Wednesday Briefs: Stan and Ollie #23

Happy Hump Day! Time for more flash fiction from the Wednesday Briefers! Something to break up the work week, and something to look forward to!  This week, I used the prompt "you can't hurry love".

As you'll recall, last week  ended with Pastor Will Robinson holding Egbert in the creek, and today the plot is revealed!  Enjoy! And don't forget to visit the other Briefers to see what they're up to!

Stan and Ollie #23

Everything’s starting to come together now and make sense. Well, in a twisted, convoluted sort of way. So Pastor Will Robinson is the father of the young thing that Consuelo’s father—Bodean Fairchild—is involved with in a romantic way. The same young lady about whom the rumors are circulating that she’s with child. False rumors, I might add. But stories that she’s apparently using to fan the flames of Bo’s desire and divert it into an altar-bound course.

New wife, new child... and even though she’s not pregnant now, well, that isn’t hard to do. I mean, before Bo has time to wonder why his new bride isn’t showing in all her pregnant glory, there can be the tragic miscarriage, and the promise to start over. By then there’ll be no rush, and Emmy’s young.

Only one obstacle to all this happily ever after wedded bliss ending—Bo’s already existing, inherit-everything daughter, Consuelo. What’s to be done with Consuelo?

Especially if Consuelo marries and ends up having children of her own. Can’t let that happen, now, could they? Best to nip that particular branch of the family tree in the proverbial bud. Permanently. And there is nothing more permanent than death. At least, as far as I know.

However, we’ve no proof. At this point, it’s our word against theirs. Not to mention, he’s got Egbert in a rather nasty predicament. Apparently he’s contemplating murder number two. Some man of God he is, I can’t help but think.

“You don’t have to do this,” Ollie speaks up. He takes a step toward Robinson, releasing me, but abruptly halts when the pastor tightens his hold on Egbert, who is already short of breath and growing a bit red for comfort. “I won’t hurt you. I only want Egbert.” He holds out his hands to show they are empty.

Of course, with Ollie, I know that means nothing. But I also know he abhors violence.

“I do,” the pastor exclaims. “For the sake of my daughter, I must.”

“Money isn’t everything, you know,” I interject. “She could have married him and had his babies and had a good life. Why did she feel the need to cash out to quickly? You can’t hurry love. I’m sure Bo would have taken care of her in his will. It’s what men do. Why does she need it all?”

“Never question the way of the Lord.” Robinson closes his eyes and I feel my muscles coil, ready to spring, but too quickly those eyes snap open once more, shining with an insane light.

Suddenly, a fierce cry fills the air, and all heads turn toward the sky, from the direction in which it comes. A large red bird with black-tipped wings is diving toward the water...

But not toward us. It’s downstream just a little ways, as if intent on something—or someone. A quick glance at the creek bank and I understand. Consuelo’s ghost has vanished entirely. That tells me her body has been found. And I don’t have to guess by whom. Which means that Consuelo herself will be free to join us momentarily, in a final appearance.

The pastor’s troubled gaze follows the bird’s flight path. He must realize what this means as well, though for different reasons. I’m willing to bet he hid her body there. And not very well.

“You lured her down here, didn’t you, Pastor Robinson?” I attempt to divert his attention from what is happening, focus it on our little tableau of imminent watery death. “You promised a private baptism, did you not, before the wedding? And Consuelo trusted you. She had faith in you, and you killed her.”

His brow furrows, and for a moment I think he’s going to release Egbert in order to gesticulate, but the moment passes and his hold continues. “The Lord’s mysteries,” he mutters. Beads of sweat pop out on his brow, and Egbert seems to be growing redder. Purplish even.

He looks uneasily from us to the bird. “If you had a child... you’d understand,” he mumbles. “You’d know what it means to love...”

“I do know what it means, and this isn’t it. You’re wrong, you’re so very wrong,” I argue. “And sick. You’re sick if you think this is what God intended. God’s about life and love. Not this twisted form of expression you seem to think passes for love.”

I glance at Ollie. His eyes are focused on Robinson, but I can tell he’s got a plan. Sure enough, the scarlet bird, aka Xylina, is winging toward us, screaming bloody murder. The reverend shakes at her approach.

“What is this devil bird?” he cries, instinctively throwing up his hands. In that split second, Ollie moves, faster than the eye can see. He snatches Egbert from the minister’s grasp, grabs me, and then suddenly we’re all on the shore once again.

