#SwiftFicFriday Week 105 : Time For A New Approach.

I’d learned, from public records at the library, who owned the building, and I’d learned they wanted to replace it. Tear it down, put up a new building. But, they couldn’t. The city viewed the old building as a historic structure, even had it on the list of historic sites. Can’t believe I’d never known that.

The owner wanted the building destroyed. They’d only needed a way to destroy it. That’s where she’d come in.

I had a pretty solid guess who she was, from a missing persons search. It took a while to narrow the list down. You have no idea how many women are listed on the government’s missing person list.

My only real question was, “Where are they hiding her?”

That’s why I wound up standing beside that fake lake again, hearing what I’d heard in an old movie somewhere, “Always go with your first instinct.” I stood there, wishing I had eyes that could see through the water, and the ground under it. Wishing I could see where the entrance was to the room they kept her in.

“Time to try something different. Something new.” I started walking around the lake. Hell, I didn’t even know what I was looking for. But, like Deborah would tell me, “How did you know to be at that building?”

Some feeling that I can’t describe, or explain, knew where I needed to be, and what to look for. After all the decades, I was still learning to ignore everything, including my thoughts, and let my body do what it somehow knew to do.

I walked around that lake for hours. Lap after lap. All night long, until my feet stopped walking. I didn’t have to look. I knew the door was there, and I was standing on it.

299 Words
@mysoulstears

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It’s Week 105 of #SwiftFicFriday, hosted by Katheryn Avila. I’m still wondering what the heck is going on with this story. There seems to be only one way for me to find out. Anyway. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #SwiftFicFriday. They are always fun to read. And there are some great writers who show up regularly.

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#ThursThreads Week 487 : I Can’t Abandon Them.

After my shower, and my pain pills, I sat down at the kitchen table, and Deborah put a plate of bacon, scrambled eggs, toast with jelly, and a glass of straight whiskey in front of me. “You need it.” She rested her hand on my shoulder, “Harvey. It’s not your fault, what happened to me.”

I didn’t say anything.

“It’s not your fault I’m broken inside.”

I tried to eat something. Failed. Grabbed the whiskey, downed it, trying to wash away everything I felt. Failed. Again.

“You got me out.”

“I wasn’t soon enough.”

“You got me out.”

I poked at the eggs with my fork. “Is she broken already?”

Deborah didn’t say a word.

“I’m already too late again, aren’t I.”

“Please, Harvey. Eat something.”

I shoveled in a bite of the eggs, then a slice of the bacon. Then, I looked at her.

“You already know. Why are you asking me?” Sometimes, I swear she could look right through me, straight to my soul. “You already know.”

“Sometimes, I think I have enough scars, and maybe I should stop. Forget everything. Go somewhere, and drink myself dead.”

Those empty eyes she had. Me knowing she couldn’t care about anyone, or anything, that she was empty inside, as she looked through me. Her empathy reading me like a book. “You won’t.”

“I won’t.” I finished the eggs. “I can’t abandon them. Other hidden ones.” I even tried to smile, “Her.”

“You’ll save her, Harvey. Like you saved me.”

249 Words
@mysoulstears

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It’s Week 487 of #ThursThreads, hosted by Siobhan Muir. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are always fun to read. And there are some great writers who show up every week.

Miranda Kate’s Mid-Week Challenge : 2021/10/29 (Week 223)

It was one of those nights I was up stupidly late, because I couldn’t shut my brain cells down. They kept looking for answers. “Who owned the building before the incident?” “Who owns the building now?” “How do I figure out what a shell company is?” “How do I find her, before they make her destroy something else?”

It wasn’t the first time I passed out at my desk, with my head on my arms. “I’ll just close my eyes for a minute.” Boom! Out cold. Dreaming. And remembering.

Deborah had been in the same boat. Some rich, nasty guy owned her. Made her tell him what his business partners, and associates were feeling and thinking, so he could take advantage of them, and make himself richer. Thanks to her, he’d destroyed dozens of people’s lives. Left them in financial ruins. No one could ever find anything he’d done that was illegal.

That’s when I’d turned up, like the bad penny I am. Armed to the teeth, throwing hand grenades like a flower girl throwing flower petals at a wedding. “Here! Catch!” Shot my way in. Found her. “You asked for help?” Got her out of there.

