The massive white owl painted on the underpass surprised Nika as she drove on her way to the studio. The graffiti had not been there the week before. She would have noticed. The painting covered the entire piling from the sidewalk to the concrete cloverleaf it supported. The owl’s yellow piercing eyes nearly forced her into the guard rail. Nika slammed on the brakes. Her coffee spilled over the console. She looked around to make sure no one was behind her. The street was empty except for her small blue car. Nika leaned forward over the steering wheel and looked at the owl again.
“Where the hell did you come from?” she asked out loud. She looked around to see if anyone was around her. Then she realized half of her coffee had spilled onto the plastic and leather.
“Shit” she said leaning back to grab the tissue box on the floor of the back seat. Nika plucked the tissues and began mopping up the mess. Then, she rummaged around in her bag on the passenger seat for her camera. She found it and pulled out her red Nikon. Nika checked the street again before opening her door. It was strange for a Monday that there was no traffic. She shrugged and hurried around the back of the car to stand in front of the owl. He seemed to look straight through her. Nika shivered. She began taking photographs of the painting, trying to take in the details as she watched it through the lens. The owl sat on a white tree branch and an indigo blue background crept up around his shoulders. The owl’s head was slightly tilted to one side, watching.
Nika saw the artist’s tag in the bottom corner and focused in on it. She couldn’t make out the name. She frowned looking at it with her own eyes. She doubted that it was a name at all, but more a symbol that the artist used as their own stamp on their work. Nika sighed. Urban behavior fascinated Nika. She wished that she could find the body connected to the voice on the stone pillar but it was unlikely. They would be hard to track down, if she could find them at all.
Nika marveled at the curves and layers of colour. The owl’s wings were covered in a cape in turquoise and cherry. She noticed there was an intricate design on the cape. Nika photographed it. She had no idea how long it had taken them to paint it.  This kind of painting, she knew, could be done in a flash, sometimes had to be to avoid being caught by the police. Graffiti was still illegal in the city, even though it was everywhere. Somehow, especially the very talented ones, managed to find a way to create masterpieces. Nika’s skin tingled. She touched the paint. It was dry. They had to have painted it yesterday, she thought. It was not there on Friday when she came to work. Maybe they had started Friday night, Nika didn’t know. It didn’t matter to her either way. The painting was a gem. She took a dozen more photos and then stood in front of it for a minute longer, soaking it all in. A truck rumbled overhead on its way to the highway. The traffic lights flipped on their cycle from red, green and orange. The sun was firmly hidden behind heavy grey clouds. A cold wind came up through the chain link fence. Nika shivered again.
“What do you tell me, Owl?” she asked quietly. The owl was silent. NIka looked at her watch. The shop was meant to open in fifteen minutes. If she didn’t leave now she would be late.
“I’ll be back to talk to you.” She said to the owl as she climbed back into her car. She hoped that they would leave the painting up at least for another day before the workers were called to cover it with dull grey paint. Nika tucked her camera back into her bag and started her car. At least she had photos, she thought. Something had triggered in her head while she took the photos. Something she couldn’t put words to, at least not yet.

~

I managed to reach the 50,000 word count for NaNoWriMo in the evening of November 13th. The story is no where near completion, but I thought I would share a couple of excerpts from it. Keep in mind, this is raw, unedited word vomit here. It was an intense thirteen days – my third year of November novel writing escapades. Last year I finished in 16 days, and my first year I finished in 10 days. It feels good to have the bulk of the novel written now – and as usual, I am surprised by what came out (since I always go in with no plan in mind). We’ll see how it all unfolds now that the ‘crunch’ is over. I do really enjoy the process of free fall and running after the story… wherever it goes!

xo
la

A Thousand Paper Swans
©Leigh-Anne Fraser-Tyson 2010

excerpts:

The First Day
Gathering Clouds

The room tipped to one side. Danielle closed her eyes, willing the floor and walls to right themselves. The living room was empty except for the worn black sofa and a battered leather Captain’s chair she had found in an antique shop. The sun was rising. The soft pale light threw strange shadows around the room when she tried to open her eyes once more. Danielle didn’t know what had come over her. She woke from a dead sleep covered in beads of cold sweat and feeling like she was going to vomit. She threw up twice in the small bathroom off her bedroom, kneeling on the cold ceramic tile, clutching the bowl with both hands. Her stomach empty, she struggled to steady herself. The kitchen was too far away. Danielle sank into the chair and waited for the dizziness to pass.

