Perchance to Dream

by Lyssa Chiavari

  “Dia,” he whispered, his voice ragged and hoarse from screaming. Watching her go over the side of the railing had been the single most devastating moment of his life. He’d thought losing his family and home planet had been the worst, but nothing could compare to this pain. “Dia… I’m so sorry. I did this to you, I… I’m so sorry.”

  She whimpered, turning her face in toward his chest. He held her tight, kissing her forehead.

  “Onyx, I… I never…”

  “It’s okay,” he whispered. “I don’t care about any of it. I’d forgive you anything if I could change this. If you could live, I would forget about all of it. Despite everything, you are the love of my life. You gave me hope in humanity, in the world. When I didn’t have anything or anyone else, I had you. I love you. I would never have stopped loving you.”

  She nodded, tears streaming down her face and mixing with the blood. She tried to smile, but it turned into a painful grimace, stained red by her blood.

  “You didn’t mean to,” she whispered between labored breaths. “It’s not your fault.”

  He shook his head, his own tears dripping from the line of his jaw and splashing on her cheeks, mingling with hers.

  “I can’t do this,” he groaned, his emotional pain manifesting as a physical ache in his gut. “I can’t survive… I can’t live without you.”

  “Yes, you can,” she whispered. “You will.”

  Glancing around him, he found shattered shards of glass all around them. Looking up, he realized she’d slammed into a light fixture on her way down, causing it to shatter. That had been the sound he’d heard. Reaching out, he closed his fingers around the largest shard he could find.

  “I don’t want to,” he whispered, his eyes fixated upon the shard. It was the only way. He could never be the same without her. She had been his reason for living. He’d had nothing before her, and he’d have nothing after… not even a life.

  “Onyx, no,” she whispered. “Don’t.”

  “If you’re not in this world, there’s no place for me in it,” he declared, lifting the shard to his throat. “Wherever you go, I go. My people believe that souls destined to be together will find each other after death. Do you believe that?”

  She nodded, squeezing her eyes shut as more tears squeezed from their corners. “Yes,” she whispered. “I do.”

  He nodded. “Open your eyes. Look at me.”

  She did so, her lower lip trembling. “Onyx, I’m afraid.”

  He forced a smile. “Don’t be. It’s almost over. Soon, you won’t feel any more pain. You’ll close your eyes and wake up someplace else. When you do, I’ll be there. I promise.”

  She nodded. “I’ll be waiting.”

  He waited until her breathing had slowed and stilled, and her chest ceased moving. Her head slumped and he knew she was gone. Sniffling, he lowered his head to kiss her one last time, heedless of the blood. The shard of glass had sliced his fingers, causing him to bleed, but he hardly felt the pain. He felt nothing as he brought it up to his throat, and sank it into his flesh. He remained numb as he dragged it from one side to the other, barely registering the hot gush of blood that followed.

  ❦

  Epilogue

  Napet Space Station

  Three months later

  Lieutenant Cronius March waited until the sound of running water had ceased before stepping from his bathroom stall. He fixed his eyes on the man standing in front of him, head lowered as he dried his hands. A quick glance around him revealed that they were alone. Ensuring it stayed that way, he crossed the bathroom and locked the door.

  Isaias Royce straightened, lifting his head at the sound of the lock sliding shut.

  “Lieutenant,” he said coolly.

  “I suppose I have to call you ‘Lieutenant’ now, too,” Cronius replied, walking across the bathroom toward him slowly. “Congratulations are in order on your promotion.”

  Isaias turned to face him, his expression smug. “You just can’t stand it, can you? All the superiority you felt at being promoted over me, and where has it gotten you? In another few years I’ll outrank you, and maybe you can be my ensign.”

  Cronius sneered, his nostrils flaring in disgust. “Careful, Lieutenant. A man can never have too many friends in the army. He can, however, accumulate too many enemies. I am not a man you want for your enemy.”

  As he’d expected, the idiot grinned, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “Is that supposed to scare me? Do you have any idea who you’re messing with? I could destroy you.”

  Cronius raised one eyebrow. “Like you destroyed Major Onyx?”

