Wednesday Briefs: An Unholy Alliance #13 (4.1)

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. 

While researching his roots, Char is annoyed at Tyrone's unexpected appearance at the library. But not as annoyed  as when he sees a policeman who is heading right toward them! 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 #13 (4.1)

Stay calm, stay calm.

I forced myself to quell the rapid beating of my heart. Such wild fluctuations would do me no good and could, in fact, be quite detrimental to my well-being. I kept telling myself I had no real reason to panic. Just because Tyrone said it, didn’t make it so. This could be a mere coincidence. A coincidence of the highest order, I had to admit, but nonetheless a possibility. Still, I had to be prepared for the worst.

“Just a county mounty,” Tyrone continued in a voice barely above a whisper, probably assuming that I could easily hear him while the approaching officer of the law could not. “Probably nothing to do with us. Don’t worry, it’ll be all right.”

What reason did I have to believe him? And what did he mean by us? There was no us.

I stiffened in my seat, my fingers quietly digging into the flimsy material of the chair, threatening its integrity. A fight or flight instinct was rapidly gaining ground within me. Fighting was entirely out of the question since I knew, fully blooded as I was, I could do some serious damage. My concern was for Casey. Also for the library and my access to it. I couldn’t and wouldn’t do something like that to her. They’d been nothing but nice to me and didn’t deserve to have their hard work destroyed so cavalierly just to save myself.

On the other hand, I had no intention of submitting to this newcomer’s so-called authority either.

As the man drew closer, I took the opportunity to observe him more carefully. In particular, the weapon in its holster at his hip, which his hand seemed to hover over like an overprotective parent. While I didn’t fear being shot, I didn’t relish it either, and I had no desire to shed any of my hard-earned blood, not for the likes of him. He appeared to be maybe about forty, had a slight paunch and a thinning hairline. Nothing that overtly labeled him as racist. Yet I could see the suspicious look in his eyes when he glanced at me, and not for a moment did I believe my skin color had nothing to do with the unease I saw there. Was he afraid of me, as a black man in a redneck community, or was he afraid of becoming entangled in a racial issue he wasn’t sure how to deal with. Either way, I had no intention of making the situation easy for him.

Perhaps we could take this fight outside…

“Hey there!” Tyrone interrupted my internal reverie. He’d risen from his seat, usual grin affixed to his face. But I sensed a deeper purpose behind the façade. Something I’d never felt from him before in our heretofore short acquaintance. Whatever it was, his tactic seemed to have worked, as the policeman shifted his attention from me to Tyrone.

“Afternoon, sir,” he returned Tyrone’s greeting, then a few heartbeats later made a minimal nod in my direction.

“Everything all right with the library?” Tyrone continued. “No problem, is there?”

“No, sir. No problem with the library.” The man paused just short of Tyrone, feet planted apart in a way that screamed he was ready to spring into action at any moment before he blurted out what he’d intended to ask from the moment he set eyes on us. Or me, actually.

“Do you know anything about that 1986 blue Chrysler LeBaron settin’ out in the parking lot?”

“Do I know anything about the LeBaron?” Tyrone parroted the question before he turned to me, faux excitement dripping from every orifice, if you can imagine that. At the same time, he surreptitiously motioned to me to stand as well, so I reluctantly acquiesced. “Didn’t I tell you there was something wrong with that car? I told you, I did. I mean the way those kids lit out of here, like they was headin’ to a fire ‘cause they had some wienies they needed to roast.”

What did that even mean? I couldn’t help but notice that the more he spoke, the thicker his accent grew.

 “I heard one of them say something like this here thing’s a piece of shit, and they could do better. You remember that, don’t you, Gordon?”

It took a moment for me to assimilate the fact that Tyrone was indeed addressing me by the fictitious name of Gordon (why Gordon?). I had to hand it to him—that was some pretty quick thinking. He’d just earned a bit of my grudging admiration for that.

The policeman eyed me somewhat suspiciously. Probably because I hadn’t spoken yet. Time to remedy that. “You did, you did, Earl (two could play that name game). I was wrong, I guess. You did say they looked a mite suspicious.” I added a hoosier drawl to my words for added authenticity. I could feel Tyrone stifle a giggle. “Looks like you was right.”

“Looks like you owe me lunch, sugar,” Tyrone added with a wink.

The policeman’s expression instantly changed from mild irritation to repugnance. No mind reader was required to know what he’d inferred from Tyrone’s words, coupled with that saucy wink. I couldn’t care less what he thought, to be honest. My own family could never decide if I was gay or straight, and I had no intention of enlightening them that I was actually ace. First, I considered it none of their business. Secondly, I was still figuring out things in that arena myself.

“How many kids?” He barely listened to Tyrone’s reply—“Two or three. Fast ‘uns, too”—before he lit out as though he was headed to the same fire.

