Array: Byte shorts and other stories

by Cat Connor

  “How?” I turning to face her again.

  She smiled.

  “Because we’ve been here before, Grasshopper. Or at least I have, and you’re just catching up.”

  I remembered the picture of her at my desk and grinned.

  “Welcome to your office.”

  She laughed. “Nah, it’s still yours for another four weeks yet.”

  Frankie stepped into my open arms. I held her close, breathing in her scent.

  “We did it,” I whispered in her ear as I felt her melt into me.

  We fucked up a time line and I didn’t care.

  Because no matter how it happened, we were here now, in the same place.

  The End.

  (A Writer’s Plot two-genre challenge story)

  3. The Bells of Freedom

  I heard the bell. It was faint. A less enthusiastic ring than usual. Most people hammered the damn thing several times in quick succession then started calling out.

  Yes, people are rude and impatient.

  This bell ringer was not.

  I left my chair to investigate.

  As I opened my office door I saw Steph emerge from her office. She walked toward the front desk then about faced and high-tailed it back into her office. She shut the door firmly behind her.

  Strange.

  I approached the desk with curiosity brimming and then saw the reason for Steph’s sudden departure.

  “I’m Ronnie Tracey, can I help you?” I said to the waiting nun.

  “I believe so. I am Sister Mary-Margaret. Can we talk somewhere?”

  “Absolutely.” I ushered her into my office. As I started to close the door I saw Steph open her door a crack, she peered at me. I grinned. She shut the door. She has always had a well-developed fear of penguins.

  I turned my attention to Sister Mary-Margaret. “Can I get you anything? Tea, coffee, water?”

  “No thank you, dear.”

  She seemed uncomfortable.

  I indicated to a chair in front of my desk. “Have a seat.”

  I scooted around and sat facing her across my desk.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m looking for something. It went missing from my room two days ago.”

  “Don’t you have a direct line to - you know - him?” I flashed my eyes skyward. “Can’t he help?”

  I imagined something like the bat signal shining into the sky from Our Lady of Grace.

  “He did dear,” she replied, producing an article from the local newspaper.

  I didn’t need to read it to know it was an article about our agency, Wherefore Art Thou, and a recent missing person case.

  There were no photographs. We don’t do photos. So God gave her a newspaper and an article about us. Great.

  “What is it you’ve lost?” I rocked back in my chair. “We usually look for people not items.”

  “This is a very special book.”

  “Special how?”

  “It’s an old journal.”

  “A journal?”

  “Yes. I would like it back, if you could find it for me, I would be very grateful.”

  “I’ll do my best.” I maneuverer my laptop from the side of my desk to directly in front of me and opened a new file. “Can you describe the journal please?”

  The nun looked into my eyes and quietly explained what I was to be looking for. “The journal is bound with red cloth, but over its red cloth is a slip cover. A non-descript green slip cover proclaiming the book is in fact The Three Musketeers by Alexandre Dumas.”

  “Why?”

  “I presume it was to protect the cloth cover,” she said.

  “No, why does the cover say it’s a book by Alexandre Dumas?”

  “I have no idea. It was given to me like that.”

  “Can I ask what is in the journal that would make it interesting to others?”

  She glanced behind her then back at me. “It was left with me for safe keeping.”

  “It’s just a journal?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is it important in some way?”

  A missing journal? There had to be more to it. What could it contain? I glanced at the nun in front of me. She looked about sixty-five. I tried to imagine what her grandfather could have written about that was so interesting someone took it. Maybe it spoke of sliced bread? Some new-fangled flying machine? The sinking of the Titanic? The invention of anaesthetic?

  She smiled serenely, the way only nuns can. A smile that came from a life that was lived far from the edge. “It is a journal. My Grandfather was the caretaker of the journal and it came into my possession after his death.”

  “So this has sentimental value…”

  I was trying to determine if there was anything worth stealing in the book but not getting very far.

  She nodded.

  “Why not go to the police?” Surely, if it was taken, they would be the best place to start. They can ask questions and gain access much easier than I could.

  “Undue fuss.”

  “But if it was stolen…”

  “I do not know that it has been stolen, just that it is missing.”

  Steph was not going to like us taking a job for a nun.

  “Where do you think the journal went?”

  Her mouth closed tightly. A few seconds went by before she spoke again, “I do not know.”

  “Why would someone take this journal, given that it is a journal, and probably only contains an account of a year in someone’s life?”

  “Please. No more questions. I need you to find it for me.”

  I sensed there was an unsaid ‘before’ at the end of her sentence.

  “I may have more questions. I also require your contact details.”

  Sister Mary-Margaret passed a piece of paper across my desk. I picked it up and read it. Contact details.

  “It’s best if I contact you and not the other way around,” she said.

  Mysterious.

  “As you wish.”

  I walked to the door and held it open for her.

  “Thank you,” she said with a small smile.

  “Be in touch soon, there will be questions I need you to answer.”

  She nodded her head and hurried away.

  Steph peered out her office door.

  “Is the coast clear?”