Trans-location he calls it. Usually I refer to it as cheating, but right now it’s heaven-sent.

The minister has fallen to his knees, covering his head with his hands to protect himself from the assumed onslaught of the giant bird. But I know better. Ollie won’t allow Xylina to harm him. Whether he deserves it or not. That’s not for us to say. That’s up to the law.

But she can hold him at bay while we attend to other matters, anyway.

Egbert is breathing in short gasps, shaking like a leaf in a strong wind. Ollie puts a comforting arm about him, and he gradually gains some measure of control. Poor guy. His pain has only just begun, but at least he can start the slow road to recovery.

“He... he k-killed my Consuelo?” He looks back and forth between us. I can see tears glisten in his eyes. I feel sorry for him. It’ll get worse before it gets better.

Now comes the hard part. It’s time for them to say good-bye.

 to be continued

Now, check out my fellow Briefers!

Lily Sawyer     

MA Church    

Michael Mandrake  

Cia Nordwell    

Andrew Gordon

Until next time, take care!

♥ Julie

Wednesday Briefs: Stan and Ollie #22

Wednesday is here, happy Hump Day and time for some more flash fiction from the Wednesday Briefers!  Today the prompt was: "Let it snow, let it snow, let it..." or use: turnip, oven, billoard or "Does that come in any other flavors?" or "My favorite kind of pie is..." or use: a spoonful of sugar or write about some kind of magic or "When did you get to be such a dick?" or "I thought you were the one..."

Now we're back to Stan and Ollie. As you'll recall from two weeks ago, they found the country road and the creek, where they found Egbert and Pastor Will Robinson - and Consuelo. See what happens in today's episode! Don't forget to see what the other Briefers are up to!  Enjoy!

Stan and Ollie #22

While Ollie and I can see and hear Consuelo quite clearly—well, relatively speaking, as she’s a rapidly diminishing wisp of her former self—we’re the only ones.

But to hear her cry of “I remember” is heartening, to say the least. Now we can solve the mystery, go  find her body, let her fiancé have closure, and return home.

That means going back to the diner. To cooking and cleaning and putting up with Xylina. To long days and long nights.  And doesn’t that sound like a little bit of heaven, ‘cause it means keeping Ollie safe with me and getting away from here. And that’s so worth it.

But first things first. We need to get Egbert out of the water. His baptism can wait, surely. We’re about to hand him the answer to what ails him on a silver platter. The sinister minister can just excuse him for a few moments. Maybe more.

I can lend Egbert my glasses so he can see and hear her. I just need to hang on to Ollie. No problem there.

Pastor Robinson doesn’t seem particularly pleased to see us, I can’t help but notice. No time to worry about that now.

“Go on to her and I’ll get Egbert.” After what happened last time Ollie was close to the man in black, I’m taking no chances on a repeat performance.

I motion toward the ghost, who flickers at the edge of the water, like a dying red light bulb. Ollie nods, and glances toward the pair in the water. His brow furrows unsurely, but he does as I request, and I step into the shallow water. It’s colder than I expected, but I don’t let that deter me. I can get warm later.

“Come on.” I beckon to Egbert. “There’s something we have to show you. Something important.”

“But I’m being baptized,” he protests. The minister presses down on Egbert’s shoulders and he kneels in the flowing creek.

“You’re interrupting,” Robinson chides me. “This is a private moment, if you don’t mind.”

Not exactly what you call cooperative. I glance toward Ollie, who’s reached Consuelo. Looks like he’s managed to calm her; her wail has diminished, luckily.

“It’s very important, Egbert,” I repeat. “It’s about Consuelo.” He starts to rise, but the minister holds him in place.

“Consuelo is not your concern,” Robinson insists.

“Well, maybe she wasn’t before, but she is now.”  I barely manage to check my temper. We’re wasting time. Whoever said a spoonful of sugar paves the way didn’t know what they were talking about.

“Stan!” Ollie’s voice is sharp. My hackles rise as I turn toward him, instantly on my guard.

“Don’t move!” He splashes into the creek. My sense of danger grows greater with every step he takes. 

Disregarding his instructions, I wade in his direction, intercepting his path. I reach Egbert and the pastor. The latter has his arm about Egbert’s neck. Funny position for a baptism.

“Pastor Robinson, I know what you did.” Ollie’s voice rises in anger. The pastor seems unconcerned, while Egbert looks more than a little confused.

