Menage_a_20_-_Tales_with_a_Hook

by Twenty Goodreads Authors

  Harden slowly pushed the mahogany door open. . As he slid through the tight opening he turned on the ball of his foot, slowly inching the heavy door shut again.

  “Hi.” Harden looked as if he had lost bowel function right then and there. Startled, he jumped and slammed the door with more force than expected, and down the hall a harsh cry echoed from within the nursery.

  “Woman,” he stuttered. “What in Gods teeth is wrong with you? Why aren’t you sleeping?”

  With a timid pat on the bed, Taren beckoned him to her, “I need to talk to you.”

  “And it could not wait until the morning?”

  “No.” she stated firmly. “You are never here to talk to me, I can’t even remember the last time I saw you, let alone talked to you.”

  “Whose fault is that, Taren? You are always too busy for me.” Harden cursed.

  “Exactly, love,” Taren whispered sweetly, hoping to entice her husband into seeing things her way. “If you would hire a maid or two, then we would have more time for each other. And I could spend more time with little Liliana.

  I feel like she doesn’t even know I am her mother. I only see her a few seconds each day.”

  “But that is why I hired Ariane! I thought you needed help with the baby.”

  “Harden, I want to be with my baby…it has only been two months. I know I have to learn a lot, but she is still mine, and I want to take care of her.”

  “But, dear,” he spoke through clenched teeth. “You said you wanted to spend more time with me. If you spend time with the baby, how will you spend time with me?”

  Taren sighed, and with a glimmer of hope whispered “Can’t I do both? Can’t I spend time with her and you both? If we hire two maids and keep Ariane on, then I will have time for both, and maybe even time for a few friends.”

  Taren watched her husband drop his head and she knew she had won the argument.

  Within three months of hiring help, Harden saw a visible change occur in his wife. Taren no longer worked day and night in a daze of exhaustion. She now flitted through the house, making sure her orders were performed to perfection, the tired circles under her eyes vanished and her cheeks were rosy again. Taren now had time for everyone, including the baby. And she kept trying to pull him into her jubilant lifestyle.

  She constantly brought the baby to him, insisting on taking family picnics, and at night she expected him to trudge through his husbandly duties with enthusiasm. With her lovely country personality, she made friends easily and had a following of admirers throughout the community.

  Of course, that only lasted another month. Her happy, carefree life ended the night of that Godforsaken party.

  Taren would do anything to go back and change what happened. The guilt ate at her every day, all day, never relenting.

  Harden lurked around corners checking up on her constantly, but truly, he need not have even bothered. She didn’t move. For two months she lay in bed, only getting up to go to the restroom…sometimes. Sometimes she relieved herself where she lay, making more work for Ariane. The only thing that passed through her lips was the mere sip of water that Harden forced down her so she could take the medicine that the doctor left for her weekly, after he had come to check on her, and sips of broth.

  Also on his weekly visits, the doctor would administer an IV loaded with proteins, calories, fats, electrolytes, potassium and such. Harden tried to argue the need of the treatment, but the doctor argued that she was too emaciated and needed the boost.

  Black circles found their way beneath both Taren and Ariane’s eyes. Ariane had her hands full taking care of Harden’s wife, himself, and the rest of the household.

  He kept Ariane on staff, but let the rest of his wife’s employees go. Harden did not know how long either of them would be able to continue like this. Taren had lost so much weight that the beautiful young lady who once had caught his eye now just seemed to shrivel away. Soon, he thought, soon, this will be over, soon her mind will fade.

  The county police came by regularly checking up on him, but mainly they came to ask questions of Taren, and not once could Taren even mumble anything other than, “Can’t you hear her? Can’t you hear her cry for her mommy?” This reply only made the officials more suspicious, and once word circulated through town, the community became suspicious. So now Shriver Manor once again became the talk of the town.

  Stories about the goings on out at Shriver Manor flowed from lips of the likes of every man, woman and child. Though mostly speculation, the gossip carried a certain ring of truth, and no one had any idea how close to fact their jawing really was.