  “Yes.” I replied. “We’ve got a new case.”

  “The Nun?” Steph’s eyes grew wider. “The Nun?”

  “Yep. She’s lost something. You don’t have to be involved. I’ll find it and then she’ll go back to doing whatever it is nun’s do.”

  “They terrorize people. That’s what they do,” Steph grumbled. “I’m not a fan.”

  “So, I noticed. It’s a Catholic thing, right? This unnatural fear of nuns?”

  “They are unnatural… but maybe.”

  “I’ll be in my office, let’s see if I can locate the missing object.”

  “I hope you do and quickly.”

  Me too. Just quietly, nuns are a bit creepy.

  Back in my office I took a map and spread it on the coffee table. I unclipped a silver chain from around my neck and pulled. A quartz pendant popped out of the neck opening of my tee shirt. I fastened the clasp on the chain, and holding the chain between my fingers and thumb I let the pendant swing from my hand.

  I said a quiet prayer and asked for protection. The pendant stopped moving and hung dead still.

  “Are you here, Horlicks?” I said.

  The pendulum swung in a small clockwise circle in answer. Yes.

  “I need you to help me find something for a nun. Show me where the book is.”

  I held the pendulum over the map. Moving section by section, slowly, allowing enough time for the energies involved to influence the pendulum in my hand. It was a measured process. My arm grew tired before I’d covered half the city. Every now and then, just to make sure Horlicks was still around, I asked other questions.

  “Are my eyes green?” The pendulum
swung in a clockwise circle. Yes.

  “Do you still get migraines?” The pendulum swung in a line. No.

  I smiled. Good to know things get better with death.

  I moved on with the search and wondered what Sister Mary-Margaret would make of my methods.

  Like everyone else she would not be told how I find things. I had a feeling it would sit as well with a nun as it would with a regular person. Not at all well.

  Sometimes special skills are best kept to one’s self.

  A voice in my head muttered, “Nuns are people too.” I don’t know who it belonged too and I doubted the message.

  All of a sudden the pendulum swung clockwise fast. I checked the area on the map. It was kilometres away from the convent. I’d sort of expected the book to be within the walls of Saint Joseph’s convent. Misplaced rather than lost.

  The pendulum swung. I moved my arm letting my hand follow the pendulum. The book was moving? Fergusson Drive. The book was on Fergusson Drive heading south. I was running out of map. The pendulum stopped suddenly and fell from my hand. It dropped onto St. Mary’s church in Silverstream.

  An Anglican church.

  Now that was interesting.

  I hoped it stayed put.

  I put the pendulum back around my neck. Folded and put away the map. Thanked the angels for protecting and asked Horlicks to come for the ride.

  I called out to Steph as I was leaving, “Going out, back later.”

  “I’ve got a surveillance job, Jenn will be in soon,” Steph said.

  “Okay.”

  I closed the outer door firmly as I left.

  The GPS sat silently on the dash. No need for it today. I knew where the church was. Ten minutes later I parked on Guard Street and headed for the church on foot.

  It wasn’t my favourite place. In fact it’d been twenty years since I’d stepped foot on soil that belonged to St. Mary’s. I took a deep breath and checked Horlicks was still with me. If I had to go in there I wanted someone I could trust with me, I hoped he’d prevent me from being struck by lightning. His voice echoed in the recesses of my mind, “Of course I’m here.”

  Comforting.

  The driveway was steeper than I remembered. Maybe it was because it was hot and sunny. By the entrance to the church there was a car. My instinct was to look in it. Would be so much easier if the book was sitting on the front passenger seat.

  It wasn’t.

  It didn’t feel good snooping around a car parked in front of the church. I turned my attention to the church itself and walked through the open door. I stood in the vestibule. To the right was the main church. Somewhere in the church was the book I wanted.

  Thud.

  I jumped. There was no one around which probably meant the vicar would sneak up on me any minute.

  Horlicks was laughing at me.

  One deep breath later I strolled down the aisle, glancing down every pew, hoping to see a red cloth cover among the blue bibles. In front of me were an altar and a plinth. No sign of the vicar. No sign of the book.

  Running feet heading for the door behind me. I spun around in time to see a man running from the church.

  I took off after him. He stood by the driver’s side of the car fumbling for keys.

  “You’re in a hurry,” I said walking around the hood of the car toward him.

  “Stay back,” he growled. He had a satchel over his shoulder.

  “What’s in the bag?”

  “None of your business.” He dropped the keys and reached for them.

  I jumped forward and brought my elbow down on the back of his neck. He didn’t get up.

  “I asked what was in the bag. Much easier to answer me, really,” I said taking the bag. I opened it to find the book. “Guess you’re the thief.”

  His eyes opened. “You don’t know what you’re doing. Leave the book and walk away.”

  Ballsy for someone lying on the ground.

  “Its owner asked me to find it. I have. It’s my job.”

  Horlicks was applauding. Usually at this point I’d call police and have the thief arrested but the nun didn’t want to go to the police. I knew that was a mistake. It meant this loser was free to go after the book again.