“Did he...?”  Damn, I didn’t see that coming.

“He killed Consuelo. He drowned her.”

“Me? Kill someone?” Robinson scoffs. “I’m a man of God. I would never—”

“What’s going on?” Egbert demands to know. I watch him attempt to rise, his efforts hamstrung by the arm about his neck.

“Stay where you are,” the pastor warns him in a steely voice. “We have unfinished business here.”

“Let him go,” Ollie demands. “Consuelo told me what you did.”

“Consuelo?” he sneers. “That’s not possible. Consuelo is—” He breaks off sharply, as if he’s said too much.

“Is what?” Egbert’s pain-filled voice cracks.

“Stan, the glasses,” Ollie urges. I pull them off and hand them to Egbert. The pastor makes a grab for me, but I reach for my weapon and point it at him.

“Let go of him,” I instruct him. Looking less than pleased, he eases his grip on Egbert, and Ollie pulls him out of harm’s way. I keep one eye on Robinson, one on Ollie. I don’t like how close he is, but at the moment it can’t be helped.

Ollie points toward the shore. “Put the glasses on, Egbert,” he pleads and the distraught man obeys.  I move toward Ollie, careful to keep the gun trained on the pastor.

“Consuelo is dead,” Ollie says softly. “She told me you’re the one who did it. Lured her here on a pretext of baptizing her, and then you drowned her.”

“Big words,” Robinson sneers. “But where is your proof? You claim she’s dead, and that you’ve talked to her? That will hardly hold up in a court of law—”

“Consuelo,” Egbert moans and all turn toward him. His gaze is directed toward the grass. I touch Ollie’s arm with my free hand so I can see. Consuelo is indeed there, holding her arms toward Egbert plaintively.

A wave of pity washes over me. If that was Ollie... Damn.

“She’s really... really... dead?” A sob is wrenched from his throat, and he falls to his knees in the water again with a splash. Robinson is quick to seize the opportunity. He puts Egbert in a chokehold, using him as a shield between himself and my weapon. I take a chance on hitting Egbert if I fire and I know it.

“Why?” Egbert wails. “Why? I love Consuelo, she loves me... we’re getting married.”

“Why do you want to come between them?” Ollie asks, anger in his voice. “Why would you do such a terrible thing? She trusted you!”

“The Lord works in mysterious ways,” the pastor retorts. “And sometimes his methods aren’t pretty. I have my own interests to look out for, and my daughter’s.”

His daughter? What?

“Who’s that?” I ask confused.

It’s Egbert that supplies the answer.

“Emmy,” he replies, his gaze fixed on the fading spirit.

Emmy?  You mean... “Bodean Fairchild’s girlfriend?”

He nods.

to be continued

Now see what the other Wednesday Briefers are up to!

Lily Sawyer     

Cia Nordwell     

MA Church    

Nephylim   

Wednesday Briefs: Stan and Ollie #21

Happy Wednesday! If it's Wednesday, it must be time for another round of flash fiction from the Wednesday Briefers!  This week's prompt was "When you wish upon a star" or use: champagne, icon, boulevard or use spring in some way, or use a nonsense song - such as Mairzy Doats - or "Are  you crazy? You could have..." or use a photograph in some way or "tripping the light fantastic".

Last week, as you'll recall, Ollie is feeling better, and Consuelo is back. So now what? Find out in this week's installment of Stan and Ollie. And don't forget to visit the other Wednesday Briefers, whose links follow my tale. Enjoy!

Stan and Ollie #21

I’m determined that he goes nowhere until I’m sure he can handle it, but as usual he has a mind of his own. “Can I get some more…” He weakly points toward the table. I snatch up the bottle of brandy, unscrew the cap and offer it to him. He tilts it, pouring the liquid down his throat in a single stream, draining half the bottle in one swallow before he stops, takes a breath and hands it back to me. I can see color flow back into his pale skin. I breathe a sigh of relief. I know he’ll be all right, but I can’t help worrying about him.

“Consuelo, can you tell us how to get to the road?” He turns his attention to the spirit, who seems more translucent than ever. He swings his long legs over the side of the bed and stands, wobbling slightly, but he quickly recovers and I can feel his growing strength. Xylina leaps onto his neck, and curls there protectively. I nod my approval, as the dead girl gives Ollie the low down.