She heard the radio in her bedroom click on. The voice of the announcer droned in low monotone. She couldn’t hear what he was saying. The sound was just loud enough to be heard not understood. The television clicked on in front of her. Danielle held her forehead with one hand, leaning heavily on the arm of the chair, looking around for the remote. She thought she had sat on it, accidently turning the television on. The red kettle on the stove chirped loudly. Danielle looked up startled. She had not turned on the stove to heat the water. Steam burped and bellowed from the narrow spout and then the chirp turned into a scream as the water boiled.

“What the hell?” Danielle said, stumbling out of the chair to the kitchen to turn the stove off. She reached the doorway before the next wave of nausea hit her. Danielle doubled over in pain and desperately reached for the wastebasket before she threw up on the floor. Her cell phone jumped to life in a vibrating dance on the wooden kitchen table. Danielle looked at it, confused. Books started falling off the bookshelf behind her. The bowl of river stones she kept on the highest shelf suddenly crashed to the floor. Danielle struggled to her feet, and turned off the gas stove. The blue flame disappeared in an instant. She pulled the kettle off and the whistling scream stopped. The house plunged into silence.

Danielle searched the cupboard for some medicine and started to make some tea. When the phone rang again, Danielle’s heart stopped. She leaned on the counter and waited. The phone rang again and again. She lifted the receiver carefully as though it might burst into flame and put it to her ear.

“Hello?” she said. Danielle tried to listen. Her brother’s voice was frantic. Danielle’s heart thundered in her ears. The room tipped and Danielle spilled to the floor. She couldn’t answer her brother on the other end of the line. The blackness swallowed her before she could tell him she was alright.
~

Maddie watched Lola through the window. Lola sniffed at the wind, looking up at the sky then turned indifferently to inspect the far corner of the yard. Maddie resisted the urge to tap on the glass to get her attention. She would come to the door when she was ready to come in again. Maddie sighed. She knew better than to rush her tenacious pug. Lola was particular and would not be rushed into doing anything, especially not when there was an entire yard to patrol. The leaves had long turned, except for the tree in the front yard. The leaves were still bright yellow and clinging to the branches even in the strong November wind that was blowing. Maddie could see the limbs of the tree flailing through the living room window. She looked back into the garden for Lola, but she couldn’t see her.
Maddie rested her forehead on the glass of the window. That little ball of fur had changed Maddie’s life when Stella had convinced her to adopt Lola from the local shelter.

“People need to care for something if they are going to live. And by people, I mean you.” Stella said when we brought Lola home. After Marc died, there had been some very dark moments. Maddie knew that Lola gave her a reason to get up out of bed each morning. Lola never gave her the option of giving up. Damn dog.

The electric kettle clicked off. Maddie pulled herself away from the window and went to the kitchen. She had developed the habit of pouring two cups of tea. Every Saturday morning, two teas had become the ritual. She fixed the teas differently: one spoonful of sugar and a drop of milk in one; two spoonfuls of sugar for the other and a healthy splash of milk and left one on the counter for later. The first time she caught herself doing it, she cried for hours. There are few tears left after four years.

Lola scratched at the back door. Maddie opened it and she hustled in, shaking her rump as she walked. Maddie balanced her mug of tea in one hand and bent down to rub the top of Lola’s head. Lola licked her hand. They wandered off together into the living room. Maddie set the mug down on the coffee table and sunk heavily into the sofa. She had piles of work waiting to be, but it could wait until the afternoon. Lola jumped up onto the sofa and snuggled in beside her. Maddie picked up the newspaper, and worked the elastic band down the rolled newsprint. The elastic snapped in half, biting her finger halfway down. Maddie swore and shook her hand. Then she began unrolling the newsprint. The face that stared back at her from the front page made her gasp.

Maddie scanned the article quickly. She reached for the phone when it rang beside her. She answered it, tucking the receiver under her ear so she could flip through the pages to the rest of the article. Maddie tried to talk and read at the same time.

“Hello?” Maddie said. Part of the section of newspaper fell to the ground as she looked for page eight. Maddie swore when she realized the page she wanted was cover her feet.