  Three long agonizing months had crept by since Liliana’s disappearance. If she still breathed, she would be just six months old, just developing a personality.

  Taren couldn’t hush the cries, not her own…at least she didn’t think they belonged to her self. She wiped her face and found it lacking the moisture that a face would have if it had been one shedding tears. But the cries came from somewhere. The cries broke her heart.

  A rustling from above and another angry shriek ricocheted through the ceiling. Taren could not take it anymore. She had to find the origin of the noise, the cries; they sounded like Liliana’s. If it was Liliana, she sounded hurt, as if she needed help; like a baby crying for her mama.

  Taren tried to sit up, but the movement brought weariness crashing down upon her consciousness. She blinked. She needed to find her baby. “Liliana,” she whispered through cracked lips. A voice so husky and raw she didn’t recognize it.

  Taren dragged every ounce of strength she could muster, pulling from a depth that most people didn’t know they stored within them—strength that only came from the Heavens, a raw need to prevail. And with that deep-seated strength, Taren forced her torso up, her need forcing her soul to keep going.

  Numb feet landed hard on the floor, numb legs pushed her body up. Knees prickling with the rush of unused blood bent and moved forward. First one step and then the next, Liliana… calling…crying for her mama, the only fuel she needed to trudge ahead.

  Moving slowly, Taren slid one foot in front of the other, finally reaching the hallway. Turning right, she used the wall to help hold her weak body up as she inched her way to the helpless cries. Faster, sliding her feet, faster she moved, praying she made it in time, driven by a mother’s instinct.

  As she reached the expanse that led to the attic, she stopped. “Woman, what in God’s name do you think you are doing?” The booming voice of Harden sent her crashing to the floor.

  Desperation brought her hands up, grabbing for anything to help her.

  Harden rushed to her side.

  “Don’t you hear her,” Taren wailed, finding her voice. “She needs me. Please let me find her, please let me take care of her.” Her body shook, frantic sobs devouring her sanity, the need to get to Liliana more than she could tolerate.

  “Woman, you hear nothing but what is in your imagination.” “No!” she cried. “How can you not hear our daughter?”

  “I can’t hear her because there is nothing to hear.” Harden glared at her with a hatred she had never seen from him before.

  “But…she is here. I know she is here. She is crying…she needs me. Oh please Harden…please let me go to her!”

  Ariane emerged from within the attic door.

  “See, you crazy bat…the only thing you are hearing is Ariane cleaning the attic. She has been working her beautiful fingers to the bone doing your job.”

  “Nooo…” Shrieking, Taren threw herself toward the attic door.

  Harden grabbed her, stopping all progress as she fought with the adrenaline rush of a mother trying to save her child. Deep scratches oozed and trickled with crimson rivers of hate from Harden’s arms. Taren heard Harden yell for Ariane to call 911. Taren watched in fear as Harden raised his fist for what she knew would be the last time.

  Fifteen minutes later, an ambulance and Taren’s personal doctor hovered on top of her. The medics checked her pupil
s and the doctor administered an injection of something sure to keep her quiet. She could hear their words, but unable to say anything, she couldn’t make them understand her plight.

  “Harden, I am truly sorry,” the doctor stated, “but I don’t think she will ever recover. I think it’s time to send her to a home where professionals can take better care of her.

  “Obviously you and Ariane are just not capable of doing it any longer. I’m sorry that after losing your baby it has come to this so quickly, but I seriously doubt that Taren will ever be strong enough to come back to reality.”

  “It’s all in her imagination, Doc…she keeps hearing the baby crying.”

  That was about the last thing that Taren Shriver ever heard. Driven by guilt, fear, and desperation Taren’s curse would hold her in its bond until the end of her days.

  Twenty-four hours later, the cry of lovely little Liliana squealed from the front porch. Exactly ten minutes after that. The county police stood on the same front porch.

  “It is a miracle, Officer, a God’s honest miracle. My baby returned to us, healthy as pie, and not a hair harmed on her head.”