  Isaias frowned. “What the hell are you talking about? The man got jealous because his wife was sleeping around, and he killed her. Then he felt guilty for what he’d done and killed himself too. And good riddance, I say. He never belonged here, anyway.”

  Cronius’ hands shook as he continued on toward Isaias, his fingers closing into fists.

  “Major Onyx was a good and honorable man,” he said, voice quivering with rage. “He loved his wife, and she was all he had in the world. That, and a position that he worked hard to get and keep. And you, who has had everything handed to him his entire life, just couldn’t be happy with what you had. You had to envy him, and for what? Because a pretty girl chose him instead of you? Because he had the nerve to pass you over for promotion? Because a man from another planet earned more respect in his life than you ever will?”

  Isaias grabbed him by his lapels and shoved him backward. “You’re the one who needs to watch himself. I told you, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Shrugging out of his hold, Cronius reversed their positions, grasping Isaias’ throat and slamming him back against the tile wall.

  “You can play stupid all you want, but we both know you drove Onyx to do what he did. Did you think I wouldn’t find out that you manipulated your friend Reid into kissing her on the catwalk that night? Or that you were the one that planted Dia’s bracelet in my bathroom for Vivian to find?”

  “You can’t prove a thing,” he hissed, his breath growing rapid and shallow as he fought to breathe.

  Cronius smiled. “Oh, really? Tell that to your wife, who told me that you explicitly asked her to steal the bracelet, or to Reid, who ratted you out for almost getting him killed.”

  Isaias’ cocky expression melted away, and for the first time he looked genuinely afraid. And Cronius March, a man who had lost everything, found strength and pride in his moment of triumph.

  “You think you’ve won,” he whispered, leaning closer and tightening his fist around Isaias’ throat. “Now that he’s out of the way, you’ve been promoted, and all is right in the world of Lieutenant Isaias Royce.”

  Drawing in a ragged breath, Isaias raised his chin in one last moment of defiance. “It’s your word against mine, and we both know how convincing I can be. I won’t do a day of jail time for any of it. Even if I did manipulate him, he did it all himself in the end. Dia’s blood is on his hands.”

  Cronius nodded. “You’re right.” Moving swiftly, he retrieved the knife from his pants pocket and flicked it open. Isaias gasped, legs buckling as Cronius jammed it into his side, right between his ribs. “And now your blood is on mine. I’ll bear the burden gladly to see a great man avenged.”

  Cronius stabbed him again, twisting this time, rewarded with a fresh spurt of blood. Isaias’ legs buckled, and Cronius stepped away from him. Standing over him, he watched as the newly-promoted lieutenant fought for his last breath, falling over onto his side. Taking up a handful of paper towels, he cleaned Isaias’ blood from his knife and closed it, sliding it back into his pocket.

  By the time he turned to leave the bathroom, Isaias had gone still. His eyes stared after Cronius, fixed in the shock he’d experienced in death.

  Unlocking the door, Cronius made a quick exit, putting as much distance between himself and the bathroom as possible before he reached into his other pocket to retrieve the ite
m he always kept there. Smiling, he opened the pocket watch that carried a picture of his Della inside. With his fingertip, he traced the lines of her beautiful face. And in that moment he understood that he hadn’t just done it for Dia and Onyx—he’d done it for Della, too. Because no love so pure and real should have been cut short so tragically, the way his and Della’s had been. The way Dia and Onyx’s had been.

  As he made his way home for the night, he took comfort in the thought that two lost souls now rested easier.

  The Taming of the Dudebro

  ❦

  JANE WATSON

  “Thus have I politicly begun my reign,

  And ‘tis my hope to end successfully.

  My falcon now is sharp and passing empty,

  And ‘til she stoop she must not be full-gorged,

  For then she never looks upon her lure.

  . . . And thus I’ll curb her mad and headstrong humour.”

  - PETRUCHIO, THE TAMING OF THE SHREW

  “Is the broccoli ready?”

  Patricia Verona reached for the measuring cup, gently sweeping the vegetable pieces she’d just chopped from the cutting board into the glass container. “Ready!” she declared with a grin, passing the cup to her best friend and cooking class partner, Grizz Sheridan.

