Category Archives: Flash Fiction

September 11, 2016

This entry is part 4 of 8 in the Flash Fiction: 60 Minutes or Less

Not a continuation of the medieval series 😛

Prompt: “No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.” ― C.S. Lewis

Bobbie Spencer found him in his office, long after he normally left for the day. His eldest son had called, worried. Lee was never late for dinner, not since he had brought home another lost boy in January.

He was slumped over in his desk chair, his hand still clutching a pen as he had been finishing a patient’s chart. Lee Baldwin had spent his entire life helping people—from the children he counseled to the three boys he and his wife had fostered and adopted—and no one was surprised he had had his final heart attack in the midst of continuing his life’s work.

On an early spring day, Lee’s sons buried him in the plot reserved for him after his wife Gail had succumbed to breast cancer a decade earlier. They returned to the home where they had been raised, now filled with food and the people who had loved their father.

And Jason Morgan, the eldest of the three boys but the last to come to Lee and Gail, hated every inch of it.

He sat on the back porch, where the backyard met the small patch of woods and a creek. Wind rustled through the leaves, the low level of water babbled over rocks…this was was everything to him.

Patrick and Johnny had wanted to go back downtown, to the streets where they had grown up. Maybe to prove something—that they weren’t the same little assholes anymore, that they were better, stronger men.

Jason just wanted the peace, the quiet. He liked his home, liked his garage two blocks away. Stopping in the local diner for lunch or coffee. He didn’t need more than that.

The porch door creaked behind him, and he heard footsteps. Without turning, he said, “I’m not going back in there.”

“Hell, I know that.” His younger brother sat next to him and passed over a bottle of Rolling Rock. “Figured you’d want another one of these.”

Jason accepted it, and used the corner of the porch to knock off the cap—he’d been doing that since he was sixteen. “I can’t deal with all those people.”

“You don’t like people in general.” Johnny Zacchara shrugged. “I don’t either, but I’m better at pretending.” He took a long pull from his own bottle. “What was the final straw?”

“Bobbie Spencer was crying on my shoulder.” Jason closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the porch post. “I get it. Everyone loved Dad. I didn’t fight having the memorial, I just…”

“Want to put it away.” Johnny nodded. “I get it. Patrick’s the schmoozer, he’s got it covered.” He was quiet for a moment. “The chick from Social Services stopped by. The blonde?”

Jason frowned. “Why? We told her how it was going to be. Dad wanted Michael to stay. He’s ours. Done.”

“Adoption was barely started.” Johnny looked down at his bottle. “She’s worried we’re a bunch of crazy bachelors. But better us than somewhere else, right?”

“Right.” Jason nodded. And it was a done deal in his head. It was Lee’s last wish, so that was the end of it.

The door creaked again, but this time Jason heard the sound of heels rather than the shoes of a man. He straightened and turned. “Elizabeth.” He stood. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Elizabeth Webber smiled at them both, her blue eyes tinged with fatigue, one had propping open the door. “Patrick’s looking a bit wilted, Johnny. He had to deal with the nursing staff without you guys. Maybe…”

“Heard.” Johnny flashed their old friend a smile as he brushed past her into the house. “Jason wouldn’t be any help anyway.”

Jason didn’t even bother to scowl at his brother.. “You okay?”

“Fine.” She shifted. “Jason—”

“Where’s Cam?” Jason asked, cutting her off before she could ask him the same question everyone else did.

He might tell her the truth.

“He’s inside, taking a nap with Lulu’s son.” Elizabeth gently closed the door and stepped closer. “I’m surprised you lasted as long as you did. Almost an hour.” She tried to smile, but it didn’t last. She closed her eyes as a tear slid down. “I’m sorry. I was just—I walked into the kitchen and he wasn’t there. And I didn’t realize how different the house would be—”

Jason reached for her arm and drew her close. “Hey. Hey. Elizabeth—”

She wiped at her eyes and shook her head, drawing away from him. “No, no. I’m okay. I—you lost your father. I’m fine. Really.”

He sighed, but kept his hand on her arm. “Take a walk with me.”

“What?” she frowned. She gestured behind her. “We still have—”

“Don’t worry about it.” He tugged her down the stairs and towards the path that led into the woods. He needed to be away from the house almost as much he wanted to see Elizabeth take a moment for herself, which she rarely did.

From the moment he had come to live with Lee and Gail Baldwin in their home on the outskirts of Port Charles, Elizabeth Webber had been part of his life. She had been a little girl, then, nine to his thirteen, and closer to Johnny and Patrick since they were all in the same grade. At first, she had visited during the summers—her grandparents had lived nearby and worked with the Baldwins at the hospital. She had moved to Port Charles permanently three years later when her parents left for Doctors Without Borders, and she’d remained there.

To Johnny and Patrick, she would always be their sister—a comrade in arms, and often a partner in crime. To Jason, she was…fresh. Innocent. The first person, other than Lee and Gail, to care about him. Even Patrick and Johnny hadn’t warmed up to him as fast as she had.

And if maybe, once they were older, his feelings had shifted, that didn’t matter. She was better than him, deserved more than him.

“It feels weird to take this path now.” Elizabeth wrapped the ends of her thin black sweater more tightly around her torso as they picked their way through the well-traveled route. “How many times do you think we used this in high school?”

“More than my parents knew.” Jason winced—the shoes he’d worn for the service were not much for walking in. “I can’t believe it’s been eight years since your grandmother died.”