  Hours and a boatload of questions later, the kind officers vacated Shriver Manor, mumbling about what a shame it was that Mrs. Shriver couldn’t be here to witness the joy of the return of her beloved baby.

  After all of the accusations and talk of how everyone suspected that she, the mother, had actually murdered her own child. After she had driven herself to a brink of hopelessness and her poor mind failed, a miracle among miracles was granted from the Heavens above.

  Ariane carried her Liliana up to the baby’s clean, wellmaintained crib, swaddled in the warmth of blankets. She bent and lowered the sleeping child into the crib that Liliana had spent every night of her life from the day of her birth, dreaming of a mother she would never remember.

  Harden closed the distance between their bodies. Peering over Ariane’s shoulder, he gazed at his daughter.

  “I never thought we would get rid of her, sweetheart. I never thought we would be free to show our love for one another. You were always the one for me. I told you I would find a way to give you the baby you could never carry.”

  LAUREN STONE

  Born and raised in Southern California, Lauren has trained since the age of five as an actor, singer and dancer. As if by divine intervention in 2007 she was hired to choreograph a musical, but they failed to write the script. Through a series of improvisations with the actors Lauren wrote the book to the musical in a week, rejuvenating her love of writing. Over the next two years she wrote “THE GAYEST MUSICAL EVER” with composer Timothy Hazen Rathke, as well as several screenplays and works of fiction. In June of 2009 her cousin made the innocuous suggestion that Lauren should join Goodreads, “Its’ like Myspace for books.” In the writing groups Lauren has found the support and criticism crucial for growth as a writer. She returned to college in August 2009 to pursue a degree in Creative Writing, she has since had her poetry published in Verdad and is pleased to have two short stories in this anthology.

  C OMMITMENT. Mary and Thomas are trapped in a world of mundane violence. Desensitized and irritable they strive to maintain their connection and love for one another in the face of an unavoidable future, grasping for something to control in a world filled with chaos.

  J USTICE. Stephanie awakes to find herself strapped to a bed. A middle aged man enters the room Stephanie is unsure whether he is her captor or savior. Justice poses the question: What is more damaging, physical violence or bad art?

  http://www.laurenstone.info http://verdadmagazine.org

  Commitment

  Lauren Stone

  Copyright © Lauren Stone 2009 “Well, I guess this is it,” Mary sighs as she loads the magazine of her 9mm Glock, struggling with the last round. It finally succumbs, the magazine slipping easily into the frame of the gun. She releases the slide loading a round into the chamber.

  The crash of metal slapping together wakes Thomas, Mary’s boyfriend, passed out on the couch in a haze of Guinness and Saturday morning cartoons.

  “What the fuck Mare?” he yawns, stretching his arms above his head, then collapsing back on the couch, as Mary loads another magazine. “Will you stop that?”

  The magazine crashes on the table. Thomas grabs his gun from under the pillow, jumping to his feet pointing it wildly around the room.

  Mary laughs.

  “It’s not funny. What’s wrong with you?” Thomas lowers his weapon walking to the kitchen table, sets his gun down and sits across from her.

  Mary lays her weapon down, takes a deep breath, sighs, reaches across the table and takes Thomas’ hand. “I’m just so tired of this shit. Everyday it’s the same thing. You lay there on that couch and do nothing. I’m tired of this shit. I want to do something different, you know?”

  Thomas kisses Mary’s hand; she lets her head fall to the side, closes her eyes and revels in a moment of tenderness.

  He steps over to the refrigerator, grabs two bottles of beer and returns. Thomas twists the top off of a beer and hands it to Mary, “This’ll take the edge off.”

  She takes a sip as he opens his beer. Mary removes the bottle from her lips, looks at it for a moment with utter disgust, and hurls it into the sink.

  Thomas shudders at the sound of shattering glass. “What the fuck Mary?”

  “It doesn’t taste the same. It’s not worth it.” Mary starts to cry.

