Wednesday Briefs: An Unholy Alliance #25 (6.4)

Good morning and Happy Hump Day ! If it's Wednesday, then it must be time for more flash fiction from the Wednesday Briefers! We're a group of authors who bring you our finest flash fiction every week, 500 to 1000 words, inspired by one of our prompts.  

When we last left Char and Ty, they were going to get a drink at a local bar. See what they're up to in this week's chapter of An Unholy Alliance. Don't forget, this will be their last appearance in these pages, since I want to write faster than this allows. But never fear, a new story shall begin next week, and you may just recognize some familiar characters you've seen before! Don't forget to check out what the other Briefers are up to. Their links follow my tale! Enjoy!'

An Unholy Alliance #25 (6.4)

I scowled at Tyrone as I slipped past him into the dimly lit interior of Hannibal’s Hideaway but I fear the effect I was striving for was lost on the man. I didn’t like being made fun of, never had. As a child, this had led to more than a few fisticuffs with my brothers, who were quick to take advantage of my sensitivity to slights and never hesitated to ally themselves against me. Because of such intimidation, as I grew older, I learned to defend myself in any way I could. Being turned only served to enhance what skills I possessed, as my brothers quickly learned to their great chagrin when they no longer held the advantage of their vampirism over me. With time, their attacks became less physical and more verbal. I suffered their slings and arrows and learned to mask my true feelings behind a shell of outward indifference, giving no indication which barbs might have struck home.

Dominique seemed to encourage my siblings, for reasons I couldn’t begin to fathom. When I was very young and unable to adequately defend myself against the four of them, I would run to the kitchen afterward to seek shelter with Mama Lil. She would hold me on her lap while she tended to whatever injuries I’d sustained, dry my tears, and tell me she loved me. She encouraged me to stand up for myself and not accept their bullying.  While she took care of all of us, I was the one who was closest to her. Many times I’d wished she were my mother, instead of Dominique. At first, that thought brought a sense of disloyalty, but with time, I accepted the way things were, even if I didn’t comprehend why.

“C’mon, let’s grab a table in back.” Tyrone touched my arm lightly as he moved past me to take the lead. I shrugged and followed him. We threaded our way between mostly empty close-set square tables before choosing one tucked into the farthest corner.  That was fine with me, as it gave me full command of the room. With my back to the wall, no one was going to come up on me unawares. I wasn’t being paranoid, just cautious. After our little run-in with Tyrone’s cousins, I wanted to be prepared for anything and everything.

There was nothing particularly remarkable about this place that Tyrone had brought us to. Just a typical neighborhood bar with little to commend it. No fancy décor. No selection of slick electronics to catch the eye and drain the pocketbook. But maybe that was the point. This was a place where the locals could feel at home and not necessarily worry about the intrusion of outsiders. Such as me. But then again I found myself an outsider no matter where I went, so what did that really matter?

Quit wallowing in self-pity.

Apparently Tyrone was no stranger in this place. Probably why he’d suggested coming here. I heard the bartender call out to him in greeting when we entered, and some of the other patrons said hello as we passed by, which was impressive as there weren’t that many people there. And yet they knew Tyrone. I didn’t exactly peg him as a barfly, so there had to be another reason.

I pulled out a chair and slid into my seat, surveying my surroundings. One advantage to being a vampire is that my eyesight is better than most people’s, especially in dim light. I sensed no danger, though, and relaxed slightly.

“What would you like?” Tyrone asked. “If you like beer, I recommend the Guinness. I think we have the best draft system in this area, if not the state, if I do say so myself.”

We?

“That’s fine.” I wasn’t about to ask, didn’t mean I wasn’t curious.

He gave me a thumbs up and a grin before heading off to the bar. Mere minutes later he was back, with two frosted glasses of stout in hand. He set one on the table before me then took a seat across from me. When I reached for my wallet, he waved me off.

“Not necessary. There’s no charge.”

I quirked an eyebrow. “Since when is a bar a philanthropic institution?”

He laughed. “Since I became part owner, I guess.” He took a good long drink before adding, “Having Guinness on draft was my idea, and it’s actually gone over rather well.”

I regarded him with some surprise, before taking a taste of the beer. I had to admit it was better than I’d expected.

“It’s called a microdraught,” he explained. “The beauty of the system is that it doesn’t require a keg. Makes it handy for smaller bars, like this one. We’re working on updating everything, but it takes time, you know? Time and money.”

Okay, now I had to ask. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as a bartender. Sorry, bar owner.”

“I don’t actually work here,” he admitted. “More of a silent partner. But it’s a good place to get a drink. And the money comes in handy too.”

That certainly accounted for the name then.

I remembered how his obnoxious cousin had taunted him regarding his lack of employment. “So, you used to work for your family, right?”

Tyrone nodded. If my question upset him, his demeanor didn’t reflect it. “Up until a couple of years ago. Oh don’t worry, it’s not like we don’t get along or anything. I still love my family. I’m just not interested in carrying on the family tradition.

His words took me aback momentarily. I’d already seen that he was a cannibal, and so were they, so that couldn’t be what he was referring to. Obviously he had no problem with that, as evidenced by our breakfast. So, what…

“I just don’t want to marry one of my cousins.” He shrugged lightly, as if this discussion was entirely natural and normal.

