After lunch, I asked my dad if he would drive for the last leg of the trip.

“Sure, Sam. Take a rest for a few hours.” He suggested.

Kate sat in the back with my mom, who slept most of the morning. I sat in the front passenger seat and sent some important texts, in lieu of not wanting to talk to anyone at the moment. Kate read one of her books she bought, which took her mind off of things for a while.

I texted Chief Williams to let him know we were on our way to Vegas, some five hours away. I mentioned the help from Detective Wilcox after the kidnapping. I then texted Lydia Tate and told her about my incident last night in seeing how they killed Celeste. Tate replied with a request for me to call her later in the afternoon so we could discuss it, to which I happily agreed. Needless to say, I didn’t want my parents worrying about my last night. I closed my eyes and sensed Celeste’s energy and concentrated on speaking with her. To my surprise, my parents hadn’t said much about traveling with Celeste, given what they saw she’s capable of. Kate and I were used to it. I asked Celeste about the mine incident all those years ago.

“You’d think those bastards would have at least told me why, but they didn’t tell me anything besides what to do. Brother Pete held a gun to my head so it was clear I was going to die either way. I just had to choose. Didn’t matter which one I chose if the outcome was my death,” Celeste said. “Come to think of it, I don’t think Pete had the courage to pull the trigger. That’s probably why he had Rhone light the fuse. And his cowardly ass ran for cover. Lily walked out.”

My mom turned to Kate, squinted her eyes and leaned to the right. “I thought I heard some whispering. Did you say anything Kate?”

Kate denied saying anything. “No, I thought you said something. I heard the whispering too. I couldn’t make it out though.” They both looked at me.

“What’s going on, Sam?” Mom asked.

I looked back, “Huh—sorry, I was talking to Celeste about her death. The whispers you heard were her talking.”

“Oh okay. You weren’t saying anything, Sam?” Mom asked.

“I’m talking to her with my mind,” I said, as he pointed to my head.

Mom shook her head and leaned back in confusion.

“It’s okay, Denise. We’re all still getting used to his gifts and powers,” Kate said.

“Maybe in this lifetime, I will,” Mom said. She took a drink of her soda.

Sorry about that, Celeste. I can’t imagine the horror you faced. Nothing I can say will ease your pain and anger. I am terribly sorry for what they did to you. You remind me of another one of their victims, Jill Sanders. She had the voice of an angel. Rhone switched a box of tea bags in her dad’s shopping cart when he wasn’t looking. That’s how Jill and her dad were murdered—poisoned, basically.

“That sounds like them. They’ll do anything their Master tells them to do, including hurting innocent people. That’s all I can remember really.” I had an inclination that Celeste remembered much more than she let on about. The last thing a spirit wants to relive is how they died, especially in a violent manner.

I didn’t ask her anything further. “Thank you for telling me all that. It was a big help. Celeste, I’m making the same promise I made to Jill Sanders, which is to find Pete and Lily and put them in jail.”

Celeste smiled at hearing my promise. “That’s the first time anyone has ever cared enough to do something about my murder. Every time I tried to tell anyone whose energy I was attracted to, I was ignored like I didn’t matter.”

“Our paths crossed for a reason, Celeste. I don’t question that reason. I just go with it,” I said. That’s all I could do. I didn’t ask for them to find me, let alone interact with me.

“You have no idea what that means to me, Detective Riley. To be seen. To be heard. All I want is to get justice. That’s only fair.” Celeste shook her head with a slight mix of both sadness and anger on her face.

She had a slight redemption in her soul. Maybe that’s all she needed to keep going? She was one tough cookie, I’ll say that. Most, including humans, would have given up by now. “We’re trying to do just that,” I said as I closed my eyes. I texted Kate that Celeste didn’t know why they killed her.

“We’ll find out soon, Sam,” Kate said.

I dozed off somewhere between Flagstaff and Las Vegas.

Dad woke me up about thirty minutes outside of Vegas when he stopped to get gas.

I brought up the GPS directions to Vegas for my dad, but he handed me the keys.

“Oh, no!!! We’re switching spots, Sam. You’re driving in Vegas traffic,” Dad said as he got out of the truck and went inside with my mom.

“Sure, Dad.” I decided to call Lydia later in the evening when we settled into our hotel room.

Ten minutes later, I got back on the Interstate. “Vegas—final stop.”

Kate was back up front, and my parents sat in the back.

Forty-five minutes later, I braved the traffic and took the exit onto South Las Vegas Boulevard and drove down to the Bellagio Hotel & Casino. I pulled into the parking lot and found a great spot near the front entrance.

“Welcome to Las Vegas,” I said to Kate and my parents. “Viva Las Vegas!”

Jester parked a few spots away and quickly joined us.

7:10 p.m.

“Finally here,” Mom said.

“Before we get out to go check in, we need to decide if we want separate rooms, in case they have spies watching us or do we want one suite with two bedrooms and a separate room for Jester?” I asked.

“One suite with two rooms is better for us. We can watch over each other better. That other guy, he’s better off on another floor, and so are we,” Mom said adamantly.

I looked out Kate’s window and saw Jester getting his suitcases out of his trunk. I thought about what my mother said. I figured Jester could be the wild card and keep his distance from any spies. Walk among snakes without being bit. God only knows who Dockson and Rhone shared my picture with. Certainly, the Master.

“We’ll go with mom’s idea for safety. This is our OK-Corral and we’re the Earps and Jester is Doc Holliday.” I realized that was an unfair comparison to Doc but maybe Jester could prove his loyalty in the coming days. If ever there was a time we needed it, it was now!

My dad laughed at my analogy of the situation. “Good one, Sam!”

“Thanks Dad!” I paused and decided to go in alone to get a suite and a spare room for Jester. “Come to think of it. I’ll be right back. Everyone stay put.” I walked over to Jester and told him to wait until I returned with his room key. I went to the front desk and got a two-room suite and a smaller, cheaper room for Jester, through Saturday with the option of staying another night or two.

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“What’s your policy on guest privacy?” I showed Monica, the hotel clerk, my badge and told her that I was in Las Vegas for official police business.

“Absolutely. It’s hotel policy to keep guests’ information confidential, unless it’s important, such as inquiries from law enforcement.”

“Good. We need as much secrecy as possible for obvious reasons. It’s a matter of life or death.”

“I understand, Sir,” Monica declared, handing me my room key cards and receipt. “If you want, I can check you in under a false name for privacy.”

“You can do that here?” I asked curiously.

“Absolutely. We did that for a famous singer/songwriter last week in fact.”

“You don’t say?” I smiled at Monica. “Yeah, please do.” I gave Monica my alter ego’s name.

I put the four room keys in my left pocket and Jester’s keys in his right pocket. “Thank you so much, Monica. You’ve been such a great help.”

“You’re welcome Mr. Riley. My pleasure!”

“You have a nice evening, Monica.”

I took a short walk through the lobby and looked at the signs above to find out where everything was in the Bellagio. I overcame his excitement of being in such a luxurious and famous hotel and made my way back to my truck to get everyone to their rooms for the evening.

“Here’s your keys, Mac. Room 509.” I said, handing him his card.

“We’re in a suite upstairs. That’s all I can tell you right now. We have to be covert and pretend like we’re spies.”

“That’s a good idea, Mr. Riley. Thanks for the room,” Jester said.

“Meet us in the lobby at 8 for dinner.” I told Jester to go on ahead to his room to avoid suspicion.

“Alright.” Jester shook his head and walked to his room.

I hit the driver’s side of his truck, and everyone got out. I pulled the luggage out of the back and sat it on the ground. I locked up the truck when everyone got their bags and belongings out.

We slowly made our way through the lobby, admiring the decorum and elegance. We took the elevator to our suite and settled in for the night.

“Not bad,” Dad said. “Hope the food is as good as the scenery.”

“This is gorgeous. A real classy place,” Mom said.

Kate was all smiles as she looked around the room. “Absolutely beautiful! Better than the other hotels.

I brought our bags into the room and sat them on the bench at the foot of the bed. Kate and I settled in before going to dinner at one of the restaurants downstairs. I admired the view of the strip from the window. “What an incredible view, Kate!”

Kate joined me to see the view. “Yes, it is. I’m glad we get to share this moment, Sam. Another first for us.”

I hugged her as we enjoyed looking out the window. “How about dinner?”

“In a bit. Let’s just enjoy this moment,” Kate said.

My parents were busy in the other room putting their clothes up and plugging in their chargers. Finding their favorite channels on the TV. Setting up home away from home.

I changed from casual clothes to a purple dress shirt and black dress pants. “Alright, crew, dinner awaits. We’ll decide when we see all the options downstairs,” I said, as I put on my gray coat.

Jester saw us as we got off the elevator.

“Mac, let’s eat, man!” I said as I waved him over.

“Evening all,” Jester said.

“Evening, Mr. Jester,” Dad said.

“So, what sounds good? Seafood? The Buffet?” I asked.

“Doesn’t matter to me,” Kate said.

“You pick, Sam. You’re running the show,” Dad said.

“Prime Steakhouse it is,” I declared.

When I finished eating the best steak I’ve ever eaten, I placed my napkin over the T-bone steak bone on my plate and pushed it forward. “Thanks for coming with us to Las Vegas. I know it hasn’t been easy, but I do appreciate everyone sitting at this table. Tomorrow, we start doing our work before that damn dinner they want me to attend. I don’t want to go, but it was kind of my idea–jokingly, of course. It’s worth a shot to get the upper hand on them as they try to keep their upper hand against me. Besides, they want me, not any of you. If I don’t, I risk jeopardizing your safety and wellbeing.”

“That’s only fair, Mr. Riley. I’m here to help in any way I can.”

“Thank you, Mac. I’ll let you know tomorrow what we need to do. We’re here for a few days so we have time. We need to be ready in case anything happens, and I know it will.”

After dinner, everyone went back to the suite. After Jester got off the elevator, I got a sudden headache and was caught in another one of the spells as I call them. I froze against the elevator wall and looked to my left, at my mom.