“Have you seen the paper yet today?” Stella’s voice was edged with concern. Maddie sighed and tossed the paper on the sofa beside Lola. Lola opened one eye lid and grunted before rolling onto her back. Madde frowned in frustration and scratched Lola’s belly absently.

“Yes, just saw it. Did they say when they were going to call me about it?” Maddie snapped. She immediately regretted barking at Stella. It wasn’t Stella’s fault. She was just following procedure.

“They are sending me to pick you up in an hour. We have a flight to Halifax in the morning. We have to do this quietly. Can Tom take care of Lola?” Stella spoke quickly. Maddie rubbed her temple with her free hand. Tom was her next door neighbour. He would look after Lola. He never said no. Maddie looked down at her sweet little fur ball. Lola’s tongue dangled out of the side of her mouth. She grunted in her sleep. It sounded like she was snoring. Maybe she was.

“I will ask Tom. I am sure it won’t be a problem. “ Maddie said. She pressed her palm to her head, creating a mental list of what she needed to do in the next hour before Stella arrived.

“What are they saying about the body? Did they say how it happened?” Maddie asked. She didn’t want to know. The department only brought her in when there were still too many unanswered questions. Stella knew that Maddie was just asking for the sake of asking and said nothing. Five years before, Maddie had been called to the banks of the LaHave River to help search for a missing girl. They found a girl’s body three weeks after she’d gone missing. The family swore she had run away, but she turned up bloated and rotting in the rocks just outside of Bridgewater. The mother confessed. She had killed her daughter because the boyfriend had shown an interest. Maddie knew that it had been more than interest. They never released all of the details to protect the younger sister. The girl had been pregnant. The mother found out and instead of killing the boyfriend for raping her daughter, she killed the competition. Maddie felt the knot forming in her stomach. This new body had a story to tell too. A very different one. Maddie knew it.

“There aren’t a lot of details coming out. Listen, we can’t talk about it now. Get packed and get Lola settled.” Stella said. The line went dead. Stella had hung up. Maddie shrugged and set the phone down. Stella was like that. No goodbyes. Maddie stood up. Lola looked at her with one eye.

“Ok Lola time to go.” Maddie said. She rubbed Lola’s belly once more and then started putting her kit together. An hour later, Stella stood on the porch chatting with Tom, while Maddie loaded her bags into the back of Stella’s beige SUV.

“We’ll be back in a few days.” Stella said to Tom. Maddie slammed the trunk door down and turned at Tom.

“Thanks for looking after her.” I said. “I’ll call in a couple of days and see how she’s doing.” Tom nodded. He picked up Lola around the middle, and balanced her on his hip. She looked like a sausage with legs. Maddie went to him and cupped Lola’s face in both of her hands.

“See you later furball” She whispered into Lola’s ear. The engine roared to life behind Maddie. She turned and climbed in. Maddie waved to Tom and Lola through the glass, as Stella backed out of the narrow driveway and eased the truck onto the road. Maddie continued to stare out the window, watching the fields and clumps of trees flash by.

“We’ve got 45 minutes before we get to the airport. You are going to tell me how bad it is and what they’ve done already to cover it up. I am not walking into this one blind.” Maddie said. She leaned back into the leather seat and took out her iPad out of the sleeve. Maddie listened to Stella, and began making notes.

~

Saturation
One small step

Avia sat on the park bench staring down the alleyway. She memorized the cobblestones, how they were placed, the shape of each one, the numbers used to making the street. The dimensions tumbled through her mind. She was numb. She wondered what else could go wrong. Her bad day had started a week ago and was not showing any promise of getting better. Avia thought it was funny in a “poke your eyes out kind of way” how when one thing goes wrong in a day, many wrong things seemed to follow. She had received a letter from the landlord that her rent was tripling. It was not legal for him to do that, but by the time she fought it in the court, she would have to pay even more. She had to make a choice to either stay where she was or find somewhere new to live. Her job at the shop was being threatened, because of the time that the owner had given her off during the last few months of her mother’s illness. Avia hadn’t asked for it. She used a couple of sick days to take her mother to some doctor appointments, and left early a few times to be with her during the most difficult times, but never without permission, and never without making the time up or getting the work done that needed to be done. The confrontation with her boss a few days ago still weighed heavily on her. She was still hurt and frustrated.

The air was heavy around Avia. The sky threatened rain. She didn’t care. She didn’t want to move. The rain could come, pour down over her and wash her away into the gutter. Avia didn’t see the point.