And I thought my family was bad?

Now go see what's up with the other Briefers!

Cia Nordwell

J Ray Lamb

Wednesday Briefs: An Unholy Alliance #24 (6.3)

Good morning and Happy Hump Day ! If it's Wednesday, then it must be time for more flash fiction from the Wednesday Briefers! We're a group of authors who bring you our finest flash fiction every week, 500 to 1000 words, inspired by one of our prompts.  

Charlemagne refrains from killing Tyrone's cousin, but he is sorely tempted. Tyrone defuses the situation and suggests they get a drink in town. See what's going on in this week's chapter of An Unholy Alliance. Also, I think that I will stop posting the story after next week, so that I can write it faster and not in short spurts. I'll start a new story, but I wanted to let anyone who might be reading so it isn't too much of a shock. Don't forget to visit the other Briefers and see what's up with them. Their links follow my tale! Enjoy!

An Unholy Alliance #24 (6.3)

Frank didn’t move so much as a muscle. Hardly surprising considering I had my weight pressing down on his neck, and I had just threatened him with instant death. His cohorts certainly didn’t waste their opportunity to flee the scene—they scattered to the winds without a backward glance for their companion. So much for familial solidarity. Frank was far from silent, however, screaming something that was undoubtedly aimed at me. But his words were rendered unintelligible due to his unfortunate position. Not as though he had anything half-way intelligent to convey anyway, even at the best of times. Despite his previous bravado, his current fear was more than evident—he reeked of it. He’d also apparently lost control of his bowels.

My anger at this waste of space continued to grow. I visualized myself reaching down, grabbing his limp soiled body and drawing it up, up, up until I could better reach his neck. I saw myself tearing into his throat, imbibing his warm blood with great gusto. My fury was overriding my normal prudence, my canines enlarging at the prospect of fresh food, even though I wasn’t actually hungry.

A gentle but firm touch on my arm drew me back to reality.

“He’s not worth it.” Tyrone’s warm brown eyes held empathy, as well as a glint of amusement. Maybe even regret for what might have been, but I may have been overthinking that one. “Tempting, I’m sure. But much as I’d like to do so, I can’t treat him like that other one, alas. He’s family, even if he is an asshole.”

The realization that he meant last night’s dinner/this morning’s breakfast entrée hit me a moment later. As did the reality of what had come too close to happening right here and now.

I’d almost killed someone in anger, a course of action I normally abhorred. Bad enough that I managed to do it accidentally on occasion, but on purpose? I was suddenly grateful for Tyrone’s thoughtful intervention on my behalf, as well as his unexpectedly not-unwelcome presence. So much had changed in such a very short period of time, I honestly didn’t know what to think, or how to feel.

“I don’t know about you, but I could sure use a drink,” Tyrone interrupted my reverie.

Didn’t that sound like a great idea? But where? We were in the middle of nowhere.

“I know a little place in Cabool. We’re not that far from it now.”

I glanced around, but saw no sign of his vehicle. “Are you proposing we walk there?” That seemed unlikely. Well, I could do it easily, but I didn’t see him being up for such an expenditure of energy, although I had to admit he did possess a strength I wouldn’t have thought him capable of before. And then I remembered the car I’d heard but dismissed earlier. “Let me guess, you’re actually parked nearby?”

He favored me with a sheepish grin. “I am,” he admitted. “Just over the hill, in fact. I thought I could get the drop on them better if I didn’t announce my presence first.”

That only added more questions to my growing list. What in the world was going on here? And how had I become involved in it? A small moan from below reminded me I was still stepping on Tyrone’s cousin. I should probably remedy that. I moved my foot and he rolled over onto his back, gasping and sputtering, and looking thoroughly miserable. But at least he had nothing more to say, offensive or otherwise.

 “A drink, yes,” I acceded to Tyrone’s request. “Lead on, MacDuff.” All right, maybe that was a misquote, one that should actually be Lay on MacDuff.  But people had been usurping the line for years until it had taken on a life of its own—don’t blame me for doing the same.

“As you will, MacBeth,” Tyrone quipped.

I was favorably impressed that he was at least somewhat familiar with the Bard. That just went to show that he was different from these others.

Tyrone’s gaze flickered to his moaning cousin.  “Later, Frank. Try to be good, won’t you?”

Not waiting for a response, we quickly repaired to Tyrone’s vehicle. I couldn’t help but notice it was the same nondescript sedan he’d offered me a ride in earlier. “I see you haven’t upgraded to a different model,” I joked.

He laughed as he pulled the car back onto the road. “Not yet. And not here. I know too many people here. That could be a problem. Besides, there’s no rush. I’ll get to it sooner or later.”

Did that mean he lived near here? Fairly safe assumption to make. Maybe. I still didn’t have enough information to know for sure. But I could look up the town, anyway, so I pulled out my phone.

Smaller than Mason Springs, Cabool was a largely rural area possessed of a number of businesses of varying sizes as well as a school, police department, and library. Should I be worried that we might get caught driving around town in a stolen vehicle? Tyrone didn’t seem concerned, so I decided to follow his lead for now.

