Machines of the Little People - Chpt 1

Outside Roger threw his arms wide and yelled, "Hit me, Bob." Suddenly, there was a thin beam of bright blue light that came from somewhere in the upper part of the tree.

 Machines of the Little People

 

 

  

Everything in life is about balance... give and take... good and evil... ying and yang and sometimes... the Katoy.

 

 

     "Can you fix it?" Mrs. Cashel asked.

     "Sure.  Your p-trap arm is corroded.  It’s not a big deal." I said.  

     After thirty six years as a handyman in Southern California, I am always surprised that the simplest problem can seem so huge to someone else.  A little water in the bottom of a cabinet and for some, the world is coming to an end.  Some people tried to solve the problem themselves and ultimately got in over their heads, while others didn't try at all.  I have little or no respect for the latter.

     "How much," Mr. Cashel asked from behind the morning paper.  It was always the same with him.  Money first.  At sixty-seven he was pretty much my typical customer.

     He sat at the dining table, pretending not to be interested in my inspection but watched my every move.  After eight or nine calls over a two year period we had yet to connect.

     Mrs. Cashel was a different story.  She held complete and utter trust after the first repair,  and always made an effort to make me feel welcome.

          There were some customers I refused to work for no matter the money involved.  They behaved as if I were a slave of substandard ability and they my disappointed owner.  They were easy to spot and I usually had no trouble avoiding them.      

          "Henry,  please,  don't be rude," she chided playfully.

           "You have to be practical, Emma.  Things aren't cheap."

          "I can do it for under a hundred thousand," I said matter of fact.

          The newspaper fell to the table in a noisy crumple.  Mr. Cashel gave me a sour look that would have stopped Godzilla in his tracks.

          As a rule my little joke usually broke the ice and made it easier to come up with an acceptable price, kind of a good news, bad news thing.  Not to mention it always afforded me a private little laugh.  It took a moment for most people to decide if I was serious or not.  The look on their face as the thought passes through their mind was satisfaction enough to keep doing it.

          "Ben, you can be so much fun," she said, placing a frail hand on my shoulder.

          "Money is not a laughing matter, Emma."

           "How does twenty dollars sound?" I asked.  "I have the part in my truck and it will only take a few minutes to replace."

          "Ten sounds better," Henry groused, returning to the other side of the paper once more.

          "Twenty will be fine, Benjamin.  I'll get my purse," Emma said with a pat on my shoulder.

          "I'll get started,"  I said, following her to the foyer.

          After a few minutes I returned from my truck with the part and was well on my way to solving the problem.  If the rest of the day turned out to be this easy, it promised to be a good one.   

  

Chapter 1

      

          As I lay under the cabinet making my repair, I was assaulted with the constant barking of the Cashel's dog in the backyard.  Both Mr. and Mrs. had disappeared into the back of the house upon my return.  Their dog was going nuts, making my dog in the truck bark as well.  I tried to ignore it but it was beginning to get under my skin.

       "Benjamin Harris?" a male voice suddenly questioned.

           I pulled out from under the sink, leaning on one elbow. Half in, half out of the kitchen back door stood a well groomed man. 

          He towered well over six feet, wearing a dark blue suit, pale blue shirt with a dull red tie and dark sun glasses.

          I was immediately put off by his presence.

          "The Cashels went that way," I said, pointing toward the other end of the house.

          "Harris?  Right?" he asked, looking over the top of his glasses at me.

          "Who's asking?" I was openly irritated.  Who was this guy and why was he asking my name?  He had an IRS look about him I didn't like.  I shifted to get to my feet but by the time I stood he was gone.  I went out on the porch but he was nowhere to be seen.  At the far end of the yard, the Cashel's dog was still barking at something on the other side of the fence.  The yard was too large and the fence too tall for the man to have gone that way.

    "That damn dog," Mr. Cashel said, returning to the kitchen.  "You know who he's barking at, don't you?" There was a touch of anger in his voice.