“Sam, are you okay,” Mom asked.

Instead of answering my mother, I rubbed my head and looked at the wall.

“Not again,” Kate said as she grabbed my hand. “Sam, can you hear me?”

“Again?” Mom asked.

I started breathing heavy sighs and sounds, as I tensed up my neck muscles for about a minute. I saw visions of a body on the ground, surrounded by a couch and a coffee table. Someone with a black glove raised a hand up and cut off a thumb. I noticed the body didn’t move when the thumb was cut off. “George!” I said, in a muffled tone. I then saw the gloved hand open a small plastic bag and put the thumb inside. Betsy Riddle stood up and saw her reflection in the mirror but paused when she noticed something off about her appearance. The vision ended there in darkness as I came too and was back in the elevator with my parents and Kate.

Kate told my parents that I had one the night before in Albuquerque.

“Oh, really? Why didn’t you tell us, boy?” Dad blurted out.

Mom tugged my shoulders and called my name again. “Sam, what’s going on?”

Dad shook me out of the spell as I caught my breath and coughed.

“Stop, stop! I’m okay,” I said.

“What the hell was that, Sam? Your eyes almost rolled into the back of your head,” Mom asked.

I looked around at my parents and Kate. “Sorry you had to see that. I didn’t want anyone to worry. That’s why I didn’t tell you,” I said to my mom.

“Kate, you should have told us,” Mom said.

“I know I should have.” Kate shook her head. “Sam told me not to say anything.”

“Don’t blame her for this. I’m the one who kept it quiet for a reason, mom,” I said.

“What did you see this time?” Kate asked.

“Betsy Riddle cutting off George Nettles’ thumb. She looked in the mirror like she saw someone else, looking at her. That’s all I saw,” I said.

I caught my breath and told my parents I needed fresh air.

Mom gave me a big hug. “You want us to go with you, Sam?”

“No, Mom. I’m okay now. You two go on up to the suite and we’ll be up in a little while.”

“Okay, Sam. You call us if you need us,” Dad said with a serious look on his face. My parents got off the elevator and went back to the suite.

“We’ll see you later,” I said.

“I’m really worried about him, Gerald,” Mom said, stopping in the middle of the hallway.

“I am too, Denise, but what can we do? He’s going to do what he needs to do. We just have to be there for him. He’s our son, above all else.”

“I know. That’s what worries me,” Mom said. She looked back at the elevator and then at my dad. “Come on, Gerald. We need some fresh air too.”

“What are we doing, Denise?”

“We’ll take the stairs to another floor and get on the elevator,” Mom said.

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Introduce a clear problem, gather your "data" (clues), form theories, and then test them through character actions or plot developments. Let false leads be failed experiments, not just red herrings.

The 3rd Rule: Master of Disguise and Deception!

Holmes often goes undercover, adopting different personas to gather information or observe suspects without revealing his true identity. He understands human nature and how to manipulate perceptions.

How to Use It: Give Tools to Your Characters

Equip your detective with social intelligence, acting skills, or a network of secret informants in town. How do they get information when direct questioning fails?
Sometimes the best way to find the truth is to hide in plain sight.

The 4th Rule: Indispensable Sidekick

Dr. Watson isn't just a narrator; he's a foil. His more conventional mind highlights extraordinary intellect of Holmes, and his reactions ground the brilliant but often detached detective.

How to Use It: Create a Perfect Dynamic Duo!

Your MC doesn't need to be alone. A sidekick can provide exposition, ask the questions the reader has, and offer emotional contrast. They make your hero more relatable and their brilliance more apparent.

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Growing up in the coastal Northern California town of Rio City, my four-bedroom, blue house was three blocks from the ocean—past a drug store and sitting atop the hill on Maple Street. My sister, Nacey, and I shared a room growing up. One of my favorite things to do in Rio City was strolling down to the beach before sunset and let the moon guide me past the two stop signs before I stepped foot on the sidewalk leading up to my front door on Maple Street.

I felt safe walking home in the moonlight—like the moon was a protector of sorts, both shining a path and watching over me. I’ve lost count of how many times I peered over my right shoulder, smiling at the moon and hoping for a wink back from the Man in the Moon. This is where I can say my fascination with the moon and space began as a ten-year-old, curly-haired, freckle-faced runt of a kid named Natty Rafferty. Today, twenty years later, I go by U.S. Army Sergeant, Natasha Rafferty.

Luckily, I wasn’t the only one who shared a renewed sense of enthusiasm for living on the lunar surface one day—a kid’s dream at best. Reruns of space sci-fi shows from the 90’s. Probably for different reasons, most likely. Money versus human achievement—a renewed sense of pride in an American-dominated space race. “Hey, we did that as a country!” versus “How much leverage, power and influence will this give us in future space exploration?” Which begs the question—how did we get to where we are in 2024? Well, this time, an optimistic young president didn’t give a speech during his inauguration calling for his country to set up a colony on the lunar surface. Oh, no! Those days were long gone, I’m afraid.

In the early quarter of the twenty-first century, a bunch of private space travel and exploration businesses and corporate executives took on that role on and literally, the sky was, was, is and will be the limit. The newly-formed American Lunar League, (ALL), a group of scientists, doctors, mechanics, engineers, armed forces personnel and support staff—logistics, cooks, maintenance, was created under the Lunar Colonization Act of 2015. The LCA required the United States Government to build permanent American colonies on the moon by the year 2030, and to serve American interests in space.

The past nine years, various NASA missions, in cooperation with Duggar Mining Industries (DMI),

America constructed the American Lunar Base, (ALB), piece by piece. The inhabitants now refer to ALB, affectionately, as Moon Base One. The League shared part of the base with DMI. Our side did the science research and mapping the lunar surface up close. The DMI side did mostly mining over there, I would assume.

I hear there’s an unofficial rule the door between the two bases stayed shut and locked. Each side of the base—the ALB side and DMI base—Eagle Base—are independent of the other. Such a divide, if true, only begs the question: are we shit out of luck when an emergency happens and we need their help? Are they shit out of luck when they need our help? Quandaries like this went through my mind on the long, three-day voyage from Earth to our Moon.

I was selected to be a member of the League, as part of a special moon mission role—Search and Rescue. The selection process was extremely rigorous—thousands of qualified applicants from all careers, itching to put on that helmet. In the several orientation and training days, I learned there was even a magician and a carnival ride operator applied to join the ALL.

I guess I had earned my spot or someone at the Pentagon thought I’d be a great addition to the American team. Not to brag about myself but I suppose saving fifteen soldiers from a combat zone does give me the proverbial edge when considering who makes the list. What exactly I’d be doing on the Moon was unclear to me, maybe classified, but I hoped to be outside our base, suited up in a different color than the various shades of gray the moon dust settled in. Red is my color and search and rescue operations is my specialty background. Even though there’s not anyone or anything needing a swift rescue per se nor do I expect such a scenario would arise, my secret hope is one where I’d like the chance to run SAR scenarios for the experience, which will be tough without unlimited oxygen and a snug fit into a seventy-five-pound suit.

My nightmare scenario is where I get stuck outside in a pile of moon dust, with a broken bone or suffocating without oxygen due to a ruptured tank, yards away from the entrance. Perhaps I’m a sucker for punishment because not only do I ignore my gut feeling and play on danger and death’s playground, but the risks are extremely high and deadly in the lunar environment, with or without me. In reality, I didn’t know what to expect being the inaugural class of the American Lunar League, residing and working on the moon.

Our maiden voyage on The Moonshadow launched from Cape Canaveral, Florida, began on the morning of Friday, March 15th and lasted about three days. Moonshadow carried a select number of passengers—a few from each League job field, as well as pallet loads of cargo supplies and crew luggage. The Moonshadow shuttle was redesigned to make space travel more “astro-friendly.” A few small, snug rooms with two bunk beds, for rest. Our Commander, Colonel Abigail Freeze, had a bigger room on the shuttle, even her own bathroom, which I envied, compared to the small, hole-in-the-wall, public toilet off to the side of the shuttle. I hoped our living quarters would be at least that of a small dorm room, with a shower and a toilet but we shared those two amenities among the ALL crew. Sacrifice a little for the comforts of the many.

The voyage to the lunar surface was a trying time for not only me but the rest of the crew. The sleep arrangements didn’t help and it was hit or miss with conversations we struck up with one another. The female sleeping quarters had three rows of bunk beds next to each other, bolted into the floor to keep the beds from moving. Same with the male sleeping quarters. Most of us kept to ourselves unless we had to be social.

I sat at the end of my bottom bed, alone in the shared sleeping quarters, looking at the blank screen of my phone. My line of sight led me peak my head up a notch and I noticed the dark shadows floating under, but away from my door, out into the main passenger area. Our assigned seats were not as comfortable as we were led to believe—no reclining option, which I despised within two or three hours into the trip, sitting straight like Queen Elizabeth on the royal thrown.

In true Natty-Raff form, my curiosity, rather my annoyance, got me off the bed to open the door. What is going on out there? I quietly wondered. My right eye met the slim patch of light shining in from the outside hallway, as I slowly opened the door to complete, deafening silence as the ringing in my ears got louder. Outside, drops of dime-sized blood formed a trail leading down the corridor. I looked up and down the hallway with shock. Now, my curiosity took over as hero Natasha picked up the scent, and it was time to hound or pound.

With my socks showering my feet, I pranced faster around the tile floor, as I avoided getting blood on my socks. However, the blood drips increased and finally swelled into pools of blood all connected by smaller streams, like some macabre or gruesome, blood-splattered crime scene artwork by some psycho serial killer.

My panic intensified with every step–quicker and deliberate. The words ‘Search and Rescue’ appeared on both sides of the hallway as I scurried past the blood. My socks had soaked up so much squishy blood, my feet looked like I had two candy canes across them. I didn’t, nor couldn’t, acknowledge the extreme discomfort I felt between my toes as I crept closer, casing the hallways, calling out and cutting corners, as if I were Cassie Crane in those old, spy thriller-crime shows from the late 80’s and early 90’s.