We ended up near the end of a small strip mall that contained a large grocery store, a gift shop, and a clothing consignment shop. There was a moderate amount of foot traffic for late afternoon. People stopping on their way home from work, perhaps, to pick up a few things. Tyrone parked near the other vehicles and we headed toward our destination. Hannibal’s Hideaway was spelled out in subdued neon lights on the window, along with stickers bearing the name of various types of beer that were no doubt available within.

Tyrone turned to me, grinning. “Like the name?”

What?

“Hannibal. It’s an inside joke. You know. Hannibal Lecter.”

“Who’s that?”

He rolled his eyes as he held open the front door. “Dude, you have so much to learn.”

Excuse me?

to be continued

Now go see what's up with the other Briefers!

Cia Nordwell

J Ray Lamb

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wednesday Briefs: An Unholy Alliance #23 (6.2)

 Good morning and Happy Hump Day ! If it's Wednesday, then it must be time for more flash fiction from the Wednesday Briefers! We're a group of authors who bring you our finest flash fiction every week, 500 to 1000 words, inspired by one of our prompts.  

Char is surprised to see Tyrone unexpectedly turn up (you'd think he'd be getting used to it) and when he learns how he knows these idiots, well... see for yourself what's happening in this week's chapter of An Unholy Alliance. Don't forget to visit the other Briefers and see what's up with them. Their links follow my tale! Enjoy!

An Unholy Alliance #23 (6.2)

Baffled didn’t even begin to describe my state of mind at the unexpected turn these proceedings had just taken. Momentarily tongue-tied, I could only stare between Tyrone and the rednecks, curious to know how they would react to this strange intrusion. I didn’t have long to wait. They all began to yell at him, their voices a raucous cacophony that only added to my confusion, until Frank screamed, “Shut the fuck up!” and blessed silence reigned… for all of ten seconds.

 “What the hell do you mean this guy’s your friend?” He fisted his hands on his hips like a petulant teenager. “Rover, get over here.” The dog was smarter than I’d realized as he had the sense to pay no attention to his master’s commands, too caught up in other attentions. Tyrone squatted beside him, gun still trained on the miscreants with one hand while with the other he petted the ecstatic canine.

“And what the hell do you mean by pulling a gun on us?” Frank whined. “What does kin even mean to you, Tyrone?”

Tyrone stood, at the same time lowering his weapon slightly.

“You may be my cousins but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to tell you when you’re being stupid. And it also doesn’t mean you get to use offensive language in reference to my friend.” (Yes, I edited out the continuing list of racial slurs as being not worthy of mention.)

Ah, that explained much, including the dog’s inexplicable instant liking to me. He probably smelled Tyrone on me—not surprising after that hug he blindsided me with—and assumed I was a friend. So he was related to these inbred hillbillies? Tyrone, that is, not Rover. I would never have guessed that. From what little I’d seen of him, Tyrone seemed a decent human being with a great deal more intelligence than any of these fellows, even if he had certain unusual proclivities. And an unfortunate habit of talking too much. Of course, genetics wasn’t everything. Maybe he’d gotten lucky in this backwoods gene pool.

And then something Tyrone had said came rushing back to me.

It’s my family. It’s what we do. Did that mean these cousins of his were cannibals too? That was mind-boggling at best. Was this a wide-spread practice that I was unaware of? I had a feeling that wasn’t the case, but the revelation was disturbing nonetheless.

“Why are you standing up for him?” one of the others angrily spoke up. “Maybe you should find out what happened first before you assume you know what’s going on.” His words were echoed by the other cousins, probably under the illusion that there was safety in numbers. Hadn’t helped them the first time.

“Maybe I should, Caleb,” Tyrone replied in a tone somewhere between condescension and amusement. I found myself liking him just a little more for his no-tolerance-for-stupidity attitude. These might be his relatives, but he obviously wasn’t going to cut them any slack on that account. I could understand that—I felt the same way when it came to my brothers.

You might wonder why I hadn’t spoken at all during these proceedings? We’ve already established that I’m no wallflower. Neither am I one who’s afraid to stand up for himself. It’s self-control I lack, not courage. The honest answer is that I was compelled by reasons I didn’t clearly understand to watch this unfolding family drama, infinitely grateful that it wasn’t my family drama, for once.

Besides, I was wrestling internally with another question of my own. How had Tyrone managed to find me yet again? I couldn’t decide if I was being paranoid or merely suspicious.

“We weren’t doing anything,” Caleb continued. “Just shootin’ at some targets. You know, having some fun. This here (insert racial slur) attacked us for no good reason.” He glanced around at the others, as if seeking confirmation, which they were quick to provide. “Yeah, that’s right” and “That’s what happened all right.” I noticed these same men failed to meet my glance as they uttered their calumnies.

I couldn’t help but snort at the absurdity of it all. Tyrone caught my eye and gave me a quick wink before turning his attention back to his cousins.

“Attacked you? Seriously? He attacked all four of you at one time? Really? Sorry I missed that.”

“Well…” Caleb drawled ineffectually, but apparently Frank had had enough.

“Tyrone, fuck that shit. It’s us against him and you need to pick which side you’re on right now. Are you gonna take the part of this black stranger against us, your own blood relatives? You’ve known us your whole damn life. Do you think we would lie to you?”

“In a heartbeat.” Tyrone’s easy demeanor changed before my startled gaze as he quickly strode up to Frank after first sending Rover scurrying back to me and planted one finger in the middle of Frank’s broad chest.