    I glanced toward the dog.  The hair on the back of its neck was standing straight up.  It charged the

fence, pouncing on its front paws where the ground and fence met.  It ran back and forth several feet and then returned to the same spot.

          I did know who lived on the other side of that fence.

          Roger Keswick, my brother-in-law or, more accurately, my ex-brother-in-law.  I hadn't seen or spoken to him in over three years, not since the funeral.  

          We had been close, the three of us.  He and Kate were the center of my life for more than the twenty some years they were married.

          Kate had been both mother and father to me, or least she tried.  At eighteen, nine years my junior, my sister thought I was the one needing protection.  I'll admit I took it hard when the folks passed, both within a week of each other, like they couldn't go on without the other.  At first, I was mad about it.  It was like they didn't care about us.  They left us to go on by ourselves as if we didn't matter.

          Then, as time went on I kind of admired them, envied them one might say.  They loved each other the

way characters in a book or in movies did.  What more could anyone ask for?

          Kate asked and found Roger.  At first, I didn't like him but he made her happy and that was all that mattered.

          An odd sound came from the other side of the fence between the barks of the dog.  It was a dull thud, thud, thud followed by someone mumbling angrily.

          "Damn dog," Mr. Cashel cursed and stomped off.

          I was drawn to the fence behind him.

          The old man grabbed the dog by his collar, yanking him back toward the house.

          The hound struggled, balancing on his back feet, his front dangling in the air, twisting to get free and it never stopped barking.

           The thud sound continued to grow louder as I drew closer to the fence and peered through the slats. On the other side, I could see Roger with a large ax in his hands.  He was chopping the roots of a tree that ran close to the surface of the ground.  He cursed and muttered persistently as he

swung.  There was something odd about him, about his clothes.

          Suddenly, he stopped chopping, stared back at me through the fence.

          "Benjamin?" he asked, coming closer.  He dropped the ax, placing his hands on the boards to pull himself up to look over the top.

          "Roger," I said in shock.  His hands, his face, even his hair were covered in what looked like blood.

          "Kate's not home," he said. 

          My head was suddenly swimming, unclear what to think, what to do.   

          "Kate?" I asked as a wash of memories coursed through me, the hospital, the cancer, her funeral.

          "Did I say Kate?" he asked, slipping down behind the fence, picking up the ax.  "I didn't mean Kate.  Did I?" he asked, turning toward me again.

          "No, Roger,   I wouldn't think so,"  I said, pulling myself to the top of the fence.  A shudder of panic shot through me.  He was covered, almost from head to toe, smeared with the red substance.  I tried to force myself to speak.  "Roger, are you alright?"

          "Of course.  Why do you ask?"   He said, turning to look at me.  He smiled a disconnected expression that made me uneasy.

          "Roger, you're covered with..." I couldn't say the word.  My mind swam with the possibilities. 

          "Paint," he said with a smirk and began to chop once more.  There on the ground at his feet was a paint gun, hacked into a dozen pieces but a paint gun nonetheless.  Each new whack splashed more of the sticky substance all over him.

          Without my notice, a woman had crossed the yard from the house.  She slipped a small hand on Roger's shoulder.

          "Everything okay here?" she asked, giving me an icy glare.

          Roger let the ax slip through his hand until the head rested on the ground.

          "Yup.  Almost done," he said gleefully.

          "Why don't you let this go until later and come wash up.  I think they've seen enough for now, don't you?" she said, never breaking eye contact with me.  She pulled Roger lightly, positioning him behind her.

          "I don't think they will try again for a while," he said with satisfaction and, tossing the ax to the grass, turned and strolled off toward the house.  "Tuna sandwich, Ben?" he called without turning around.

          The woman's head spun quickly toward him and then back to me.

          "Ben Harris?" she asked with a smile.  Her body had been tense, rigid as a pole a moment before and now the tension drained away.

          "Yes," I said uneasily.

          "He talks about you all the time.  Please, come have lunch.  I think it would be good for him."