“I know.” Elizabeth stopped when the white porch of the old Hardy house was visible. “I wonder if my grandmother knew my parents would sell her home so quickly.” She was quiet for a moment. “They really just thought I could pull up stakes after five years and come to Europe, like I wasn’t in the middle of my senior year.” She turned and offered him a sad smile. “But Lee wouldn’t hear of it. For a little while, I was one of his lost kids. I loved him so much. I hate that Michael won’t get to know him and love him the way we did.”

Jason exhaled slowly. “Johnny told me Social Services is making some noise about pulling him.”

She blinked. “But he’s doing so well here. I know his grades are up and he was talking to Lee last week about playing baseball this year.” She pressed her lips together. “You guys are going for custody aren’t you?”

“Lee wanted us to keep him, so we’re keeping him.” Jason looked off into the woods, focusing on the breaks in the trees where the creek could be seen. “We’ll meet with her. It probably won’t be anything, but—” He looked at her, and shifted, hating what he was about to say. “Can you—can you maybe help out a bit for a few days? We don’t…have a schedule or anything with Michael yet. I—I don’t plan my day around him. He needs to be picked up from school—” He cleared his throat. “I’ll pay you whatever Dad was paying you to keep doing some things around the house—”

Elizabeth scowled and stepped back from him. “You think Lee was paying me to look after him and Michael? To make some meals and clean up? Jason.”

He frowned. “You’ve been around a lot the last few months—I know you cut back on some the houses you look after on the weekend and dropped a shift at Kelly’s to be around for Michael. Elizabeth—”

“Lee was family to me. He needed a bit of extra help.” She huffed. “He wasn’t a young anymore—when he took in the three of you, he did it with Gail. He was a bit out of his depth with Michael.” She bit her lip. “He needed the help, Jason. Couldn’t you see that?”

He looked away. He had. But he had ignored it. Kept to himself. Protecting his quiet world.

“I didn’t mean…” Elizabeth sighed, and tilted her head. “Jason, you know Lee hated asking you guys for anything. He was so proud of all you—”

“Don’t.” Jason shook his head sharply. “Let’s just…” He paused. “Let’s just get back to what—I’m going to need help with Michael. Patrick and Johnny—they can’t just…they can’t pick up and move back to the house, and I still need to work. Please. I know you’d help without it, but I’d feel better if I knew you and Cameron were all right.”

Elizabeth turned and started back towards the Baldwin house. He followed her, but said nothing. He knew she would agree—he just had to wait.

“Let’s do it this way,” Elizabeth said after a long moment. “I’ll still work the lunch shift at Kelly’s, and my regular weekend shifts. But I’ll pick Michael up from school, look after him until one of you can get here. And you can pay me the rate I would usually make at Kelly’s for the evening.”

“Okay.” The house came into view and he stopped. “I have to go back in there, don’t I?”

“Yeah.” She wound her arm through his. “But I’ll come with you.”

September 7, 2016

This entry is part 3 of 5 in the Flash Fiction 60: A King's Command

Prompt: All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.

Elizabeth frowned as she dropped a stitch in the gown she was mending. It was impossible to keep her concentration as life in the keep continued around—as if she were not sitting before the fire in the Great Hall.

As if she had not been their laird’s wife for the better part of three months.

People walked past her—warriors of the clan did not so much as take notice of her—they had never once shown her the deference they gave to Jason’s aunt or sister.

“And where does the fault lay for that?” she muttered as she repaired the stitch and continued with her project. During her first weeks here, she had made efforts to gain Tracy and Emily Morgan’s…acknowledgment, if not respect. She had asked Tracy to show her around, to talk about the duties Tracy carried out—but the older woman had rebuffed her, and Emily showed nothing but derision for her. Dillon was kinder, but he spent much of his time in the company of the fishermen who kept the clan fed in the between the larger hunts.

Jason spent much of his time outside the keep during the day, training his warriors and seeing to the clan’s needs. She offered no complaint about his family, though she was sure he was aware of the rift that existed. She rarely stayed in the hall after their evening meal, and Jason had started to join her earlier in their chambers.

Oh, were those not the best of evenings? They would sit before the warm fire, in their cozy little world, and he would tell her all about the world that lay outside their walls. He talked of his family’s loyalty to the king, of his clan’s history. And then they would retire for the night—nearly every night and some mornings…

Her cheeks were heated as she remembered how it felt to be his wife, to share their bodies. Jason was the best of husbands—no one could ask for more.

He had been away now for nearly three days—their monthly sojourn to stock the keep with meat they would in the coming weeks. This trip longer than most because Jason wanted to be sure they were ready for the remainder of the harsh winter. One’s breath nearly froze away from the fires of the hall, and the snow drifts were so deep that the warriors had taken sparring inside, the tables and trenchers pushed against the walls.

And while life in the clan continued much as it ever had, Elizabeth sat alone. Day after day, night after night—mending even the gowns that did not need it. She hesitantly asked if there were a loom—perhaps she might be able to work on some tapestries as she had at home. Tracy had scoffed at her and walked away without answering.

“’Tis one of the worst winters in years,” Dillon said as he sat in the chair next to her, blowing air into his hands then holding them close to the fire. “I ‘spect it is much warmer in the Lowlands.”