“If family is so important to y’all, then why are you hiding out in the woods, shooting at empties when you’re supposed to be working? Don’t deny it. I was just at the store, talking to Aunt Joan, and she’s hopping mad.”

“Why were you at the store? You don’t work there anymore,” Frank said belligerently. I could almost feel his bravado amping up at this assertion. At the same time, I felt a certain hesitation in Tyrone’s manner, as if his cousin had just touched an exposed nerve.

Then Frank made a potentially fatal error—he balled up his fist and started to raise it. The next second I’d stepped between them, and Frank lay face down in the dirt beneath my shoe.

“I could end you right now, little man,” I snarled. “Do something stupid…anything… and I’ll prove it.”

 to be continued

Now go see what the other Briefers are up to!

Cia Nordwell

 

 

 

 

Wednesday Briefs: An Unholy Alliance #22 (6.1)

Good morning and Happy Hump Day ! If it's Wednesday, then it must be time for more flash fiction from the Wednesday Briefers! We're a group of authors who bring you our finest flash fiction every week, 500 to 1000 words, inspired by one of our prompts.  

Char is visiting with Isabella, the genealogist Casey guided him to, when he is alarmed to discover the rednecks he had the run-in with are nearby. Abruptly leaving his gracious hostess, he goes to see what the idiots are up to and why they are seeking him. See what's going on in this week's chapter of An Unholy Alliance. Don't forget to visit the other Briefers and see what's up with them. Their links follow my tale. Enjoy!

An Unholy Alliance #22 (6.1)

By all the gods, how had they managed to find me? I had to assume more than sheer coincidence was causing our paths to cross once more. I wasn’t so naïve to believe that if I’d remained where I was—in the shelter of Isabella’s garden—they would have simply gone along their merry way and made no attempt to invade Isabella’s peaceful paradise in a foolhardy pursuit of someone whose very nature they were clueless about. No, there was some agenda at play here. Whatever it was, I intended to take care of these fools, once and for all. But I would do it outside of Isabella’s knowledge and immediate vicinity. I would apologize profusely for my rude and hasty exit later, but her safety was what was paramount right now. That and finding out what they were up to.

I intersected the mangy group about a half mile away from Isabella’s home. They were apparently following the same path which I had taken to get there. The reason for that became crystal clear to me in an instant. They were huddled together in the middle of the deserted road. Thickets of trees and dense foliage flanked either side beyond which lay farmers’ plowed fields, but not another human in sight. Frank knelt beside his dog, grasping something blue that he held up for the dog’s inspection. “C’mon boy, you can do it. Find that ignorant son of a bitch.”

Except he didn’t say ignorant. But I wouldn’t allow myself to even think the racial epithet he did use. His language didn’t surprise me. I’d expect no less from a man of his low intellect and limited vocabulary, and I’m sure he knew a lot worse slurs he could hurl, given the chance. And then I recognized what was in his hand. That was a piece of my now discarded jacket he held, and that explained everything. They were deliberately tracking me, using that bit of torn cloth and the dog’s olfactory capabilities.  Probably still angry after our last encounter. Time to end this little game here and now.

At first they were oblivious to my presence, too focused on the dog to pay attention to their environment. At least not until I strode confidently into their midst. The dog was the first one to take notice. He gave a joyful yip and leapt up against my leg, as if requesting that I hold him.

He was the only one who was happy to see me.

“Rover!” Frank remonstrated, shooting his dog a baleful glance. “What are you doing, you stupid mutt?”

“Looks like Rover found him, just like you told him to.” Joey sounded disconcertingly smug.

“Looks like he found us,” Caleb corrected him. Or maybe it was Donny. They all looked alike to me. Plus I didn’t really care to remember which one was which. Frank’s identity was made easier to recall only because of his dog.

“Shut up, all of you!” I snapped. Leaning down, I scooped up the overly excited canine. He immediately licked my face, which I tolerated, mostly to irritate Frank. My secondary motivation was to remove him from harm’s way before anything went down.

And something was surely going to go down. How could it not?

I drew in deep breaths, attempting to calm myself before I made another move. As I’ve mentioned before, I am generally not a man of violence unless forced to it. I adhere to the age-old adjuration of do no harm. But I was willing to make an exception in the case of these idiots, and that knowledge did not sit well with me. They were mostly harmless, after all. Was stupidity a valid reason to kill someone? If so, the world would surely be littered with more corpses, not to mention being a nicer place to live in.

“Tell me why you are stalking me?” I addressed the group at large, but they all glanced toward Frank, as if they didn’t have a brain cell between them that could act independently of his leadership. So I followed suit and glared at Frank as well.

He made no immediately reply but reached out toward me as if he intended to snatch his dog. He’d barely begun to move when I took a quick step back and thus easily outmaneuvered him, my reflexes being far superior, of course.

“I’m sorry, was the question too complicated for you?” I snarked. Rover yipped, as if in support of my comment.

Frank’s face suffused with anger mixed with embarrassment, no doubt, and his so-called friends snickered. So much for group loyalty. He narrowed his eyes at me and found his tongue.

“You’re too uppity for your own good. You need to learn your place among your betters.”

I was torn between anger and the desire to laugh at his so-cliché words. I had hurt their poor little feelings when I didn’t just let them hurt me, and had in fact fought back. They couldn’t seem to stomach the idea that a black man had bested them.