          I was confused and now a little more than embarrassed.  I really didn't want to see Roger or see that house, let alone eat lunch as the memories would be to painful.

          "Please, I wouldn't ask if it weren't important."

          "I really..." I tried to think of something, anything but couldn't find the right words, the right excuse to escape.

          "Ben.  Tuna," Roger yelled from the back door of the house waving his hand to beckon me.

          "Just for a few minutes," the woman prompted.

          "A few minutes," I agreed, sliding down to my side of the fence again.  I kicked myself over and over for not thinking quickly enough to get out of it.  Just a couple of minutes.  Couple?  Hell, one minute.  No more than two, I promised myself as I finished the Cashel's sink.

          I said my good byes, collected my money and drove around the tree lined block to Kate's house.  

          Roger's house now, I had to remind myself.  

          Part of me wanted to drive right on by but the house pulled at me.  A large white colonial with black trim, black roof and expansive front yard.  Everything was the same.  I hadn't seen this house or been on this street for well over three years and it looked as if no time had passed.  The same flowers overflowed the brick beds and walkways that the three of us had spent that first summer building.  I parked, just to look, the engine still running, lost in that memory.  

          My eyes followed the brick pathway to the front door.  The afternoon I hung it, we argued for hours.  Each of us had a suggestion for its color.  After a few beers I had finally convinced Roger to side with me.  It didn't matter.  Kate painted it at two in the morning as Roger and I slept and from that day to this it was red.  At that moment, it swung open and the woman stepped out.

          She gave a quick little wave and then motioned for me to come in.

          "Damn it," I cursed under my breath and returned her wave.

           She was thin.  Much more so than Kate, a little taller too, I think.  Dressed in black slacks and matching jacket with an electric blue blouse, she had a Kate appearance about her.

          I turned off the engine and the cab suddenly felt as if it were closing in on me.  I held the key in the ignition, wanting to turn it, wanting to fire the engine and drive away.  I wanted to be anywhere but here, anywhere.

          "Ben, are you coming?" she called, coming a few steps down the walk toward me.  The concern in her voice reminded me that much more of Kate and my eyes begin to well.

          "Coming," I called and pulled my last chance of escape from the ignition.  As I stepped out of the truck my dog, still laying in the bed jumped to her feet, tail wagging furiously.  "It's okay.  Don't get up.  I'll only be a minute.  You watch the truck."

          The woman had moved to meet me halfway down the walk.  

           "I'm Roger's wife, Jessica,"   she said, smiling and clutching my hand as she pulled me into the house.

          The foyer was exactly as I had remembered it.  The hardwood floors glistened as if polished moments before we entered.  To our right, behind the door, the same, large mirror with the ugliest flea market frame Kate could find, still hung over her favorite entry table.  To our left...  the chronicles of our past.

          I stood transfixed.  How could this still be here after all these years?  The entire wall, from corner to corner, floor to ceiling was covered in our photos.  They had been arranged in a  sun burst pattern around a simple, three by five silver frame.  Dozens and dozens of pictures of Roger and Kate as well as those of the house as it changed from its humble beginnings to its present state.

          "Why?  How?" I stammered as each photo, each memory, each emotion thunder through my mind, washing over me.

           Still holding my hand, Jessica glanced to the rooms beyond and then fixed her eyes on the polished floor.  

          "I've taken them down three or four times," she began in a low, soft voice barely over a whisper, "boxed them up and put them away.  By the following morning they've returned, exactly like this, always in the same order.  Roger never says a word about them having been taken down or their return."  She glanced quickly at me and then toward the other rooms as if concerned about being overheard. 

          "I can change anything, anywhere in the house except here.  He never speaks of her, not her name, not what she meant to him... nothing.  Only you.  He talks about you all the time."   She shifted uneasily.  

          We stood silently for a moment before the sound of approaching footsteps pushed us apart.  She dropped my hand as if we were doing something wrong. 

          "Ben,   come on, man.  Tuna," Roger said earnestly, looking around the corner at me.

