Journey of a Thousand Miles

Maura Mayflower pulled the covers up around her just a bit more as the cold night air seeped in from the old window. The voice stirred her from a deep sleep. As she struggled to come into full consciousness, she mentally replayed what she could remember from the dream. There was a beautiful old woman with long, white hair wearing a white gown. "You need to leave, and you need to leave now, Maura," she forewarned. By this point Maura was wide awake. Such an odd dream, she thought to herself.

She pulled herself up from her bed and headed to the kitchen to put on some tea. Sometimes all she needed was a little Chamomile to relax her back to sleep. As she reached into the cupboard for a mug, the voice behind her startled her. "Maura, you must go now."

Maura turned quickly, letting the mug slip from her hands shattering against the hardwood floor. Her stomach crawled into her throat when she realized no one was there. A draft blew through the old apartment. Maura shuddered, suddenly feeling uneasy. She turned off the stove and knew that for whatever reason, she must do as directed and depart immediately.

Maura scrambled through the apartment filling two duffel bags as fast as she could with whatever she thought she might need. However, she knew that was a ludicrous concept, as she had no idea where she was going or how long she'd even be gone. Luckily when she had arrived in Las Vegas just six months before, she had only brought the two bags with her. The rest of her belongings were in a storage unit in Denver. Clothes, make-up, cell phone, laptop and cash on hand were the items she checked off her mental list, shoving them into her bags.

Maura pulled out of the parking garage and not really certain where she should go, headed north leaving the Henderson Valley. She continued checking her rear-view mirror, unable to shake the feeling she was avoiding something imminent and that whatever it was, it was big.

Maura had almost reached the turn to US-95 when she heard the explosion behind her. She pulled off to what little side of the road there was and emerged from her car. Gazing at the city lights below, a stagnant smell filled the air. It all seemed so surreal. In a mild state of shock, Maura got back into her car and continued heading north as if on auto-pilot. As she drove she tried to digest the scene she left behind.

Unable to comprehend what was happening, Maura’s thoughts turned to the events which led her to Las Vegas in the first place. She had owned a piano studio in the heart of Denver and was preparing for her students’ piano recital. She had left the house early to get down to the studio and her husband Ian was going to arrive later with Kaleb, their one-year-old son. However, Ian and Kaleb never made it to the recital. Instead, the vehicle had been struck by a drunk driver and they were killed instantly.

Maura remembered very little about the days and weeks following the accident. Everything was a blur of paperwork and phone calls; insurance companies, the funeral home, real estate agents, bank accounts, anything at all that had Ian’s name attached. People kept asking, “Is there someone we should call?” But there wasn’t. She was an only child and both of her parents had already passed. Alone at the age of thirty, Maura felt she needed to get away. She thought that somehow by leaving she could magically bury that tragic part of her life. Now, here was another tragedy on her heels and once again she was leaving.

As the sun came up Maura pulled into a fuel station in an isolated little town. She stepped from her car and the elderly gas station attendant greeted her. The name on his shirt bore the same name as on the side of the building, Gus.

“You must be the owner,” Maura smiled.

“Yes ma’am,” Gus nodded. “Fill her up?”

“Yes. Thank you,” Maura replied.

“You’re not from here,” Gus remarked. “You must be on some sort of journey.”

“Yes actually, I am,” Maura answered, impressed by his keen intuition.

“Well you’re on the right path, Kid,” Gus said with a wide smile.

Thinking that old people could sometimes be a bit eccentric, Maura simply smiled in return before heading inside to find some snacks.

Maura grabbed jerky, a few candy bars, and some drinks and headed to the counter. She noticed the breaking news on the television mounted in the corner. The newscaster called it “The Sin City Bombing”, taking down numerous buildings and killing several people. Maura’s downtown apartment was one of those buildings. She set her snacks down on the counter, still disbelieving what she just saw.

“Is that everything?” the woman behind the register asked.

“If he’s done pumping I’ll pay for my fuel too,” she replied.

The lady behind the counter looked out the window and then asked, “When who’s done pumping?”

“Gus,” Maura replied.

The cashier had a puzzled look on her face and explained, “Miss, I don’t know who was out there helping you, but Gus has been dead for nearly twenty years.”

“Oh,” Maura stammered while handing the woman her money. “My mistake.”

Maura walked out of the gas station contemplating the oddity of the last six hours. Who was the woman who came to her in her sleep telling her to leave, thereby saving her life? And just now-- if Gus didn’t pump her gas, who did? Certainly someone did, Maura thought. Maybe I am still in shock from the explosion, she considered while turning back onto the highway.

Maura reached Klamath Falls by early afternoon and figured she should find a place to eat lunch and stretch her legs for a bit. Parking her car outside of a little sandwich shop on Main Street, she noticed a dog chained to a park bench. The dog whimpered as she walked past.

“What’s the matter, Boy?” Maura leaned down patting his head. Then looking around she asked, “Where’s your owner, huh Boy?” The dog whimpered some more, and lay his head against her. Once inside, Maura was seated in a booth next to the window and asked the waitress about the dog.

“I’m new in town so I’m not sure,” the waitress began in her thick Bostonian accent. “But I heard one of the other customers say he belongs to Mrs. Hatchwoods from the building next door,” she continued, smacking her gum a bit. “Apparently she’s like really old, so she probably forgot about him or something.”

After her lunch, Maura noticed the dog was still whimpering. Feeling sorry for the pup, she fed him a piece of jerky from her pocket. He scarfed it down as if it had been a while since his last meal. Rubbing him behind the ears, Maura decided to see if Mrs. Hatchwoods was home. She led the dog into the old red brick building next door. Searching the names on the mailboxes in the lobby she determined Mrs. Hatchwoods was in 3A. She went to the door and rang the bell, but there was no answer. After another minute she started to knock. The door across the hall opened and an elderly man appeared.

“She’s probably at the library,” the neighbor from 2A explained. “She goes there every day about this time.”

“Oh,” answered Maura not quite sure what she should do now. “I think she may have forgotten about her dog.”