The last thing I wanted to do was attract something with the capability and desire to tear me to shreds like scissors cutting paper. But in true horror-movie mistake fashion, my verbal calls invited trouble I didn’t want. A monster in a blook-soaked space suit, crawling upside down on the ceiling, droopy black eyes fixated on me, advanced my way. Tongue jiggling and thrashing left to right like a loose electrical wire pulled from the power line, through and around its long, sharp teeth like weaving in and out of traffic. One arm extending out before the other. Loud clinks and clanks echoed out, as long, sharp nails poking through the suit’s gloves, clasped the ceiling with every move towards me. And this suited creature was coming in too hot, as I retreated as quickly as I could.

I don’t know how I managed to peel my eyes off of this monster long enough to notice the words, ‘RESCUE AND RUN’ appeared on the wall next to me. How I processed those words so quickly was nothing short of a miracle. ‘RUN’ was the only word on my brain. The hideousness charging towards me backed me up even further down the hall, back the way I came, as another hideous, suited-monster screeched around the corner on my left. Crawling like spiders—only human but just as thirsty for human flesh and blood. A third suit popped around the right corner with a busted glass helmet visor, featuring a decomposed face, biting and writhing around as it got closer. All three crept up to the same distance away from me and stopped, like lions before pouncing on prey, as I backed up slowly.

All three suits charged right at me at lightning speed as I suddenly found myself in a different part of the base. Too bright and white for a spaceship, almost blinding me as I struggled to find the way to go. But just my luck, I wasn’t in a better place. I saw more blood and suits laying on the floor. Motionless, lifeless corpses being fed upon—a botched dissection gone horribly cannibalistic. The zombie in the suit looked at me with lifeless, black eyes as it chewed on human insides and intestines. The blank look on the zombie’s face, mouth chewing at a steady pace as it stared a hole through me.

A growling voice called out, “NATASHA IS NEXT!!!” I woke up with a quick scream, covered in sweat, sprawled out on my bottom bunk. I struggled to calm myself down with slower breaths, as my heart raced from the adrenaline from this dream. “Get it together, Nat,” I sighed out into the lonely void. Something my sister, Nacey, always said to me, growing up. I often repeated her words at the weirdest times, usually after something hellacious or weird happens. Or when I’m thrown into those “save yourself” moments I‘ve made a career of.

“SERGEANT RAFFERTY!!!” Captain Rochelle Rogers called down to me from the top bunk. “SERGEANT NATASHA RAFFERTY!”

I heard Capt. Rogers’ voice from above and I snapped out of my post-dream rehab. I slowly sprung up from dream recovery. My moaning and thrashing around must have tipped off Capt. Rogers, reading her book on moon folklore in world cultures. She jumped down and shook my arm a few seconds. “Natasha, You had a bad dream.” I admit I wasn’t used to hearing Capt. Rogers using my first name in casual conversation. And we we’re not officially on duty while en route to our destination. However, I considered every second of our trip to and time on the moon as being on duty. “No shit, Captain Rogers. I sure as hell was. Good call! “ I sat up, rubbed my eyes and took a deep breath.“You okay, Sergeant?” Captain Rogers asked calmly.

“Fine as wine, Captain Rogers.”

“No drinking on duty. Try again, Sergeant.” Capt. Rogers laughed.

I sighed. You just had to ask. “Bad dream. Another nightmare. This one was different.” I rested my elbows on my knees and caressed my forehead.

Capt. Rogers knelt down in front of me. “Wanna tell me about it, Raff?” She leaned into the habit of misreading the writing on the wall, outside of our working relationship. Often taking it a little too far than what I was comfortable with.

I didn’t know if she was trying to mentor me under her wing or if it was a look-out-for-me-like-a-little-sister type of thing. Or something more personal. I preferred to keep things professional, although it was nice to have someone to care enough about you. I looked Captain Rogers in the eyes, shook my head and took a deep breath. “This one was different. Like someone or something was trying to tell me something but maybe I didn’t catch it or wasn’t paying attention. Who pays attention to their dreams longer than a few minutes?”

“That’s the universe telling you to wake up before you woke yourself up in a screaming fit,” Capt. Rogers said.

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“Nice try, but no. I saw you as a zombie in a space suit, eating the insides of Major Scopes. You were chewing on his intestines when you looked at me,” I said. “Blood running down your chin and all over your face.”

“Wow! Well don’t tell the Major this. He’ll bust my chops for sure.”

“Don’t worry. I want to forget everything more than you,” I said.

“Good. I owe you, Sergeant,” Capt. Rogers declared.

“Already making promises and were not even on the moon yet,” I said as I stood up slowly.

Capt. Rogers flashed me a curious look and smiled as she stood up also.

Knowing what she might do next, knowing what I do best, I rescued myself from an awkward situation. “I’ve been couped up in here for too long. I should probably explore the ship and be a little social. See how Colonel Freeze is doing.”

“Not a bad idea,” Capt. Rogers said, shaking her head in disbelief.

I sat down and put my boots on. I couldn’t shake my dream, but I had to try. Hell, I’d relish the chance to play checkers with salt and ketchup packets on the floor if it took my mind off of that frightmare. That damn thing lingered like a haunting spirit. I charged out of the shared room and made my way up the ten, ice-cold, steel ladder rungs to the cockpit. I’m surprised I didn’t lose my grip around the eighth rung and fall on my ass. I stood at the top of the stairs, overlooking the passenger area and cargo hold. A row of green metal chairs lined up against the right side of the Moonshadow. Members of the League that sat in the passenger area, either sleeping, reading or staring around the ship, is when the realization hit me, Natasha Rafferty, that I was heading for the moon. Throughout our trip, I had to remind myself of how fortunate I was for this historic opportunity.

A few more steps and I strolled into the cockpit, next to one of the pilots’ looking out into space. The moon was positioned in the upper left-hand corner of the ship’s wide window. I couldn’t take my eyes off the big, shiny ball. Those few seconds the moon had my attention, I felt my heart melt in all its splendor and beauty.

“Mr. Pilot man, may I inquire as to our time of arrival?” I asked calmly.

Ned Harper, the curly red-haired pilot for both NASA and DMI, swirled his head around at me with curiosity. “Why—you have a hot date, missy?”

“Not with anyone I know!” I chimed back. Hell of a way to start a conversation!!

“What a crime!” He snapped back. “Are you on medication and need to get there ASAP? Is that what you’re telling me, missy?” Ned shook his head at me. “I hear you but I’m trying my best.”

I dodged his insult with one of my own. “Well, I am now on anti-bitch pills but, anyone could set me off. I hate it for other people around me when I have an episode,” I said, with a slight smile.

Ned turned away from me and pretended to check on the ships’ flight instruments. “Long way home—talk about space terror,” he muttered under his breath before he let out a cheesy, high-pitched laugh. “Those poor bastards.” He shook his head in what I assume was the same brand of bullshit he regularly dealt out. Just strong enough to sting but not toxic as venom. “Nah, we’ll be there this time tomorrow,” Ned said.

“Great!” I said sarcastically. I glanced up at the clock on the backside of the cockpit. Eight o’clock p.m., D.C time. “Not soon enough! You don’t have warp speed on this thing,” I asked, as I stood behind the right side of the pilot’s chair.

Ned’s quick and snappy sarcasm came alive. “Warp speed!! Do we ever!!” He looked at me and told me to hold on to his chair. What will that do? I lunged my arms around the back of his chair, as he grabbed the controls in preparation to jump into hyper speed. “Five-four-three-two-Nah, I’m just kidding,” Ned declared with another screeching laugh.

“That was good, ya asshole!” I declared.

“There’s no such thing as warp drive yet.” He laughed at me still holding the seat straps in my hands for dear life, with a finger point. “This ain’t Star Trek. It’s still the 21st century.” Ned laughed again, peeking over his right shoulder.

“Good one, pilot,” I said. I was angrier at myself for falling into his joke trap than knowing there was no such thing as warp-drive. I dropped the seat buckle straps, as a clinking sound welcomed the serious look I gave him—the one he hadn’t seen in a while. “You’re fucking with me!”

He smiled at me, “Yeah, totally!” and looked back out the window. “You thought I was serious, girl! That’s precious,” he said with the side flaps of his pilot cap swinging with every head turn. “Come back later and I’ll show you how the windshield wipers work, ya,” Ned shouted as I approached the ladder.

“These goddamn pilots with their smartass—I swear!!” I muttered before descending down the short stairs and ladder rungs, to the main floor, below the cockpit. I paused when I stepped off the cold ladder and glanced out at my colleagues spread out in different seats, sitting like a rollercoaster ride zipping through the air.

I admired Colonel Freeze more than anyone. I knew I had a great chance to fulfill my potential during my tour.

Colonel Freeze sat alone in the passengers area with a pile of binders and papers stacked up around her—some on the floor and some on a big duffel bag in front of her seat. Freeze studied her mission details as dictated by NASA, as consulted with the Pentagon. It was her job to know everyone’s role, with obvious expectations of us to do our role to the best of our ability—both civilian and military personnel.

Dare I ask? I said to myself before strolling over to my commanding officer. “Colonel Freeze,” I asked politely.

Col. Freeze looked up from her briefing book. “Yes, Sergeant Rafferty?”

“Can I help you with anything that you’re doing?” I asked calmly.

Col. Freeze glanced up at me and paused with a smirky grin. “No, I don’t think so. Most of this is above your pay grade, Sergeant Rafferty. My responsibility!” The Colonel diverted her attention back to her binder pages—highlighted in yellow.

“Yes, ma’am. I was just trying to shake a bad dream I had earlier.”

“I’m sorry, Rafferty. I can’t shake your dreams for you. That’s below my pay grade, to be honest,”

Col. Freeze said. “Besides, I don’t think you want me shaking your dreams. I’d tell you to buckle up, butter—!”