“I…I suppose,” Elizabeth said hesitantly. “I did not…I spent little time outdoors.” Locked in her rooms. Away from people. Away from anything that might trigger the curse. “Jason warned me the winters were…I suppose I thought maybe this close to the water—”

“Oh, aye, we have a more mild time of it than families further inland,” Dillon agreed. He hesitated and looked away, toward one of the men passing them. The man—whose name Elizabeth had never learned and likely never would at this rate—snorted before striding away. “You musn’t let them get to you, Cousin. ‘Tis Mother’s doing. She willna let you be mistress in anyway—”

“—and so the clan thinks me a lazy Sassenach,” Elizabeth said with a sigh, letting her mending fall in her lap. “Aye, I know. Cumberland is so close to England, I might as well—” She stared down at the dull-colored cloth. “I do not wish to interfere—I know your mother values her position here, but I had hoped if I were patient—”

“Aye, well, showing patience with my mother is like showing yer weakness,” Dillon said with a half smile. “I was supposed to be the leader of my father’s people, you see. But m’father died when I was just a bairn. The clan elected another leader, and Mother decided to come home when Jason’s mother died in child bed.” He shifted. “Mother has never really…recovered from losing her position.”

And so clung to this one tightly…there was nothing Elizabeth could say that would be kind towards Dillon’s mother, and while the youth recognized his mother’s flaws—he might not be so happy if she chimed in with own complaints.

“I have much to feel blessed for,” Elizabeth said, with a bright smile she hoped looked more real than it felt. “I have a lovely home, and I could not ask for a better husband. When we have our own family, I shall—” She took a deep breath. “I shall look after them and be content.” And she wanted those children so fiercely—but despite their…enthusiastic efforts…God had not yet blessed them.

“Eventually Mother will relent or Cousin Jason will set her on fire,” Dillon said. He reached for the mug of ale he had brought with him. “Shall we offer a toast to his safe and soon return?”

“Aye.” Elizabeth reached for her own ale, untouched since a maid had grudgingly brought it to her. “To Jason. May he return soon.”

She sipped the drink and wrinkled her nose. It had a slight bitterness to it—mayhap it had sat too long, but she could not ask for another mug. It would be wasteful. So she sipped it again, and continued to lightly sip as she and Dillon talked of her brief time in the king’s court and the places he hoped to see one day.

The liquid was perhaps a quarter gone when her stomach lurched. The forgotten mending slid to the floor as Elizabeth stood, trying to settle the roiling inside.

“Elizabeth?” Dillon stood. “What—”

She heard nothing else as a vision flashed in front of her—a hand tipping something into a mug—and then the world went black.

When Jason strode into the hall a day later, he found the room surprisingly quiet—no warriors sparring, no groups clustered around the fires—only his sullen sister sitting with their aunt.

Tracy rose at his entrance. “I was about to send a rider after you, Nephew.”

Her expression was heavy—and Jason realized that his wife was missing. It was the middle of the day and she was not mending or sewing by the fire. “Where is Elizabeth?”

“There was…” Emily stood. “We’re not sure what happened.”

His chest tightened, but he kept his voice even. “Where is my wife?”

“Upstairs in your chambers,” Tracy said with a sigh. “She…collapsed yesterday, shortly before the evening meal. Dillon said they had been conversing normally when—”

“Is she—” He could not speak the word, could not—already—imagine his life without the petite brunette and her shy smiles and passionate embraces. “Does she live?”

“Aye,” Emily said, though he frowned at the sullenness of her tone. He knew that the women in his family had not yet warmed to his wife, but he’d hoped with time—

“What says the healer? Has Barbara been to see her?”

“She thinks…” Tracy pursed her lips. “’Tis nonsense, of course, but Barbara suspects poison.”

“Poison—” Jason shook his head. “Nay, ‘tis not possible. She was home. With our clan. They could not—” He stopped. He would speak to their healer himself.

Without another word, he turned and strode towards the stairs.

Inside their chambers, where he had left his wife four days earlier peacefully slumbering—Elizabeth lay on her back, her pallor as pale as the snow that fell outside their window.

She lay under a pile of furs, her eyes closed—the lids almost purple.

At her side, his cousin Dillon scrambled to his feet. “Jason—” His voice slurred, and he wavered. “I wanted to come find you, to tell you—”

“Laird,” their healer murmured from the fire. She stepped away, a mug in her hand. “Your wife lives, I assure you.”
a
“Will—” Jason rounded the bed and reached for his wife’s hand as Dillon moved to make room. Her hand was limp—if not for the slight rise of her chest—

“Aye,” Barbara said. “She did not have enough to cause death, though it ‘twas a near thing.”

“We were—” Dillon’s voice was thick. “We were talking and she was sipping her ale. I don’t think she liked it, but she couldn’t ask for another—” He closed his mouth, misery etched in his expression.

Jason shook his head. OF course Elizabeth would not ask for a replacement—he had allowed his clan to mistreat his wife—she was not mistress in her own home and did not feel comfortable enough to challenge the bad taste of her drink.

“I found nightshade at the bottom of the mug.” Barbara lifted her chin. “I do not give a fig for what your aunt says, Laird. Your lady was poisoned.”

“Mother just does not want to suspect someone—” Dillon began.

“When will she wake?” Jason asked, ignoring his cousin. “Will she be all right?”

“Her breathing is already much better,” she said. “I would think within the day. But, my Laird…” She hesitated. “I do not know if your lady knew, but Dillon says likely not—”

“Knew what?” Jason faced the older woman, a bit impatiently. “Barbara—”

“She was carryin’, Laird. And she…she lost the babe.”

September 3, 2016

This entry is part 2 of 5 in the Flash Fiction 60: A King's Command

Prompt: “We often confuse what we wish for with what is.” ― Neil Gaiman, MirrorMask

Elizabeth had forced herself to cast away the terrifying image that had flashed before her eyes—to ignore the vestige of pain that lingered in her chest for hours after the vision faded. This was her future, and her husband, that must be protected. He was kind and decent and deserved better than the betrayal that would lead to his death.