The little man smirked while replying, “I’m not surprised. She’s been doing that a lot lately.” He called for the dog by name and Harpo seemed all too happy to push his way through the door. “I’ll keep him until she returns,” he offered.

“If you’re sure,” Maura stated.

“Absolutely,” the gentleman replied, waving her off. “Harpo is used to keeping me company until Mrs. Hatchwoods comes looking for him.” The twinkle in his eye let Maura know that the dog was in good hands.

As Maura left the building, she still felt like she should try to find Mrs. Hatchwoods and explain about the dog. She felt responsible for untying Harpo and didn’t want Mrs. Hatchwoods to worry if she returned to find him gone. Pulling out her phone, she used the internet feature to search the address of the library downtown and began to walk in that direction. Maura wandered through the library a bit before spotting an elderly woman hunched over one of the microfiche machines.

“Mrs. Hatchwoods?” she asked.

The lovely lady turned around and smiled before replying, “Who wants to know?”

Maura chuckled slightly, caught off guard by her teasing response. As the two began to talk, she couldn’t help but feel that Mrs. Hatchwoods was lonely. No matter how many questions Maura answered about herself the old woman seemed to have yet another.

“Oh yes, I heard about that explosion,” Mrs. Hatchwoods remarked. “It’s been the only thing on the news all day. I’m sorry to hear about your apartment.”

“It’s okay,” Maura replied. “It’s a good time for me to move on. I was in Las Vegas much longer than I had intended anyway,” Maura explained.

“So, where are you headed now?” the old woman asked.

“Well, I’ve always wanted to drive up the Oregon Coast. My mother used to vacation there when she was a little girl and always spoke fondly of it.”

Mrs. Hatchwoods became excited. “Yes,” she exclaimed. “That’s perfect!”

“Perfect?” Maura questioned. “Why is that perfect?”

“My grandson lives on the Oregon Coast,” she replied, matter of factly.

“I don’t understand,” Maura stated, unsure about the old woman’s reasoning.

“Oh, you’ll do me a favor, won’t you dear?” Mrs. Hatchwoods begged.

“Um, sure,” Maura stammered. “I suppose I could. I mean, it depends on-”

“Wonderful!” Mrs. Hatchwoods unfastened the clasp to her purse and pulled out an envelope. “He lives in or near Two Harbors and I need to get this letter to him; it’s very important. Do you think you could do that for me dear?”

Maura knew that Mrs. Hatchwoods probably had no idea the magnitude her request held. She didn’t know if she’d be able to locate this woman’s grandson. What if he didn’t even live in Two Harbors anymore? After all, Mrs. Hatchwoods forgot about her own dog hadn’t she? Nevertheless, Maura agreed and left for Two Harbors the next morning with the sealed envelope bearing only the name, “Collier Sullivan”.

The town was just as picturesque as she imagined. Winding roads lined with a forest of tall Spruce on one side and flanked on the other by the ocean. Maura could see a lighthouse in the distance. She spotted the post office, which looked like a mere fishing cottage. She figured if anyone would know where Collier Sullivan lived, it would be the postmaster.

“Yes, I know Sullivan,” the man at the window nodded. “2433 Old Cape Road,” he continued. “Just follow Main Street north to the edge of town, making a left at Old Cape. He’s at the very end, out by the lighthouse.

Following those directions Maura couldn’t believe the simplicity with which this was coming together. She found herself talking to Mrs. Hatchwoods as if she were right there. “You’re a lucky woman,” Maura said out loud.

Maura followed the road to an old, wooden clad, beach bungalow bearing the numbers 2433. She made her way to the door and knocked for what seemed like several minutes. Walking back towards her car a young woman, possibly in her early twenties, rode up on an old bicycle. The girl came to a stop when she reached Maura.

“My Pa and I live down by the lighthouse and I saw your car drive up the road,” the wiry girl said. “Are you looking for Doc? I figure you’re here about the cottages.”

“Um, I was told Collier Sullivan lives here,” explained Maura.

“Yep, that’s Doc. Doctor Sullivan,” the girl said with a gapped-toothed grin. “But he won’t be back for a few weeks. You must be a tourist, because I know everyone in this town and I ain’t never seen you before. But if you want to rent a cottage, I can help you.”

“Cottage?” Maura inquired.

“Doc owns the cottages down the lane,” the girl explained pointing to a dirt road that went back past the main house. “He rents them out to vacationers. I mean it’s sort of late in the season for tourists, so of course you’ll get the discounted rate.”

Maura chuckled at the rapid rate of speed with which the girl spoke. “I really just need to speak to him,” she explained.

“Well, as long as you’ll be waiting for a few weeks, you might as well rent one of the cottages,” the girl responded a little too eagerly.

Maura laughed again. “Why are you so anxious to rent me a cottage?”

The girl blushed, realizing she may have been a bit presumptuous. “Well, you see,” she began just as quickly as she had before. “On account Doc’s retiring from the University, he’s staying in the city until the semester is over ‘cause he’s got a lot of what he calls ‘loose ends’ to tie up. But he done told me if I rent cottages while he’s away he’ll pay me for my troubles. And I can really use the money, see. My name’s Neptune by the way,” the girl said extending a hand to Maura.

“You know, I think I will take you up on the rental,” Maura replied, shaking hands with the peculiar girl.

Over the next few days Maura unpacked and started to settle in a bit. She loved taking long walks on the beach and could understand now why her mother was so fond of the area. In Two Harbors, Maura somehow felt closer to her mother.

Approximately two Saturdays after her arrival Maura headed into town for some groceries. She noticed a few signs regarding an estate sale and went to check it out. Many items throughout the home were marked with a set price, while out in the yard was a section of more valuable items up for silent bid. Maura made her way towards an antique upright piano; an original Steinway. Maura ran her fingers lightly over the hand-carved upper panel.

“Do you play?” a voice behind her asked.

Maura turned to face a dark-haired man, approximately her own age. She immediately noticed his silver-blue eyes and cute dimples as he smiled. “I used to,” Maura answered suddenly needing to clear her dry throat. “I mean, I do. I just haven’t played lately,” she further explained.