“Yes, ma’am. That’s what Doctor Martin is here for.” I pointed to my left.

Dr. Alice Martin, head of clinical psychology, was on loan to us from Parker Bay Hospital in Seattle. Straight brown hair, brown eyes. I admired the woman for accepting the invitation to serve us soldiers and scientists. But part of me secretly hoped her voice wasn’t annoying. It’s one thing for a shrink to listen to you but the patient listening to the shrink with a nasally voice or something, is a turn off for me.

Col. Freeze glanced at Dr. Martin sitting across from her but down a few seats. “The Moon Maestro!”

“Cool name,” I replied.

“Yeah, well, don’t ask me how she got it. Some say it’s her style of work, I don’t know and I hope I don’t ever have to ask her,” Col. Freeze said.

“I thought you said this was all classified?” I asked.

Col. Freeze laughed. “Nah! Do you see ‘CLASSIFIED’ on the front?”

“No, Colonel. I don’t.”

Freeze sighed and glanced up at me with a slight annoyance in her eyes. Something I’ve seen in my superior officers a few times but not as many as other officers. She smirked. “You’ve annoyed me into enlisting your help. Have at it, Rescue Ranger. Pop a squat, grab a highlighter and make your ass useful,” Col. Freeze said.

“Yes, ma’am. I’d be happy—” I said. My eyes lit up at Freeze’s invitation and quickly took a seat further down from Col. Freeze before grabbing the nearest blue binder.

“Oh no! Not that one, Sergeant. Rafferty. That’s security protocol.” Col. Freeze handed me a green binder at the bottom of a stack on the left side of her. “This one deals with search and rescue, different scenarios and moon environmental conditions.”

“Thanks! Finally something worth reading around here,” I said.

“This stuff is what you’ll do anyway. What you should know or better yet, what you will know after your tour,” Col. Freeze said. “You’ll get some world-class knowledge and experience while blazing the lunar surface, Sergeant Rafferty. This will put you in high demand and do wonders for your search and rescue career, back home.”

I nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” Now Colonel Freeze was speaking my language and these binders on my specialty stole my attention and focus besides sulking over my nightmare from earlier.

“Good luck, Sergeant,” Col. Freeze said, as she went back to studying her own binder.

I leaned back in my seat, crossed my legs, grabbed a blue pen and started on the first page, out of what seemed like 500. I sailed right through most of the briefing binder—common knowledge to me but a few pages I recited to memory. I had a full day of extra time until we arrived on the lunar surface. Better make it all count. Once our wheels were down, I had to be on the very top of my game. The peak, in fact. Two different worlds colliding. I sat in front of the Gravi-Gen, the air filtration system that gives the ship its gravity and oxygen we desperately need.

Over the next three hours, I reviewed about 150 pages of maps, diagrams and illustrations more than actual text. The binder kept a long list of both military and space tasks that were assigned specifically to me in the area of search and rescue. I discovered the tasks I’d be responsible for—including walking the base perimeter and discovering the layout of both sides of the base, had to be approved by Colonel Freeze before I could move on to the next obstacle. I lost count at around fifty different tasks—both inside and outside the base. I’d like to think this was my real test but it was far from it. Oh, it involved search and rescue, don’t get me wrong but everything changed at the best and worst times in our lives and with our mission.

I decided to take a break and try to make a friend or two while I’m on this moon mission. I knew who I didn’t want to get closer with—Major Scopes, Captain Rogers and Lieutenant Merks. From the days and hours on the moon ride alone, I came to tolerate those three above me. I concluded that Colonel Freeze was my best bet, if anyone. However, I noticed an older gentleman, mid-40’s, glasses and dressed like a college professor, sitting alone. I quickly moved to the seat next to him, a row away and extended my hand out to this man reading, The History of The Moon. “Sergeant Natasha Rafferty,” I said.

The man lowered his history book and raised his head up at me. “Dr. Rockhammer—nice to meet you, Natasha Rafferty.”

“How’s the book, Doc?” I asked, thumping the hardback front cover.

Dr. Rockhammer peeked at the front cover like I smeared the ink on a letter to his mother.

“We’ll see. I haven’t found my name yet,” Dr. Rockhammer smiled. “I guess I better pull off something cool and rewrite this history,” he tapped on the cover furiously.

I cocked my head to my left and smiled at Dr. Rockhammer. “Challenge accepted. Beat you to it.”

“Game on, young lady!” Dr. Rockhammer shook his book at me.

I reached into my right pants pocket and retrieved a small chocolate-chip granola bar, full of protein, and tossed it at him. “A little fuel to get you started.”

Dr. Rockhammer sank the snack into his left shirt pocket and floated me two thumbs up.

I got a good feeling about the man and thought it would be a good move to create a social alliance and bop in and out of his “science class” every now and then.

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PLAYFUL

Nudging someone lightly with an elbow
Flashing a grin before looking away
Bumping a shoulder against someone else's
Rocking back and forth on the heels
Twirling a pen between the fingers
Tossing a small object into the air and catching it
Tilting the head with a teasing smile
Sticking hands into pockets with a relaxed shrug
Mimicking someone's expression for a split second
Stealing a fry or snack from someone else's plate
Giving an exaggerated bow after a joke
Winking before walking away
Swinging one leg while sitting
Lightly bumping hips or shoulders while passing
Pretending to inspect something with exaggerated seriousness

SUSPICIOUS

Narrowing the eyes while studying someone
Glancing over the shoulder
Keeping arms crossed tightly
Looking away quickly when caught staring
Tapping fingers silently on a hidden surface
Asking too many questions
Leaning in close without being invited
Pressing the lips into a thin line
Checking the surroundings before speaking
Fidgeting with a small object in hand
Hesitating at a doorway before entering
Watching hands more than faces
Turning a casual comment into a test
Pretending to agree while doubting
Walking a different route for no obvious reason

DEFENSIVE

Crossing arms tightly across the chest
Pulling the shoulders up toward the ears
Taking a step back when questioned
Keeping the chin tucked down
Avoiding eye contact or looking away
Letting out a short, humorless laugh
Answering questions with short, clipped replies
Turning the body slightly away
Folding arms even while sitting
Gripping an object a little too tightly
Raising the voice without meaning to
Interrupting to defend a point
Pointing fingers toward the chest
Shaking the head quickly in disagreement
Brushing off a comment with a dismissive wave

EXHAUSTED

Rubbing the eyes or pinching the bridge of the nose
Letting out a long, slow sigh
Dropping the shoulders with a heavy exhale
Running a hand through messy hair
Leaning back and closing the eyes for a moment
Massaging the neck or shoulders
Yawning without trying to hide it
Moving slower than usual, almost reluctantly
Staring blankly at nothing
Resting the forehead in the palm of a hand
Fidgeting with something out of habit
Dragging feet while walking
Slumping in the chair or against the wall
Taking a deep breath and closing the eyes briefly

ARROGANT

Lifting the chin while listening
Looking someone up and down before replying
Smirking at the corner of the mouth
Brushing invisible dust from a sleeve
Leaning back with arms folded
Speaking without looking up from what they're doing
Tilting the head with a knowing smile
Holding out a hand to be handed something
Tapping a finger while waiting for someone to finish
Adjusting a watch or cufflinks mid-conversation
Offering a slow, sarcastic clap
Raising one eyebrow in disbelief
Standing a little too close without moving aside
Dismissing a comment with a lazy wave of the hand
Turning away before the other person has finished speaking

SHY

Tucking loose hair behind an ear
Looking down while speaking
Keeping both hands clasped in front
Hiding part of the face behind a sleeve
Smiling before quickly looking away
Standing half a step behind someone else
Folding arms loosely across the stomach
Pulling at the hem of a shirt
Shrinking into the corner of a chair
Holding a cup with both hands
Speaking just above a whisper
Fidgeting with a necklace or bracelet
Crossing ankles while standing
Brushing imaginary lint from clothing
Glancing up briefly before lowering the eyes again

CONFIDENT

Resting an arm across the back of the chair
Leaning one shoulder against the wall
Sliding a hand into a pocket
Holding eye contact a beat longer
Raising one eyebrow
Tilting the head while listening
Straightening a cuff
Rolling up shirt sleeves
Picking up someone else's dropped item without asking
Drumming fingertips lightly on the table
Walking with long, even strides
Nodding once
Folding sunglasses onto a shirt collar
Resting both hands on the table
Flashing a quick half-smile

NERVOUS

Twisting a ring around one finger
Picking at chipped nail polish
Tugging at a shirt cuff
Rubbing the back of the neck
Shifting weight from one foot to the other
Tapping a foot against the floor
Wringing both hands together
Smoothing down already-neat clothing
Pressing lips into a thin line
Swallowing before speaking
Scratching lightly at an eyebrow
Pulling a sleeve over the hands
Glancing toward the nearest exit
Fidgeting with a zipper or button
Taking a slow breath before answering

IMPATIENT

Checking the time every few minutes
Tapping fingers against the table
Bouncing one leg without stopping
Letting out a slow, audible sigh
Drumming a pen against a notebook
Crossing and uncrossing the arms
Shifting weight from heel to heel
Glancing repeatedly toward the door
Finishing someone else's sentence
Rubbing both hands together
Pacing a short path back and forth
Clicking a pen open and closed
Rolling the shoulders in frustration
Rapping knuckles lightly against a surface
Exhaling sharply through the nose

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7 a.m.

I slowly woke up with Kate in my arms. I took a second and admired her beauty but dared not to move and disrupt her slumber. I could get used to having her in my arms when I woke up. She belongs here with me. Safe! She was definitely worth breaking the rules for. I laid there for a few minutes before I hopped out of bed and finessed my way to the bathroom. I came out and saw my wife sitting up in bed, yawning, trying to wake up.

“Good morning, my handsome husband,” she said, with a smile.

I gave her a good morning kiss. “Good morning, my wife. Last night was amazing.” I kissed her again.

“Yes, you were,” Kate said, looking into my eyes.