She convinced him that her behavior was nothing more than maidenly fears—and while she did not think he fully believed her, he seemed content to let it pass for now. They had a marriage to consummate and sheets to display in the morning to satisfy the king that had commanded their marriage.

She knew not why King James had chosen his boldest warrior without warning him of the curse, but perhaps he was still grateful that she had had the courage to tell him of the poisoned chalice he had nearly drunk a fortnight earlier. Perhaps the king did not consider the visions nearly as cursed as her own family, but she could not take that chance.

Jason had dismissed her fears and taken her to the large bed. There had been pain, aye—she had been warned of it. But there had also been joy and some small pleasure. She had somehow managed to please him—he had assured her so when she’d dared to ask. And he had slipped into sleep at her side.

She would find a way to prevent his death and bear him strong sons—and never allow this brave and kind warrior to regret following his king’s command.

Their journey to Castle Morgan took her deeper and further west than Elizabeth had ever before traveled.  The keep was a massive stone structure built into the side of cliffs overlooking the deep blue waters of Mull. The air was bitten with a chill as their caravan rode into the courtyard nearly three weeks after their wedding day.

“I will introduce you to my family,” Jason said as he lifted her from her horse, his hand remaining clasped in hers. “And Alice will show you to our chambers so that you may wash and rest.”

“All right,” Elizabeth said as he led her to a small group of people who did not look anxious to meet her. Jason had confided in her during their journey that much of his clan did not appreciate the command to wed an unknown Lowlander. He assured her that it would not be a problem, but she had her doubts.

“My sister, Emily,” he said as a sour brunette bowed her chin ever so slightly in greeting. “My cousin, Dillon.” He nodded at a taciturn blonde haired man who appeared nearly a decade younger than his elder cousin. “And my aunt Tracy.”

The stony-faced woman offered no greeting to her nephew’s bride, only directed her conversation towards him. “Well? Did the king give his reason?”

“’Tis of no import,” Jason said simply. “This is Elizabeth.” He placed a hand at the small of her back and met her eyes briefly before looking at his aunt. “And I am well satisfied with the king’s match.”

The girl—Emily—snorted, but when Jason offered her a warning glance, her features schooled themselves into passivity.

There would be no warm welcome here, Elizabeth could see this now. No family to fold her into their lives. Whatever role she would hold at Castle Morgan would have to be carved out on her own.

“I am grateful to be here,” she said finally. “And blessed that the king allowed it.” She waited a moment before continuing. “I hope that you will show me my new home—”

“I have many responsibilities,” Tracy cut in her, voice as icy as the wind that whipped around them. “Running this keep.” Laying down the gauntlet. Elizabeth may be wife to the laird, but Tracy would not relinquish her role easily.  “My son can show you—”

“Aunt,” Jason began, his tone no more pleased than his aunt’s, but Elizabeth reached for his hand and squeezed it. She knew he saw Tracy’s words as a slight, but Elizabeth could see the fear of being found unnecessary lurking behind the elder woman’s eyes. She did not know for how long Tracy had been chatelaine at the keep, but it was part of her identity.

“I think that sounds lovely,” Elizabeth said, flashing a hesitant smile and surprising Jason’s aunt. “I have never been to the Highlands before and I shall depend on all of you to help me through my first winter. ‘Tis slightly chillier than Cumberland.”

Emily opened her mouth, but Tracy spoke first. “Of course.” She pursed her lips. “Elizabeth.”

“Let us  go into the hall,” Jason said, moving past the trio—leading Elizabeth towards the large wooden doors. “’Tis many hours since we supped.”

“I must apologize for my family.”

His wife frowned at him as she sat by the fire in their chambers later that night. She had bathed before he retired for the night, and now her long hair was drying before the heat.

“I thought it went well at dinner,” Elizabeth offered. She drew her shawl more tightly around the thin night rail—she would near warmer clothing with the winter drawing closer. “I did not expect them to treat me as one of their own on my first day, husband.”

No, she would not expect such kind treatment—any consideration of her own comfort and needs had been met with her quiet puzzlement throughout their journey.

He had stopped often, knowing that while she could ride well, the pace was demanding more than her stamina could supply.  He had endeavored to camp near streams where she could wash and in clearings where they could comfortable put up a tent so she might enjoy privacy. His men had not been as pleased by the slow pace and extra work, but Elizabeth’s quiet and humble nature had won them over by the time the castle had been sighted this morning.

“My aunt has been mistress here since my mother’s death after Emily’s birth,” Jason said finally. “Her husband died in battle, and the clan elected to go with his younger brother as their laird as Dillon was young. She—”

“She cares very much for your clan and this castle. I can see that. I could not expect her to lay down her life’s work at the mere sight of me. She has no knowledge of my capabilities.” Her lovely mouth twisted as she looked into the flames. “Of which I have known. You may be satisfied with the king’s choice now, Jason, but I fear that you will regret it one day. I was not raised to be the wife of…” She sighed. “Anyone.”

This did not come as a surprise to him, but he could not see why. “Your father is a chieftain—daughters are for alliances. I can not imagine—”

“I cannot speak for my father’s wishes,” she said quickly, but he believed that even less than he had believed her sudden bout of maidenly fears on their wedding night. But Jason did not push her for more. Whatever secrets she protected were her own.

“There is no need for Dillon to show you the keep,” Jason said after a long moment. “I will do so—”

Elizabeth rose to her feet, her now dry hair tumbling over her shoulder. “You have responsibilities of your own, and I would like to know your family.” A shy smile tugged at her lips as he took her hand and drew her closer to him. “I dare not hope your family will be as my own, but I do hope they will…like me. Our children—” Her cheeks flushed. “They will love them.”