           "We were looking at your photos, dear.  I thought Ben could help me out.  Perhaps explain a few of the more curious ones to me."

          "Curious ones?" he asked, stepping into the foyer.  He eyed them all searching for some clue as to what she meant.  He turned to her with a puzzled look.

          "This one for starters," she said, pointing at the silver frame perched at the very center.  

          It held a dull, unfocused tan blob of color with a ring of distorted white at its edges.  It appeared to be a photo taken with someone's finger partially over the lens.  In the lower right hand corner was a small white label with the handwritten  word 'Sparky.'

          A large, solid lump jumped into my throat.  My skin rippled with a childish fear.

          Roger pushed his face close to it in mock inspection and then stood, turning toward me with a broad smile.

          "It's Ben, of course," he said with a laugh.

           Jessica turned to look at me, more bewildered than ever.

          Before I could say anything we were greeted by the sound of more footsteps.

          "Hey, Sis.  Tuna?" Roger asked, turning to greet the woman now joining us.

          "Not for me, but maybe later," she said.  "Hello, Benjamin, I haven't seen you since..." She caught herself before saying it out loud.

          "Hello, Audry," I replied, not wanting to talk about that right now.

          "You?" she asked and I knew instantly what she meant.

          "No.  You?" I asked, secretly wanting to hear only one thing.

          "No," she said and pushed lightly between Roger and Jessica to take my outstretched hand.  It was warm, soft and more delightful than I would have thought possible.  There had always been a connection of sorts between us.  We had met several times over the years, but her job kept her on the East Coast making a relationship impossible to explore.  No more than two or three years my junior, it was as if we had known each other in some distant past and were now reunited after a lifetime apart.  But it had always been put on hold.  Either she was with someone and I not or the other way around.  Her face was pleasant, her eyes the perfect shade of blue.  Her long dark hair, pulled back in a tail and tied with a dull blue ribbon, flowed gracefully to the middle of her back.  At her forehead a swath of fierce white hair mixed lightly into the tail.  

          "Ben is Sparky?"  Jessica asked, breaking the newly spun spell now holding me.

          Roger bent at the waist pretending to inspect the frame for a second time.

          "Yup.  As close as you'll ever get.  Believe me, we tried.  Can't tell you how many rolls of film we threw away trying to capture his ugly mug," he said, punching my shoulder.

          Jessica looked at me and then the photo.

          "Now this I have to hear," Audry said folding her arms and stepping back.

           Jessica followed her lead and folded her arms as well.

          I was embarrassed.  This was the defining moment of my life repeating itself for the hundredth time.  There was no escaping the fact.

          "You can't take a picture of Ben.  No one can," Roger laughed.

          The women turned to look at him and then back to me.

          I couldn't say anything.  No words came.  I had spent my life running, hiding, trying to avoid this very moment and here I was with my back to the door and nowhere to escape.

          "Didn't you know?" he asked, searching the faces of the others.  

          Each shook their head, assuring him of their naiveté.

          "Ben has B.C.E.D."

          My heart sank at the sound of the words branding me as a genetic freak once more.  

          Neither of the women reacted.

           "Come on.  B.C.E.D.?  Bio-chemical electrical discharge?" he asked.

          Their faces remained blank.

          "He can't be caught on film because his body emits a higher form of electrical energy that ruins film and ­screws with electrical devices...?"

          Still no reaction.

          "He can't be near anything with sensitive electronics.  He can't use a cell phone, can't watch TV in the same room.  Can't ride in an airplane or cars with on board computers.  Him and about eighteen other people in the world.  That's why after all these years he's still with Margaret,"   he said gleefully.

          "Margaret?" both women said at the same moment.  Each with a different tone in their voice turned their attention to me.

          "His truck," Roger injected.  "He calls his truck Margaret.  Geesh, you guys."

          The women seemed to relax and laughed a little.

           "Why on earth would you call your truck Margaret?" Audry asked, placing a gentle hand on my forearm.