I don’t bother to ask why we can’t just follow her there, because I know why. She has no real control over her movements. The only reason she is here now is because Ollie’s presence has drawn her, even weak as he was. That’s his gift and his curse. Mostly the latter.

Sure enough, mere moments later she’s faded from view once again.

“Do you think this is it? Do you think this is where her body is?”

Ollie nods. “I do.”

Good enough for me. Of course, our problem doesn’t end there. We have to alert the authorities, so they can call off the man hunt, such as it is, and search for the culprit, should her death be found to be an unnatural one, as we suspect. At that point, there’s no real reason for us to still be here, but I’m afraid my lover won’t rest at that point, knowing him as I do. Not until he’s solve the entire mystery and laid the girl’s spirit to rest.

No time to worry about that now, though. I grab the brandy, in case he has need of it later, take Ollie’s hand and we’re off to the car.

A strange feeling of déjà vu washes over me as we retrace our earlier steps, heading toward the parking lot where we originally rendezvoused with Egbert Montauk. Well, she did say it was near the church, didn’t she? Stands to reason.

Just before the turn-off to the church, Ollie directs me to a nearly-hidden road, and as we drive along the tree-lined route a chill grips my spine. This is it. The road Ollie showed me. Everything seems to be coming together now.

I’d expected the road to lead to the creek, but after just a few miles it ends abruptly. A yellow dead end sign dotted with reflectors reinforces the obvious. I pull the car just off the road and park. Looks like we’re hoofing it from here.

“Ollie…” I lay my hand upon his thigh and search his eyes. He already knows what my intention is, and although he is an ardent pacifist, he is also a realist. And he trusts me. At his nod, I reach across him, opening the glove compartment and pull out the piece that I have stashed there. I’m not near as trusting as Ollie, and there’ve been times when having a weapon has come in quite handy. While I hope this is not one of those times, I’m taking no chances.

I tuck my service revolver into my waist band, out of sight, and get out of the car, Ollie right behind. “Which way?”

He pauses, going quiet, and I hold my breath and wait until he points in the direction of a small path I’d not noticed until now. “The creek is that way.”

I insist on taking the lead. We cautiously make our way up the narrow byway. The path is littered in fallen leaves that rustle as we pass over them. I try to picture Egbert and Consuelo walking hand in hand on this same path, happily in love, a picnic basket between them. What has ruined their idyllic dreams of the future?

At the sound of a hiss behind me, I whirl, just in time to watch Xylina arch her bag, her ginger fur literally standing on end, before she morphs into a large scarlet bird with black-tipped wings.

“Are you crazy?” I angrily whisper. “You could have—”

She pushes off from Ollie with a disdainful flap of her wings and rises into the air, pointedly ignoring me.

“No time. Come.” Ollie is moving away from me, and I hasten to follow. I can hear it now, the sound of running water. Must be a good–sized creek, I surmise. It is, as I discover when we break out of the trees and find ourselves standing on its banks. I don’t know whether it’s actually a creek or a small river, not being an expert on bodies of water. The ground on either side is covered in a thick undergrowth, but closer to the water the soil is rockier and contains less vegetation.

A splash breaks the silence, drawing our attention.

And there they are, standing in the middle of the creek, a little ways down from where we stand. Pastor Will Robinson and Egbert. What in the world is going on?

I break into a run, Ollie just behind me. As we approach, the pastor beams at us, almost serenely. Egbert kneels in the water before him, head bent. He looks up in surprise at our arrival.

“Have you come to be baptized too?”

Before I can reply, I hear a drawn-out familiar wail. Standing just a few feet from us is the wraith of Consuelo Fairchild, possessed of an eerie red glow. I know what that means. Her body is nearby.

“I remember!”

to be continued

Don't forget to visit the other Wednesday Briefers:

Nephylim  

Lily Sawyer     

LM Brown 

Cia Nordwell     

MA Church     

Michael Mandrake  

Andrew Gordon 

 Until next time, take care!

♥ Julie

Wednesday Briefs: Stan and Ollie #20

Happy Wednesday, y'all! Time for some more flash fiction from the authors of the Wednesday Briefs! Bad me, I forgot to mention we had a flash virgin last week. Andrew Q. Gordon broke his flash cherry with us!  Go, Andy! He's back for more of the same this week, so let's encourage him, shall we?

This week, the prompts were: "All that glitters is not gold," or use: tiger, default, thread or use a pig in a poke or "Coffee, tea or me?" or use crawdads in an imaginative way or use the element of surprise or use a windmill or a Google search gone bad.