“Goes without saying,” I sat down and held her for a minute or two. We looked out the window at the morning sun. “This is one of the best mornings I’ve had in a while,” I said. Compared to yesterday morning when I had a gun shoved into my side.

“Me too. I could get used to this. Sam, can we talk about us sometime today?”

“Sure, we can, Kate,” I responded with a smile. “Listen, that photo you got last night was staged. I didn’t ask for that, nor did I know she was going to do that.”

“I know, Sam. It’s okay.” She kissed me once again before going to the bathroom. “Guess I better get ready myself.”

“As long as you know that, Kate.”

She turned around and smiled quickly before turning the bathroom light on.

I sat on the side of the bed, looking out the window. Vegas awaits. I’m not going to lie, I’m nervous and excited at the same time, I thought to myself. I got up and looked through my clothes for a pair of jeans and another blue sweater to wear.

Kate exited the bathroom. “I went there when I was in college, on Spring Break, several years ago. Me and my two friends at the time. Aside from gambling, I didn’t find much to do that appealed to me. And yes, I’m showing my age,” Kate said in passing.

I had a tough time believing she didn’t make the most of her time in Vegas, as either a tourist on a solo trip, for that matter. “You said that, not me, Kate,” I said with a crackle in my voice.

“What are you nervous about, Sam?” she asked.

I stopped and looked at her with a sigh. “Lots of things. The unexpected, mostly. Things I can’t control. Even with what I got, I’m still flying blind. Nothing’s a guarantee, especially after last night.” I had no choice in siding with caution. Hell, becoming best friends with caution was the only luck I had it seemed. I held the sweater in my hands. “I fear that last night’s spell can and will happen anytime. I can’t control it.” I rubbed the wool fabric with my hands.

“We’ll deal with that as it comes. Together, like we have so far with everything,” Kate said, putting her makeup on.

I nodded.

Kate got dressed in her usual, business-casual clothes.

Dad knocked on our door.

I invited my parents in for a few minutes.

“Good morning, Sam.”

“Morning, mom!”

“Did you and Kate get enough sleep last night?” Mom asked.

Kate came into the living room and sat her suitcase near the countertop island. “Yes, we did. Very much so.” Kate smiled at me. “Good morning, Riley family!”

“Good morning, Kate,” mom said.

I nodded and asked my parents.

“Enough for now. We can sleep in the truck,” Dad said.

I packed my suitcase and gathered up things for my laptop bag. “Okay, I’m ready to hit the open road to Vegas,” I said.

“Let’s check out and get out of here,” Dad said. “We got work to do.”

“Goodbye Albuquerque,” Kate said.

I knocked on Jester’s door as they walked by. “Come on Mac, time to go.”

Jester opened the door a minute later and joined the party.

We descended to the lobby with our luggage and checked out.

“We’re out of here, Anne,” I said as I handed her the room key cards.

Anne stood behind the counter, stunned to see me with Detective Barker.

“You found him, Detective Barker! What happened?”

Kate told Anne that I was let go yesterday afternoon and we were headed to Vegas to find Dockson and Riddle.

“Well, that’s unfortunate to see you guys leave. We’ll miss you guys. Detective Barker, I wish you the best,” Anne said. “Good luck on your journey. Take care of each other.”

Kate thanked Anne for all her help with a handshake. “Bye, Anne.”

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“Bye Detectives!!” Anne said.

It was a chilly morning, low 40’s but sunshine. Slight breeze blowing in from the west. Jester was parked next to my truck.

Kate stood by me as I put our luggage in the back under the camper shell.

My parents got in the back.

Jester put his stuff in his trunk.

I told Jester not to worry about gas. “Just stay close by and try not to get lost, Mac.”

“Will do, Mr. Riley.”

“Vegas, here we come!”

Kate and I drove away, with Jester following us on Interstate-40, to Flagstaff. I stopped in a small town to get gas about two hours later.

My parents were the first to jump out and head inside.

“It’s good to get out and stretch our legs every few hours. Come on Denise, let’s go inside and get what we need,” Dad said.

We stayed in the truck, and I asked Kate about the discussion she mentioned earlier. We weren’t going to have much privacy on this trip, so we needed to take advantage of it.

She took a deep breath. “I know I wanted to talk about us but maybe it’s not the right time. I don’t want to put any pressure on you or myself to make an ultimatum into us being exclusive with each other. But I really care about you, Sam. I get along great with your mom and dad and more importantly, I can trust you with my life, even though it’s a bit ironic that you faked my death a few weeks ago. That’s saying something.” She sighed again, once she was done speaking. She looked at me with curious anticipation, not blinking an eye.

I paused as well so as not to blow my shot with Barker. “Thank you for telling me all that, Kate. That wasn’t easy for you to say, was it?”

“Not as hard as you think, Sam, when it’s true. When you feel it more and more. I’ve been thinking about this for a while now and yesterday made things a whole hell of a lot clearer, believe it or not.”

“Do you feel the same way you did when you said I wasn’t fit to take this trip and wanted to be reassigned?” I asked.

She looked me in the eye and said she didn’t feel that way now. “I preferred my affection for you to have grown the way it has. You’ve proven to be a great partner; Sam. Better than I gave you credit for in the Chief’s office. I had to be sure. I hope you can understand that. I won’t apologize for how I felt then either.”

“I appreciate your honesty. I wouldn’t ask for your apology either. I think we make a great couple. You saved my life, for the most part, Kate. I couldn’t have done this trip without you. I would’ve probably given up and gone home. But I’m a better detective when I’m with you, Kate. That, too, is saying something.”

The gas pump stopped with a loud pop that shook the whole truck. “Hold that thought, Kate.”

“Sam, wait, I—”

I hopped out and put the gas pump back up. I asked Kate to come inside for a few minutes. I held her hand on the way inside. We grabbed our snacks and drinks.

I hugged her in the front of the sports drinks cooler. “We’re good, Kate.”

“We are?” she asked, looking up at me with curiosity.

“Absolutely. I genuinely like you, Kate.”

She smiled with glee. “Me too, Sam. Want to know something crazy?”

I nodded and held her hand.

“Yesterday when they took you, that crushed my world. I realized how much you meant to me, Sam.”

I hugged her again. “Thinking of you, knowing you were my partner and knowing you would do all you could to rescue me, kept me going.”

Kate hugged me again. “Let’s get our stuff and head to Vegas.”

We walked to the front register.

“And get married by Elvis?” Kate said with a sarcastic laugh.

“Uhhh…” I quickly looked at her. “What?”

“What?” She quipped with a smile. “I didn’t say anything.”

I smiled. “This woman and her jokes!” I got in line behind my dad and Jester. I told the store clerk I was buying their snacks.

“Thanks, Sam,” Mom said.

“How are you on gas, Mac?”

“I got a full tank before I arrived at the hotel on Saturday. I’m good for a while.”

I nodded and we went back to the vehicles quickly, as the frigid air pierced my skin. I opened the door for Kate. I can’t describe how relieved I felt when Kate told me how she felt. Her and I falling for each other was perhaps inevitable, given all they’ve been through so far—ghosts, kidnapping. Things that test a modern couple’s affection for each other. We hit the road and made it to Flagstaff about two and a half hours later.

“Anyone have any ideas for lunch? Any requests?” I asked as I passed restaurants on both sides of the highway.

“Anywhere is fine with me, Sam,” Dad said.

“Mom? Kate?” I asked.

“I’m good with whatever. As long as I’m with you, Sam,” Mom declared.

Kate shrugged her shoulders.

“Not everyone answer at once!” I demanded, sarcastically.

“Thanks! You’ve been so helpful,” I quipped.

A good breakfast for lunch is just what I need. “IHOP?” I suggested.

“Sounds good. They have all kinds of different foods,” Dad said.

“Sure,” Kate said.

I texted Jester and told him the plans for lunch.

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“Prison is the Devil’s Groundhog Day.” I said those words when I first stepped off the prison transport bus the afternoon I arrived. That’s all I remember about that day—all I care to at least. Who said that? Quincy Francis did but I’ve resorted to go simply by Francis, if anything. The man going through life confined not only by four walls but the same two dreams—picking up quarters off the floor of a disco hall and running from the monster chasing me in my dreams. I accepted my fate as this guy once the bars slammed shut behind me when I got to my assigned cell. What else is there in prison besides dreaming half the time?

8:57 p.m., Tuesday, March 28th, 2023

Mitchell State Penitentiary, New Mexico

I crawled into my poor excuse of a bed and sprawled out on an even poorer excuse of a mattress—a bunch of mop heads between two sheets of paper. My usual, lame routine—three minutes before the ‘lights-out’ warning echoed through the cell block. The writing on the walls from yesterday’s fools—got closer and clearer, the more settled in I became. Mostly gibberish from all accounts and not a damn thing to do with Quincy Francis. Gang insignia and acronyms in bold letters. Even a few animals with enhanced and detailed genitalia. A reminder for me to never look at those particular animals the same way again. How could I? Especially beavers and penguins.

From the first night in my cell—some five hundred something nights ago—I pointed my feet towards the bars in the sliding cell door. I dared not to lay my head so close to the bars and get doused with bleach or another inmate’s warm piss, in passing. I watched as the guard walked by the cells, up and down the block of Unit C. Nothing to see here. Same as last time you passed by, I said to myself for the 10,000th time. Maybe I’ll stuff my mouth with toilet paper and pull it out, as the guard watches on his next go-round. That should give him something to lighten up his night.

I was now about a year and a half into my three-year sentence for accessory to burglary. The judge went easier on my accomplice than he did me during the trial. Funny how a plea-deal can save your ass—turning on the other guy for less time before he turns on you, or no time at all. Give up the big fish for a better rod-n-reel! I had every right to be mad at the plea deal, the betrayal. The breaking of the honor code among thieves but knowing my accomplice, he’d wind up in court again without a plea-deal.

