial - they love the real thing.”

“Would you shut up! You’d think none of us had been here before - but we have. We’ve all been here. We don’t need the commentary.” Green Ball snapped.

“Good grief, Where is your Christmas Spirit?” Gold Ball demanded. “Lighten up or you’ll be at the back of the tree where no one can see and admire you.”

The tote fell silent for a minute. “Look, the lights are on. It’s that pretty? Red Ball was back to her commentary.

“Okay, here comes Mrs. Davidson. Get ready people. It’s our turn.” Gold Ball smiled. “Be brave now - there’s plenty of room on this tree for all of us. Whoopsie Daisy!”

And he’s gone. Red goes next then Green. My tote companions disappeared one by one as Mrs. Davidson reached inside and pulled them out into the world and onto the tree. My stomach turned over with anticipation. Who was I going to be near this year? Which way would I face? I surely didn’t want the back view again - the wall. NO one wants the wall. It’s depressing to be back there - you can’t see anything and have to rely on others to tell you what’s going on. Except the cat comes by every once in awhile - she likes to hide in the back corner and bat at the lower ornaments. Bad Kitty!

Most of my fellow decorations are gone. The ribbons, the shiny balls, the hobby horses. I can count six of us now, languishing on the soft bed of cotton that lines the bottom of the tote. That’s when the world goes dark. What the….

“Guess you’re one of us now, Little Popsicle Stick Rudolf.” The half walnut shell with the cotton ball beard chuckled. “You’re no longer good enough to be on the tree.”

I was crushed. After years of hanging in the front near the top, then moving down to the bottom and finally being hung at the back of the tree - this was my destiny. To languish in the bottom of a stupid plastic tote, waiting to be thrown out. It would be better to be discarded! At least then I wouldn’t feel the pain of rejection every year. This was the worst.

We waited for the tote to be moved out of the way - muffled voices reached us but the words were unclear. “Is that Penny’s voice?” I asked, straining hard to hear.

“Don’t know.” said Walnut Santa. “I can’t make out nothing.”

The tote lid was unexpectedly pulled away. I was blinded and quickly shut my eyes. A soft hand scooped me up. “There you are!” said Penelope kindly. “Time to find you a new home. And you and you and you.” The six of us were slipped into a paper sack. We were jostled and jolted for a time before the bag was reopened. Gently Penelope pulled us out and carefully placed us on a small artificial tree. The pretend needles were more ticklish than real ones and they didn’t smell very nice. But the view was terrific.

“This is fantastic!” Walnut Santa said. “I haven’t been hung on a tree for years. I love the view!”

I looked around the room. It was small and nondescript. The furniture was shabby and worn, and there was Penny standing next to a tall, thin man I didn’t know. “See Max! They are lovely. All the little ornaments I made in elementary school. Aren’t they perfect. They are just what the tree needed.” She smiled as the man squeezed her closer.

“I’m glad your mother never tossed them out. They go nicely with the ones I made.”

I looked around, as far as my little bubble eyes would go and hanging to my upper left was a cinnamon stick star. She winked at me!  I blushed.

It really is going to be a magical Christmas - isn’t it?

Karma Is A Bitch

Karma Is a Bitch

By Leslie Johnson

Dillon tapped the steering wheel of his large Dodge half-ton, keeping time with the song on the radio. He felt good. It was Saturday night. He had dropped Suzy off at work and was now headed to his best friend’s house for some fun.

Andrew and his twin brother Aaron had recently purchased a five-bedroom house on the north side of town. Over the summer it became “Party Central”. Most weekends there were a group of no less than ten guys hanging together, shooting hoops in the backyard, ordering pizza and sitting around in the garage or out on the parking pad drinking beer. Sometimes girls were invited, but more often it was just the guys.

When they bought the house, Andrew offered to rent Dillon a room. Dillon turned it down for two reasons; he was trying to save money so living at home was a more prudent choice and although he loved Andrew like a brother, he didn’t really care for his twin. Aaron was a darker version of Andrew, more sullen and moody. He was a bit of a loner and most people would have nothing to do with him if he didn’t come as a package deal with Andrew.

Dillon drove down the street, scouting for a parking spot. Noticing there were none, he pulled into the back alley and parked along a neighbour’s fence. He felt a twinge of guilt as he slammed the door closed. He’d been told by a couple of police officers it was illegal to park there. But that was months ago and people had continued to park in the alley without consequence. He shrugged it off. He was there to have fun and besides, pleading ignorance always worked.