Last week, as you'll recall from the latest chapter of Stan and Ollie, something's wrong with Ollie and Stan's going crazy trying to figure it out and help him. He told Xylina to get some brandy. Will it help? Find out in episode #20. Don't forget to visit all the other Briefers, whose links follow my tale. Enjoy!

Stan and Ollie #20

  

I’m so surprised that without thinking I stand, losing my contact with Ollie. Instantly the ghost disappears. I peer into the seemingly empty corner for a few seconds, until it hits me what I’ve done. I replace one hand gently on Ollie’s arm, while I fumble in my pocket for the glasses and manage to put them into place. While Ollie can see the dead unaided, I either have to be in contact with him or wear the special glasses he made for me.

Much better. I can see Consuelo again.

She seems mistier than I last remember. Far less solid, if that’s even the right word to use for someone who isn’t actually of this world.

She raises one hand, aims an accusatory finger in my direction. “What have you done with Eggy?” she wails.

Jesus. Like I don’t have enough going on, now I have to add a whiney ghost to the list? This is just too much. 

If it wasn’t for her, we would never have come to Nowhere Mississippi. And Ollie would not be lying there as he is. I am not in the mood to deal with this shit. Client or not.

Anger surges through me, mingling with my sorrow, combining into an ugly force of my own making. At this moment, I am no one to fuck with.

“Last seen, he was at the church with his precious pastor!” I snap. “Why don’t you go there too? Or you can go to hell, for that matter. This is all your fault. If it wasn’t for you…”

I feel a light touch upon my hand, and my first thought is that Xylina is interfering for reasons of her own. It isn’t until I hear her gasp that I realize it’s not her. I turn to find Ollie, half-risen in the bed.

“Stan,” he murmurs, so faintly I can barely hear him.

Everything else is instantly forgotten.

“Ollie.” I breathe his name gingerly, as if afraid to speak too loudly. His beautiful eyes are open, gazing into mine, but they seem less blue than they should. He must be expending too much energy, I fret.

“Lie down, lie down,” I urge him. He shakes his head at my request.

“Hold me,” he pleads. How can I refuse? Carefully, I wrap my arms about him, take him into my embrace, hoping to infuse some of my strength into him.

“Oh Ollie,” I murmur into his ear. “Oh baby, I was so worried. You had me so scared.”

“I’m sor—” I cut off his attempted apology with a kiss. Gentle, not passionate. Tender and loving. And heartfelt.

“You’re back, that’s all that matters. You’re here.” I’m vaguely aware that Xylina has morphed into her cat form, and is curled up against his other side. I don’t even care. I’m too happy to be jealous.

Reluctantly, I pull back a little to survey his visage. He seems far too pale for my liking. I press the back of my hand against his forehead. He’s not warm. That’s something. But then again, he’s an alien, what do I know?

“What happened to you?” Much as I hate to look a gift horse in the mouth, or muddy the waters, I really need to know what happened and why, to better handle future occurrences, if any. “What do you remember?”

He grips my hand tightly—his knuckles turning white with his effort—and for a moment I fear he’s about to pass out again. “The road… I saw…”

“What about the road?” I prompt him, kneeling on the bed, sliding my arm about his waist, careful not to disturb our joined hands.  “Where is the road?”

“Not far,” he whispers. “Near the door. The water… The evil…”  His voice is fading more and more with each word.

“Shhh, shhh, it’s all right. I’m here,” I attempt to soothe him. I feel him suddenly relax in my grasp, as if his efforts have wearied him, and I gently lay him back upon the bed.

“Stan,” he whispers, beckoning me closer. “Please… don’t yell at Consuelo. We have to… help her.”

My heart constricts at his words. Even after suffering a near-death experience—or whatever it was—his first thoughts are for someone else. Damn do-gooding alien.

What is someone so sweet doing with someone like me, I ask you.

I take a deep breath, hold it for a moment and slowly release it once again. “I’m sorry,” I murmur with all the sincerity in my heart. He grasps my hand and presses a kiss upon it, followed by a weak smile.

“I know you are. It’s not your fault.”

“What is wrong with him?” I almost jump at the proximity of the voice. I hadn’t noticed her approach. Consuelo stands just beside me, looking mournfully at my better half.

Determined not to lose my temper—again—I focus on Ollie, as I offer the truth. “I don’t know. I’m sorry I yelled at you, Consuelo. Maybe you can help us, yes?”