“Aye,” Jason agreed, though he intended to make sure his family gave Elizabeth a chance to earn their devotion. She may not have been his choice to take to wife—and there was may be a painful truth hidden in her heart—but she was kind, lovely—and seemed to determine to make their marriage a good one.  “You wish for children?”

“Aye,” she repeated as his lips brushed hers. “As many as God sees fit to give us.”

August 28, 2016

This entry is part 1 of 5 in the Flash Fiction 60: A King's Command

Remember — no time for editing or spellcheck 😛

“Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance.” – Jane Austen

The command from King James had come like a thunder cloud.

Jason, one of the king’s favored warriors and leader of the illustrious Clan Morgan, would wed the Lowland daughter of a minor chieftain who lived so close to the cursed border that he might as well be a Sassanech.

There would be no explanation for the command, no context for why James commanded it be so—and there would be no questioning. Men did not question their king and keep their head. Their family’s holdings.

Jason’s family had fought for the Bruce a century previous and remained closely allied with the royal family—had fought against the usurper Balliol. He was loyal.

He stood in the chapel before the priest, his infamous stoical nature all that kept him from raging at his king and a world in which he could be the supreme leader of his own people and not in charge of his own destiny.

A Lowlands wench would hardly survive the first winter in the Highlands, and yet he would have to breed that weakness into his sons. After all he had sacrificed and worked for—

She appeared on her father’s arm at the end of the chapel, a pretty delicate girl in a gown of blue with her with chestnut hair bound up under a gold circlet.

And she looked terrified. No doubt she had had her Lowland mind filled with stories of Highland chiefs and their rough way of life. Of Jason’s deeds in battle, which might as well appear savage to her.

“Here.” Her father—whose name Jason had not asked for—took her arm and thrust her away. The girl—Elizabeth—stumbled slightly, and Jason caught her. He eyed the father with suspicion. He seemed to happy to be rid of the girl—what could be wrong with her?

“If we may?” the priest said with a light cough.

Jason caught the eye of his king who narrowed his eyes. Whatever the reason for the commanded marriage—there was little Jason could do now. She would be his wife.

When it came time for her to give her vows, she was quiet for a moment, but her hands squeezed his and her eyes found his. They were blue—as deep and dark as the loch near his home.

“Lass,” he prompted, when she said nothing. “You must swear your oath.”

“Aye,” she said, her voice low and even. She cast a look at the priest before looking back at Jason. “Aye, I will.” She seemed more assured, as if—as if in that moment their eyes had met—he had reassured her. Her grasp on his hands eased until they just lay in his, palm to palm.

“Laird?” the priest prompted.

“Aye,” Jason said, and she smiled. A genuine smile—at odds with the fear that he had seen when she had entered the chapel. What had changed? If she was not afraid of him, then…

His shoulders tensed as he saw her father, murmuring at the king. Aye. Something was amiss here if the lass felt more at ease with a man she had known for minutes than her own family.

He would discovery what treachery was afoot.

—

Inside the chambers lent to them for the occasion of the wedding, the former Elizabeth Webber laced her fingers together tightly and closed her eyes. Remembering the flash she had received when she had looked into the eyes of her new husband.

He was a kind man, she told herself. Gruff. Stubborn. But kind. And if she was a good wife to him, he would be a good husband to her. She had seen them, sitting by a fire—her heavy with child, he carving the cradle where their child would sleep. They had been content. Serene.

She knew the flashes did not always come true—that they were often just a window into the possibilities. He might be killed in battle, she might be lost to disease.

But it would be better than what had come before.

If she never told him about who she was. What she was. Then she would be safe.

She just had to keep her secret.

There was a light knock on the door, and then her husband was standing there. She rose from her chair, and they both stared at each other for a long moment.

“I am…nervous,” she admitted. She looked towards the bed. “I know what we must do. That you must—that we must show the sheets tomorrow—”

“I—” Jason, her husband, hesitated. And she could feel his own nerves, his own desire to protect her—but to—she tilted her head. She did not quite recognize that second emotion, but it seemed heated.

“I will not hurt you,” he said finally. He reached for her hand. “I will never hurt you, Elizabeth. I promise that.”

It was not the truth, of course. She saw it when she took his hand. But his intent was pure, and that shone through. He would never intend to hurt her—he would never lock her away, never withhold food or human companionship.

But no one could promise a life free of hurt. And the decency she saw in him—

There was no way to know if it would last. If he would accept her secret. Her curse had a way of turning even the innocent and pure against her.

“I trust you,” Elizabeth said, finally. As much as she could ever trust. “And I will be a good wife. You will never regret this day, my lord.”

“My name is Jason,” he said, drawing her close and dipping his head to kiss her. She did not know quite what he wanted from her, but his lips were smooth and warm, and she felt a tingle in her chest, warmth spreading to her fingertips.

“Aye, Jason,” she said when he raised his head, her breath a bit short. He dipped his head again—but she cried out.

Pain flashed in her chest—like heavy metal cutting into her skin. Elizabeth stumbled to the side, falling to her knees, clutching her hands to her chest. There was no dagger. No weapon.

“Elizabeth—”

It was not her pain she had felt, not her death she envisioned.

But her husband’s.

She looked at him, tears spilling down her cheeks. He would die, at the hands of someone he trusted.

“Elizabeth—” He knelt next to her. “What is it?”

She could tell him. It was unlikely that he would believe her–he might have their marriage annulled and cast her out. And still he would die.

Elizabeth closed her eyes, and tried to bring back that first image. Of the family they might create. It was still there—still possible.