“It’s going to rain.” A small voice said. Avia looked around. She didn’t see the old woman at first. She was standing at the side of one of the buildings. She moved and took a few steps toward Avia. The woman was closer than Avia realized.

“Yes, it is going to rain.” Avia said. She dug into her pocket for some change to give the woman but the woman stopped her.

“I don’t want anything from you. It’s ok. I’ve got plenty.” The woman said. Avia looked at her. She doubted that the woman had much money at all. The dress that she wore was dirty and worn to threads at the hem. The woman’s hair was unkept. Out of respect, Avia stopped digging into her wallet and sat with her hands folded across her bag.

“My name is Marie.” The woman said, extending her hand. Avia looked at it and then up into the woman’s face. Silver grey eyes stared back at her. Avia shook her hand. Marie’s skin was calloused and cool.
“Avia.” She said.

“You should take better care of yourself.” Marie said. “You look like you are ready to jump of the next building.” Avia looked at Marie, startled. Marie pet her hand. Avia noticed how black her fingernails were. Bits of dried blood clung to Marie’s index finger. Avia couldn’t see the cut, but guessed it had been a nasty one.

“I know. I have felt what I see on your face.” Marie said. She smiled. Avia could not see a trace of sadness in Marie’s eyes. Her face was weathered and sun tanned. Avia knew that the lines carved into Marie’s face made her look much older than she probably was, and told a tale of her life on the street. Marie tapped the back of Avia’s hand.

“It’s going to get better.” She said with a confidence that Avia did not feel at all. Marie struggled to stand up again. She turned and looked down at Avia and smiled at her.

“Don’t give up.” Marie said. She slowly walked off back down the side of the building she had come from. Avia didn’t speak or move. She stared at Marie’s back until she had disappeared into the shadows again.

Avia couldn’t move when she was alone again. She felt frozen in place, and wasn’t sure what had just happened to her. It felt like a dream. She looked down and saw that Marie had dropped a broach on the bench when she got up to leave. Avia snatched it up and hurried after the woman. Avia ran down the side of the building and out onto the sidewalk. The street was empty. Avia looked up and down but could not see Marie anywhere. Confused, Avia looked at the broach. It was round and covered with blue enamel with a silver etching of a woman dancing in the center. She turned it over to look at the back. The clasp of the pin was closed tightly. Avia looked closely at something that was engraved into the silver. The word Siam was stamped into the back. The first drops of rain hit the back of the brooch and Avia saw her reflection, tiny and upside down.

Lola touched her tongue to the back of her teeth and ran the top along the ridges. She flicked her fingers at the flies as she walked down the curved driveway towards the house. The tree trunks that lined the laneway were thick with underbrush. Lola thought it looked like the trees were wearing socks. She would tell Milan but he would think she was stupid. Lola didn’t care. The trees stood indifferently as she walked past.

The windows of the house were dark. She had expected Ripley to leave at least one light on. The stonework was covered with old vines that ran wild over the windows. The fountain in the front garden had been drained for the winter. The rest of the garden was well kept. Lola walked to the side door and knocked. She could hear each knock echo inside the house.

“Fuck” she said. Lola cupped her hands around her eyes and peered in. The furniture was covered with white drop cloths. In the half light of dusk, they looked like ghosts. Lola frowned. She walked towards the back of the house hoping to find Ripley there, waiting for her. Her watch said it was nearly 7. He had told her to be there then. She went to the back door and slammed her fist down loudly on the wood.

Lola looked around. More vines spilled over the cement block walls that skirted one side of the garden and dripped through the arbour. Past the gap in the wall, she could see the forest stretch out behind. It was almost dark. Lola was ready to give up when she heard the crunch of gravel at the side of the house.

“Ripley?” she called out. She hurried to the corner and peered around it through the gloom. Lola could see someone moving toward her. The glow of their cigarette floated like a beacon before her eyes. Lola called his name again. The man was closer than Lola realized, and she yelped when he suddenly reached out and held her by the arm. He leaned in close and spoke into her ear.