“Help you?” Her voice drips with doubt.

“Do you know Pastor Robinson?”

“Will? Of course I do.” There’s something in her voice. I turn my head to regard her. She’s frowning.

“What’s wrong?” I query.

“I… don’t… know. I feel funny,” she frets. “When can I see Egbert?”

“The road.” I hear Ollie whisper, and I try to phrase that as a question, like I’m playing some form of Jeopardy. Closing my eyes, I picture what he showed me before.

“Do you know a country road that’s near to the church, and near to water too?” I know, we’re in the middle of Nowhere Mississippi. Place probably abounds with country roads.

“There’s a very nice road that runs by the creek. It’s by the church. Sometimes we picnic there. Eggy and me. Sometimes just me.”

Ollie’s attempting to sit up again, against my advice.

“We have to go there,” he murmurs, distraught. “Before it’s too late.”

to be continued

Now be sure and see what the other Briefers are up to!

MA Church   Andrew Gordon  Nephylim     Elyzabeth VaLey   Lily Sawyer       Cia Nordwell      LM Brown  Victoria Adams       Tali Spencer

 Until next time, take care!

♥ Julie

Wednesday Briefs: Stan and Ollie #19

Happy Wednesday to one and all!  If it's Wednesday, must be time for another bit of flash fiction from the Wednesday Briefers! This week's prompts were courtesy of Cia! They were:

Use: “As thick as London fog …” or “Like oil and water …” or “She ran in …”

Use: Pizza, peanut butter and kool-aid or Lightning, blue sky and a chair

Use: The image of a dead tree

Last week, as you'll recall, something is wrong with Ollie. See if things get any better this week, and don't forget to visit the other Wednesday Briefers, whose links follow my tale.  Before I get to that tale, though, I'd like to share a little bit of news.

I just signed my first contract with Torquere Press, and they will be publishing my short story, A Special Christmas, in December of this year!  Needless to say, I'm quite excited about it!

Now, enjoy!

Stan and Ollie #19

I’m honestly not sure where my head was when I made that demand of Xylina. Brandy? Why? Somewhere in my muddled thought processes, I must have equated it with something I’ve seen on TV, St. Bernards bringing assistance to stranded travelers in the Yukon.

Or maybe on a more practical level I’m just thinking it will do something for his circulation.

I’m trying not to panic, trying to maintain a certain level of calm. But it’s not easy. I remind myself that we’ve been in difficult situations before, this is not the first time. But that’s small comfort right here and now.

I vaguely hear Xylina in the background. I think she’s arguing with the desk clerk. I’m beginning to wonder if this place even offers room service, or if it’s every guest for himself. I hear the tenor of her voice change from crotchety cat to silken purr. I suspect he’ll do whatever she wants.

Sure enough, moments later she’s standing before me, clearing her throat, and I look up at her from Ollie’s bedside.

“It’s coming,” she smirks. “What reason do you have to think it will work?”

I don’t even know. I don’t know what to say, and for a long moment we simply glare at one another Finally, I offer, “I saw it in the movies.” A half-truth, but what the hell.

“This is such a miserable planet,” she grumbles, pulling up a chair to the other side of the bed, as close to Ollie as she can be without changing into her cat form. I honestly think she realizes she needs to refrain from doing that. The two of us need to be able to communicate, odd though that may be, and I don’t speak cat. “I tried to talk him out of coming, but no, he would not listen. He said you were here and he was going to be with you no matter what.”

She’s just succeeded in making me feel worse. As if I’m to blame for Ollie being in this condition. I guess I am. I’ve always known the reason he came to Earth was to find me and be with me. And now…

Please, God, don’t let Ollie die, I pray, as I bury my face against him. I don’t want her to know her zing hit its mark. I can feel his breathing, but it’s so shallow, so faint… and he’s far too cool for my liking. When the knock comes at the door, I never move. Let her do it.

Like oil and water, that’s what we are. The only thing we have in common is Ollie. I don’t like her and she knows it. The feeling is more than mutual. If not for their symbiotic link…

Wait, what happens to her should something to him? The thought dawns on me, and I have no idea.

She returns with a paper bag and a smug expression. She loves that human men are stupid enough to fall all over her and do as she tells them to do. Except for me, obviously. She hands me the bag. “I hope you know what you’re doing.” She eyes me suspiciously.