“Mrs. Kaczynski was the only piano player in this town for years,” he explained. “Maybe you should take her place. After all, someone has to play at all of the town festivals, not to mention the Mayor’s inauguration,” the man added with a wink.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Maura giggled a bit shyly. “But this sure is a beautiful piece,” she said drawing her attention back to the piano.

“Well, it’s got good bones,” the man remarked. “But it needs restoring. Did you see the carved initials back here in the lower right corner?”

Maura gasped and immediately walked around, crouching down to get a better look at the initials, S.V. “Do you believe in ghosts?” she blurted.

“I’m sorry?” the man asked, letting out a laugh.

Maura blushed slightly before explaining. “It’s just that my grandmother used to tell me stories about my great-great grandfather. He was a great pianist and his very first piano was a Steinway that as a boy he carved his initials into. His name was Stefan Vanvalkenburg.” Pausing for a brief moment she looked at the man before wondering out loud, “Could it be? I mean, do you think?”

The man smiled, enamored by Maura’s embrace of such a possibility. “By the way, my name’s Collier Sullivan,” the man said extending his hand. “I’m told you’re the woman renting my cottage which makes you Maura Mayflower.”

“You’re Collier?” Maura asked in disbelief, shaking his hand.

Collier chuckled. “I can’t tell if you’re surprised or disappointed.”

“Oh, um,” Maura stuttered. “It’s just that Neptune mentioned you were retiring and I thought you’d be older,” she continued while rifling through her purse for the note.

“Well, I received an inheritance, so it’s sort of an early--.” Realizing he had lost her attention, Collier stopped talking and waited instead for Maura to say something.

“Here it is,” she proclaimed, handing the letter to him.

“What’s this?” Collier asked.

“It’s a letter from your grandmother,” Maura answered, pleased with herself that she was finally making good on her promise to Mrs. Hatchwoods.

“From my grandmother?” Collier asked in disbelief as he carefully tore open the envelope. He had barely begun reading when he looked up inquisitively. “Where did you get this?”

“Like I said, from your Grandmother,” Maura replied. “I met her a few weeks ago. Actually it’s a very long story, but she asked me to find you and give this to you.”

“Is this a joke? Do you think this is funny?” Collier asked a bit harshly.

Maura was confused by his reaction. She thought he would be pleased. “Look,” she said defensively. “All I know is I was supposed to give it to you.”

Collier took Maura by the elbow and led her near the front of the lawn, away from the other buyers. He took a deep breath, calming himself down and explained that two years earlier his grandmother had been asleep when a fire started in the basement. The whole building was considered a loss, and all of the residents on the first floor died.

“But, I saw her. And the dog...the red brick building...the old man next door...” Maura’s voice trailed off and the tears began to flow, suddenly overwhelmed by all of her recent unexplained encounters. Collier apologized for snapping and Maura told him of the string of events that had occurred up to that point, setting in motion her journey of a thousand miles. Collier listened without interruption and sat for a few minutes pondering over what Maura had just shared.

“I think you should buy that piano,” he simply stated.

“What?” Maura asked in disbelief. “What does that have to do with--?”

“To answer your question from before, I do believe in spirits,” he explained. “I believe that sometimes when we need it most those from the other side - who have gone before us, come to our aid and help us. I think you were guided here because this is where you’re supposed to be.”

“You seem so certain,” Maura replied, considering the words he spoke.

“This makes it so,” he said handing her the letter. Maura took the letter from his hands and began to read aloud.

“How heavy do I journey on the way, when what I seek, my weary travel’s end, Doth teach that ease and that repose to say ‘Thus far the miles are measured from thy friend… What exactly is this?” Maura asked.

“Shakespeare’s Sonnet,” he explained. “It was my grandmother’s favorite. She had it posted over the dining table to welcome guests.” Then after a brief pause he added sincerely, “It seems to me you’ve had a heavy journey Maura. You’re at your weary travel’s end. Besides, you know what they say,” he added smiling. “The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.”

Not sure if she was just worn out from the recent events or just desperately wanted to believe in something, Maura liked Collier’s explanation. She folded the letter and handing it back to him, started to walk away.

“Wait. Where are you going?” Collier asked.

Maura turned and smiled before answering, “To put a bid on an old piano.

COPYRIGHT 2011. Emma C Miller. Any reproduction of this story may not be made without express written consent of the author.

Falling

Natalia noticed the change in the color of the leaves outside the big bay window of her study. She had always loved the fall season. While many considered fall the death of spring and summer, Natalia saw quite the contrary. It was the vibrancy of the new colors she found refreshing. She felt that the colors somehow gave a newness of life to something otherwise forgotten. Perhaps that is one reason Natalia loved old furniture too. She felt that when the piece was refinished, like the fall season, it revealed a newness of life. Of course for Natalia, her favorite piece also held the memory of her father.

Natalia inherited it after her father Nikolai was killed in a hit-and-run accident just one year ago. It was a custom Spanish-style 3-drawer desk; an anniversary gift her mother had given to her father five years earlier, just prior to losing her own life to cancer. When Natalia received the desk she knew her study would be the perfect place for it. She ran her fingers over the hand-carved apron before pulling open the top drawer. From it she retrieved an old black and white photo of her parents on their wedding day. She had been meaning to get it framed.

The ringtone of her phone snapped her back into reality. Natalia placed the photo back into the drawer. However the drawer would not close. She tried again, but the ringing of her phone seemed relentless.

“Rhyzkov,” she answered as she always did.

“Good morning Agent Rhyzkov,” the stern voice greeted. “This is Special Agent Aaron Hunt with the FBI. It is imperative I meet with you this afternoon. I need to talk to you about your former husband, Sergio De Luca.” As the voice on the other end continued, Natalia’s stomach turned a few knots. The meeting was scheduled for three o’clock that afternoon.