“Dillon!” Andrew called out. “How’s it going, man?”

“Great, bro.” Hoisting the two-four he was packing he handed it to Andrew. “The price of admission.” Andrew took the beer and stashed it inside the third old refrigerator in the garage. Then opening the first one, he tossed Dillon a cold beer.

“Suzy working?”

“Yeah. She’s coming by after work to pick me up. Then it’s back to her place…”

“You dog. You two getting serious?”

“I don’t know. She brings up the topic of living together occasionally, but I ignore it. I’m happy with things the way they are.”

“Good man! You don’t need a woman tying you down.”

“You talking about that fox you’re banging?” Aaron said as he walked up behind them. Dillon immediately bristled.

“Her name is Suzy and don’t you dare talk about her like that.”

“She’s got long blonde hair, legs that go all the way to the floor and she smells like heaven on a summer day. I’m not dissing her, I’m in love with the bitch.”

Andrew put his hand on Dillon’s arm. “Let it go. He’s just trying to get to you.” Then he turned to his brother. “You can be such an asshole, man. Grow up.”

“Grow up!” Aaron mimicked, rocking his head back and forth. Andrew rolled his eyes and pulled Dillon away.

“How can you live with that asshole.” Dillon demanded. Aaron was the only issue the boys had with each other. Neither could see the other’s side.

Andrew shrugged. “He’s my twin…”

“Yeah, I know. You’re linked together in some mystical way. I’ve heard it before. Doesn’t make him any less an asshole, though.”

“That be true.”

The housemates, Mason, Phillip and Justin and Justin's brother Tim were playing basketball in the backyard. Dillon wandered out the small side door to watch them. He pulled a lounge chair into the sun and sat down, cheering on the boys and refereeing disputed fouls and points.

As the light dimmed, the mosquitos became a nuisance. The boys finished their game and everyone moved inside. Andrew was chatting to some girls in the far corner. Aaron was sitting on a stool by himself on the parking pad out front. There were several empty cans littering the ground by his chair.

Someone had put some music on, the bass was thumping against Dillon’s chest. He loved feeling like this - like life just couldn’t get any better. He wandered over to Andrew, dragging a chair with him. The moment he saw her, Dillon’s heart dropped. Jessica. What was she doing here?

“Hi, Dillon.” She said. “Long time, eh?”

Embarrassed, Dillon nodded. “Ayup.” Under his breath, he whispered, “Not long enough.”

Jessica watched Dillon. She knew she had made an impression. She hadn’t wanted to come, but Danielle insisted. Having recently broken up with her latest boyfriend, she wasn’t in the mood for people, especially men. Still, she dressed with care, and posing in front of her mirror, she knew she looked hot and sexy. Seeing Dillon squirm only confirmed this and she smiled. Conquest!

Dillon wasn’t smitten, though. Jessica misread the signs. He was uncomfortable because she was unpredictable. He never knew what she would do next. She was beautiful, no doubt about it, but she was deadly too. She took and never gave, she demanded and never backed down. She was high maintenance. He was always terrified that she would make a fool of him.

Now alcohol is the great divider of all things; girls and their panties, men and their brains and couples find themselves on opposite sides of right and wrong.   

Dillon was no exception. A few beers later, he forgot to be afraid of Jessica.She was playing her A-game; witty, funny and charming. He began to wonder why he ever let her go. His senses numbed, he allowed himself to be lured to the far corner. With soft words, Jessica reeled him in until he was swimming in the deep blue pools of her eyes. Seduced by the beer and flattered by her attention, he was completely under her spell.

He forgot about Suzy. He even forgot he had invited her to join him when she got off work. He shrugged off his good sense and the nagging feeling that he shouldn’t be doing what he was doing.

Leaning in, lost in a haze of beer and perfume, he kissed her full lips. They parted easily, opening to a cool mouth that tasted like vodka and cranberry juice. His tongue sparred with hers and he groaned with desire. Jessica smiled. She had him right where she wanted. Nuzzling his neck, she worked him into a frenzy. He wanted her. She was so glad Danielle had insisted she come out.

A shadow fell across the entwined couple. Dillon looked up to see Suzy standing there, hands on hips, mouth set in anger. He tried to extricate himself from Jessica, but she wasn’t making it easy. “Let go!” He snapped, shoving her back. With a smirk, Jessica released him, leaned back and smiled. There was about to be a floor show and she was at the center of it.