So do I.

“Can you feel him?” I ask suddenly. I pull out the pint bottle of brandy. It’ll do.

“The connection is there, of course,” she replies guardedly.

“But can you feel him? Can you reach him with your mind?” I know I’m grasping at straws, like with the brandy. But I have to try.

“He is not speaking.” I hear the regret in her voice, and for just a moment she’s let her guard down and I can feel her pain. I know she loves him, in her own way, hard as that is to believe. I blink back the tears that suddenly threaten to fall. I can’t fall apart. It’s a luxury I cannot afford.

“Ollie, baby.” I reach up so I can murmur in his ear. “Hang in there, just hang in there. I’m here for you. Just hold on, let this thing run its course. Everything will be okay.”

I’m talking like he’s got the flu or something. Bed rest, plenty of fluids, and a healthy dose of Stan’s TLC. If only it were that simple.

I open the bottle and place my fingers over the mouth, upend it and wet them. Then I press my fingers against his lips. Carefully. Just a small dose, to see if he’ll swallow. If not, there’s no point in offering more.

At first there is no reaction. Then as we watch, the tip of his tongue appears, takes the liquid and disappears. I wait, but there is nothing else. It’s a start, right?

I’m thinking I should send Xylina out to do reconnaissance. To keep us abreast on what’s going on in Cortez as regards our deceased client. But somehow I don’t think she’d obey me and, to be honest, I wouldn’t blame her. I’m not willing to leave Ollie’s side, why should I expect her to be.

I remember the first time I saw Ollie. I’d just come home from work. It was a cold night, and I was hungry, and not in a particularly good mood. Gwin and I were living together, had been for a while, in Mom’s house. And there he was. Sitting in Mom’s chair, petting that furball. And even though I didn’t admit it to myself, there was something about him…

Dammit, you crazy alien, come back to me. I need you. I confess it, I do. You’ve made my life complete. I thought I didn’t need love until you came along and showed me how wrong I was. I don’t want to live in a world where you don’t exist. I love you, Ollie, so very much…

A hand brushes my arm, startling me. I glance up. Xylina is pointing toward the corner of the room. What the hell?

Reluctantly, I turn my head… and behold a pale specter.

Just fucking great…

to be continued

Now go and visit with the other Wednesday Briefers!

Nephylim  

Lily Sawyer     

MC Houle     

Victoria Adams     

Tali Spencer   

Elyzabeth VaLey     

Andrew Gordon 

MA Church  

Cia Nordwell    

 Until next time, take care!

♥ Julie

Wednesday Briefs: Stan and Ollie #17 and Winners

Happy Hump Day to you all! Welcome to another edition of Wednesday Briefs, your weekly dose of flash fiction! This week I chose to use a picture prompt, which is unusual for me

First, the winners, as I promised. Two from each Blog Hop.

The winners of the Vampire Bite Blog Hop are:

Sue Adams and Angela Dawson!

The winners of the Swept Away Valentine's Day Blog Hop are:

adoFFae6 and Sherry!

I'll be contacting the winners by email to pick a prize! Congrats to all the winners and thanks to everyone who came by!


Last week, as you'll recall, Stan and Ollie took the pause that refreshes while waiting for Egbert to arrive at the park so they could talk to him about his late fiancee. Now - the talk. Don't forget to visit the other Briefers, whose links follow my tale, and see what is up with them!

Enjoy!.

Stan and Ollie #17

Egbert looks between us, brow furrowed, eyes baffled as he tries to make sense of my words. And when their meaning penetrates his awareness, his eyes grow wide in disbelief. “No, no, no.” He shakes his head and pulls away from our joint grasp. “Consuelo isn’t dead. I know she isn’t. She can’t be. I’d feel it… I’d know.”

 He paces back and forth, obviously agitated, wringing his hands. Ollie and I stand helplessly by. His reaction is not unexpected and this is not the first time we’ve had to give such tragic news. All we can do is wait out his reaction. Until he gets past the initial shock, he won’t be willing to listen to anything else we have to say.

I slide my arm about Ollie’s waist, feel his slight tremble. This is harder on him than he lets on, but I know him too well not to realize it. I’ve never met a more compassionate, sensitive man. Every day it amazes me how he ended up with someone like me. I know he tells me it was meant to be, that he knew before he came here that I was the one for him. His mate.

That still blows my mind.