She had to keep it from him, return to his home, and find a way protect him—and her secret.

August 19, 2016

This entry is part 3 of 8 in the Flash Fiction: 60 Minutes or Less

This has not been spellchecked or edited 😛 And this is not a continuation of last week’s prompt. Remember to leave prompts in the comments so I don’t have to spend my time finding my own 😉

Prompt: “You’re lucky I’m tired because if I was fully awake I would have already shoved you off this roof.”

Elizabeth Webber clenched her fists around the steering wheel of the minivan as she heard Maxie Jones blow another goddamn bubble. Pop! Snap!

She was going to murder them all.

She would pull this godforsaken rental vehicle over, force these morons out onto the side of the road and then she would beat them to death. Bury them somewhere in the endless desert that served as the only landscape she’d seen in three days.

She hated people. She hated these people. Who the hell decided it would be a good idea to pile themselves into one car and go cross country?

“Turn on 90s on 9!” Maxiechirped from the back of the van, where she and her boyfriend Nathan had spent most of the trip cuddling and being generally the worst people alive.

“Kiss my ass,” Elizabeth muttered, slapping Patrick Drake’s hand as he reached out to obey Maxie’s dictate. “You do it, and you’ll be out the window.”

“Hey.” Patrick slapped her hand back and changed the station—to Today’s Hits! which might be more mildly annoying than Maxie’s suggestion. If she had to listen to that damned Bieber song one more time—

“Just because you got dumped, Elizabeth,” Maxie began, with as much sympathy as she could muster—

“I did not get dumped,” Elizabeth said, her teeth clenched. “I dumped him. I am the dumper.”

“Well, he was screwing someone else,” Patrick added helpfully. “So I mean, in that sense—”

“If you finish thought, Patrick Michael Drake, I will set you on fire and let the coyotes eat your remains.”

“Are you guys bothering Elizabeth again?” Robin Scorpio said, with a yawn. How Patrick’s girlfriend and Maxie’s cousin managed to sleep through the incessant yacking—

“I’m not bothering. I’m simply saying she’s been taking her bad mood out on us for the last two thousand miles,” Maxie said. “And it’s not cool. This is our summer road trip, too.”

“Speaking of road trips,” Patrick murmured, squinting at the GPS. “There’s a town coming up at the next exit. Last one for about an hour. We could stop there for the night.”

Maybe it was near an airport. She’d fly back to Port Charles, make sure that lying slime bag was out of her life and find new friends—new friends without annoying relatives.

“Sounds good. I’m getting tired of the car,” Robin said. “And I’m sure Elizabeth wants a break from driving.”

“She’s so diplomatic,” Maxie giggled to her boyfriend. “We all want a break from Elizabeth’s driving.”

“One more crack about my driving and I’m steering this van into on-coming traffic,” Elizabeth snapped.

“Yeah…” Patrick twisted in his seat to look at the couple in the back. “She’ll do it, too, so shut up, Maxie.”

“We should have flown,” the blonde pouted, but mercifully—she stopped talking.

The sixth seat in the car was empty—having been meant for the son of a bitch she’d found bouncing on one of his co-workers the day they were supposed to leave. Elizabeth had thought a road trip to California would get her mind off it all.

Until she remembered she was going with two other couples, and while Patrick and Robin were being kind enough to keep their PDAs to a minimum, Maxie could give two shits.

She’d never liked that girl.

After they’d checked into a hotel, the four of them had disappeared to find a diner, while Elizabeth decided a night in with some pizza would be great.

Until the delivery guy brought her ham and pineapple pizza and then blinked at her when told it was the wrong order.

He’d vaguely said something about coming back, but she had her doubts.

And now, standing in front of the ice machine and finding it out of order…

“You know, if I ever needed proof that God was a man and not on my side,” she muttered, “this trip—this is it.”

She gave it one last mighty kick, turned, and smacked right into a broad chest. “Oof—watch where you’re going!” Elizabeth began, stepping back and tilting her head up—and blinking.

“I could say the same about you,” the gorgeous blond man in a pair of blue jeans and a gray uniformed shirt proclaiming his name to be Jason. It hung unbottoned over a dark blue t-shirt.

“Sorry about this machine,” he continued, setting a tool box down. “Owners don’t want to replace it.”

“Oh. Well….” Elizabeth bit her lip, “sorry about kicking it.”

He just shrugged. “It’s not gonna get any more broken.” He—Jason—unscrewed something, and the machine split into two as he opened it. “Did it make you feel better?”

“For a second,” she admitted. “And then…” She looked down the walkway toward the parking lot where the minivan had been parked before the others had left for dinner. “What city am I in, anyway?”

“McLean, Texas,” Jason replied. “I guess we’re not your destination.” He squinted at the machine. “Can you hand me that flash light?”

“What?” She blinked, then handed it to him. “Oh. No, not really. Patrick—my best friend’s boyfriend—he wanted to do a road trip along Route 66 this summer. We’ve been planning it for months.” She looked away, where the lights of the road could still be dimly seen. “I’m ruining it for them.”

“Can you give me that racket wrench?”

She handed it to him. “I’m not a bad friend. Not normally. But at the last minute, Robin wanted to bring her cousin and her boyfriend, and Maxie drives me up the wall. She’s always talking and never has anything to say.”

“So why didn’t you say no?”

His head was all but inside the machine now, his voice muffled as he did—something—to the gears inside.

“Because she’s my best friend. And Maxie’s parents are divorcing—” Elizabeth hesitated. She’d let herself forget that—her own irritation and anger had swallowed everything.

“Can you give me the socket wrench?”