Minutes went by and the guard hadn’t strolled by like he routinely did. I had him timed by the end of my first week in this shithole prison. One thing they don’t tell you in prison is that everything is calculated and on-time—toilet breaks, chow times, mail call, prayer circles and visiting hours. No one ever prayed for, nor came to see Quincy Francis. I was invisible to the outside world and that was my reality.

I stared at the ceiling, which became my calmest way of drifting off to sleep. I got lucky and didn’t have another asshole sleeping on the top bunk, well for the moment anyways. Shit, these clothes are too itchy to sleep in, I thought to myself as I withered around my cheap excuse for a bed. A big gray work shirt and black slacks are tough to move around in when you’re tossing and turning at night. That’s all I had on cold nights in my concrete cell. Better bundle up inmate. It gets cold at night. A warning I remember one guard saying to me when I picked up my prison garbs. Guards who walked by didn’t help either—giving you the stink eye like they were auditioning for Hollywood. Other fellas squeaking and squawking to each other up and down the block, like teenage girls burning up the party line. How many ways does it take to say goodnight? I often thought.

Right as I finally got somewhat comfortable, I sighed a deep breath. I heard a familiar thump against the metal bars as Officer “Duke” Turbell waved his nightstick around. I didn’t know his first name—inmates asked the corrections officers all the time but Turbell kept tight-lipped about everything relating to his name—nor did I care. But the other jokers in this place gave him “Duke.”

The clink of the nightstick against the bars always made me flinch, especially when my nerves were already on high alert. God, what the fuck does this jerk screw want now? I wasn’t interested in finding dirt on the cops inside this wretched place, nor being a snitch. I just wanted to do my time and not piss off anyone bigger than me on either side of the bars.

I raised my head a little up off the used, re-sell shop, old-school pillow. The 1930’s farmhouse pillows with either blue or brown stripes running horizontally across the pillow. These pillows felt heavy as a sandbag and protected from contraband, being well-sewn together. Inmates hid shanks and other weapons in newer pillows with slits inside.

“Francis, the warden wants to see you. Let’s go!” Turbell said, as he stepped in front of my cell. He held his club in his right hand, pointed up over his right shoulder. The light outside the prison shined bright enough in my unit to give a silhouette of his right hand and the leather strap looped around his wrist.

“Right now—it’s my bedtime, boss,” I stated. I didn’t want to see anyone that night, let alone the warden. I threw the thin blue blanket off of me and against the wall. Let’s get it over with!

“Yeah, NOW!” Turbell shouted. “Hop to it, Francis!”

I casually smiled as I stood up, mustering up all the sarcasm I saved for a few months in agreeing with Turbell. “Yes, boss. Sure thing, boss!” I said with a giddy tone. “I’ll stand up for you—”

“Fuckin’ wise guy!” Turbell added.

Wise guy? I’m a few things but not a wise guy! Not here at least.

“Hey, look at that—I’m already dressed.” I straightened my shirt out and fluffed my pants.

Turbell pointed his nightstick at my sink. “Grab your things, Francis!” He said quietly. Turbell had his arm extended far enough into my cell so that I’d be able to grab his nightstick if I leaned to my left a few inches and lifted my left arm. Don’t grab the stick! Don’t grab the stick!

I glanced back at my cold, empty cell and back to Turbell. “Nothing here I need, boss. Besides, I’m coming back!” I didn’t have anything of importance really—half a dull pencil, toothbrush and toothpaste. No letters from friends or family. I burned those bridges I guess, just trying to survive.

Turbell smirked. “Yeah, sure. That’s what you think.” Turbell laughed as he stepped back from the cell opening. Turbell pointed his nightstick to his left when he saw the next-cell inmate, Sappy Rubs—(Ruben) leech out of the shadows of his bunk and closer to the bars. “Lay down—you hear!” Turbell commanded.

Sappy quickly retreated back to his lower bunk like lightning.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, rubbing my forehead and running my hand through my black hair. Another setup? Again, who would believe me? I thought to myself. But looking back on that moment, as I had plenty of time to do, that’s exactly what this was: a damn setup.

“Prison life is unforgiving, until you’re forgiven,” Turbell said. “One thing I’ve learned working here.”

I bet you have, Duke. You and your nightstick. “Your rules or the warden’s rules?” I asked, standing in front of the cell door.

“Wardens’ rules, of course,” Turbell belted out.

Best not keep that schmuck waiting. I put my shoes on as quickly as I could and stood with my back to the cell door with my arms above my head. My fingers entangled between one another, lost in my black hair.

“Open C-20 cell door,” Turbell ordered. A loud buzzing sound went off as C-20 clicked open. Turbell slowly swung the door open towards Sappy’s cell. “Step out into the hallway slowly, turn to your left, face the north side of Unit C,” Turbell ordered.

I quietly stepped out in front of my cell and turned to my left and stood in a sea of blue light shining in from the windows in Unit C. Beyond the blue light was the pitch-dark corridor. Where the two met just a few feet in front of me looked as eerie and unsettling as standing in front of the tree line of a spooky forest.

“Close the cell door!” Turbell shouted. Turbell ordered me to walk down the dark corridor to the stairs down to the first level.

Cell by cell, I walked past the other inmates. Silence mostly. A few whispers and comments from the ones awake but pretending to be asleep. I just walked past them all, pretending I was invisible. Not far off from what I usually get day in and day out in this wretched place. I slowly paced myself down the stairs, being dark and all, clinging to the rail. Last thing I needed was for one of these babysitters, tripping me down the dark stairs and blaming it on me.

Turbell took his last step off the stairs before he paused. His boot stomping the floor was the last thing I heard, even over my own deep breath/semi-wheeze. “Follow me, Francis.”

I nodded. “Sure!” Of course, I didn’t know why or even why I was being led to God knows where. Any one of these other fools would have been perfect for what the warden had up his sleeve.

Turbell stopped outside the laundry room and pointed inside. “In there, Francis.”

I was spooked by the darkness of this room, especially the black silhouette’s standing around the room. Guards!!

“Go on, Francis. No one’s gonna hurt ya, tonight,” Turbell declared.

“Right—”

Turbell tapped his nightstick on the metal door.

I strolled into the dark, closed laundry room. A few guards stood throughout the room. I couldn’t make out their faces but maybe their voices were familiar, during daylight hours—if I paid attention to their bullshit. “Where’s the Warden?” I asked, with a drawn-out, sarcastic tone. I swerved to my left and then to my right, waiting for someone to reply.

Laughs, sniffs and snickers pierced the dark silence.

“Warden ain’t here. None of us were here, Francis,” a voice grunted out I heard for the first time.

“Dare I ask what the fuck is going on with all you damn screws? It’s past my bedtime and some of you are leaving at eleven. Tick, tock!”

“Don’t worry about us,” said another officer who I was unfamiliar with.

“Today’s your lucky day, Francis,” Turbell added. Turbell marched in right behind me and closed the door for privacy.

I felt the air getting heavy and the thick energy as I anticipated these guards would take revenge or take me out. “Oh yeah, how’s that?” I took a deep breath and clinched my fists tight, ready to try to defend myself as best I could if any of these screws jumped me. Who’s first? Which one gets it?

Next thing I knew, a large duffle bag landed at my feet. I felt the bag hit me through my slippers and socks. “What’s this?” I looked down as my expectations of violence retreated for a few seconds.

“Get in the bag,” another thick, commanding voice whispered from behind me.

“I’m not getting in that bag,” I declared briskly. I scooted the bag away from my feet with my right leg, sweeping it across the floor.

“You’re being shipped out, Francis,” the same voice continued, from over my shoulder.

“Shipping out where?” I asked curiously, before I turned around in disbelief.

“I wouldn’t want to go where you’re going,” said Turbell. “But good luck to you, Francis.”

“What the hell is—you’re all in on this—trying to frame me for some illegal shit I had nothing to do with,” I declared, as my agitation and aggression slightly increased. Not receiving any straight answers—riddles only—in such situations does that to an inmate. Our fuses were short to begin with when we got off the bus.

“Knock your shit off and get in the bag, Francis,” Turbell said calmly.

I glanced at Turbell with a curious stare and paused.

“Hurry! You don’t have much time left.”

I took a quick look at what I could see of the guards’ faces but realized they weren’t in on some devilish plan to have more charges added to my sentence. Guess I’m leaving prison life behind. “I’m shipping out of this damn place?”

The officers, probably four or more, either nodded or snickered.

“Took you long enough to get what we’re saying,” said the voice behind me.

“Yeah, son.” Turbell said. “It’s adios for you.”

Well, I’ll be damned. “The world must be on fire if a bunch of screws let an inmate escape right in front of their faces,” I said, with an ounce of surprise and a pound of sarcasm. “Let alone perpetrated the whole thing.” I’m telling the first person I see.

“Your call, Francis. Stay in this shithole or embrace your important work out in the world,” Turbell said.

I bent down and stretched out the long, wide, laundry bag. I saw a few red letters—HUT—stenciled on the side of the bag through the light coming from the outside street lights. I knew I’d be bagged overnight unless a pickup was scheduled for tonight. How pathetic of an escape attempt would that be if another inmate found me in a big laundry bag.

“Morehouse, bring that cart over so we can wheel Francis’s ass down to the laundry pickup. They have a big load to pick up tonight,” Turbell ordered. “One hour!”

Don’t know a Morehouse! I quickly turned and saw a rounder, more robust shadow scurry off a few feet to get the cart for me. That’s all I could make of this Morehouse fella. I heard the screeching and squealing of wheels heading towards me. Getting into the bag was no easy request. I shifted my body around in the bag to fit my legs inside and in a position I wouldn’t get cramps, even for a little while.

“One, two, three, LIFT!!!” Turbell commanded.

I heard the guards grunt as I was yanked up off the floor and dropped on a cold metal surface. My legs hit the floor. “Easy, now! Trying to break my legs like that.”

“Hush it, Francis. Now’s the time to keep your ass quiet,” Turbell ordered.

I shook my head inside the bag as they zipped me up from head to toe.