And took months before I could walk again. I have no clue how many times I got shot. Anyone else would have died. Me? I’m a hidden one. You can shoot me a thousand times, and I’ll heal up, eventually. Not like those comic book characters. You cut my hand off, it’s going to stay off, not going to grow back. And I have scars. More than you can imagine.

Deborah had stayed with me as I healed. She’d hauled me to a hospital. They’d dug out pounds of shrapnel, and wondered why I wasn’t dead. “He’s just lucky, I guess.”

She knew I was a hidden one. Like her.

Like her, yeah. But not like her at all. See. Deborah was empty inside. After what that rich bastard had done, how he’d used her, and abused her, and all the other things men do to women, that women never talk about, everything inside her had died. She was nothing but an empty shell that looked like a woman, but had no dreams, no goals, no hopes.

I’d always tried to reach her, wherever she was. Draw her back into that body, so I could meet her. She’d never returned. Over 10 years since I’d gotten her out of that nightmare. And she’d never returned. All I knew was her name, that she was an empath, how old she was. She never even mentioned what she liked, what she hated, what she wished I would or wouldn’t do.

Not once. In over 10 years.

Now, I was looking for another one of us, another hidden one. This one could turn the air solid, and hit things with it, crush things with it.

As I slept, head on desk, I wondered if this new person was going to be as empty inside as Deborah. I wondered if maybe, this time, I should straight up kill the bad guy, instead of just rescuing the girl.

Have you ever slept at your desk, sitting in your chair, head resting on your arms, for hours? Waking up wasn’t fun that morning. But wake up I did. And Deborah was standing next to me, “You’re not a killer.”

“I know. The damage is already done. All I can do is get her out, so they can’t use her anymore.”

“I’ll fix you something to eat. You should get a shower.”

She didn’t say, “and take your pain killers.” She didn’t have to.

604 words
@mysoulstears

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The picture for Week 223 of Miranda Kate‘s Mid-Week Challenge got to me. I had to figure out how to put what it said to me into words others can read if they wish. You can learn about Miranda’s challenge here. The stories people share for the weekly challenge are always little works of art, crafted with words, meant to be shared, and enjoyed.

#ThursThreads Week 485 : That’s Not Why I’m Here.

I started with the first thing on the list, “Figure out what I do know.” That took me back to where the building had been. They’d been fast, it was already nothing but a concrete slab on the ground, blocked off by a cheap chain link fence, the kind with posts stuck into cinder blocks filled with concrete, and a razor wire attachment that ran along its top.

“No entry permitted, go away.” I shook my head. “Go away? That’s not why I’m here.”

I took out my cell phone, and added the zoom lens attachment. It worked really well for looking where I wasn’t allowed to go. Brought such places right up close. I looked over the walls of the adjacent buildings. I looked at the concrete slab that was left.

“What do I know?” I set the phone to record.

“I knew this building was important. I knew something was going to happen at this building. Why this building?”

That’s when I started to break that first list item into smaller items.

1a. Who owned the building?
1b. Did anyone want the building gone?
1c. Did that anyone make an offer for the building?
1d. Did the owner say no?

From those questions, I knew why this building. I didn’t know who. But I knew, finding out who owned it, and who made the offer, would fill in more details. And might well answer item 2 on my list, “Figure out what I don’t know.”

247 Words
@mysoulstears

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It’s Week 485 of #ThursThreads, hosted by Siobhan Muir. Looks like Harvey and Deborah have returned. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are always fun to read. And there are some great writers who show up every week.

#SwiftFicFriday Week 90 : Callow

“Nothing’s ever fucking easy!” My frustration escaped, the words leaked out, and I already wished I could take them back.

Deborah’s laughter was what I needed, though, “Of course it’s not easy, silly. It’s supposed to be hard.”

“I know! I just wish! One time I wish it was simple!”

I don’t know why I wished that, as it made on sense. It’s never simple to rescue someone who is a prisoner. That’s what most of the hidden are. Prisoners. Held by someone, against our will, forced by any means that works to do what they want us to do.

“She is a hidden. They’ll make it hard.”

“I know, Deb. I know.” I took a deep breath, and let it out. “Rather callow of me to wish for simplicity.”

“You could start at the beginning, again. Maybe there’s something you missed.”