I could hear the sound of a car engine and braced myself to see a vehicle come over the hill toward us, but the sound ceased. Nothing to do with us, I reasoned, and returned my attention to the rednecks standing in the middle of the road.

“Betters? You?” I scoffed. “Excuse me, but who did I leave lying on the ground just a short while ago? Or have you forgotten?”

“You cheated!” Frank shouted angrily. “It wasn’t a fair fight.”

Oh right, four against one and he had the nerve to talk about fairness?

Just then I heard a gun cock. At the same moment, Rover leapt from my arms toward the newcomer.

Why was Tyrone standing there, large revolver in hand, aimed toward the rednecks?

“Hey guys, what’s going on here? And why are you trying to abuse my friend? Didn’t your mama teach you better manners than that?”

 to be continued

Now go see what the other Briefers are up to!

Cia Nordwell

J Ray Lamb

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wednesday Briefs: An Unholy Alliance #21 (5.5)

Good morning and Happy Hump Day ! If it's Wednesday, then it must be time for more flash fiction from the Wednesday Briefers! We're a group of authors who bring you our finest flash fiction every week, 500 to 1000 words, inspired by one of our prompts.  

Charlemagne has gone to see Isabella, who has information for him. She lives in a home with a beautiful garden, and he finds himself relaxing there, enjoying their conversation. Until something interrupts... See what's happening in this week's chapter of An Unholy Alliance. Don't forget to visit the other Briefers. Their links follow my tale! Enjoy!

An Unholy Alliance #21 (5.5)

I refocused my attention on Isabella and her friend. She was running her fingers through his thick fur, the vibrations of his rumbling purr clearly audible from where I sat. Vampire hearing, you know. Or maybe he was just louder than a cat should be. At least for the moment he’d forgotten I existed, which was more than fine with me.

“My family has lived in this area for many years,” Isabella began. “The Bufords were among the first settlers in Greene County. Did you know the county was named after General Nathanael Greene? He was a hero of the American Revolution.”

I hadn’t known that. I confess to knowing little about that period in history. Or any other, to be honest. I’d only become interested in the past after my desire to learn about my real family had been awakened. My own interests ran to the literary. I was a voracious reader, mostly the classics. And I loved music, particularly jazz and classical. I especially loved Russian composers, such as Tchaikovsky and Rachmaninoff, because of the sheer depth of emotion they expressed in their compositions. Does that make me sentimental? I don’t think so.

“I’ve been told the Bufords are related to the general, at least that’s how the story goes.” Isabella laughed, that musical sound again. The one that resembled a tinkling bell. “But that’s why I became interested in genealogy. At first I just wanted to find out about my family. And so far nothing I’ve found points to a familial connection, but that’s okay too. The truth is the truth. And after that, I discovered I was hooked.”

She offered me a rueful smile. “Sorry for all the exposition. I just wanted to frame what I know before I got to the part you were actually inquiring about.”

“No apologies necessary,” I instantly replied. “There is such passion in your voice. I think it’s admirable that you care about your family so much.” Some people were luckier in their relatives than others. But I kept that thought to myself. Even so, I could see something that might be interpreted as sympathy flicker in her eyes.

I cleared my throat and turned my attention to my drink. I liked to think of myself as tall, dark, and mysterious for a reason. If I didn’t let people in, didn’t let them get to know the real me, then they couldn’t use that information to hurt me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Isabella take a drink herself before she continued, offering no comment, for which I was grateful.

“At some point in the early 1840s, I think it was,” she continued, “the Bufords became sharecroppers for a local family, the Pattersons. The Pattersons had a lot of land back then. They also had slaves. Slavery here was different than it was in the Deep South, I think. It didn’t hurt that Missouri was greatly divided on the issue, which is why the state chose not to secede from the Union. There weren’t the huge plantations here that you’d find in Louisiana or Georgia. These were just farms that people needed help with. Slavery was still a bad institution, don’t get me wrong. But at least the slave owners in this area were more likely to work alongside the field hands than to have overseers to control them or even beat them. After the war, some of those families who had been freed stayed and became sharecroppers too.”

I furrowed my brow in thought for a moment before asking, “I’m not sure what you mean by sharecropping?” Mama Lil always told me there was no such thing as a stupid question, but I still felt dumb asking. Obviously this was something that fell outside of my usual frame of reference.

“That was a system where landowners would allow farmers with no land of their own to grow crops on their land in return for a portion of the crop. This was especially beneficial after the Civil War, after the slaves were freed. It provided a means of making a living for people whose whole lives had been spent in the fields, but as paid laborers. And the farm owners received the help they needed.”

I mulled over her words for a few minutes. I couldn’t help but think how much life could have been different for the former slaves if they’d been able to receive an actual education. Even though they’d been freed, they were far from being treated equally. If they’d been able to learn, they would have had choices, opportunities. Too many remained tied to the land, either because they were too old to start over somewhere else or because they didn’t know any other kind of life. I’d been fortunate to have been spared that, despite all my grumbling about Dominique and the harshness of life under her regime. As a child, I hadn’t realized there were worse things, but as a grown man, I understood. And I grieved for those who were given no real chance strictly because of the color of their skin.