Hanging up the phone, Natalia let out a deep sigh and looked again at the fall foliage in front of her. In that moment the changing of the seasons seemed to resonate with Natalia. She thought about the many changes she herself had made over the past ten years. And like the leaves, the more changes she had made in her new life the more she felt she was slowly falling and drifting from her past; which was actually a good thing.

“No regrets.” Natalia could almost hear the words of her father in his thick Russian accent. It was as if he were right there - encouraging her, guiding her. He was her biggest supporter and often reminded her that she held her own destiny in the palm of her hands. “If you’re going to make a mistake,” he used to say, “go big. Then at least you can learn from it and never look back. No regrets.” She missed her father.

As Natalia pondered her father’s words in her mind, she wondered what exactly it was that she was supposed to “learn” from her former life; the life she left behind in New York. She desperately wanted to move on so she could never look back.

Natalia met Sergio while studying at Loyola University in Baltimore. Although her father jokingly warned her about getting involved with a Sicilian, the two were engaged quickly and married shortly after graduation.

Following their marriage, Natalia & Sergio moved to New York City. Sergio was glad to be back home as all of his family lived just across the bridge in Jersey. They welcomed Natalia, the first “outsider" and only blonde, to the family. However, it didn’t take long for Natalia to discover that Sergio and his family were involved with the infamous Mobs of New York and she filed an annulment.

Natalia had often pondered why she was attracted to Sergio to begin with. Why hadn’t she been able to see through him like she could so many others? Although she tried to live by the “no regrets” sentiment, she was slightly disappointed in herself for not having been a better judge of character. Her father had been teaching her to read people her entire life and she always felt she was good at it.

Natalia’s father used the family travel agency in Bethesda, Maryland as a cover for his work with the Central Intelligence Agency. His work was primarily dedicated to the Special Activities Division, heading up covert operations in his Russian homeland. He took great pride in serving his “adopted country”, as he called it. Nikolai told Natalia the fact she was born on Memorial Day meant something special; that if she would honor her family and her country she would become something great. It was through the events of her marriage and divorce Natalia finally felt this patriotism begin to pump through her own veins. Truth and justice were things her father had taught her to value and she wasn’t about to throw away her integrity for anyone, not even the man she thought she loved.

Natalia once again made an attempt to push the drawer closed, but it would not budge. Getting down on her knees, she pried the drawer from its track and pulled it out completely. She reached her hand as far back as she could and upon feeling the obstruction, pulled out a small pocket-sized manila envelope. She unfastened the clasp and turned the envelope over to produce a small brass key. The key was engraved with the initials W.F.S.B. Natalia turned the key over and over in the palm of her hand, wondering if it belonged to the original owner or placed there by her father.

The chiming of the grandfather clock in the hallway reminded Natalia of the reason she came into the study to begin with. Natalia slid the key onto the chain around her neck, opened her laptop and began to focus on the case in front of her. As a United States Marshall with the Witness Security Program, known as WitSec, Natalia would be relocating some new witnesses due to arrive at the Reno airport that evening.

Natalia felt a sense of anxiety while preparing for the witness transport. It wasn’t that the assignment was unlike anything she had dealt with before. It was the scheduled meeting beforehand, with Agent Hunt that had her stomach churning up into her throat.

Natalia knew what she needed was a good long run in the mountains. She quickly glanced at her watch and went through her mental checklist of everything she had to do for the day. She decided she would only have enough time for a quick run on her favorite trail. Her long legs and lean body mass made her a natural for long distance.

One of the reasons she bought her Southeast Central home in Carson City, Nevada was because of the proximity to the trails. A quick run would mean she could leave her three-bedroom Spanish-style home on Avalon Terrace and head right up the trail in the mountains behind her house. As she made her favorite 5 mile loop in 5400 feet elevation, Natalia breathed the fresh air into her lungs. She especially loved the smell of sage brush.

Upon returning home Natalia was surprised to find her front door ajar. She entered her home with caution, feeling sick to discover it had been ransacked. Unsure if the break-in had something to do with her new case, the meeting with Agent Hunt or completely coincidental, Natalia made a few phone calls; first to her supervisor, second to Agent Hunt and third to the local police. The police surveyed the scene and took an official report. Her supervisor immediately reassigned the transport to a different team and Agent Hunt had informed her to stay put until he arrived.

“I assume you know about the murder of New York’s Assistant D.A.,” Agent Hunt began, as he sat across the kitchen island from her that afternoon.

“I read about it a few months ago,” Natalia replied, noticing the seriousness he held in his brow.

“Then I assume you know that members of the Italian Mob are suspects in the case,” Hunt continued, his thin lips pursing as he spoke.

“Yes,” Natalia confirmed. “I read that too. Sergio’s name was listed in the paper.”

“Correct,” replied Agent Hunt. “It is the Agency’s understanding that the ADA discovered Sergio and his crew were involved with the extortion of many of New York City’s public officials, including one powerful judge. We believe that the mob learned of his discovery and put a hit out on him.”

“While I understand the seriousness of this matter,” Natalia began, “I don’t understand what any of this has to do with me. I’ve been estranged from Sergio for almost a decade now and have had no contact with him whatsoever.”

Agent Hunt crossed his arms in front of him and leaned forward with all manner of seriousness. “I realize that. But it is also the Agency’s understanding that your father was the one who tipped off the DA’s office to begin with. It seems that your father had evidence of the extortion and was planning to turn it over to the DA’s office but was killed before having the opportunity to do so.”

Natalia’s heart sank so far deep into her chest she felt like she could not breathe. “What are you saying?” she asked, somehow already knowing the answer.

“We believe that your father’s death was no accident,” stated Hunt. For the first time since being there, his face softened as he waited for Natalia’s reaction.

Natalia sat in shock while she struggled to comprehend the things Hunt was telling her. Finally she looked at him to continue. Nikolai had began investigating Sergio as early as her engagement to him. He then used his connections to keep tabs on his new son-in-law and did not like what he had learned. Knowing that his only daughter was as stubborn as any Russian, he knew she would never believe accusations against her husband unless she discovered the truth herself. Nikolai made certain that just enough specific information was revealed to her, allowing her to draw her own conclusions resulting in the annulment of their marriage.