  I hoped I could convince Sister Mary-Margaret to press charges.

  “What’s your name?” I said.

  The crumpled man was now sitting on the ground leaning against his car.

  “John.”

  “The rest, John?”

  “I am known as John the Apostle.”

  “And I am Veronica the Combative. Can I have your name please?”

  I really didn’t want to go down the road of lunacy with this man.

  He smiled. “I am John the Apostle.”

  “I suppose you hang out with Peter, Andrew, your brother James and the other James, Philip, Bartholomew, Mathew, Thomas, Jude and Simon. Can’t imagine that you all see much of Judas these days.” There was no keeping the derision from my voice.

  Horlicks gasped within my skull. That wasn’t a good sign.

  “I do.”

  “You’re looking pretty good for someone who died in 100 AD.”

  “Help me up. You and I need to talk.” He reached out his hand. Taking the out stretched hand went against everything that made sense but I did it anyway.

  My hand burned inside his. I saw famine, plague, and fire. I saw the apocalypse begin and end. The world as I knew it crumbled.

  The book hung in the air between us.

  “You and I must talk,” John said. “Come inside.”

  He plucked the book from the air and led me back into the church.

  My fingers pulled the chain around my neck and sought the pendulum. I held it tight. If ever I needed to know Horlicks was there it was now. The quartz felt warm. He was close.

  I sat in a pew. John sat next to me. In front of us, standing at the plinth was the vicar. He smiled then spoke, “John is who he says. You were chosen. The book is yours to protect.”

  The book dropped with a thud into my lap.

  “But the nun?”

  “She protected the book throughout her life. Her life has moved on to a new but less corporeal plane.”

  She looked alive when I saw her.

  “Why didn’t she just bring me the book?”

  “Because that’s not how it works. You must work for the right to protect the book.”

  Oh, of course. Silly me.

  “I hardly worked for it. It wasn’t hard to find and John was easy to subdue.”

  “No one said it had to be hard, but there were steps you had to go through. Horlicks was one of them.”

  Hang on a minute. Horlicks is my guardian angel. How did the vicar know about him?

  The stone in my hand wriggled.

  Dammit. He was part of this. That was why he died so suddenly four years ago. Horlicks wasn’t always my guardian. He was once my friend. A friend who used to talk to me about angels and life purpose, among other more entertaining topics. Oh how I laughed when he told me my purpose could be to safeguard life as we know it.

  I’m not laughing now.

  “The book is mine. Can I read it?”

  John and the vicar both nodded. I let go the quartz and turned the book over in my hands. I opened the cover. Inside was a list of dates and names. I read them. The very last date was today’s and next to it was my name. The strange thing was all the names and dates were written in the same pen and the same handwriting; they looked as though they were written a long time ago.

  “Why is my name last?”

  “Because you have the book now, when the book moves on another name will appear.”

  “I don’t have to become a nun now do I?” Perish the thought. I very much doubted that I would make a good nun. That would be quite the epic fail.

  “No. You are to carry on living your life as you see fit. We only ask that you mind the book and keep it safe.”

  “From what exactly?”

  “Safe from th
ose who wish to use its knowledge for evil.”

  Sure, I can do that.

  “And I can read it?”

  Horlicks voice echoed around the room, “With knowledge comes power.”

  “And absolute power corrupts,” I replied. “I will keep it safe.”

  Unread is probably the best way to keep it safe.

  John disappeared in a shimmer of light.

  The vicar came and sat with me.

  “Horlicks will help you. I am always here if you need me. Questions will answer themselves when the time is right. It’s your turn now.”

  I nodded.

  With the book clasped in my hands I hurried down the driveway and back to my car.

  I whispered a goodbye to Sister Mary-Margaret. No wonder she said it was best if she contacted me.

  The End.

  4. Coming Home

  Cassie’s mother loved fairies. Her whole life Cassie listened to the fairy stories told to her by her mother. Her mum collected books about fairies; she also wrote and illustrated books about fairies. She swore there were fairies in the Dingly Dell at the bottom of her garden. Everyone said New Zealand didn’t have fairies. Fools.

  Cassie picked up the book from the chair next to her mother’s bed, her fingers caressed the water colour illustrations on the inner pages. She swallowed her sadness and began to read the story of Barbara the Bubblefairy aloud.

  Barb swung from the branch of the peppermint pine tree. She twirled with gymnastic ease. Far below on the forest floor the old greyhound Rumblebum stretched. Barb needed to get to the other side of the forest to retrieve the wooden Christmas box from its hiding place in the darkest cave. If she didn’t get it before morning, Christmas would be late.

  Late. That would never do.

  Of course, if she hadn’t been so busy swinging on branches and playing with candy canes and peppermint cones she wouldn’t be in such a pickle now. With a mischievous grin Barb hatched a plan.

  She wanted to run like Rumblebum. Run and run as fast as the wind. Sure twirling around branches was fun but running, that seemed like the most fun of all. She just needed to get Rumblebum to accept a gift from her and she could shift into his shape and run like a greyhound.