But greater than my grief was my guilt. I’d escaped the cruelty of a slave’s life, but my family hadn’t. Who knows what they were made to suffer when I didn’t even know who they were? How dare I be so complaisant about my life and who I was? How dare I?

“I’m very sorry.”

I glanced up, my cheeks burning, as I realized I’d fallen into a sullen silence. I spent far too much time brooding since my family cast me out—that was a really unattractive quality. Who did I think I was, the black Hamlet?

“No, I’m sorry—” I began, but a distant noise brought me up short. I recognized the yip of the over-friendly pup, which meant those idiots were probably close behind. And the sound was drawing nearer.

“Forgive me!” I blurted out just before I ran toward trouble.

 to be continued

Don't forget to see what the other Briefers are up to!

Cia Nordwell

 

 

Wednesday Briefs: An Unholy Alliance #20 (5.4)

 Good morning and Happy Hump Day ! If it's Wednesday, then it must be time for more flash fiction from the Wednesday Briefers! We're a group of authors who bring you our finest flash fiction every week, 500 to 1000 words, inspired by one of our prompts.  

After the unpleasant encounter with the rednecks, Charlemagne arrives at last at his destination. See what's going on in this week's chapter of An Unholy Alliance. Don't forget to visit the other Briefers and see what's up with them. Their links follow my tale! Enjoy!

An Unholy Alliance #20 (5.4)

As I approached the front door, I found myself assailed by an unaccustomed feeling of nervousness, waves of butterflies pirouetting inside my stomach. Could it be the knowledge that my quest might finally be reaching an end? Or maybe I feared the opposite. Would I learn something I didn’t want to know? What was of greater concern to me, bad news or no news at all?

Either way, I intended to find out. I’d come too far to back down now.

Stop being such an infant and knock on the door already.

How ridiculous was this scenario? The big bad vampire afraid of mere words? I took a deep breath, reminded myself that I could do anything I set my mind to, and raised my hand to knock upon the door… which opened unexpectedly before I’d even touched it.

“Welcome, welcome!” a musical voice greeted me. “Please, won’t you come in?” The petite figure who stood in the doorway turned, not waiting for a response. I followed her inside without hesitation, as my senses informed me that no one else lurked within. I wondered how she could possibly have known I was there. Unless she’d been looking for me, which was entirely possible. Casey had probably informed her that I would waste no time in contacting her, which was very true, of course.

“I’m Isabella, but I’m sure you knew that,” she continued. Pausing, she turned to regard me over one shoulder. “What should I call you?”

“Charlemagne would be fine,” I replied.

“That’s a lovely name.” Her smile completely lit up her face. She virtually glowed from within. I’d never met anyone who possessed such a quality. I must confess, I found her persona a little unnerving, but I quickly recovered my equanimity.

My first impression of Isabella was that of a fairy who had fallen to Earth… assuming I believed in such things, which I didn’t. She might have been slightly over five foot in height and well-curved. She wore a moss green tunic over pink leggings. A silver ankh hung about her neck. Her auburn hair flowed in waves to the middle of her back, strands of which were tinted in various pastel shades. The overall effect was stunning and only served to reinforce the image of her as a fairy or sprite.

She led me into her small but charming kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. I was surprised to see a variety of bottles of beer, including pale ale, gose, and stout, in various flavors. “I thought we could sit in the garden while we talked. What can I offer you?”

I chose a Mexican hot chocolate coffee stout, and she selected a raspberry gose for herself, and then I followed her through her back door and into the beautiful garden that ringed her home. Being no expert on flora, I couldn’t have said what most of the flowers were, other than the tall sunflowers whose large heads craned hungrily toward the sun, but I did recognize most of them as being wildflowers. I hadn’t thought people filled their gardens with those, they just grew randomly by the side of the road, but what did I know? I thought I spotted some purple tulips, so dark they were almost black, but I would have thought their growing season was long over.

Two cast iron benches adorned with antique roses faced each other in the middle of this oasis of beauty. An incongruous orange mass lay on one bench, seeming out of place, but as we neared, the lump resolved itself into a large orange tabby. The cat hissed at the sight of me, although I made no move to approach the animal. Isabella scooped it up into her arms, careful not to spill her beer. “Buddy!” she scolded him in an infinitely patient tone. “Be nice to Charlemagne. He’s our guest.”

Buddy seemed less than impressed with this explanation and proceeded to give me the evil eye as Isabella settled herself and her companion on one bench, indicating the other with a nod. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

I obliged, but kept a wary eye on the feline all the same. I sipped my beer to keep from blurting out the questions uppermost in my mind, as that would have been rude, and I was loath to disrespect my charming hostess in such a way. I considered myself fortunate to have been granted some of her time and didn’t want to do anything that might jeopardize my access to the information she had to impart. Which had nothing to do with her or her beautiful garden.

I know, sometimes I can be self-delusional.

In my defense, it had been a long time since I’d regarded people as anything other than as dietary requirements. Or, in the case of my brothers, as competition. For what? I couldn’t say. Dominique had no love for anyone but herself, but there were times when she hid that fact well. Mama Lil had been the only person who could keep me in touch with my own humanity, but she’d been dead for a century, a loss I still felt keenly.