Following the annulment it was Nikolai who had contacted an old friend in the US Marshall Service and requested they offer his daughter a job. He wanted his daughter to have a fresh start and to put as much distance between her and Sergio as possible.

“But,” Agent Hunt reassured her, “the Agency would have never moved on the recommendation had they felt you did not exemplify the right qualities and skills.”

Natalia looked up to see an encouraging smile sneak across Hunt’s face. She began to think perhaps he wasn’t as gruff as she had initially believed.

Agent Hunt suddenly cleared his throat, his face sobering up once again. “Now that you’ve had this break-in, I can’t help but think it is all related. Sergio must think that you know where this evidence is or that it is somehow in your possession.”

“But I don’t know anything about it,” argued Natalia.

“Understood,” Hunt acknowledged. “But, Sergio doesn’t know that, which is why we think he’s here in town. My team is flying in tonight. Sit tight and I will contact you once we have a strategy in place.”

Natalia lay in bed that night tossing and turning over the news she had just been dealt. How could Sergio have put a hit out on her father? Or worse – killed him with his own hands? Without realizing it, she began stroking the key around her neck. W.F.S.B. What can that possibly mean? Unable to sleep, Natalia went into the study and began an internet search of the initials. She found the call letters for a weather channel in Hartford, CT. After a page full of weather-related entries, she came across the “Waste Facility Sitting Board” for the state of Wisconsin. Natalia knew neither of those was correct. After about five more pages of searching, she finally found it. This had to be it, she was sure.

Natalia’s heart pounded heavily as she grabbed her credit card, cell phone and keys. If she left now she knew she could make the red-eye flight to New York. Natalia knew there was a Washington Federal Savings Bank in the heart of New York City, just off Broadway. In fact, she remembered when her father took her there to open her very first savings account. Her father had banked there for years. It would make sense that he had a safety deposit box at that same branch. She had to go and see what was inside.

The entire flight seemed like a daze to Natalia. She didn’t sleep like the other passengers. All she could do was replay Hunt’s words over and over in her mind. Sergio had killed the Assistant District Attorney and Sergio had most likely killed her father.

What are the odds that I found this key on this very day? She asked herself. What are the odds? Natalia felt certain that her actions were being guided; guided by her father from the other side. After landing she stopped only for a minute in the airport restroom to freshen up and then made her way to the subway.

As she exited the subway she couldn’t help but feel as if someone were following her. The hairs on the back of her neck began to rise ever so slightly, and if there was one thing that Natalia learned over the years it was to trust her gut. As Natalia turned the corner she looked over her shoulder and made a quick mental note of those she saw behind her. She noticed a man in a dark suit. She casually glanced behind her with every turn and noticed that the same man in the suit was gaining on her. As she entered the bank, she looked once again behind her. The man in the suit seemed to have disappeared. Natalia quickly made her way to the teller and requested access to the safety deposit box.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed her wrist and Natalia turned to see the man in the dark suit. “Come with me,” he said in a commanding tone as he began to pull her away from the teller. Just then the front doors of the bank flew open and Natalia turned to see Sergio and his men rush in. Everything seemed to be happening in an instant and yet moving in slow motion at the same time.

Sergio called out her name while he and two other men with guns came towards her. Then several other men, one of whom was Agent Hunt, also rushed the scene.

Sergio and his men were yelling. Hunt and his men were yelling. Bank customers were screaming and crying. Sergio pointed his gun directly at Natalia. She caught her breath in her throat. But lacking the guts to pull the trigger, he quickly changed course and pointing the gun directly at Agent Hunt fired a shot into his chest. Hunt fell to the ground.

SWAT swarmed the building and took Sergio down so fast there was no time for any other shots to be fired. Within mere minutes the scene had been controlled and Sergio and his men taken into custody.

“Are you okay?” Natalia asked, kneeling over Agent Hunt.

“Thanks to the vest I am,” winced Hunt as he patted his chest. “And you--,” he continued, shaking his finger at Natalia like a father scolding his child. “You were supposed to wait for further instructions.”

“I know,” Natalia confessed. “But I just couldn’t sit by and do nothing.”

“I figured,” Hunt also confessed, slightly rolling his eyes. “That’s why I had you followed. We had been following Sergio and knew he was following you.”

“You had me followed?” Natalia asked, her eyes wide opened.

“Affirmative,” Hunt replied, nodding in the direction of the man in the dark suit. “I was afraid you might go and do something stupid.” He added with a smirk on his face.

“Like this?” Natalia laughed sheepishly.

“Like this,” Hunt confirmed, also laughing.

Both Natalia and Agent Hunt were pleased to discover the lockbox held the evidence they were looking for. This would not only avenge the death of the ADA, but also of Natalia’s father. Hunt said she would probably have to testify but that with the new evidence the trial should go smoothly. Quite frankly, Natalia smiled to herself, if it meant getting to see Agent Hunt again she wouldn’t mind.

Just two days later as Natalia was back home heading up to her favorite trail it began to rain, enhancing the smell of the sage brush. Natalia breathed the fall air into her lungs and let the light rain wash over her face. The rain was like a sign for her; a sign that her past was finally being washed away and that she was now heading towards something better. There was a newness of life pumping through her veins with each stride. She finally felt renewed.

“No regrets,” Natalia smiled.


COPYRIGHT 2011. Emma C Miller. Any reproduction of this story may not be made without express written consent of the author.

The Date

Miriam rubbed the sweat from her palms and took a deep breath before hitting “send” on the email in front of her. “Well, here goes!” she sighed, leaning back in her chair. She wasn’t sure if the nauseating feeling in the pit of her stomach was one of excitement or regret over the fact she had just agreed to go on a blind date.