And didn’t Tyrone seem inordinately pleased with himself? That grin just kept getting wider and wider as he turned to me, one hand held up high. What choice did I have? I reluctantly returned his high five. To give the devil his due, he had defused the situation rather handily.

 to be continued

Now visit the other Briefers and see what's up with them!

 Cia Nordwell

J Ray Lamb

Julie Lynn Hayes

 

Wednesday Briefs: An Unholy Alliance #12 (3.5)

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 is less than pleased when Tyrone shows up at the library where he is trying to research his family. How and why? 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.

An Unholy Alliance #12 (3.5)

The last thing I wanted to do was create a scene. Not there and then. Later? Well, I wouldn’t guarantee anything about what might occur, given the opportunity.

Shelving my irritation, at least for the moment, I gave him a withering look. “Why are you here and how the hell did you find me?” I knew I hadn’t given him any clue as to where I was going when I’d received the text from Casey. I mean, why would I have? I hadn’t even said good-bye, or any variation thereof.

“Pure dumb luck,” he chuckled. “And a little bit of deductive reasoning.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I caught him eyeing my tea a bit too suspiciously for my taste, so I protectively moved it closer to me, just in case he had designs on it. Let him ask Casey for a cup and see how far that got him. Although they were nice, and might just give him one, not knowing how annoying he truly was.

“What kind of tea is that?” He was glancing more openly at my cup now. I shot him a baffled look at the way he’d not-so-subtly changed the subject. Like I’d forget what I’d asked.

“What difference does that make?” I countered. “And you didn’t answer my question. How did dumb luck, which I suspect is something you’re more than passing familiar with, and a bit of deductive reasoning lead you here, of all places?”

Again he ignored me. “You should probably drink green tea. It’s rich in antioxidants. Do you know what those are?”

“Do I look stupid?” I snapped.

He shook his head. “No, of course not. I just don’t like to assume anything. Then you know that antioxidants, like those found in green tea, help to improve blood circulation. Considering your condition, I assume you need all the help you can get in that area.”

“It’s not a condition,” I blurted out without thinking through my words. And now I’d just admitted to being what I am… and didn’t I feel stupid. I felt my temper begin to flare. How was he able to manipulate me so easily? I found him…that is, Tyrone was… damn the man, he was very… infuriating.

I was beginning to lose my words, and that I would not countenance.

“I don’t need lessons in biology from someone like you! I’ve studied at more universities than you can even imagine. What have you done? Graduated from tech school?” Now who was making assumptions? I couldn’t believe I’d let myself be goaded into engaging in a battle of wits with this… this… person. To what end? I could leave here at any time and never see him again. And yet I didn’t.

I told myself that was because this was my library, not his. If anyone was going to leave, it would be him. But if I were to be completely honest with myself, that wasn’t the truth. Whether I was willing to admit it then or not.

“Sorry,” he chuckled again. His hand seemed to snake toward me, as if he intended to pat my arm, perhaps in some manner calculated to soothe the savage breast. I jerked back, maintaining a respectable distance between us. That should let him know I didn’t want to be touched. Not that I owed him an explanation, I just wanted things to be clear between us.

“I guess it’s the biologist in me,” he explained. “I love talking about it. Well, you may have noticed I just enjoy talking…”

Isn’t that the truth?

“…and most of the people I talk to don’t have a science background, so I kind of take that into account and I end up explaining things more often than not. I certainly didn’t intend to insult you, I promise. I have no doubt you know many things, probably a lot more than I do. I mean, you’ve been studying for a lot longer than I have, so it’s only natural. Plus you sound very well educated, if you don’t mind my saying so. I can hear it in your voice. You have a very nice voice, by the way.”

I couldn’t decide if I was more flattered or insulted, or some combination of the two. And this conversation was drifting farther and farther afield.

As if he could read my mind (something I was beginning to wonder about, I admit), he finally answered my question. “I heard it on the police scanner. The BOLO.”

The what? What language was he speaking? And what did he hear?

“You know. Be on the lookout.” He must have noticed the blank look in my eyes and forged ahead. “The car. The Chrysler I spotted in the parking lot. The timing was too perfect. I mean you take off, the car gets stolen, here it is and here you are…” He made a hand gesture and his face wore a you see what I mean expression.

“The blind luck came in that I just happened to be coming this way. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have seen it and figured out it might be you. I wasn’t positive, but I was fairly sure. And of course, as you can clearly see, I was right.”

I couldn’t tell if he looked more complacent or smarmy or just plain pleased with himself. A desire to leave was growing within me, but I couldn’t. At least not until I finished looking through the books Casey had found. The papers I could keep, they were just print-outs she’d made for me. But not the books. I couldn’t check them out, not being an actual patron, not even a resident of the area.

“Damn!” Tyrone whistled under his breath.