  Thomas puts his drink down on the table, wrapping his arms around Mary’s head. Turning to him she throws her arms around his waist and sobs into his chest.

  Stroking her hair, to calm her down, gently asking, “Are you ok?”

  “Not really, but yes.” Mary mumbles in his chest.

  He kisses the top of her head then sits across from her.

  “I’m sorry. I should be used to it by now.” Mary wipes her tears away.

  “It’s okay.” He picks up his beer, presses it to his lips and tilts his head back.

  “No it’s not. Look at you. You’re fine. You act like it’s no big deal. But everything is different now.”

  The bottle clangs on the metal table. “Nothing is different; today is the same as yesterday and the day before that.”

  Mary glares at the bottle. “It’s not the same. It looks the same but it doesn’t feel right. It’s not normal. This existence or whatever you want to call it is not normal.”

  Thomas pulls his gun off the table. Pushing away, the chair crashes to the floor. Laying the barrel of the gun along the side of his face, walks to the window and stares out at an untouchable world.

  “I can’t change it.”

  “That’s bullshit and you know it.”

  Mary picks up her gun walking to Thomas’ side. Lacing her fingers in his, they stare out the window in silence. The room is still, but through the window, the world is in chaos. The building across the way is on fire. People run screaming and crying in the streets, a SWAT team stands at the end of the road, putting down those poor souls silly enough to approach them. Thomas squeezes Mary’s hand tighter.

  A man on a black rope wielding a shotgun rappels off the roof into Mary and Thomas’ window. Raising her gun Mary fires two shots into the man’s chest. He reflexively squeezes the trigger and a spray of buckshot pierces the glass, hitting Thomas and Mary, forcing them backward. They collapse still holding hands.

  Thomas crawls closer to Mary taking her in his arms. Blood pours from her chest, her breathing raspy and wet. Thomas, bleeding from his stomach, gently kisses her.

  “I hate this part Tommy. It’s not fair.” Mary shakes, a deep sob racking her chest.

  “I know baby. I know. I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  Mary’s breathing is shallow and labored. The tension escapes her body, laying limp and lifeless in Thomas’ arms, he starts convulsing. Pressing the gun to his temple he pulls the trigger. The bullet leaves the chamber as the world around them collapses in darkness.

 
; Sitting at the kitchen table a 9mm Glock, a box of bullets and two empty magazines in front of her, Mary handles one of the magazines, loading it with bullets. Struggling with the last round; it finally succumbs. She rams the magazine into the gun, releases the slide and slips a round into the chamber.

  The crashing metal wakes the sleeping Thomas, who sits up and looks over to Mary, “Babe!”

  “It’s not my fault,” slamming the gun on the table. “I fucking hate this. It’s not fair.”

  Thomas steps over to Mary, takes her face in his hands and tenderly kisses her.

  Pulling away she collapses into his chest sobbing, “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

  “I know.” Lifting her chin he wipes the tears from her eyes, “But we don’t have a choice now. You killed him and I committed suicide. It was our choice and we have to live with it.”

  Mary pulls away from him and nears the window, “I didn’t choose this.”

  Picking her gun off the table he walks over to Mary, “You chose this the minute you pulled the trigger. I didn’t want to leave you.”

  “Don’t blame this on me.” She takes the gun from Thomas.

  “I’m not, I love you. I wanted this for us… well not this, but at least we get to be together.”

  Taking her hand in his they stare out the window as flames engulf the building across the way.

  Justice

  Lauren Stone

  Copyright © Lauren Stone 2009 Stephanie awoke tied to a bed, a gag in her mouth and unable to remember how she had gotten there, a bandage wrapped around her head, blood seeping through the gauze. She shuts her eyes and searches for an answer. A toilet flushes and Stephanie’s eyes blink open.

  The morning light is distorted by clouds and the canopy of the maple tree outside the bedroom window. A cloud moves and the light shines across Stephanie’s face, skewing her vision in a haze of brilliant orange. She hears a door open and close. Footsteps grow louder and closer then stop outside her door.