“You bastard.” Suzy hissed.

“What, hey, it didn’t mean anything, honest.” Dillon shrugged.

“I don’t believe you. If you wanted to get back with your ex, you only had to say so.”

“I don’t… I mean... I didn’t know… what?” Dillon’s brain was too addled to make sense of what was happening.

“Really - you weren’t sticking your tongue down this tramp’s throat?”

“Hey! I am not a tramp?” Jessica sniffed, indignant.

Danielle appeared at Jessica’s side. “Come on, Jess. Let’s go and let these two talk.”

Jessica looked at Dillon. She smiled her prettiest smile, kissed her fingers and placed them on Dillon’s lips. “I’ll be right over there… lover.”

Before she managed to get up, Suzy swung her large handbag at Jessica’s head and knocked her back on the couch. Danielle immediately leaped at Suzy, grabbing a handful of hair and pulling her down.

“Get the fuck off of me, bitch!” Suzy shouted, kicking Danielle’s shin and shoving her back. Off balance, Danielle stumbled and fell to the cement floor. Pain slammed through her body. Defeated, she began to cry.

Jessica glared at Suzy. She had a lot of contempt for any woman as pretty as Suzy, especially those who had no concept of the power they had. Suzy was too nice, too decent. She didn’t deserve Dillon. Licking her lips, she tasted blood. Tenderly she patted her finger against the split on the side of her lip. “You are going to pay for this.”

“Get over yourself, bitch. Oh, and if you want this asshole so much, you can have him. I don’t fight for men - they fight for me. And I don’t need to spread my legs to get them, either.”

“You take that back!” Jessica yelled scrambling to get up. If Andrew and Aaron hadn’t arrived, the fight would have turned nasty. Andrew pushed Jessica back to the couch and Aaron pulled Suzy toward the door. His grip on her was so tight, he left a large bruise on her forearm.

“Let go, let go, let go, you asshole.” She hollered as she stumbled after Aaron. Dillon watched the whole scene unfold, helpless to move. He was ashamed of himself, embarrassed that he’d been caught. He was also furious with Jessica for playing it up, making it seem more serious than it was. And he was annoyed that Suzy was so easily willing to let him go. He thought they had something more. Grabbing another beer, he stormed out into the yard, leaving the fight to those inside.

Suzy finally managed to pull free from Aaron. She stood in the driveway, panting in fury. “What the hell?”

“Just leave,” Aaron said, pointing down the street.

“No.” She says. “I’m not leaving without Dillon.”

“Leave,” Aaron growled.

“No”

“Get out!” He shouted at the top of his lungs.

“No.” She shouted back, equally loudly.

“I’m telling you for the last time… LEAVE.”

“What have I ever done to you?”

“Get out of my house!” Aaron shouted, his red face darkening in anger.

“I’m not in your house. I’m in the driveway.” Suzy snapped. “And I’m not leaving without Dillon.”

Aaron changed tactics. “Then stay. I sure would like to get me some. I was telling Dillon earlier, what a fine woman you are.”

Suzy looked at Aaron. He repulsed her. His face was bloated from drink, his eyes unfocused and dull. There was even a little spittle hanging from his lip. She shuddered. “The only way I’d ever - ever - sleep with you is if I was dead. You disgust me.” She turned to go back into the garage. Aaron grabbed her arm and yanked her back. Wrapping her in a tight embrace he whispered in her ear. “Come on. Don’t be difficult. I know you want it.”

Panic filled her. She was terrified. Her arms were pinned to her sides. She wriggled and Aaron tightened his grip, She waited, not moving, willing him to let go. She felt his warm breath on her neck, the stench of beer choking her. He licked her neck, and Suzy went berzerk. She rocked and swivelled until she was free, then she stumbled forward, lost her balance and landed hard on the grass.

Unable to breathe, she lay there for a second before Aaron reached her. He rolled her onto her back and stuffed a piece of cloth in her mouth to prevent her screaming. She tasted grease and grit and she gagged. Aaron sat astride her, laughing as she bucked and twisted in an effort to throw him off. He wasn't going anywhere, he was too heavy.

Seconds later, she collapsed under him, exhausted. She couldn't catch her breath, the rag was choking her. With her eyes, she implored Aaron to let her go. He only smiled, his hands wandering under her shirt. With a quick jerk, he shoved her bra up, exposing her breasts to the night air. Fear twisted her mind and she knew she was going to be raped. Where were Dillon and Andrew? Why wasn’t someone coming to rescue her?