          "It seemed right at the time.  Besides, she insisted," I quipped.

          "You have no competition with Margaret, Sis.  It's Tilley he truly loves.  Now her you wouldn't hold a candle to.  Trust me.  No one could ever take her place," he teased.

          Once again, both women turned expecting an explanation.

          "He's right.  Once I saw her face, one look into her beautiful brown eyes, her stunning hair, her personality,   I fell madly, deeply in love,"   I said with as much flourish as I could muster.  I made a point of watching Audry's face as I spoke.

          Her eyes flashed with irritation.  Her body stiffened, her mouth twisted in a tight little pucker, which gave me a good deal of pleasure.  They were speechless.

          I grabbed the door and yanked it open.

          "Tilley," I called.  "Come on, girl."

           With little more than my opening the door Tilley jumped out of the truck and was on the run to greet me.  Still very spry for an older, overweight, graying Labrador, she had no equal.  When they labeled dogs man's best friend they had Tilley in mind.

          She rushed in, all but knocking everyone over with her tail and overfed body.

          "Tilley," Roger called excitedly and she went to him as if no time had passed between them.

          "And this?  What goes here?" Jessica asked, pointing at the only empty spot on the wall.  It was clear that a picture had been recently removed.

          Roger shifted.  A dark expression consumed him.

          "Tuna waits for no man," he pronounced and marched off to the kitchen with Tilley in tow.

          The three of us stood in the foyer for a moment.  Jessica glanced at me.

          "It was there just last week.  He removed it and I don't know why."

          "Maybe he was tired of it," Audry offered.

           With her arms still folded,  Jessica shook her head and rubbed her arms as if suddenly cold before leading the way to the kitchen.

          Smiling weakly, Audry and I followed.

          Turning to make sure the door had been closed, I paused.  A small baseball bat and four flashlights were arranged in the corner.  Each light, a different size and color.  I couldn't imagine why they would be there.  There were no children and to the best of my knowledge, Roger had never played sports.

          The house held all the pleasant smells I remembered.  Other than the foyer and general floor plan, everything else had changed.  New colors and new furniture now populated the living room.  The large hardwood floor was now all but covered with a thick richly colored area rug.  White furniture with black legs and matching throw pillows had been arranged across from one another in front of the brick fireplace.  A massive, mahogany and glass  coffee table separated them and large, ornate brass lamps had been strategically placed about the room.

           We made our way down the hall to the right to the kitchen.  Two of the four walls were covered in windows.  Framed in wood, painted a pristine white, a series of small single glass panes lit the room with great volumes of natural light.  The lavish oak cabinets still standing sentinels along two walls, capped in stone,  were a picture right out of a magazine.

          The back door had been left open and Tilley was free to explore the huge backyard.  Within the confines of its wooden barrier were nine trees, all well over seventy five years old and extremely tall.  Hedges hid the majority of the fence with a variety of flowers that drew a colorful line between the hedges and the flawless lawn.

          As I went to locate my dog, I paused to check out another set of four flashlights and a baseball bat, next to this door just as it was at the front.

          "One or two?" Roger asked as he stacked bread on a plate.

          I hesitated.

          "One will be fine, Roger," Audry said for me.

           He scooped tuna right out of the can placing it on a slice of bread and then scooped mayonnaise onto a second piece before squeezing them together, slicing them from corner to corner.  He made several others for himself.

          The four of us sat down and talked and joked and laughed.  Audry sat next to me, eating half of the terrible sandwich Roger had made.  I had almost forgotten what it was like to be with people, to be with family.  

          Time slipped away as did the sunlight and before I knew it, it was dusk.  Roger and Jessica excused themselves as Audry and I continued to talk and flirt.  It had been more years than I cared to think about since I had this feeling for a woman.  Each moment together seemed like a week of real time passing, while hours flew by in but a blink of an eye.

          As it grew darker I became aware of Jessica standing at the kitchen sink, locked in place, watching something outside.