Turbell’s knees popped before I heard his final words. “Francis, remember the word “Moonium.” It’s your saving grace, now. Good luck to you, son. You’re doing God’s work now son, I suppose.”

“What!!” I replied, more confused than ever. God’s work? What the hell is he talking about? Turbell’s words occupied my thoughts more than what the hell was even happening to me. God’s work? I’m not a religious man. I didn’t make a sound or move. I felt a small pat on my left shoulder, which I assumed was Turbell.

“Alright, get this extra load down to the dock and throw it in with the others,” Turbell said. “Departing Mitchell Unit, New Mexico, forever!”

Back in survival mode. Maybe things will be different out there. They’d have to be if I’m leaving prison life like this instead of out the front door. That’s what has me worried beyond all fucking comprehension.

The squeaking wheels invaded my ears as the vibrations tickled my back through the Big Bird-sized laundry bag and my clothes, as we inched closer to the loading dock. I figured I’ll introducing myself as Francis from now on. Those ridiculous prison names, Q, Q-ball—I didn’t give two shits about and ignored them most of the time. Francis was my name.

9:15 p.m.Morehouse pushed the cart down to the loading dock and left me on the cart next to the pile of laundry bags. At least I had a flat surface if I fell asleep, which I eventually did.

The strong winds blowing through prison grounds from the nearby mountains pierced the night air like whistles in the wind from a woodwind choir rehearsing for a show. The temperatures that time of year in New Mexico kept me cool so I could fall asleep easier, given the fact I only had my prison clothes on and no blanket inside the bag. I got a whiff of the nearby sewer bog once or twice, with the wind blowing right up against the dock. Will I embrace my new fate outside Mitchell Penn’s walls? What kind of man will I be out in the world? These questions ran through my mind, lying on the cold, steel cart. The last thing I remember before I dozed off.

9:40 p.m.

The laundry delivery box truck—a plain, white, unmarked truck without any company logo, pulled up to the loading dock quietly and bumped the concrete slab, just enough to stop. No back-up beeps or flashing lights. Standard throw-n-go! I played dead but heard the truck pull up and the driver collect his nightly bounty. The back doors swung open like a hoard of armed marauders were about to storm a bank or jewelry store.I was the first to go inside the truck, to my surprise. I didn’t think I’d be buried under the rest of the twenty laundry bags.

“This one’s not as heavy tonight,” said the driver. He pushed the metal cart halfway inside and rolled me off the cart. “Not sure what you’re doing here but we have a date with destiny. Good luck, fella.”

I felt bumps and lumps fall on and around me—a bit rough but interpreted such knocks as more of on the protective side in case the gate guards searched the laundry bags. Much to my surprise, the guards waved the driver on through without saying hello. I quickly fell asleep after the truck sped away.

****

I woke up a few hours later under bright lights, in a dry cleaners building. The lights shined through the big duffel bag I was cocooned inside. There was no locking tag on the bag zippers, so I carefully prined my middle finger through the small hole between the two zippers and slowly pulled it down a few inches. My right eye scanned what I little I could. I saw white bags around me but didn’t see anyone else around. I unzipped the bag a little further and stretched my way out. It felt so good to stretch my legs and arms.

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A door, in bad need of a quick spray of lubricant, creaked open and slammed shut off in the distance. “Fuck,” I whispered, as I panicked and finessed my way back into the bag. I pulled another bag on top of me with half of my face peering out of the side. I heard the footsteps getting louder as the seconds flew by until the steps stopped right near me. The clacking of the shoes across the tiled floor suggested to me this person had a pro-business style.

“Francis. Quincy Francis!” I heard a male voice call out—not too deep but smooth and reassuring. Who’s this? How does he know my name? Why did he know I’d be here?

I couldn’t fully see who this man was, even though I tried to wiggle my eye around to get a better view but I couldn’t quite peek around the bag on top of me.

A few seconds of silence, as I help my breath.

The man sighed out of slight annoyance, which didn’t mean shit to me, from where I laid on the floor. “Okay, then—Moonium! If that doesn’t bring you out—”

Moonium! Whatever the fuck that is! I dared not to move in case this was another set up with the SWAT team waiting outside to hunt me down or take me out in some training exercise.

“It’s okay, Mister Francis. I’m with the company that got you out of prison. We own this laundry facility. That’s why you’re here, in a safe place.”

I didn’t trust the man but I kept my silence.

The man spoke calmly, surprisingly.

“Very well, Mister Francis. You don’t have to worry about the cops coming for you because you’ve been selected for an important mission. How does that sound?”

Important mission? Who is this guy? CIA? What is going on? I finally took a deep breath and my lungs moved the bags around me. I feared the slightest movement would give my position away and things go south, quicker once the man found me. One by one the weight of the bags felt lighter until I was a slump of flesh on a pile of laundry bags. I felt the impact of the bags hitting nearby bags. I heard the slow unzipping of my bag and raised my fists.

“Tag! You’re it, Mr. Francis,” said a mountain of a man dressed as a penguin, with slick-backed hair. He smiled gleefully, which caught me off guard. Pleased as punch a gun wasn’t pointed at my face.

“Quincy Francis, I assume,” the man said, offering me a hand up off my numb feet.

I reluctantly ushered my right hand up to grasp his left hand. “Thanks!” Once on my feet, I glared up at the man with the uncertainly and confusion of someone waking up from anesthesia after surgery.

I stepped out of the duffle bag and planted my feet on the tile floor to get my balance back.

“Moonium, Mister Francis,” he said confidently.

“What the fuck is Moonium?” I blurted out as I looked the man up and down.

“A game changer with unlimited potential to change the world,” he said with glee.

“And what does it have to do with me?” I asked eagerly.

“Everything, Mister Francis,” said the stylish man.

“You don’t say, Mister—”

“Manny Hobbs.”

“Hobbs—” I repeated. “Why me? Why not someone else?”

“You’re the safest bet. At least that’s what my boss told me.”

“You guys are that sure about me?” I asked, still dumbfounded they chose me.

“Yes. You’re here, aren’t you, Mister Francis?” Hobbs asked. Hobbs eagerly reached his right hand out to shake my right hand, formally, like we were long lost college buddies. “I work for a very powerful individual with an out-of-this-world reach, Mr. Francis.”

“Fair enough! You got me, Mister Hobbs. Put me to work, I guess.” I slowly shook Mr. Hobbs’ hand.

“Call me Francis. Not mister! My dear poppa isn’t here. Besides, I’m a new man now. Better make sure the pot calls the kettle black, if you know what I mean.” Doing a prison stint gave me an edge. Changing my name to just ‘Francis’ was the best low-key way to keep that edge.

“I do indeed, Francis.”

“That’s more like it, Mr. Hobbs.” I nodded and glanced around the laundry facility. “You guys own this place?”

“Yes. Our employees need clean clothes more than you’d think.”

“Good investment,” I said.

“Where are my manners? Surely you don’t wish to stand here all day. Let’s get out of here before the day shift arrives. I have a lot of explaining to do—I’m sure you have just as many questions.”

“Anywhere is better than here. Maybe a roadside diner.”

“Hungry, are we? No worries at all, Francis. I could use a plate myself. The Boss instructed me to take good care of you. He’s got big plans for you.”

“I need taking care of now that the guards sent me out to the dry cleaners.” I smirked.

Hobbs snapped his fingers. “Speaking of cleaners, we have to get you some new clothes before you walk out that door and spark a state-wide manhunt for you, Francis.” Hobbs asked me what I preferred to wear.

“Black khakis and a black sweater, if you have it,” I said. I came to like darker clothes. It made me loosen up and brought out my comfort more than anything. One credit to my time in prison.

“Classic choice. Simple style yet intimidating to some.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Something like that.”

Hobbs pointed to the black suitcase waiting a few feet away from us. He laid the suitcase on its back and unzipped it, flipping over the front cover. A few moves and shuffles of the clothes and he pulled out the clothes I requested—black pants and a dark gray sweater.

“I’ll take it, Mr. Hobbs.” I quickly reached for the clothes in Hobbs’ hand. “It’s quite chilly in these rags I have on. I don’t want them anymore. In fact, you can let a stray dog have them. I don’t care. Where do I—?”

Hobbs laughed. “Right! Bathroom’s over there, just beyond those piles of sheets and towels. You can leave your old clothes in the trash can if you want or bring them with us.”

“Ahh, right! Be back in a few minutes.” I took my time changing and being in normal clothes again, it felt like I was human again. I trashed my old underwear and holey socks for newer, cleaner pairs. I strolled out of the bathroom feeling fifty percent better about my new reality. New free clothes and a total stranger taking better care of me than those prison guards. How bad can it be?

“How do they fit?” Hobbs asked.

I looked at my pants and shoes. “They’ll do for now.” I nodded.

“Excellent! Right this way, Mister Francis. Your future awaits.” Hobbs extended his left arm for me to follow him outside.

I smiled and strolled towards the door Hobbs came inside. “Don’t mind if I do.”

Hobbs grabbed the suitcase and asked me where I fancied a late dinner at, after our interesting first meeting.

“Uh—I don’t know what’s around here, You pick and I’ll eat,” I said, not sure why. I didn’t have any money so I was more than prepared to wash dishes and sweep the floors if it came to it.

Hobbs opened the door and ushered me through before closing it with a swift slam. “Gotta push this door closed sometime,” Hobbs said. “I’ll fix it later.”

“Thank you, Mister Hobbs!” I said the first thing that came to my mind, as we walked to what I assume was his truck, parked in front of the door. “A good sit-down meal at some highway diner sounds really nice right now. Really nice!” I paused with food on my brain—eggs, steak, burgers—as I tried to forget the mediocre meal served hours ago.

“Excellent choice, Francis. I know just the place—one of my favorites to be honest,”

Hobbs declared. “I go there all the time. They love me there.”

I nodded in agreement. “A man who knows where the best food is a man I can trust, I suppose.”

Hobbs unlocked his truck with the clicker button on his keychain. A smoky gray truck lit up as the lights flashed, shining like it just came off the assembly line in Detroit—a waxed dream!