Although Miriam resisted the idea at first, she finally gave in when her friend Amy pushed her to join one of those dot-com dating sites. To be quite honest, she quickly learned she had good reason to be a little leery too. Within the first week, Miriam received more than one solicitation to meet a stranger for a “late night booty call” or what some referred to as a "hook-up". Miriam was beginning to think it was possible there weren’t any decent men left in this world. Just when she was ready to give up she received a private message from GymGuy21. After a few email exchanges, Miriam discovered his real name was Clint and he was a physical trainer for a local health club.

“This will be interesting,” Miriam sighed while getting dressed in front of the mirror. Miriam patted her tummy and turned from side to side, thinking she desperately needed to get back into shape. Her divorce had sent her into a slight depression and she had easily gained twenty or so pounds the last few years. Miriam suddenly felt like a frumpy, forty year-old with no chance of finding love.

As Miriam walked over to the café on the corner to meet Amy for lunch, she couldn’t help but notice each woman she passed. The more she scrutinized them, the more they seemed to all have tiny waists, perky breasts, white teeth, and shiny hair. It made her wonder why she hadn’t kept herself in shape all these years.

“Well, a lot of it’s fake,” Amy reassured her after their food had arrived. “All women our age feel old and frumpy. That’s why they do it; liposuction, implants, veneers, and extensions,” Amy continued.

As Miriam scanned the café, she wondered if it were true. Had all of these seemingly beautiful women actually altered their looks? “Hmm, maybe,” she conceded. “And I never said old,” Miriam added.

“What?” Amy asked in between mouthfuls of pasta.

“I said, I didn’t say old. I used the word plain.”

Amy nodded. “Right, that’s what I meant.” She went on as she twirled more pasta onto her fork. “They feel old because they look it. That’s why they have to get all that stuff done. You, on the other hand, look fabulous. You don’t need work.”

“Nice save,” Miriam rolled her eyes. “But look at these women. This is who I have to compete with, and they have brought their A-game. I, on the other hand, have thinning hair, Diet Coke-stained teeth, and haven’t seen a small waist-line since college.”

Amy waved her fork full of pasta as if dismissing Miriam’s insecurities altogether. “Yeah, but you have so much more to offer,” Amy explained between bites.

“You can’t even begin to understand,” Miriam protested. “You’re like a size zero and you sit here shoving your face full of pasta while I pick at my salad and fat-free dressing. You’ll probably order dessert too.”

“I am only going to say this once, so listen closely my friend,” Amy forewarned as she swallowed. “Most women spend tons of money to look good. And most of those women are superficial. Get it out of your head that all men go for that type. You, on the other hand are a breath of fresh air. Your beauty isn't just a façade. You are you, always. The real you. You say you feel plain, but you don’t need to cake on all that make-up. You have natural beauty. And I’m not just saying that because you are my friend,” Amy continued. “Trust me. If you were ugly, I’d tell you that you were a 'special spirit' or something.”

“Special Spirit is code for ‘ugly’?” Miriam laughed.

Amy nodded and proceeded. “You have big dark eyes that most women would kill for. Your lashes are long and thick and curly. You have great skin with barely a wrinkle. You have a smile that is contagious and as luck would have it straight teeth. So you’ve put on a little weight. So what? It's not like you're vying to be Discovery Channel's next "Two-Ton Woman". You are well put together and above all, you are brilliant. In fact, I’d go as far to say you are the smartest person I know. Not only are you an intellect, but you are freaking hilarious too.” Amy set her fork aside and leaned forward with all seriousness. “When you are in the room, people gravitate towards you and listen eagerly as you captivate them with story after story. You are the complete package my dear and any smart man who takes a chance will realize that too.”

Miriam blushed and started to interject before being cut off.

“And quite frankly,” Amy added while reloading her fork, “I think most women are jealous of you. I know I for one would trade my high-velocity metabolism and forsake all of the bottomless pasta in the world to have half the qualities you do. So,” Amy stated matter-of-factly, holding her hands up in front of her, “I don’t want to hear anymore whining. Do you hear me? This pity party is officially over.”

“Understood,” Miriam smiled in gratitude and then sat silent for a few moments, letting it soak in. “You’re right,” she exclaimed. “I do have all of those qualities, and there is no reason for me to feel ashamed or less than anyone else out there.”

Amy sat back and smiled, pleased with her dissertation. “So, tell me about what’s-his-face. Where is he taking you? What’s he like? Is he cute?”

The week leading up to their date, Clint and Miriam exchanged a few more emails and spoke on the phone a handful of times. Through that, Miriam discovered that the art of flirting was like riding a bike. Once you get back on, so to speak, it all comes back. Miriam felt like a giddy school-girl, riddled with anticipation.

Friday night Miriam pulled into the parking lot of the pancake house and saw Clint jump out of a jeep parked a few spots away. She recognized him immediately from his pictures and waved as he walked over to greet her.

Miriam was pleased that Clint looked like his photo, but was a little caught off guard that he had one lazy eye. While she didn’t feel it detracted from his overall appearance, she wished he would have sent her a picture that revealed both of his eyes, instead of all from the same angle as she suddenly realized he had done. Miriam could tell that Clint seemed pleased with her appearance. She breathed a sigh of relief as they walked into the restaurant. This might actually go well, she thought to herself.

The food came fast and the conversation seemed to pick up right where it left off in their last email. Soon, however, Miriam noticed blood beginning to pool around the aperture of Clint’s nose. She kept waiting for him to excuse himself to take care of it, but he didn’t. To be quite frank, the sight of it grossed her out. Can’t he feel that? She silently asked herself. The pool of blood seemed to thicken and grow darker, which disgusted Miriam even more. She could hardly look at him while he was talking. Worried that he might pick up on her avoidance, Miriam determined it best to simply advise him of the situation.

“Um,” she stammered. “I think your nose is bleeding.”

“Oh no,” gasped Clint as he abruptly stood and rushed to the men’s room.

While Miriam sat waiting, she stared blankly out of the window from the corner booth. She noticed a man without any legs in a motorized wheelchair driving up and down the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. Why is he just riding back and forth like that? She wondered. Then she laughed at herself at how easily distracted she could be at times.