What now?

I glanced up sharply to find what appeared to be a policeman heading our way with undoubtedly foul intent.

What had Tyrone just brought upon me?

 to be continued

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

Cia Nordwell

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wednesday Briefs: An Unholy Alliance #11 (3.4)

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. 

Char is at the library in Mason Spring, Mo, where the librarian, Casey, has been assisting him with his research into his family. Not an easy task at all. 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!

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An Unholy Alliance #11 (3.4)

As I scanned the lists, I pulled out my phone to take notes. Such an ingenious invention, this cloud. I was able to have access to my spreadsheets and word documents without the inconvenience of having to cart about a pc. I would crosscheck my sources against one another, searching for and take note of overlapping information. Since I knew the approximate area I was born, and somewhat of a timeframe, you’d think it wouldn’t be hard to locate members of my family…but you’d be wrong. Even if I had an actual name to search for, birth certificates were non-existent at that time, especially for slaves, since they were considered to be property, not persons. People assume that slaves were given the names of their owners for purposes of identification, but this wasn’t necessarily so. Add to that the fact that slaves were often passed down from one generation to another through inheritance and that muddies the waters, making it difficult to follow any particular family trail.

Sometimes I was able to locate bills of sale, but these too often offered scant information, omitting actual names but including such data as age, gender, and skin tone. In my case, I was stolen before I ever reached an age where I might be sold, before I was of any real interest to anyone outside of my family. And I came from an area where there were few, if any, plantations. Most slave owners in Missouri possessed small farms they needed help to work, often choosing to toil side by side with their slaves. That would have probably been my lot in life, had Dominique not taken a fancy to me and decided to make me her own, sometimes referring to me—somewhat facetiously— as the jewel in her crown. Sometimes I find it hard to reconcile the life I never had to lead—and what I gained in the process—with what my birth family must have gone through, the terrible life they must have led as slaves, so perhaps it’s fair to say there was a certain amount of guilt involved with my search.

On the other hand, I’d had to grow up with Dominique and the brothers from Hell. Not exactly a day in Paradise either. But at least I lived through what they dished out, when in the normal course of events I’d have died years ago. Some days I’m glad about that, other days less so. Which produces more guilt.

I’d recently begun to ferret out local folk lore, seeking stories about stolen children. A long shot? Maybe. But this entire enterprise went against all odds, so why not add a little bit more difficulty to the mix? Although so far, in that regard, I’d come up with bupkus.

I added a few more names to my spread sheet, comparing the two lists for families whose numbers had decreased in the decade which spanned them. I found none. There were names that were not present in the second census, but that could be for many reasons. Remember, there was a war on. People die in war. Not exactly encouraging.

“Here you go.”

I’d already detected the soothing aroma of the tea even before Casey spoke. Although blood was what I craved, for reasons beyond my control, tea possessed a quality that seldom failed to charm this savage breast, to paraphrase Congreve.

They set the delicate cup on the small table beside me. Like all traditional Japanese cups, this one had no handle. Cherry blossoms, aka sakura, adorned a black background. I lifted the cup and held it gratefully between both palms, relishing the heat it afforded, as she took a seat in a chair on the other side of the table.

I raised the cup to my lips and sipped, waiting for whatever she was about to say. I knew what she was really thinking—her eyes gave that away. She thought I should see a doctor because I was always cold, blaming it on poor circulation.

If she only knew.

But she was too polite to harp on that. She would let at least a few months pass before she brought it up again. No, I could tell she had other information to impart. I could only hope it was good.

But it wasn’t.

“So far, I haven’t found much from the Freedmen’s Bureau,” she admitted. “But they’re transcribing more and more records all the time. In the meantime, I’ve put out some feelers to an organization that specializes in regional folk stories. I’m waiting to hear from them now.”

The Freedman’s Bureau was the more popular name for the U.S. Bureau of Refugees, Freedmen, and Abandoned Lands. Set up after the Civil War, during the turbulent period of Reconstruction, it was meant to assist slaves in their transition from slavery to freedom.

Three guesses how well that worked.

In the end, it was every bit as corrupt and inefficient as you can imagine, and not very effective. But they did have some vital records, some that even predated the war by a little bit, and those were the ones we were after. Apparently that wasn’t going very well either.

“Anything in what I gave you?”

I shook my head. “Not yet. I still need to go through the books, though.”

“Well, take your time. I’ll stay as long as you like. I have some work to do myself.”

Besides running the library and its various organizations, Casey was working on her first novel. Didn’t I mention they were talented. Not to mention, generous with her time.

“Hey, it’s you.”

My head jerked up at that strangely familiar voice. What the hell was he doing here?

Before I could even word a reply, Casey had discreetly slipped away and Tyrone had taken her place. As if he had a right to be there.