“No, love, I’m not Ripley. You will see him soon.” He said. Lola did not have time to struggle against his grip. The sting of the needle slipping into her neck made her body go rigid. The man caught her around the waist as she slumped towards the ground. Lola heard him chuckling in the blackness. There wasn’t time to be afraid.
~

Blood from the gunshot spread across the garage floor like a slow moving flow of lava, black against the concrete. The smell of smoke burned Lena’s nostrils. The acrid stench filled the tiny garage. An unfinished model airplane sat in pieces on the workbench, under rows of tools. Lena Grey opened her mouth to scream her husband’s name. His one eye stared at her unseeing. It was the only one he had left. The blast from the gun he had put to his head moments before had torn flesh and bone completely away. Lena fell back against the door jam in horror. She slumped frozen, not knowing what to do or how to help him. She looked around and saw the envelop propped up beside the plane that Stan had been building. Seeing it was like being snapped by an elastic. Her name was scratched off center in black ink. She recognized her husband’s handwriting. Fear dropped like a stone in Lena’s stomach. She stumbled to the workbench and clutched the letter in one hand. She didn’t want to read it. The paper was cold.

Mark Johnston heard the gunshot at 9:03 am. He was late for work and standing in his driveway clearing the snow off of his car. He dropped the shovel and ran to his neighbour’s house. Mark called 911 on his cell phone. He spoke to the operator, gave the address and tried the front door. It was locked. Mark ran around the side of the house and tried another door. The call to 911 dropped as he ran between his house and the Grey’s. He looked in the kitchen window and saw nothing. He tried the door and it swung open easily.
“Stan?” Mark shouted “Lena?” The house was silent. Mark searched the rooms. The Greys were getting on in years, and Lena was looking especially frail these days. Mark’s stomach churned with dread. Although he had only been their neighbour for less than a year, Mark had known the Greys all of his life. His father had grown up with Lena. They went to school together. Stan was older than both of them, went to the same school but in the grade ahead of them. He was a quiet man, kept to himself. Mark knew their son but not well. They had been classmates but ran different circles at school. They had some classes together, but Bruce was a football player, Mark played trombone. After high school, Mark lost track of Bruce completely, and wasn’t until he moved next door to Lena and Stan that he heard anything about Bruce.

Mark looked in the pristine living room – everything was in its place, dusted and perfect. The photos on the piano were all in gold frames, portraits of the three of Greys. A kettle started whistling and made Mark jump. He ran back to the kitchen and turned off the stove. Mark noticed the door into the garage was opened slightly. He opened it gingerly, half expecting someone to jump out at him. He kept his hand on the door handle to steady himself. Mark’s stomach heaved when he saw Stanley’s legs sprawled out on the floor. Then he saw the blood. Mark gulped for air. He looked in further to see if Lena was there too. His heart sank when he saw her curled up on the floor in front of the workbench. Florescent light from the overhead lamp flooded the bench with an eerie harshness. Lena moaned. Mark leaped down off the steps and ran to her. She tried to move but it made her scream. It was a strangled, guttural cry instead. Mark heard sirens. The police would arrive soon, he thought.  Mark knelt beside her, looking for the wound so he could stop the bleeding with his hand while they waited for the ambulance to arrive. He couldn’t find one. Mark realized that Lena had not been shot.

“Lena? Are you ok?” he asked her. Mark tried to lift her head and heard something crunch under him. Mark froze and looked down. He was relieved to see a broken coffee mug. Lena moaned again.

“Lena, just stay still honey, please. The ambulance is coming. It’s going to be ok. Just wait for the paramedics to come and make sure you’re ok.” Mark said. His voice was shaking. He didn’t know what else to say. Lena opened her eyes. Mark could see they were unfocused and confused. She searched his face and looked around.

“He’s gone.” Lena whispered. Her voice was strangled and hoarse. She looked earnestly at Mark. She gripped his arms. Her fingers were like bird claws digging into his skin through his shirt.

“Yes, he’s gone Lena.” Mark nodded sadly. He resisted looking over at Stan’s body. Although he hadn’t checked Stan’s body, he was sure that he was dead. There was so much blood. Mark was kneeling in it. Stan was most likely very dead. He heard the sirens and the police calling out. Mark shouted that they were in the garage. When he looked back at Lena, she had tears in her eyes.

“I’m sorry Lena. The paramedics will be here any minute. Just try to stay calm.” Mark said, trying to stay calm himself. Lena said nothing more. She closed her eyes.