Egbert stops pacing suddenly and takes up a stance in front of us. I look into his eyes. I can see he’s no closer to believing what we’ve told him. He raises one hand, points an accusing finger between us.

“Where is Consuelo?”

It takes me a moment ‘to realize he thinks we’ve kidnapped her or something.

“I told you before, Bodean isn’t very worried about her. He won’t pay to get her back. I don’t have the money he does, but whatever it is, tell me and I’ll find it. Somehow.”

Ollie sighs. He reaches out for Egbert in an attempt to calm him but the other man takes a step backward.

“We’re not kidnappers,” Ollie insists. “Please, I’m so sorry… I know it’s not easy to hear. But Consuelo… she came to us. She’s lost, and we’ve come to find her.”

“Lost? But you said… I thought… Gah, why should I believe you? What proof do you have?”

“We have no physical proof,” I interject. “That’s what we’re looking for. We want to find Consuelo so she can be at peace…”

“At peace?” Squeezing his eyes shut he wails, a mournful sound that cuts right through me.  “At peace?”

Ollie breaks from my grasp and pulls Egbert into a hug. The stunned man holds himself stiffly for a moment before he suddenly breaks and begins to sob on Ollie’s shoulder, great racking sobs. And I know he’s accepted the reality of the situation.

I stand there, keeping an eye on them. This is the part Ollie does best. He’s more of a tea and sympathy kind of guy. I’m here to make sure no harm befalls him. Some people don’t react as nicely as Egbert. One tried to blow Ollie’s head off. Turns out he knew about his wife being deceased, because he was the one that killed her.

When I’ve decided Egbert’s had enough time, I speak up. He lifts his head and sniffles, looking at me.

“Egbert, we need your help to figure out who did this to Consuelo.”

“Did this—? You think someone h-hurt her? Deliberately?”

“Yes,” Ollie says gently. “In our experience, those who do not go peacefully are the ones that seek us out.” I’m the one that insists he says us not me. I don’t want anyone to single him out, just in case.

“But who?” He sniffles again, pushes his glasses up his nose. “Who would want to harm her? We-what did she tell you?”

“She is concerned about you. She loves you, very much.”

A long shuddering sigh ripples through Egbert. “I was thinking—”

But whatever his thought might be, the sound of a car engine cuts it short, as a black compact car pulls into the parking lot. The owner parks near to the church. Egbert rushes toward the newcomer. I take Ollie’s hand, and hurry after him.

“Egbert, I came…” The man is tall and slender, with high cheekbones, a wide mouth, and dark eyes. He’s comfortably dressed in a brown heavy knit sweater and dark slacks. Something about him reminds me of some of the politicians I’ve met—that air of affability and confidence. He eyes us curiously.

“Pastor Robinson, thank you.” Egbert waves toward us with one hand. “These men have brought news… of Consuelo…” His voice breaks.

“Oh?”  His eyes seem to flash, and a chill runs through me, but the next moment the illusion is dispelled.

“Yes. Oh God, she’s dead. She’s dead, Will, what am I going to do?”

“Now, now, Egbert,” he soothes him. “Why don’t we go into the church and discuss this there? Gentlemen, you are—?” He gives us an expectant look.

“Our names are Stan and Ollie,” I offer and wait for him to reciprocate. I’m none too pleased with the interruption. And neither is Xylina, who has followed us from the car. She hisses at the stranger. For once, I agree with her.

“This is Pastor Robinson,” Egbert supplies the name. “Will.”

“Won’t you come in, gentlemen?” he invites us. Before we can respond, he adds, “Egbert, come.” He drapes an arm about the other’s shoulders and they head toward the church door.

Great, now what? I guess we have no choice but to follow.

Ollie stands rooted to the spot, staring at the church. 

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Take my hand,” he whispers and I clutch it, feeling my anxiety level rise for no discernible reason. “Close your eyes and look…”

I obey, almost fearfully. At first, nothing. Darkness. But then an image… blurry at first, then more distinctive… It appears to be a country road… tree lined… desolate.

“Lost…” Ollie whispers. “Lost…”

“Ollie? What do you mean? What is it?”

And then he faints.

to be continued

Now go visit the other Wednesday Briefers to enjoy their flash fiction offerings!

Nephylim   

Victoria Adams      

Chris T. Kat  

Lily Sawyer      

MA Church      

MC Houle      

Cia Nordwell       

Tali Spencer    

Until next time, take care!

♥ Julie