           Audry and I went to stand next to her, looking at the unfolding scene in the back yard.

          Outside in the growing dark was Roger.  He stood at the base of a large pecan tree with Tilley sitting next to him.  He was wearing only his shirt... no pants, no underwear, no shoes.  He held a baseball bat in one hand and a large flashlight in the other.  He shined the light high into the branches and spoke as if carrying on a conversation with someone sitting in the tree.   

          "Poor Roger," Audry whispered. 

          My heart sank at the image.  It was no longer just an oddity.  Roger was slipping away before my eyes.  I wrapped my arm around Audry's waist to comfort her.    

          Standing at the sink, watching Roger, time seemed to stand still for all three of us.  As he talked to the tree Tilley sat up as if asked to beg.  She hardly ever did that, even for something sweet. 

     This went on far longer than I had expected.  Now, I had to see for myself what was in the tree and to whom Roger was talking.

           "When Roger and I first met, he was unbelievably attentive, charming, and brilliant.  He spoke of wondrous things that were so far over my head.  It was as if he was speaking another language,"   Jessica said softly.  "Now, I'm afraid I only look like someone he once loved."

          I understood how she felt.  Her words touched me far deeper than I would openly admit.    

          "I'll go," I said softly.

          "No.  Just watch a moment," Jessica said.  She crossed the room, shutting off the lights before returning to the sink.  We waited for our eyes to adjust to the new darkness.  Roger walked around the tree, first in one direction and then in the other.  Tilley continued to sit up and beg.

          The light he carried flashed into our window and then in and out of the upper branches.

          Slowly, silently, Jessica leaned forward,  sliding open the window.

          It took a moment for Roger to come around to our side of the tree so we could hear him speak.

           "Yes, I agree.  He's here now." He spoke hoarsely at the tree, trying not to be too loud.  "No.  I won't.  He's not ready.  He wouldn't understand."

          "Who's he talking about?"  Audry whispered.

          "More importantly, who's he talking to?"  I added.

          "Shush, just watch," Jessica chided. 

          Roger wandered around the tree once more before returning to the same general spot.

          We waited.  From somewhere in the yard, or maybe the house, a low dull drone began.  Barely audible, it seemed to vibrate the floor before I actually heard it, like a washing machine on spin in another room.  It grew deeper in tone until it was coming from the center of my chest.

          Outside Roger threw his arms wide and yelled, "Hit me, Bob." 

          Suddenly, there was a thin beam of bright blue light, a laser for lack of a better description that

came from somewhere in the upper part of the tree.  He arched his back, standing on his very toes as if  

lifted by the light.  It struck him dead in the center of his chest for a split second.

          "Oh, Momma," he cried with excitement and the light was gone.  He crumpled to the ground on his hands and knees.

          Tilley rushed to lick his face and the two rolled around in the grass while Roger laughed.

          "Oh, my God," Audry and I said at the same time before looking to Jessica for an explanation.

          "That's the fourth time.  I've asked him but he won't tell me," she said flatly and crossed the room to turn the light on again.  "You ask him, Ben."

          Audry looked at me but said nothing.

          I nodded in silent agreement and made my way outside.  I stood for a moment on the stone patio trying to decide what to say.

          By now Roger was on his feet again and circling the tree once more.

          Tilley ran to me for a moment and then ran back to Roger.  I shoved my hands into my pockets and followed.

           "Yes, yes, yes, I  know," Roger said urgently, shining his light about the upper branches.

          As I approached he walked a few steps away around the trunk as if following someone or something to that side of the tree.

          "Hey, Roger, who are we talking too?"

          "Hey, Ben,"   he said, shining the light in my face before returning it to the top of the tree.

          "Roger, what's in the tree?  You got a cat up there?" I pressed.

          "Ben.  Come on, man.  You know I can't talk about my work," he said, moving to the opposite side of the trunk again.

          "Roger, you're standing in your backyard, half naked with a flashlight in one hand and a baseball bat in the other."