“Small world, isn’t it?” And there was that smile again. The one I wanted to punch.

 to be continued

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

Cia Nordwell

J Ray Lamb

 

Wednesday Briefs: An Unholy Alliance #10 (3.3)

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. 

Having received word from the local librarian, Char heads to Mason Springs, eager to see what they found for him, and trying not to get his hopes up too much. 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 #10 (3.3)

I found Casey ensconced in what she liked to refer to as command central, seated behind a large pecan executive style desk with multiple drawers, flanked on either side by smaller wooden tables. She possessed a pretty decent computer set-up, one that included two monitors, an exterior hard drive, a laser printer, and more. The library had a definite online presence—luckily for me, or I might never have been fortunate enough to meet Casey in an Internet genealogical forum. Those Mason Springs residents who were computer literate could request books from within the library’s collections or from other libraries that were part of the same lending system, and these Casey kept behind the desk on a faux wood book case, waiting for the patron’s arrival. Of course they were connected to the Internet, which allowed ample opportunity for research and community outreach, and whatever else she wanted to do. I couldn’t help but regard Casey as a great asset to her community, as well as an invaluable source of assistance to myself, even though after two years I hadn’t located any specific information regarding my birth family. But I’d known going into it this would be a difficult task, and I might not find any of the answers I so diligently sought.

Casey rose to greet me as I approached. Music played softly in the background. I didn’t recognize what it was, but I found the melody soothing. “Good morning, Charlemagne!” She extended a hand which I held briefly in mine as I bowed slightly. Manners never go out of style, even old-fashioned ones. I had a strange upbringing. Doesn’t make me a heathen. At least I’d cured her early on of the need to address me as Mr. Toussaint.

“I was just about to put on some hot water. Care for a cup of tea? I just bought some Earl Grey.”

Despite the fact that it was summer in Missouri, which many people pronounced as misery due to the humidity, I was a huge fan of hot drinks since I tended to be chilly at the best of times. I especially enjoyed hot tea, and Casey knew it. How could I resist? As I’ve mentioned before, I do have a problem with self-control.

“Good.” Their dark eyes sparkled with humor that was almost contagious. Reaching under the desk, they brought out a couple of small, old books, and some printed material, which she handed to me. “I’d hoped to have a name for you,” she confessed, “but so far, nothing. I’ll have to get back to you later on that. Sorry.”

“No problem,” I assured her as I glanced curiously at what she’d found. Both books were small and handbound, as opposed to having been mass produced, with plastic covers. One volume was a genealogical history of southwestern Missouri and the other was a general history of the state. The papers appeared to be a list of slaves in Greene County in 1850 and 1860, probably part of a census taken at the time.

Just then, another patron approached the desk. Casey gave me an apologetic grin. “I’ll bring the tea back to you,” she said. “Usual place?”

“Yes, please.” I nodded agreement as I walked away, my mind already on the books in my hand, anxious to delve into them.

My usual spot was a niche in the science section, which was less frequented than other parts of the library. An oversized rattan chair with a delightfully soft cushion was my seat of choice. I nestled into place and turned my attention to the sheets of paper first.

I knew this was a long shot, but still I searched the rolls for… for what, I couldn’t exactly say. I didn’t have so much as a name to go by. I didn’t know exactly where I was born, or even when. By approximation, I calculated the year of my birth to be somewhere around 1861, so either right before the war started or right after. I wasn’t born Charlemagne, that much I knew. The name was given to me by Dominique, who thought it sounded grand for her little emperor, as she sometimes liked to refer to me. When she bothered to refer to me at all.

No, what information I did possess, scant as it was, had come from the woman who was more of a mother to me than Dominique could ever be. My nurse, governess, confidante… and so much more. The woman who taught me much of what I know today, taught me to read and write, to stand up for myself against my overbearing brothers. The woman who loved me as if I was her own… Mama Lil.

The woman who gave me the cross which even now I wear about my neck, although how she acquired it, I cannot say. Maybe I should actually describe it here. I could understand Tyrone’s fascination with it on first glance. But how to explain to him how much it meant to me, how it was all I had left of that remarkable woman?

To begin with, it’s known as a Canterbury cross, after the town in England. Silver, and almost square in shape, it differs from most crosses in that regard. On each of the four arms is a triangle, outlined in red diamonds. The triangle symbolizes the trinity—the blood, the life, and the death—of vampirism. On the curve of each arm small black onyx stones are set, and a square onyx lies in the middle of the cross. I know it’s valuable as a piece of jewelry, but it means so much more to me. I would not part with it for any amount of money.

Mama Lil passed many years ago, but I miss her to this day. Because of her love for me, I decided to uncover my roots. But the journey has not been an easy one. And Dominique has been no help whatsoever.

No surprise there.

 to be continued

Now go see what's going on with the other Briefers!

Cia Nordwell