  “Perfect,” Grizz muttered, gently shaking the chopped broccoli into the wok. “So, like I was saying, we need something really spooky and dramatic for when the ghosts appear.” Her brown eyes widened as she waved the spoon in the air, exclaiming, “Smoke bombs!”

  Patricia reached for the green onion and snorted. “C’mon, you know the rules. No fire hazards.”

  Grizz sighed, pouting her lips. “Yeah, you’re right.” Then she glanced at Patricia and murmured, “Sorry, I know that you’re supposed to be coming up with all of the creative elements, and I just wrote it. I’m just so excited to see my story come to life!” She squealed, bouncing up and down.

  Patricia laughed and nudged her, reminding Grizz to stir the pork fried rice. She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Hey, I know: we could do stuff with the lights when the ghosts appear! Like, a different color spotlight for each one, and then dim the rest of the lights so that the stage is super dark. And—”

  “Mm, I smell pork! Pork fried rice!”

  Patricia groaned at the sound of the new voice. She glanced up to see fellow senior Kurt Minola standing in front of their station, rubbing his hands together eagerly as he admired their handiwork. She shouldn’t have been surprised by his sudden appearance, since he showed up in her cooking class so often he might as well have been taking it himself. But that would have involved work. Instead, he always managed to appear at just the right moment to eat the food that he’d had no part in making.

  Unfair, she thought, tucking a strand of dark blonde hair behind her ear as she took in the teen who stood before them. A stereotypical surfer dude, he sported cargo shorts, water shoes, and a black hoodie with a “Santa Cruz” emblem on the left lapel. Because he clearly wants to look like a tourist in his hometown, Patricia thought with a snicker.

  As he reached for the sizzling wok, Grizz swiftly whacked his hand with the spoon. “Hands off, idiot. Are you trying to burn yourself?”

  Kurt frowned, looking wounded. “But it smells so good. C’mon, Trixie, you’ll let me have it when it’s done, right?”

  Patricia bristled. She absolutely detested being called anything other than Patricia, but ‘Trixie’ had to be her least favorite nickname. It made her sound like a dog. “It’s Patricia,” she corrected him for what was probably the thousandth time. “Go mooch off someone else.”

  “But your guys’s smells the best!” Kurt protested.

  “‘Your guys’s,’ huh?” Patricia sighed, passing the chopped green onion to Grizz when her partner held her hand out. “Aren’t you supposed to be in class right now? How is it that you waltz in here to steal the fruits of our labor practically every single day? Doesn’t your teacher care?”

  “Nah, babe, Mr. Baxter is super chill,” Kurt said in his usual relaxed tone, absentmindedly picking a red pepper up from the work station.

  Patricia rolled her eyes and gritted her teeth, focusing her attention once more on the recipe. She hated being called ‘babe’ even more than she hated being called ‘Trixie.’ Why couldn’t Kurt go bother someone else?

  “Well, you’re looking at our lunch,” Grizz practically growled, narrowing her heavily lined eyes at the tall, muscular teen. “So none for you.”

  “Aww, man,” Kurt pouted, his shoulders sagging. “But I love pork fried rice.”

  “Kurt! Kurt!” a girl’s voice called from the far corner of the room.

  Patricia and Grizz both looked up to see Sophie Sinclair and her partner, Hannah Diaz, waving. “You can have some of ours, Kurt!” Sophie told him with a giggle.

  Kurt grinned. “Hey, thanks, babe!”

  Patricia and Grizz shared a look of disgust. The way girls flung themselves at him was revolting. Kurt was pretty good looking, Patricia had to admit, being six-foot-five and very well-built, with dark brown hair and hazel eyes. But as Patricia had learned years ago, he—like most of the members of the Vista High water polo team—was also an insufferable jerk who couldn’t get enough of himself. A sizable portion of the girls at their school had yet to learn that, though, or else just didn’t care, throwing themselves at the team every chance they got.

  As he left their station to join Hannah and Sophie, Patricia stuck out her tongue slightly and made a noise of distaste. “Ech, thank goodness he’s gone.”

  Grizz nodded and gave the ingredients in the wok another stir. “I think we’re about ready for the soy sauce.”