“Lena, stay with me. They are almost here. They will help you.” Mark said frantically. Suddenly her face contorted in pain, and Lena’s body convulsed and she lurched, half rolling onto Mark. He watched her face contort in pain, and she went still. Mark felt the life leave her just as the paramedics burst in the door. The men moved around Mark, trying to get to Lena. Mark stood up as they lay Lena flat on the floor and tried to give her CPR but it was too late. Mark stepped back. His head was spinning. Everything moved around him like he was in a dream. A detective asked him questions. Mark told him what he knew. Another officer found the switch for the automatic garage door. Sunlight filled the garage. Mark shielded his eyes. The commotion drew a crowd on the lawn. The police eventually let Mark go home. He stepped over the snow bank to where his wife was standing, huddled in a winter coat. He hugged her, and went inside to change his bloody clothes. An hour later, Mark found Stan’s letter on the floor where it had dropped. The edge of the envelope was red with Stan’s blood. It made the black ink run. Mark hesitated and then opened it to read.

1

Lives behind the lines
Lucas folded the paper carefully, pressing his thumb on the creases to make them flat. He frowned when he noticed he had smudged some of the ink, but there wasn’t time to write the letter over again. They were moving out in an hour, and if he didn’t get the letter in to the post office before he got in the truck, he might not have another chance for several weeks. He lifted the letter and kissed it, then looked around to see if anyone had seen him do it. The others were busy packing their duffle bags and carrying boxes of supplies to the courtyard. Lucas slipped the paper in the air mail envelope and sealed it. He stared at her name written in black ink and framed by the red and blue stripes on the face of envelope.

“God, I hope you get this in time.” He whispered to her. He was tempted to take her picture out. Lucas had tucked it into the inside pocket of his flak jacket, right over his heart. He wondered if she could feel his heart beating through the glossy print. He loved that photo of her. She was smiling at the camera, laughing at something he had just said. Her long golden brown hair hanging down in braids on either side of her head, freckles splashed across her nose and big blue-green eyes staring back at him. Lucas remembered that day. They had spent the afternoon walking through the aspens to the water fall in the woods by his parents’ farm. He held her hand before they both jumped into the water together. She kissed him under the falls and they lay for hours in the sunlight talking about everything and nothing. He missed her. Tears stung his eyes. His eyes were flames from the sand constantly flying around him in this god forsaken desert. He backhanded his face and wiped the moisture away as he stood up. Lucas ran to the makeshift post office and handed it to the man sitting behind the wooden desk.

“You don’t have enough postage on this.” He said, pushing his wire framed glasses back up onto his nose. Lucas snorted.

“Stop shitting me Leroy. There is plenty of postage on it. Just get it in the next bag to go out ok?” Lucas said. Leroy grinned and tossed the letter into the canvas bag next to him.

“Yeah yeah don’t worry. Rain or shine, or some shit like that, your letter will get to her along with everyone else’s” he said with a grin. Lucas feigned a smile. He left the tent and ran back to grab his gear. Lucas threw it onto the back of the supply truck and went to look for his buddy. He found Michael bent over a stack of boxes, swearing at the lid of one of them for not closing properly.

“C’mon you son of a bitch close!” he snarled. Lucas raised an eyebrow and then started to laugh. Michael glared at him.

“Shut up and get over here. I need a hand with this” he said. Lucas chuckled and went to help his friend.

“You’re always the last to pack up. Why is that?” Lucas asked. Michael grunted and slipped the lock on the lid.

“Finally!” Michael said. He stood back with his fists on his hips. Lucas laughed.

“You’re such a girl.” He said to Michael. Lucas hoisted two of the boxes up in his arms and started out of the room.

“Geez what the hell do you have in these?” Lucas asked. Michael picked up his duffle bag and a smaller bag at his feet.

“Rocks.” He said. Lucas stopped and looked back over at him.

“Are you kidding me?” Lucas asked. Michael shook his head.

“Seriously – we have to take samples you know.” Michael said. He looked around the tent to see if he had forgotten anything. The floor of the tent was empty except for the cot and table.

“I can’t believe you are making me carry boxes of rocks.” Lucas complained.

“Hey man I am not making you do anything.” Michael said, pretending to be hurt. “You know my back is not great, and my knees, yeah and..”

“Shut up idiot” Lucas said puffing his way across to the supply truck. “There better be room for all of this shit in the truck.”