A second after she thought all was lost, the weight on her chest disappeared. Her hands now free, she plucked the rag from her mouth and drew in a huge breath. Turning over on her side, it took her a moment to notice Aaron hanging by the neck of his shirt at the end of Dillon’s huge hand. Then Aaron was stumbling backward, disappearing in the darkness next to the house. Dillon looked at her, reaching down to pull her shirt over her breasts. “I’m sorry, babe. This is all my fault.” He offered her a hand to pull her up. Before she could take it, he crumpled to the ground beside her.

She looked up. Aaron was standing there with a large blade. She could make out a drop of something dark falling from the tip. She screamed, over and over. Lights in a few houses came on. Aaron stood there, not moving, glaring at Dillon.

Dillon groaned loudly. Suzy scrambled to help him. There was a lot of blood. “Someone, help. Anyone. Please.” She shouted. Andrew rushed out of the garage. He took one look at the scene, his heart sinking.

“Aaron, what have you done?”

Aaron didn’t move. He stood there, staring at Dillon. Sirens screamed from a distance, getting closer and closer. Jessica and the others came out to stand on the driveway. They huddled together, watching. Some were in tears, some were dry-eyed, but none were able to look away.

A police car rolled to a stop, doors flying open. The officers jumped out, guns pointing at Aaron. “Drop the weapon, son.” Aaron didn’t move. “I said drop the weapon!”

Aaron looked up. Then he looked back at the knife. He let it go. A split second later, he was on the ground, his arms pulled tightly behind his back. Cold steel shackled his hands before he was pulled roughly to his feet and propelled across the yard to the car.

An ambulance pulled up. The attendants shouted at Suzy to move back. Andrew stepped up and pulled her away. The two medical professionals went to work, assessing their patient's condition. One of them pulled a mask over Dillon’s face. They worked diligently and in tandem to stabilize the victim. On the count of three, they lifted him onto the stretcher and rolled him into the back of the ambulance. With lights flashing and the siren wailing plaintively, it sped away.

Neighbours gathered in the driveway across the street, talking among themselves as the police took statements from the people at the party house. Restlessly, they moved around, uncomfortable with this new reality on their once quiet street. When ambulance left, many of the neighbours wandered back to their homes. A few die-hards hauled out lawn chairs and sat, watching and talking among themselves.

Back across the street, the scene was more chaotic. Unable to leave, the young people moved from pillar to post, talking and hugging, unable to make sense of what happened. All they wanted to do was leave - to put this horrible night behind them.

Parents began to arrive. Panicked voices shouted names as they hurried from poorly parked vehicles. Painful cries rose up in reply as the child ran toward their parents. The crowd swelled and disbanded in small clusters as relieved parents hauled their offspring home. All were thankful it wasn’t their child taken by ambulance.

Jessica stood off by herself watching the forensic team at work. She was gnawing on her thumbnail, oblivious to the blood she’d drawn. She blamed herself for the horrific unfolding of events. She deliberately and maliciously pursued Dillon to make herself feel better. She knew he was dating someone but she didn’t care. When she met Suzy, the jealousy she felt enhanced the feelings of worthlessness she hid beneath her manicured appearance. If she hadn’t pursued Dillon, if she hadn’t antagonized Suzy, maybe none of this would have happened she told herself over and over.

Just inside the garage, an older policeman was talking to Suzy and scribbling notes on a small pad. Suzy was leaning forward from the edge of a stool someone had found for her. She was loosely cocooned in a thick, gray blanket, yet she continued to shiver violently. From a distance, she looked composed, though her face was streaked with makeup. Her parents stood a short distance away, wrapped together in solidarity and watching their daughter closely.

A younger policeman came in and signalled the older officer. The two conferred with one another. Then the older man turned to the group. In a voice loud enough for all to hear, he said, “It is my unfortunate duty to have to tell you that Dillon didn’t make it. He was pronounced moments ago. I am sorry for your loss.”

Jessica let out a wail that caused the hair on the young officer’s arms to stand up. He rushed to her side and drew her over to a chair, where she sat, sobbing loudly. He tried to elicit some contact information from her, but she refused to give him any phone numbers. She didn’t want her mother coming and her father wasn’t in the picture. He was adamant that she shouldn’t be alone, but she stubbornly refused to offer herself any comfort.