          "Hang on, Bob," he yelled toward the top of the tree with some irritation and turned off the light. 

          "Ben, I always think better without pants.  You know that."

           "Then who is Bob?  And for that matter what's with the bat and the flashlight?  And while we're at it, what the hell was that blue light?"

          "Bob?  Ben, Ben, Ben.  What light?  Are you sure you're okay?  Did you get enough to eat?" he said, shaking his head.  He walked around the tree, tapping the trunk with the bat, turning the light on and off.  "Damn rats.  You got to scare them every once in a while or they'll take over.  Know what I mean, Ben?"

          "Roger, I know what I saw, so don't give me that s**t about rats."

          He rushed to stand closer to me.

          "Don't be an a*s Ben," he whispered.  "They're watching.  Is there any tuna left?" he asked and walked back to the house, snapping off the light.

          Tilley stood between the two of us.  Her head swung to me and then toward him.  She ran to the base of the tree and sat up.  She waited for a moment before barking several times, then giving up, ran inside in pursuit of Roger.

          I walked close to the tree and as best I could, tried to see God only knew what.  The branches and  

leaves swayed gently in the darkness but revealed nothing.  I shook my head and turned to go back to the house.

          At that moment a rustling of leaves caught my attention.  Something was moving through the branches.  The sound picked up speed.  The rustling grew more frantic, and then whatever it was it jumped to the roof of the house with a thud.  A moment's hesitation, then it scampered up the roof before disappearing over the other side.

          I had no idea what to think.  Was it a cat?  A raccoon?  What the hell was going on?  I had had enough.  It was time to go.

          I said my good-byes and made my way to the front door with Tilley.  I wanted to say something to Audry but after this evening I had no idea what.

          Roger followed us to the door and held it so it wouldn't open all the way.

          "Ben, you haven't been here in weeks.  Come tomorrow and we'll talk," he said with dead earnest.

          "Roger, it’s been three years," I corrected.  My mind was running a hundred miles an hour.  He seemed normal, but how could I tell?  It's not like crazy people wear a sign. 

          "Three years?  Are you sure?" he asked.  His face was twisted as if trying to fit that amount of time into his brain to judge its passing.

          "I'm sure."

          "Tomorrow then," he continued.

          Audry stood behind him mouthing the word, "please."

          "I have to work in the morning but I'll be here."

          "Good.  Bring peanut butter.  It's Thursday," he said, before walking away.

          "Only if you wear pants, Roger," I said, trying to make a point.

          "Can't promise a thing.  I might have tasks that require no pants thinking but we'll see.  Crunchy style, Ben.  Don't forget."

          "Benjamin... I... we..." Audry said, turning to look to Jessica, who stood in the hallway wringing her hands. 

          "It'll be okay.  I'll see you tomorrow afternoon," I promised.  

          I led Tilley to the truck, trying to sort out the afternoon's images thundering through my head.  I had to decide what to do about tomorrow, but more importantly, what to do about Roger.

 

 

Reviews

[Wendy Seames Garner]

Well, you've done it again, Tegon, got me hooked into another story and I don't have time to read more now! Hope I have time to read more tonight.

Just a little something for you to look at, someone stole an "es" this time - wonder if it was that thing up in the tree?
The look on their face as the thought pass through their mind was satisfaction enough to keep doing it. Should that be as the thought (passes) through their minds?

[Autumn T.]

This is SO amazing! You're very descriptive in writing this. I love it. It's... Hmm... How to phrase this? A little bit sci-fi without being TOO sci-fi. It's truly amazing.

One thing, though, is that there's a few spots where you mess up some grammar.

Your there/their/they're usage is a little bit off. There means a location or something in general; (It's over there.... There's somebody at the door.) Their is when something belongs to a group of people. (That's THEIR book, leave it alone.) They're is short for THEY ARE. (They're going to the party tonight.)

That's all I could find that you could improve on; Just, keeping this in mind, kind of read it again to make it its best quality. I love this.