  “Coming right up,” Patricia said with a grin, reaching across the counter for the bottle.

  As she passed it to Grizz, she overheard their cooking teacher, Ms. Hunt, snap, “Kurt Minola! How many times have I told you, you don’t get to eat anything if you didn’t make it! Go back to your own class!”

  “But Ms. Hunt,” Kurt whined with an endearing smile, causing both Hannah and Sophie to giggle, “I can’t help it if I’m hungry all the time. I’m an athlete. I have to keep up my strength.”

  “Then pack a banana,” Ms. Hunt quipped, but she turned away from Kurt and the girls to check on the rest of the students.

  Grizz clucked her tongue as she watched the scene. “Ms. Hunt is way too nice to that loafer,” she commented as she stirred in the soy sauce.

  “Yep,” Patricia agreed, turning her attention back to the task at hand. “Okay, I think we just need to add in the ginger and minced garlic, and we are done!” She reached for the small piece of ginger that Ms. Hunt had instructed them to finely chop.

  Just then, there was a crackle over the intercom, and the disembodied voice of the secretary, Mrs. Blair, said, “Ms. Hunt, is Kurt Minola in your classroom? I checked with Mr. Baxter’s class and he told me to try yours.”

  Ms. Hunt lifted her eyes to the ceiling, as if asking for strength. “Yes,” she said with a sigh. She turned her head toward the subject in question, who was leaning over on Hannah and Sophie’s table and whispering, eliciting giggles from the pair. “He’s here.”

  “Tell him the principal needs to see him,” Mrs. Blair’s voice said.

  Patricia raised her eyebrows at Grizz, intrigued by this news. A quick glance around the room showed that she was not the only one paying attention to the intercom. Many of the other students had stopped their activities and were gazing at Kurt with interest.

  Ms. Hunt nodded as the intercom clicked off. “Kurt,” she called. Kurt didn’t appear to hear her—he just kept whispering to Sophie and Hannah. Patricia snickered as Ms. Hunt rolled her eyes and, looking absolutely exasperated, marched over to him. “Kurt!” she snapped as she reached him.

  Kurt whipped his head up, looking confused. “Wha—?”

  “The principal needs to see you,” Ms. Hunt told him, turning on her heel and expecting him to follow. “Come on, I’ll get you a
hall pass.”

  “Bummer,” Kurt muttered. He put a hand on both Hannah and Sophie’s shoulders. “Catch ya later, babes. Save me some of that rice?”

  Patricia raised her eyebrows at Grizz as the two abandoned girls giggled in reply.

  As soon as he’d left the room, Grizz whirled on Patricia and whispered in a singsong voice, “Oo-ooh, Mr. Water Polo Champ is in trouble. I wonder what he did?”

  Patricia shook her head slowly, eyes widening as she thought of the possibilities. Was it because he’d been ditching his own class for cooking? Or was it more serious? She picked up her knife to resume chopping the ginger. “Maybe he left campus during the day to go surfing again.”

  “Or maybe he was caught smoking in the boys’ bathroom or something,” Grizz suggested eagerly.

  Patricia considered his cut physique and obsession with water polo. “Maybe he’s been using steroids.”

  Caught off-guard, Grizz let out a boisterous laugh and had to cover her mouth. Quickly recovering, she paused, deep in thought. “They probably just want his parents to make another donation to the Dean’s Fund,” she mused glumly, adding the ginger to the wok with little enthusiasm.

  Patricia wiped her hands on her apron. The Minolas were definitely one of the richer families in town. They often made large donations to the school and other establishments in the area. “But they probably just could’ve asked Ben to tell them that,” she reasoned. Kurt’s twin brother, Ben, was responsible and beloved by the faculty—the total opposite of Kurt. “I mean, Kurt would probably forget to even mention it to his parents, but Ben wouldn’t.”

  Grizz thought about this, taking the minced garlic from Patricia. “Good point. Which means,” she continued with a slow grin, “that our boy Kurt probably is in trouble.” She inhaled deeply and sighed, satisfied. “That would be almost as good as this pork fried rice.”

  ❦