Suzy fainted at the news, falling forward off the stool onto the floor. Her fall was softened by the bulk of the large gray blanket. The policeman lifted her onto the couch across the room. Her parents sat beside her, tapping and patting her into consciousness. Once revived, she was inconsolable. They wrapped her tightly in the blanket and rushed her to the hospital. A sedative was administered, numbing and lulling her into a near catatonic state. They took her home to her childhood bedroom.

Andrew lost all the colour in his face and crumpled to the floor, not really wanting to believe his friend was gone. He also thought about his brother, worried about his welfare. Was he okay? He realized that he needed to call his parents. He needed to tell them Aaron was in jail; charged with murder and attempted rape. There would be wailing and gnashing of teeth there too.

As Andrew listened to his father's rage and shame, his insides shrivelled to dust. His father laid the blame squarely on his shoulders. "You should have been in charge. You know your brother. How could you let things get out of control? This is all your fault!"

Horrified by the events of the evening, Andrew still felt it was his duty to go with the police to inform Dillon’s parents that their son was dead. Upon hearing the news, DIllon’s father leaped at Andrew.

“You sorry, son of a bitch. This is all your fault. Your damned brother has always been wrong in the head. Your parents should have had him locked up years ago. Dillon was afraid of him. He used to tell us that and now he’s dead. Why didn’t you keep an eye on him. You knew too - didn’t you? You knew he was dangerous and you did nothing!”

The two officers pulled Dillon’s father off. They asked him to sit down. He rocked back and forth a bit but finally did as he was told. With dramatic flair, he dropped his head into his hands and started to wail. Dillon’s mother, still sitting at the kitchen table reached her hand out and placed it on the top of his head. There were no tears in her eyes, she looked like she didn’t know what happened. The police had seen this before and knew that she would fall into a pit of despair the moment she let the news in.

“Is there someone we can call? Someone who can come and be with you?”

Dillon’s mother looked up blankly. In a flat, emotionless voice she said, “Oh, yes. I suppose you could call my sister. She lives across town. She’s on speed dial - the first name after the emergency numbers. The officer placed the call and when the sister arrived, they left.

Andrew had moved back against the wall. He hadn’t offered a word in his own defence to the accusations of his failure. He took the shaking as his punishment, almost wishing Dillon's dad had hit him. It might have brought some relief to the pent up anguish he felt inside.

The police dropped him back at the house. A sharp pain ran through him when he saw Dillon’s truck parked against the neighbour’s fence. He needed to move it but he knew he had no means to. Walking up the driveway toward the front door, he stopped to look at the patch of lawn where it had happened. His stomach churned as he relived the sight of his friend laying on the ground, his brother standing over him with a bloody knife in his hand.

Who had called the police? He couldn’t remember. It was all a blur except for that scene. That one stayed with him. It took months before he could sleep without seeing that picture when he closed his eyes. The frequency slowed and then increased again during the trial.

Aaron was found guilty and sentenced to twenty-five to life without the chance of parole for ten years. Andrew watched as they walked his brother out the door in handcuffs. He hadn’t spoken to him since that night and had no intentions of doing so again. He had lost his best friend and his brother and he wasn’t ready to forgive any of it.

Suzy went to live with a cousin in Edmonton a few months after the funeral. She came home to testify at Aaron’s trial. Sitting on the stand, her short blonde tresses wispy around her face, she relived the horror of that night again.

Back in Edmonton, it took her a long time to move on. She didn’t date anyone for two more years and eventually met a man who reminded her of Dillon. They married within three months, against the protests of her parents. The union lasted less than a year. With the end of her marriage, she finally conceded that counselling might be needed..

Jessica struggled a lot. She found comfort by visiting Andrew and eventually the two fell in love and got married. Many spoke against them, pronouncing nothing but doom and gloom for their future. They proved the naysayers wrong and lived quite contentedly together. They bought a house in a nice neighbourhood and began raising their family. There were no issues they didn’t manage to overcome until a nearby house was sold to a bunch of young boys.

The party house on the corner served to dredge up memories for the couple. The shouting in the middle of the night, caused Jessica to experience heart palpitations. Andrew started seeing the scene of Dillon, dead on the lawn again. He walked down the street and tried to talk to the young men, to let them know that their behaviour was disrespectful to the rest of the neighbourhood. The boys reacted just like he and Aaron had all those years ago. They told Andrew to mind his own business using the vocabulary of the gutter.

A “For Sale” sign went into the lawn on Andrew and Jessica’s house within the week. Karma is a bitch - ain’t she?