“By all means, let’s indulge ourselves.”

I assumed Mr. Hobbs was paying for the meal. Otherwise, I’d be washing dishes and sweeping the floor. Not that I minded. Such a meal would be worth a little elbow grease. That’s what I wanted on my plate—a little grease. My first taste of freedom in eighteen months or so.

“Coming right up, Mister Francis.” Hobbs fired up his truck after he both closed our doors shut. Classical music of some kind waltzed out of the radio, to my surprise. I figured Hobbs to be a classic rock fan, like me. Easier to get along with them if I pretend we have the same music tastes. I didn’t mind where the radio dial stopped. Hearing any kind of music again was better than silence. Nostalgic even.

I couldn’t take any of this or Mr. Hobbs for granted. “I’m not sure what you want from me but I appreciate the hospitality,” I said, eagerly. At least you’ll have one hell of a story to tell one day, I thought to myself. Like my time in prison, I had to put the past behind me and make do with trying to survive.

“No worries, Francis. You’ll fit right in,” Hobbs exclaimed. A few red lights and one exit later, Hobbs pulled into the parking lot of Bib’s Diner, one of those all-night highway diners.

I followed my chaperone into Bib’s and took a seat next to him at the main counter, near the cash register.

“Best seat in the house,” Hobbs said.

I nodded as I looked around the place to see who all was there. My first time seeing regular people in so long.

Hobbs and I had a great view of the chef’s in the kitchen and plates ready to be served on the line. A few other customers sat at different tables around the small place.

I counted down the seconds until our waitress, Dawn Marie, sat our plates down on the counter in front of us. Eighteen months since I’ve seen a plate of real food, so beautiful. I ordered the breakfast platter sampler with a little bit of everything. I smiled when I saw the bacon and pancakes.

Hobbs ordered the hashbrowns and scrambled eggs plate.

“So tell me, Mr. Hobbs, what exactly am I doing here and who’s signing my pay—”

Hobbs took a sip of coffee and shook his head. “That’s good coffee!”

I couldn’t help myself either and took a sip of my sweet tea. The sweet flavor glossed over my taste buds like watering a dry garden.

“Absolutely. I know you have a million questions and that’s understandable. Hell, I’d be curious if I were in your shoes. But I don’t think I could do what you’re about to do, Francis. I’m not as brave as you, if that makes you feel any better,” Hobbs said confidently, before taking another sip of coffee. “You have a long journey ahead of you. Everything will be revealed by next week.”

I didn’t believe Hobbs wasn’t braver than me. I knew he was if the price was right, given all he told me up to that point in our first evening together. Men like Manny Hobbs did the dirty work. I picked up on it the second I stood up in front of him in the laundry room. Call it criminals’ intuition—although, I wouldn’t call myself a career criminal. Regardless of who I worked for, anything else going forward, I was getting paid, legally or illegally. I shook my head in disbelief. “Well what can you tell me about any of this?”

Hobbs took another sip of coffee and leaned to his left to give me his undivided attention. “Mister Francis,” Hobbs started with a quick finger point at me. “You have an incredible opportunity to do what no other human as ever done before. You’ll be a hero this time next year. Maybe even a superhero!”

My fork swiveled about over my plate as I laughed at such nonsense. “Really—a hero?” I looked at Hobbs. “I’m not the hero type. Nor do I want that job. I’ll skip the titles and take the cash, no problem.”

“All I know is the kids are going to love you and look up to you for spending time on the moon.”

I almost choked on my bite of eggs and sausage. “On the—on the moon,” I sounded out between coughs.

“Yeah, Francis. Moonium. Moon,” Hobbs said. “Figured you’d put it together by now.”

I glared at Hobbs for a few seconds as I pointed to the ceiling. “Up there? How much time?” I asked.

Hobbs flashed a genuine smile at me. “As long as it takes to fulfill your mission. Enough for the record books, without a doubt. But the compensation is definitely worth it.”

Money isn’t everything to a guy like me. I valued peace and quiet the same as money. But I’ll take the paycheck. I paused the Jeopardy questions. Just enjoy your meal, Francis. Stop being so annoying! I was grateful just to be sitting in the diner and waiting for my food instead of a cold prison cell surrounded by animals with cartoonish genitalia. “I can live with that for now, Mr. Hobbs.”

Hobbs nodded and took another sip of coffee.

After we ate, Mr. Hobbs drove us to a private airport somewhere in New Mexico. He didn’t say where and I wasn’t going to ask. Probably one of those puddle-jumper airports in the middle of nowhere. That’s what it looked like from the parking lot. He parked his truck in front of the beige-tin building. “We should be good parked here for a few days. I’ll come back to get the truck in two days.”

“Sure!” I nodded, leaving the truck.

Hobbs exited the truck. “This way, Mister Francis.”

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“East Texas! Safest place for you to be right now,” Hobbs replied. “Laying low in the country. Enjoy the scenery while you can, Francis.”

Debatable but sure, whatever you say, Hobbs. “Sounds fun!”

“You don’t have a fear of flying, do you?”

I shook my head. “No!” I just wasn’t used to flying. Only flew once before when I was a kid, some thirty-five years ago.”

Hobbs opened the door and we both waltzed inside some private terminal or hangar. To my surprise, we strolled through the empty, low-lit building and out to the flight line.

A small plane waited on us about thirty yards away. The door was extended down for us to hop aboard and find a comfortable seat. The pilot waited by the stairs and motioned us over to the plane.

My nervousness kicked in and everything hit me all at once. Maybe this isn’t a gotcha prank after all. I took a few deep breaths as I walked a step behind Hobbs over to this plane.

Hobbs shook the pilot’s hand.

“Welcome aboard, Mister Hobbs,” the pilot said.

“Thanks, Captain.” Hobbs pointed at me. “Found our guy. Here he is!” He said with a quick arm pat on my left shoulder.

I didn’t get the pilot’s name off his name tag but he knew who I was, which wasn’t a surprise, the way things turned out all night long.

The pilot shook my hand. “Captain Fred Byrd! Welcome aboard, Mister Francis. We’ll get you to Texas safely,” Captain Byrd said.

I shook my head. I like pilots with the similar/same last name of things that fly. I felt comfortable with Captain Byrd. “Promise?” I asked with a smile.

“I promise, Mister Francis.”

Hobbs laughed as Captain Byrd pointed his hand up to the door. “Shall we get airborne?”

“The sooner the better,” Hobbs said.

Captain Byrd led the way, as Hobbs and I both jumped on the plane as fast as we could and took our seats across from each other in the front row. The stewardess helped close the door and took her seat behind Hobbs.

The plane had a clean and aromatic smell that suited me just fine. It reminded me of a vanilla car scent. Five minutes later, we were cleared for takeoff and took to the skies. We landed in two hours and thirty minutes later in Dallas, at a private airport, I assume. I wasn’t privy to the details—just along for the ride. That seemed to be my life’s motto—past, present and future.

Mr. Hobbs took me to a safehouse somewhere in Texas and told me to lay low until my secret orientation began a few days later. I had everything I needed—food, Internet, toiletries, even books to keep me busy. Those things were nice and necessary but what kept me sane was the freedom to walk around the safehouse’s property and enjoy the peace and quiet. My adjustment back into the real world surprised me the most. No more looking over my shoulder or anyone spying on me while I took a piss. Those little things!

Hobbs returned later in the week to assist me with my upcoming mission. I finally fell asleep around five in the morning, in the most comfortable bed I’ve ever slept on in my life. What’s coming for me? That thought ran through my mind but with curiosity instead of dread.

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SUNSHINE

Golden light spilling through trees
Dust drifting in sunbeams
Long shadows stretching across the ground
Warmth soaking into the skin
Heat shimmering above the pavement
Cicadas buzzing in the distance
Leaves glowing in the afternoon light
A gentle breeze stirring the grass
The scent of warm earth and wildflowers
Bees humming from flower to flower
Sunlight dancing across the water
Sweat gathering at the hairline
A lazy stillness settling over everything
Clear skies stretching endlessly overhead

WINTER

Frost clinging to windows
Breath hanging in the cold air
Snow crunching beneath footsteps
Bare branches rattling in the wind
Icy roads glistening in the morning light
Chimneys releasing thin trails of smoke
Numb fingers tucked into pockets
Thin ice forming on puddles
A pale, colourless sky
Snow weighing down rooftops and trees
Bitter wind cutting through clothing
Long, dark evenings
Frozen lakes and streams
A quiet stillness after snowfall

AUTUMN

Crisp leaves crunching underfoot
Golden and crimson leaves drifting down
Bare branches beginning to emerge
Cool air carrying the scent of woodsmoke
Morning mist lingering over fields
Pumpkins and fallen acorns on the ground
Dry leaves swirling in the wind
Overcast skies casting muted light
Early sunsets painting the horizon
A chill creeping into the evening air
Trees stripped bare by the wind
Crows calling in the distance
Damp earth covered in fallen leaves
The smell of rain-soaked foliage

SPRING RAIN

Rainwater dripping from budding branches
Blossom petals stuck to the pavement
A cool breeze carrying the last of the rain
Damp cuffs and muddy hems
Puddles rippling with fresh raindrops
Water beading on blades of grass
Raindrops racing down the windowpane
Birds returning as the rain lets up
New leaves gleaming beneath the light
Thin streams running along the curb
Boots leaving dark prints on wet stone
A jacket growing heavy with rain
Sunlight breaking through the clouds
Branches shedding droplets with every gust

THUNDERSTORM

Lightning flashing across the sky
Thunder rattling the windows
Rain lashing against the glass
Wind howling through the trees
Hail pounding on the roof
Branches snapping in the storm
Gutters overflowing into the street
Curtains billowing through an open window
Water pooling at the doorstep
The lights flickering before going out
A deafening crack of thunder overhead
Mud splashing with every passing car
Rainwater streaming down the gutters
The storm fading into distant rumbles

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