She did so. “Right before we left—I broke up with my boyfriend. He was supposed to come, too.”

“At least it wasn’t a nonrefundable trip.” Jason pulled back, looking at her, his blue eyes with a bit of wicked amusement. “Or you know, after you’d put deposits on caterers. And hotels. You know how difficult it is to get out of those contracts?”

“Guess I hadn’t thought about it that way. The only thing I had to cover was his part of the rental for the van.” She tilted her head. “You speaking from experience?”

Jason shrugged as he reached for a rag to deal with his greasy hands. “My sister. Asshole stood her up two weeks before the wedding. He’s lucky my dad didn’t have a shotgun handy.”

“I’m probably better off. It’s not like we were dating that long,” Elizabeth admitted as she watched Jason close the ice machine back up. “But I should have backed out of the trip.”

“Maybe.” Jason took the bucket she’d had in one of her hands and shoved it under the dispenser. He punched the button with a closed fist. A cascade of ice chips slid into the red plastic. “There you go,” he said, handing her the bucket. ‘

Their hands brushed as she accepted it. His skin was rough, calloused. Elizabeth bit her lip and tilted her head. “You like ham and pineapple pizza?”

“Is that where my order went?” Jason said, grinning. “I guess Bobbie Mack got confused with two orders. You mind sharing?”

“Not even a little.”

August 13, 2016

This entry is part 1 of 8 in the Flash Fiction: 60 Minutes or Less

Prompt: “A ragtag team of misfits end up in her library looking for clues to a cache of stolen jewels.”

Elizabeth Webber picked up a pencil and twirled it in her hands. When she fumbled and dropped it, the tap! as it hit the wooden counter of the checkout desk echoed in the silent room.

It was nine o’clock in the evening and there wasn’t a soul to be found in the Lila Quartermaine Library at Port Charles University—no one studied this late save for exam period, and that was still a month away.

Nope, she had been stuck with the deadly Spring Break death week, and endless, boring nights stretched in front of her.

She left the pencil where she found it and returned to her sketch pad, glaring at the stark white page. How would she finish her project if she couldn’t come with a single subject to draw? “Use your experience!” she muttered as she reached for her charcoal. “Draw what you know. Asshole.”

Why had she taken the drawing class? Why was she still wasting her time chasing an empty dream when she should be concentrating on her doctoral degree in art history? Her grandmother’s voice had been that horrible mixture of annoyance, irritation, and fondness. Oh, Lizzie. What shall we do with you?

“If I ever figure it out, Gram,” she murmured as she stared at the charcoal clutched in her fingers, “you’ll be the first to know.”

She started to just scribble some shadows, an outline of the window to her left starting to emerge and lost herself in the work. No one had to see the drawing—no one ever had to set eyes on it. It was just enough to put the charcoal to paper.

The slight click drew her attention several minutes later. Elizabeth blinked, raised her head. Looked around. The room remained empty—the doors to the three connecting hallways and larger collections remained closed.

She set the charcoal down, rubbing her thumb and index finger together to smooth away the black dust as she stood, moving towards the counter and her cell phone. It was Mac’s job to deal with the security, not hers. His job to keep her safe and secure. Even if she had to force him away from his Netflix marathon of Parenthood.

There was another slight click, this time louder and from above. Just as Elizabeth raised her head to look at the skylight dome, the glass shattered and dark shapes catapulted through it, dropping right on top of her.

She screamed, scrambling away from the large lump of someone that had fallen on her. She pushed and shoved until she got her foot free. As she tried to get to her feet, she was tackled again, a hand slapping over her mouth.

“What the fuck, man! You were supposed to clear the library!”

“I did!”

Elizabeth bit down hard on the finger cover her mouth. The guy hissed, but it didn’t move. She struggled, and he let her sit up, but kept an arm clenched around her shoulders, the other at her mouth.

The second voice had been familiar, and she scowled as she recognized the dark brown eyes beneath black ski mask. Mac Scorpio, their security guard. Damn it.  And there was no sound of the alarm ringing.

“Let me go!” She twisted and struggled, but the grip was iron tight and impossible to dislodge.

“Lizzie?” Mac drew off his mask, his expression filled with dismay. “You’re supposed to be in the Bahamas!”

She hissed and bit down again. Her captor hissed again, and removed his hand. “You know her?” he demanded of the security guard, his voice deep and irritated.

And familiar.

“What are you gonna do to her?” a third voice asked plaintively, younger than the first two. “She knows who you are, Mac.”

“I’m not gonna hurt her,” Mac said to him, disgusted. “It’s Lizzie.”

“What are you doing?” Elizabeth demanded, struggling to her feet as soon as her captor released her. She thrust her hands up to the shattered glass dome. “And what’s with the entrance? You’re the goddamn security guard, Scorpio. You could have just walked in.”

“I slipped,” the younger man said with a sigh. “And fell through. Mac and J—” He coughed. “They got tangled up.”

Mac stood and winced at the dome. “I cut the security wires. We got about ten minutes before anyone notices. Let’s just get this over with—”

“What ‘re we gonna do with her?” the youngest asked. “She’ll call the cops man—”

Elizabeth slowly stepped away from the trio, pursing her lips and narrowing her eyes as she did so. She was twenty feet from the nearest exit, but maybe—

“You’ll never make it,” her captor said dryly. He looked at Mac. “You screwed up. You fix it.”

“Lizzie—”

“My name is Elizabeth,” she managed through clenched teeth. If they were going to kill her, she would be damned if she went out with that god awful name. She didn’t even look like a Lizzie. “Look, let’s not be hasty? If you leave, I won’t—”

“We’re looking for the Quartermaine diamond,” Mac said, with a sigh. He dragged a hand through his hair. “It’s here. In the library.”