Clint returned and the conversation resumed as they ate their dinner. Miriam had asked Clint about his career. As he began to talk, she noticed the blood returning to his nasal base. What is wrong with him? She wondered. Just as before, Clint seemed oblivious to the seepage. And just as before, Miriam couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye as he spoke. As she struggled to look anywhere but at Clint’s nose, Miriam’s attention was again detained by the man outside in the wheelchair. From the curb down to the stoplight and back to the curb again. Back and forth. Back and forth.

All of a sudden Miriam realized she hadn’t a heard a word Clint was saying. Focus, Miriam! She scolded herself. But as she turned her attention back to Clint, the pool of blood was still there and was growing rapidly. Miriam thought if she could just concentrate on his eyes, perhaps she wouldn’t notice the hideous scene before her. Despite her efforts, Miriam felt ill at ease. She then worried that staring at his eyes could make Clint a bit self-conscious. If she only looked at the lazy eye, Clint might think she was obsessed with his imperfection. On the other hand, if she only stared at his other eye, he might feel she was purposely avoiding the lazy eye and take offense. She quickly glanced from one eye to the next, but all she could see was blood.

Can’t you feel that? Miriam screamed inside her head. What is wrong with you? Your nose is bleeding and it is disgusting! I can’t bear to even look at you! Miriam’s irritation seemed to grow by the second.

Trying to hide her annoyance, Miriam found herself once again distracted by the man in the motorized wheelchair. And you! What on earth are you doing, riding up and down the sidewalk? I mean, who does that? As much as Miriam wished she could freely unleash the admonitions from her mind, she resisted and instead smiled politely and cleared her throat.

“Um, Clint,” she stammered, sort of waving her index finger at his face. “I think you’re bleeding again.”

While Miriam had hoped for another swift exodus to the men’s room, Clint’s knee-jerk reaction was to bring his sleeve up to his nose and wipe across, thereby breaking the pool of blood and sending it streaming all over his face.

Caught off guard by his own actions, Clint hastily reached for his napkin. Miriam wanted to be helpful but was so appalled by the scene, it was all she could do to turn away and hoped he accepted the napkin she held out for him. Clint, oblivious to Miriam’s disdain, yanked the napkin from her hand and made a mad dash towards the men’s room once again. In his absence, Miriam again returned to the man outside. You are a nut job, she sighed. And my date is a nut job, she sighed again. And you, she chuckled to herself. You are a nut job as well.

When Clint finally emerged from the men’s room, Miriam feigned a headache and thanked Clint for dinner. Clint paid the bill and walked Miriam to her car. As much as she had enjoyed flirting and talking on the phone to Clint all week, and as much as she had dreamt of a fun night possibly ending in a nice kiss, she was dismayed at what now appeared to be crusted-over, dried blood on Clint’s nose. Instead, Miriam extended her hand for a warm handshake, which Clint accepted before opening the car door for her.

Miriam hadn’t driven but a mile down the road before digging her cell phone from her purse to call Amy. As she replayed the events Amy couldn’t help but laugh hysterically. It didn’t take long for Miriam to see the humor and join in the laughter herself. By the time Miriam reached her home, she was in much better spirits than when she had left the restaurant.

True, the date wasn’t everything she had hoped for. And true, she also knew that the bloodshed of the evening was enough to haunt her from ever seeing Clint again. Nonetheless, Miriam felt the evening was a success. She had officially reentered the world of dating and overcoming the first obstacle, namely fear, was a step in the right direction.

As Miriam dressed for bed she passed by the mirror and paused to study her reflection for several minutes. Nope. I’m not ultra thin. I don’t have glossy hair, white teeth, or perky breasts. Miriam laughed and then added, and apparently I have the attention span of a poodle!

Then, looking deep into her own eyes she felt a surge of empowerment course through her. Fear and doubt had been replaced with faith and hope as Miriam settled in for the night and the new journey which lay ahead.



COPYRIGHT 2011. Emma C Miller. Any reproduction of this story may not be made without express written consent of the author.

The Choice

Kate sat in the parking lot of her doctor’s office, feeling slightly nervous at the decision she was about to make. It had only been a year since her husband Haydn had died. She missed him terribly and did not like making this sort of decision without him.

They had initially decided to freeze Haydn’s sperm approximately three years ago, prior to his deployment to Afghanistan. The young couple desperately wanted to have a child and Kate had been struggling with infertility. Kate had been in the middle of infertility treatments when Haydn’s company had been activated. The decision at the time was to continue with the cycles as originally planned, in hopes that she would become pregnant even while he was away.

While the couple was relieved that Haydn’s tour only lasted a brief ten months, they were saddened that their efforts to conceive had not yet been realized. Upon Haydn’s return home, he resumed his duties as a state trooper with the Minnesota Highway Patrol. Kate was happy to have Haydn back home from the war, and Haydn was happy to be doing a job he loved. All they needed now was a baby to complete their family. As Kate sat in her car thumbing through the forms in front of her, she couldn’t help but think of the events that had lead to Haydn’s unexpected death.

It was a dark, wintry night and Haydn was working a graveyard shift on the main interstate spanning the Twin Cities. A call came in from dispatch. A gunman had fired shots in the West Expansion at the Mall of America and proceeded to lead officers on a high speed chase through the city before getting on the freeway. Haydn had responded to the call and joined the other units in pursuit of the black Escalade.

The roads were slick and visibility impaired due to the high winds and freezing rain. Haydn’s patrol jeep hit a patch of black ice and he lost control of the vehicle, rolling several times down the embankment before landing in the ditch. His body was thrown and he was killed on impact.

Kate had played the events of the evening over and over again in her mind several times since. Was she really a believer like she professed? Could she really accept that this was fate or somehow part of “the Plan”? If he had not responded to that call, would his life have been claimed in some other way? Of course, she knew it didn’t matter. She knew that Haydn loved his job and there was no way he would have let the call go.

The past year had been anything but easy for Kate. Yes, she knew what it was like to be lonely. She knew what it was like to wonder day in and day out if she would see her husband again. She dealt with that while Haydn was away at war and everyday since he’d been back that he put on his badge and went to work. But every time he did return, she grew more and more hopeful of his return night after night. But now, that hope was no longer her reality.