Of course there was something I missed. There were things I didn’t know. I knew where she was being held, but I didn’t know who was holding her, what her captor wanted, what threats kept her under control, how many layers of protection were around her.

“I don’t know a damn thing.” It was the truth. “You’re right. I need to start at the beginning. And go from there.”

She handed me a notebook, and a pen. “I always start with a list.”

She kept me focused, I knew that. Without her, I was total chaos. While that wouldn’t kill me, it could kill who I was trying to rescue, and cause oceans of collateral damage.

I started over, with a simple outline.

1. Figure out what I do know.
2. Figure out what I don’t know.
3. Find answers to 2.
4. Make a plan
5. Follow the plan

It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

300 Words
@mysoulstears

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It’s Week 90 of #SwiftFicFriday, hosted by Katheryn Avila. I’m wondering what the heck is going on with this story. There seems to be only one way for me to find out. Anyway. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #SwiftFicFriday. They are always fun to read. And there are some great writers who show up regularly.

#SwiftFicFriday Week 83 : Longwood Gardens Picture Prompt

Walking the streets for days got me nowhere. I didn’t even have dreams at night that helped me find her. That’s the trouble with my gift, I suppose. How random it is, how it suddenly puts something in my head, out of the blue, and changes everything.

After a week of walking, I needed a break. Deborah told me to go watch the water in the lake at the park, and to walk among the trees and flowers. She knew me, and knew how much that would restore me, rebuild me, so I could keep looking.

If I’d ever learned what my own feelings were, I would have known my heart was telling me I needed that visit. But, I never was able to figure out what I felt. Sometimes, Deborah had to figure it out for me.

I’d walked among the trees, and spent hours touching them, their bark, their leaves, the ground they grew from. Sometimes, I thought they talked with me, told me about all the time they’d seen pass, the people that came and went, some who came frequently, and grew old, and stopped coming. Others, who came once, like they were checking a box on a bucket list, and never came back.

“You know, anyone else would call me a Fruit Loop. Listening to the trees.” I swear they laughed.

Eventually, I found my way to the lake, fake as it was, just a hole dug in the ground, surrounded by rocks, to help it keep its shape. It had a little man made waterfall on one end. The trees had taken a liking to it. Made the entire place look more real.

I sat on the grass, and watched the water, and trees.

And just like that, I knew where she was.

298 Words
@mysoulstears

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It’s Week 83 of #SwiftFicFriday, hosted by Katheryn Avila. I’m wondering what the heck is going on with this story. There seems to be only one way for me to find out. Anyway. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #SwiftFicFriday. They are always fun to read. And there are some great writers who show up regularly.

#ThursThreads Week 468 : It Takes Me Back

The streets were always swarming with traffic. Honking horns, racing engines, screaming tires, and all the rest. No one walked. Walking got you killed. Yet, there I was, walking. One block this way, three blocks that way, then a block back on the other side of the street.

It was all I could do to find her, the one who was calling for help. I didn’t have a name, or a description. Didn’t know her size, race, hair color. I didn’t know anything, except she was one of the hidden.

Like me.

The only way I had to find her was to sleep, and hope I found her in a dream, or to walk everywhere, and hope I  wound up where she needed me to be. It was the same way I’d found Deborah, and so many others. Some strange, hidden ability to know where to be, where to go, to help someone who needed help.

“It takes me back to think about it.” And it did. Back to my past, like the first time I wound up somewhere I needed to be. I didn’t know it was a gift, then. Didn’t know I was one of the hidden. I’d done what felt right, followed my instincts, let my emotions guide me. And I wound up finding someone who’d been shot, and dumped in an alley, hidden from sight, and left there to die.

That was the first time I’d helped someone.

242 Words
@mysoulstears

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It’s Week 468 of #ThursThreads, hosted by Siobhan Muir. The prompt told me to write this. It didn’t ask. It ordered. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are always fun to read. And there are some great writers who show up every week.

#ThursThreads Week 464 : And I Can’t Do That

Deborah was true to her word, like always. After I banged on my piano keys for a while, my head started to clear, and I started doing the math about what happened. “Maybe it wasn’t an electromagnetic field.”

“It wasn’t,” she sat in her chair, next to my piano, with my dinner on a tray in her lap. “It was one of us. One of the hidden.”