If I was going to be honest with myself, I supposed Casey had been the first one since Mama Lil who had been able to break through my natural reserve with her great kindness and compassion. I could live with that. But why did Fate seem so determined that I run into Tyrone Jackson on a regular basis? And why did he seem so determined on being my friend? I would have to disavow him of that train of thought. Not that I would ever see him again.

You said that last time.

Stupid inner voice.

 to be continued

Now see what the other Briefers are up to!

Cia Nordwell

J Ray Lamb

 

Wednesday Briefs: An Unholy Alliance #19 (5.3)

 Good morning and Happy Hump Day ! If it's Wednesday, then it must be time for more flash fiction from the Wednesday Briefers! We're a group of authors who bring you our finest flash fiction every week, 500 to 1000 words, inspired by one of our prompts.  

Charlemagne has found himself in a bit of a situation with a group of armed rednecks. Surely this won't be a problem for long? See what's going on in this week's chapter of An Unholy Alliance. Don't forget to visit the other Briefers and see what's up with them. Their links follow my tale! Enjoy!

An Unholy Alliance #19 (5.3)

I dropped immediately into a low crouch. Balancing my weight on my hands, I swiftly swung my legs in a solid arc until I connected with the limbs of the nearest idiot and knocked him off his feet. He let out a surprised yelp. The dog seemed to have anticipated my movement somehow. He leapt out of harm’s way, barking excitedly. Not sure if he was barking at them or me or just in general. As long as he didn’t bite, I could live with that.

And don’t even tell me how hypocritical that just sounded.

A shot whistled past my head. Luckily I have amazing reflexes. I quickly rolled out of harm’s way as I grabbed at the legs of the shooter, who turned out to be Joey. He tried to take aim at my new position, but he didn’t stand a chance.  I sprang to my feet before he could even begin to comprehend what was going to happen, grabbed his gun and shattered it against the nearest tree and then tossed the remnants of his weapon out of reach.

That should take care of things rather handily. But I hadn’t accounted for Frank. He caught me by surprise, to my chagrin. He threw his arms around me from behind and squeezed. He had an unexpectedly strong grip for such a small man. Even so, I knew he was no match for me.

“Shoot him now!” he bellowed. I suppose it hadn’t occurred to him that anyone shooting at me ran the risk of hitting him due to our juxtaposition. Or perhaps he relied too much on the marksmanship of his friends. From what little I’d seen of them that was a very foolish risk to take.

Well, I wasn’t about to stand there and let that happen. Not that I thought any of the other morons were in a position to do as he asked anyway. With little effort, I tore myself from his tenuous grip.  Even as I did, I was dismayed to feel the fabric of my jacket rip. Couldn’t be helped now. Without looking, I launched a quick kick backward and was gratified by the sound of his strangled moan which indicated I’d hit my intended target.

They were all down for the count—at least for the moment. So I took advantage of that fact to make my hasty departure. The sooner I was away from this lot the better. I paused for just a moment, though, almost against my better judgment.  Rover was barking at me, almost plaintively, as if he were asking where are you going, don’t you want to play with me?  I felt bad for the animal that he was stuck with such an awful owner. But that was life, wasn’t it? You didn’t get a choice in this world. You were always at the beck and call of someone.  The young and helpless under the control of someone bigger, stronger… and more entitled.  How did the saying go? Oh yes. A dog eat dog world. Pun intended.

I didn’t pause until I’d put a few miles between us. I was almost to my destination now. Time to take stock of myself before I met with Isabella. Well, the jacket was unsalvageable, no question of that. If I’d had time to seek out the services of a tailor, then perhaps I could have done something about it. But I didn’t have time for that. Correction, I didn’t want to make time, too anxious to learn what this woman had to tell me.  I wasn’t sure that course of action would have worked anyway, since it appeared as though some of the material was missing. A fabric such as this would not likely be available at a moment’s notice. No matter. I would just have to do without. Clothing was easily come by and not worth stressing over. I removed the jacket and discreetly disposed of it in a trash bin I found sitting at the side of a two lane road, at the end of someone’s very long driveway.

Without a mirror, I couldn’t assess the total damage I’d sustained, but had to hope it was minimal. My trousers didn’t appear to be any the worse for wear, despite my brief sojourn on the ground. No buttons missing, shirt intact, phone functional. That was my greatest worry, since I depended upon it for so much. Not just for my research, although that was the most important reason to me. Despite my estrangement from my family, rules dictated that I be accessible to them, as well as to the Council—or the Senile Six, as I liked to think of them. All that aside, I did also wish to put forth a presentable appearance, having no desire to embarrass Casey in any way.

I reached into my pocket for the address they had given me but came up empty. That was more of an automatic gesture since I’d already memorized the location. Guess I’d lost that paper in the scuffle. No matter.

Isabella’s home was indeed as isolated as Casey had led me to believe. The house itself was small, nothing remarkable. But the gardens with which it was surrounded were utterly beautiful. This woman must have the proverbial green thumb to coax such amazing flora into existence.  Her home and gardens were nestled in the middle of a wooded area not far off a small highway which would eventually lead to the aforementioned town of Cabool. As I approached the front door, I was filled with a most remarkable feeling of peace and serenity such as I had never encountered before. If John Milton had been able to view such a place he would have pronounced it to be Paradise Discovered.

 to be continued

Don't forget to visit the other Briefers and see what they're up to!