The rain drops against the windshield brought Kate back to reality for a moment. Once again she turned to the paperwork on her lap. After Haydn’s death, Kate had stopped her current round of infertility treatments. Her doctor told her to take some time off and come back and see him if she wanted to start up again. The alternative was to sign the necessary authorization forms to have the specimen destroyed. Kate had thought about both options many nights during the past year.

On the one hand, she really wanted to be a mother, and above all else she wanted to be a mother to Haydn’s baby. Part of her wanted to proceed with the treatments, in hopes to have any part of Haydn in her life she possibly could. However, she knew that choice would bear a lot of uncertainties and would be hard. Would she be able to raise a baby on her own? Should she ever desire to be married again would her new husband be accepting of this baby? And above all, Kate wondered, what would Haydn want her to do?

“Things have a way of working themselves out.” Kate could almost hear his voice as she repeated those words in her mind. Haydn used to say that to her all the time. Kate drew her hand to her face and wiped the tear from her cheek. Suddenly, as if he was there, sitting along right beside her holding her hand she again heard those words. “Things have a way of working themselves out.”

Kate breathed a heavy sigh as she signed the form to discard any chances to ever bear Haydn’s child. Suddenly, she felt a warmth rise within her chest and knew that she made the right decision. She knew her husband loved her and wanted her to move on. Kate knew this meant she was ending a chapter of her life. She rested her head against the steering wheel for a moment as the tears began to flow almost uncontrollably. Kate shed tears over the memory of her loving husband. She shed tears over her dream for the baby she always wanted. And finally, she shed tears of solace, for the burden of the choice had finally been lifted from her.

This question, finally answered, gave her the peace of mind and closure she needed and Kate soon found, as Haydn promised, things indeed had a way of working themselves out.

COPYRIGHT 2011. Emma C Miller. Any reproduction of this story may not be made without express written consent of the author.

Writer's Workshop: Story Starter

I gave a little tutorial on overcoming writer's block over {{HERE}} on my main blog, all about using the Journalism rule of 6 W's. This is the story I have come up with so far...

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Maura pulled the covers up around her just a bit more as the cold, night air seeped in from the old window. The voice in her dream was enough to stir her from a deep sleep. Maura wasn't even sure what it meant. As she struggled to come into full consciousness, she replayed what little she could remember. She was sipping a glass of lemonade, when the old woman appeared before her. The woman had long, white, scraggly hair and was wearing a simple, white cotton gown. She was beautiful except for the wild look in her eyes. "You need to leave, and you need to leave now," she forewarned. By this point, Maura was wide awake. Such an odd thing to say, she thought to herself.

Maura pulled herself up from her bed and headed to the kitchen to put on some tea. Sometimes all she needed was a little Chamomile to relax her back to sleep. As she reached into the cupboard for a mug, the voice behind her startled her. "Maura. You must go now."

Maura turned quickly, letting the mug slip from her hands and shatter against the hardwood floor beneath her. Her stomach began to crawl into the base of her throat as she saw no one there. She shuddered at the draft that blew through at that very moment. Maura suddenly felt uneasy. She was certain now that this wasn't a dream. Although she didn't understand the logic behind the demand, she sensed the urgency. Maura turned off the stove and knew that for whatever reason, she must do as the voice indicated and depart immediately.

Maura scrambled through the house filling two duffel bags as fast as she could with whatever she thought she might need. However, she knew that was a ludicrous concept, as she had no idea where she was going or how long she'd even be gone. Still, she continued to pack. Clothes, make-up, prescriptions, her passport, cell phone, charger, and any cash on hand were the items she checked off her mental list as she shoved them into her bags. Maura grabbed her laptop and her bags and quickly loaded her car.

As Maura pulled out of her driveway, she was grateful that for whatever reason she had decided to fill up her gas tank the night before rather than waiting until morning as she had usually done. Still not sure where she should drive, Maura headed south, leaving the Carson Valley behind her. Maura continued checking her rear-view mirror, unable to shake the feeling that she was avoiding something imminent, and that whatever it was, it was big.

Maura had almost reached the mountain turn-off to Glenbrook when she heard the explosion. She pulled off to what little side of the road there was and emerged from her car. Gazing at the city lights below, a stagnant smell filled the air.

COPYRIGHT 2011. Emma C Miller. Any reproduction of this story may not be made without express written consent of the author.

You're Not Here

Sometimes I close my eyes and wrap

my arms a little tighter

around the pillow in your place.

But I can only imagine.

Sometimes I close my eyes and wonder

what your hand might feel like

brushing against my cheek.

But I can only imagine.

Sometimes I close my eyes and listen

as the wind becomes your breath,

sighing the rhythms of life.

But I can only imagine.

Sometimes I close my eyes and stay still,

yearning for your words

to fill the coffers of my heart.

But I can only imagine.

Sometimes I close my eyes and bask

in the sun as it becomes your lips,

dancing warmth onto mine.

But I can only imagine.

Sometimes I close my eyes and hope

that the dream I dreamed is real

and you're here when I awake.

But I can only imagine.

I can only imagine,

Because you're not here.

COPYRIGHT 2011. Emma C Miller. Any reproduction of this story may not be made without express written consent of the author.

The Bear (A Limerick)

I recently ran across a "book of poetry" I had written for a 5th grade project. For our poetry unit, each time we'd discuss a new type of poetry, we were then given the assignment to write in that genre. At the end of the poetry unit each student then compiled his or her completed works into a booklet. When I found this book recently, and read through it, I mostly laughed or cringed at how some of it sounded. However, I must say I thought my limerick was pretty clever for a 5th grader. Enjoy!!!
___________

The Bear

There once was a little bear
She had some fuzzy brown hair.
A little boy gave her
a little red razor
and the little brown bear was bare.


COPYRIGHT 2009. Emma C Miller. Any reproduction of this story may not be made without express written consent of the author.