“The Quartermaine—” Elizabeth blinked, her pulse racing “The six hundred carat…” She shook her head. “It’s a myth. A legend. No one’s even seen it in the last two centuries. Why would it be here?”

“I told you Elizabeth is an expert on the Quartermaine collection,” Mac told the man standing at her side. “She can help us find it—”

She narrowed her eyes. “Even if I said yes—” And everything in her screamed YES!!!  “Even if I said yes,” she began again, trying to keep her voice from quivering with excitement. “It wouldn’t matter. You’d have to cut it up in order to fence it, and there’s no way in hell I’m letting you dismantle the eleventh largest diamond in the world.”

“Eleventh?” her captor repeated, his husky voice laced with amusement. “You sure about that?”

“It’s one hundred and twenty-six carats smaller than the Jonker,” Elizabeth said coolly. She glared at the man, his eyes blue behind his mask. “It was once the fifth largest in the world until the diamond mines in Africa started throwing out larger ones. It was dug out of a Brazilian mine in 1687 and bought by the Duke of Morgan for his new wife in 1700. It remained in the Quartermaine family until 1776, when it vanished from the family collection.”

“She’s a doctoral student in art history with a specialization in gemology,” Mac said with a touch of pride. “She helped me pick out a good ring for Felicia.”

“Felicia,” Elizabeth said, with some disgust, “is going to skin you alive, Mac, if you get caught. And you’re gonna get caught. How are you going to fence the Quartermaine diamond?”

“Don’t have to,” the youngest said, proudly. “We get to sell it whole—”

Elizabeth snorted. “The Quartermaines—”

“Are you in or out?” her captor asked, irritated.

“Do I have a choice?” she demanded.

He tugged off his ski mask, revealing a chiseled set of cheekbones and disheveled short blonde hair in wild spikes. Her breath hitched—because she knew that face. “We’re going to find that diamond,” Jason Quartermaine said, “because it’s my goddamn inheritance and my grandfather stole it from me.”

—

He was going kill Mac Scorpio. He was going to peel his skin from his bones and flay him alive.  The son of a bitch had one freaking job—one!—and he couldn’t make sure that the night clerk was tucked away somewhere where they wouldn’t run into her.

Instead, the pretty brunette with the smart mouth and flashing blue eyes had been right dead center in their search zone.

“Why didn’t you tell me the night clerk was Elizabeth Webber?” he demanded of his partner as the third member of their trio drew off his own mask, shoving it into his back pocket. He hadn’t wanted to include Michael, but his nephew had threatened to follow them.

“I thought you knew where the diamond was,” the security guard replied with a furrowed brow. “What do you care?”

Elizabeth Webber, his sister’s childhood best friend. His grandmother had told him she was writing her dissertation on the Quartermaine collection, but Jason hadn’t really thought she’d be familiar with the diamond.

“I said I thought my grandfather hid it in the library,” Jason said, his teeth clenched. “I should have asked her instead of hiring you. She could have written a damn chapter about it for her paper.”

“Why did you have to break in?” Elizabeth demanded, drawing his attention back to her. “You’re Jason Quartermaine. Your family built this library. There are, like, three buildings named for you people. You make one phone call and they’d hand the library over to you.”

“I guess she hasn’t kept up with the family gossip,” Michael said with a bit of false cheer. “Grandfather hates Jason. And—”

“I’m not Jason Quartermaine anymore,” Jason muttered. “Where the hell have you been?”

Elizabeth hesitated, regret flashing in her eyes. “I moved to London for school after Emily—” She looked away. “Your grandmother just said you weren’t at home anymore.”

“If we could do the reunion and catch up later,” Mac said, “the security company is going to notice the system is offline—”

“This is a real crack plan you’ve come up with.” Elizabeth rolled her eyes and started towards the desk. She drew up short, her eyes widening with fear as Jason stepped in front of her.

“Where are you going?” he demanded. “Are you calling the police?” He had to keep her quiet. Damn it. If Mac had just told him about her—if he’d asked his grandmother more about her—

“I’m calling the security company,” Elizabeth said slowly. “To tell them that something fell through the dome, and that some thing’s wrong with the system. Mac, you should probably get back to your station to call them, too. You two—” She eyes their dark clothing. “Maybe you should change.”

Michael tossed a duffel at Jason. “We got our street clothes—”

“You can be here…consulting with me about something. You’ll figure out that before they get here.” She lightly stepped around him to reach for the phone. “You can handle that, can’t you?”

Jason hesitated, looked at her as she hit a speed dial. “Does that mean you’ll help me?”

She met his eyes as she put the receiver to her ear. “Find a diamond that no one has seen in two hundred years? A find that could make my career and finally finish my dissertation? You should have come to me first instead of breaking in.”

“Why didn’t we come to her first?” Michael asked as he followed his uncle towards the stacks where they began to swiftly change into the clothes from the bag. “Seems easier than buying off the guard.”

“I had my reasons,” Jason muttered as he dragged on his jeans. “Get rid of the gear and go find some books. You’re a student here, you can make it work.”

“She knew Aunt Emily?” Michael asked, tucking his polo shirt into his slacks. “Why didn’t she recognize your voice like she knew Mac?”

Jason rubbed the back of his neck. “Because it’s been fifteen years. And…”

“Wait…” Michael frowned. “Elizabeth Webber,” he repeated. “Wasn’t she in the car—”

“Yeah.” Jason cleared his throat. “The night your aunt died, my brains got scrambled, and—”

“—my father walked out away without a scratch.”