I didn’t say anything, I didn’t need to. She was an empath, a complete empath, one of the hidden herself. She knew everything I felt, and used that to piece together a lot of what I thought. She handed me the tray of food.

After I half emptied the can of soda she’d got me, I picked up the sandwich, looked at it, then at her. “One of us, huh?”

She nodded, “I felt so afraid. So desperate.”

“We need to find them, don’t we. Stop them before they do this again, and maybe kill someone.”

“No. You need to,” I could count, on one hand, how many times she’d said no to me, and have fingers left. “She needs help. And I can’t do that.”

“She?”

Deborah had one of those looks that said, “Yes,” and at the same time told me she was done talking about it. “How did you know which building to be in?”

She knew I couldn’t answer, that it was hidden, even from me. Something I felt, but never understood. “She’s calling for help, isn’t she.”

“Yes.”

250 Words
@mysoulstears

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It’s Week 464 of #ThursThreads, hosted by Siobhan Muir. The prompt told me to write this. It didn’t ask. It ordered. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are always fun to read. And there are some great writers who show up every week.

#SwiftFicFriday Week 77 : Practice Your Music

Deborah had tried to talk me into staying at the hospital a few extra days, “Just to be safe.” I wouldn’t have it. A Fruit Loop out there somewhere able to crush buildings with air wasn’t a good thing, and I couldn’t let such a being run wild. Besides, they’d dinged me up, and tried to kill Deborah. Even though everything still hurt, I got out of the hospital. They made me sign a waiver, not for the first time.

Of course, she knew. She knew I was angry, and worried about her, and about air being used as a sledge hammer. Just like she knew she’d never talk me into staying in the hospital until the doctors let me out.

She drove. I knew better than to demand I drive. I knew she sensed every ache and pain I felt. It was that empathy thing. Something about her I could never figure out.

After we got home, she made me take a nap on the sofa, with the TV playing some random program, hoping I’d sleep. I remember I did drift off to dreamland, but the dreams didn’t go well. Something about watching a solid wall of air crush people that made me wake up.

She was right there, next to me when I woke. “Here. I know what you need.” She helped me to my feet, and led me to my piano. “Practice your music.”

I did. Like I said, she knew. That empathy thing, you know. She understood the music healed me in more ways than medicine ever could. It even cleared my mind, so I could see the pictures, hear the words my brain wanted me to. So I could understand what I needed to understand.

“Practice your music. I’ll bring you dinner in a bit.”

300 Words
@mysoulstears

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It’s Week 73 of #SwiftFicFriday, hosted by Katheryn Avila. I’m wondering what the heck is going on with this story. There seems to be only one way for me to find out. Anyway. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #SwiftFicFriday. They are always fun to read. And there are some great writers who show up regularly.

#ThursThreads Week 459 : Can You Give Me An Example?

Once the police learned I was conscious, of course they had questions, mostly about, “Why were you there? What were you looking for? Did you find an explosive device?” The idiots kept asking that same set of questions, endlessly, like some robocall message on an answering machine that repeated all day, every day.

“She had a feeling.” I kept explaining that. They kept ignoring that.

After an hour of answering the same questions over and over again, they finally shut up. That’s when Deborah spoke, “You guys don’t know what happened, do you.”

“A building got bombed. You two were inside. Maybe you set the bomb up, and didn’t make it out.”

I’d have laughed, but laughing hurt too much right then.

She’d laughed in their faces. “It wasn’t a bomb.” She nodded to me. It was my turn to speak.

“It was a wall of air. Crushed the entire front of the building. No damage to anything around it. Just the building.”

“Explain to us how that works. Can you give me an example?”

“Works like crushing a can with your foot.”

“Seriously? Crushing a building with air?”

Everybody looked at Deborah. They knew she felt things, sensed things, they couldn’t. I did what I always did. Protected her. “Yeah. Air. Probably used an electromagnetic field to make it.”

They left, with the always expected, “We’ll be watching you. Don’t leave town.”

“I see they’re as silly as they always have been.”

Deborah nodded, “Some things never change.”

249 Words
@mysoulstears

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It’s Week 459 of #ThursThreads, hosted by Siobhan Muir. And I have no clue what the heck is writing itself. Please go read all the entries in this week’s #ThursThreads. They are always fun to read. And there are some great writers who show up every week.