“There will be, there will be.” Michael reassured Lucas. Michael jumped up onto the back of the truck and stuck his arms out.

“Come over here and hand me the first box.” He said to Lucas. Lucas grunted and walked to the edge of the truck. Once the boxes were loaded, Michael jumped down and rubbed his belly.
“Let’s grab something from the market square before we take off.” He said, running down the sandy street to the white walled market. Lucas looked at his watch.

“there’s no time. We have to go. The plane takes off in three hours.” He said to the wind. Michael had already disappeared into the market. Lucas rolled his eyes and started to run after him.

“Shit.” He said, jumping over a small group of chickens who were randomly pecking at the ground.
“Michael, wait up” Lucas called after him. Lucas didn’t see the truck bearing down on him until the last second. He tucked himself into a ball and rolled out of the way just in time.

“What the f….” Lucas said into the dirt. The tires screeched as the truck came to a stop. Lucas was trying to stand up when he felt arms on him, dragging him backwards. A black hood was rammed over his head, and pulled tightly around his neck. Lucas tried to shout and pull away but he couldn’t. He landed on something hard and blacked out.
~

war letters

Alice stood at the window chewing on her finger nail. She watched the traffic snaking around the buildings below. She could hear the movement behind her but she didn’t turn to watch or help. Alice pulled the black flakes of nail polish off of the nail she was chewing on and flicked hem at the window.

“Alice. Where are the Akon files?” Pete asked. Alice shrugged. She leaned her forehead against the cold glass. Her skin was burning. She was used to it. Alice picked out a red truck and followed it. The truck turned right on Spadina and made its way down passed the eclectic shops and small cafés. Alice lost track of the truck when it turned down a side street.

“Alice, the files?” Pete said again. His voice was strained and edged like crushed glass. Alice sighed and climbed down off the ledge. She walked over to the desk perched in the corner and opened a drawer. Her hand darted in and retrieved a manila folder bulging with paper.

“Here” she said, handing it to Pete as she returned to the window and climbed back onto the ledge. She crouched on her haunches and went back to watching the city breathing below. Her short skirt billowed with the air being blow through the air conditioner below her. Pete looked at the folder and then shoved it into the box he was filling. Others moved purposefully around the room, clearing it of any trace of Alice. She had been doing surveillance for three weeks. Pete was her handler. He had one mission, to keep her alive and get her back to the office to debrief her.

“Stuart, take this to the trucks and get the rest of this stuff down there.” Pete said to the short blond man crouched over the shredder putting the candy bar wrappers that Alice had left in the trash. He looked up at his boss and nodded. He left the shredder and picked up the box in front of Pete and left the room. Pete looked around. His eyes narrowed at the bookcase. The shelves were empty, except for the cheap decorations the boutique hotel used to make it feel ‘homey’. Pete ignored the shelves and bent down to look in the cupboards. Nothing. Not even dust. She had done her job this time, though Pete. He refrained from being impressed. The room was emptied and loaded in twenty minutes, which had to be a record for a three week surveillance mission. Pete looked at Alice crouched on the window sill. She looked like she was an angry emo kid just barely in her teens. He found it strangely refreshing that she was just that. A touch of honesty in a world that was anything but. Alice was twelve. She would be thirteen in November. She wore black all the time and her eyes were like a raccoon’s with black liner. Pete didn’t care. Alice was brilliant and an intuitive. When Alice suddenly shouted, Pete nearly jumped out of his skin.

“It’s them!” she shouted at the window. Alice was pointing through the glass, pounding it with the tip of her finger. Pete rushed to the window and tried to see what she was seeing.

“Who?” Pete asked. It was a stupid question, he knew exactly who ‘them’ was. Alice looked at Pete. Her eyes were wide and frightened.

“Pete they are coming for me.” She said. Pete shook his head. He took Alice by the hand and started to lead her out of the hotel room. He didn’t look at her, trying to control his voice when he spoke.

“I won’t let them take you.” Pete said forcefully. Alice looked up at him.

“Come on.” Pete said. He spoke into his walkie-talkie and gave orders to the team. He hurried Alice to the service elevator. Alice went with him wordlessly. The heavy steel doors scraped as they closed together. Pete looked down at Alice when they were safely inside. Her skin seemed even paler in the fluorescent light; fragile like a porcelain doll.
~

© Leigh-Anne Fraser-Tyson 2010