Cia Nordwell

J Ray Lamb

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wednesday Briefs: An Unholy Alliance #18 (5.2)

Good morning and Happy Hump Day ! If it's Wednesday, then it must be time for more flash fiction from the Wednesday Briefers! We're a group of authors who bring you our finest flash fiction every week, 500 to 1000 words, inspired by one of our prompts.  

Leaving Tyrone behind, Char is on his way to talk to a woman who may have answers he's looking for when he comes across some rednecks having fun with guns. Deciding to skirt the situation, Char finds himself outed by a dog! See what's going on in this week's chapter of An Unholy Alliance. Don't forget to visit the other Briefers and see what's up with them. Their links follow my tale! Enjoy!

An Unholy Alliance #18 (5.2)

So much for making a stealthy exit.

If there’d only been one of them, I could have ended the matter quickly and efficiently and been on my way. Four, however, was a bit trickier which I realized as his friends came rushing up, no doubt to see what was going on.  Not that I couldn’t handle them, but I was loathe to make a fuss. And I had things to do that didn’t include going toe-to-toe with a group of drunken rednecks. I eyed them all suspiciously while calculating my next move.

“Who the hell’s this guy?” This came from Caleb, the one with lady issues. He glared at me, his anger no doubt fueled by the needling he’d just received at the hands of his buddies.

“Yeah, who the hell are you?” Donny the target setter repeated, as if I was hard of hearing or something. Or too stupid to realize they were speaking about me.

“I’m asking the questions here.” This came from Frank the dog owner, asserting his right to be top dog among this group of idiots. Not as though that was any sort of honor, but perhaps it was the highest one he could ever aspire to.

Speaking of the dog, he was still barking his furry butt off at me. Not aggressively, but more of an I’m here, pay attention to me manner. I could have flung him from me easily with one sure motion of my foot and thus ended his yapping. But I had no desire to harm the creature. I am not a cruel man I assure you despite the perhaps less-than-perfect first impression gained of me at the start of my tale.  Not to mention this pup seemed so very glad to see me, for reasons I could not fathom. In that regard, he reminded me of Tyrone.

I had to stop thinking about him. That was becoming a bad habit, one I needed to break as soon as possible. There was no way our paths would ever cross again.

The key here was to present myself as non-threatening to these morons so as not to provoke them into doing something stupid and or unwarranted. Like trying to fight with me. That would have been a losing proposition on their part. The only advantage they had over me was that they were armed and I was not. Not in any traditional way, that is. On the other hand, while I could have dealt with being injured, I was not about to allow myself to be shot when I could prevent that from happening. Still, I’d rather not resort to such tactics if I could avoid them.

I just wanted to be on my way, as quickly and as peaceably as possible.

“I’m just passing through,” I replied, although technically that wasn’t an answer to their question. But it was as close to one as they were going to get from me. I held up my hands in what I meant as a placating gesture, at the same time edging away from them. Unfortunately, they weren’t having any of that.

The four of them immediately spread out, encircling me. I spun warily, not sure what their intentions were. Not even sure they knew what those were. They certainly had no idea who they were dealing with.

“That’s a mighty fancy suit you have there.” That was Donny’s contribution. “You a drug dealer or something?”

Lawyers and drug dealers. Figured.

“Why, you looking for a new one?” I shot off. Probably not the best response I could have made under the circumstances, but sometimes I couldn’t seem to help myself. Sarcasm came naturally to me.

“Why, waddya selling?” That from the heretofore silent unnamed member of the group, the one who’d been playing with his weapon. Which he still held cradled in the crook of one arm, no doubt for easy access.

“Shut up, Joey,” Frank snarled. “You stupid or something?”

I snickered. Was that meant to be a rhetorical question?

“Yeah,” Caleb piped up. “For all you know, he’s a narc.”

“Like you’d know?” Frank accompanied his retort with a snort as he turned toward his friend, his dog and I at least momentarily forgotten. “Remember that guy you thought was some kind of undercover DEA or something? But it turned out he was just someone your girlfriend worked with. And he was the one she was cheating on you with.”

This produced a chorus of titters. Damn, I needed to get away from these fools. Just breathing the same air they did might put me in danger of my IQ dropping a few points.

“Come to think of it, wasn’t he black?” Joe added.

I groaned inwardly at the horrendous turn this conversation had just taken as four heads swiveled toward me in predictable unison.

“It wasn’t me,” I added helpfully. “Not my cup of tea.” Probably shouldn’t have said that, in retrospect.

“You mean my girlfriend’s not good enough for you?” Caleb took a threatening step toward me, gun still in hand. He was plainly working himself up over nothing, a clear case of bruised ego. The situation was becoming so ridiculous it was almost funny.

“You mean your ex,” Donny reminded him.

That seemed to be the straw that broke the proverbial dromedary’s back. Caleb let out a strangled cry and raised his weapon into firing position. But rather than venting his anger where it belonged, I found that he was targeting me, at point-blank range, no less.

I was having none of that. Before he had a chance to squeeze the trigger, I knocked the barrel aside and took a swing at him, connecting with his face, a punch that knocked him off his feet, flat on his back.

Three guns cocked simultaneously.

 to be continued

Now go see what's up with the other Briefers!

Cia Nordwell