NO MORE GAMES – Part 4: The Canoe Ride


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“Sometimes, when someone loves another, the height of their affection is unimaginable,” Erica said.  Enjoy Part 4. 




Erica and Harry stood looking out the window of her house at a full moon.  She took his hand and squeezed.  “I’ve been sick this week,” she said.  “But I didn’t want to tell you.”


“Why?” he asked.


“Because you would’ve told me to rest and not come to see me,” she said.  “And I needed to see you this week.  This week was important, more than the other times.”


“You’re scaring me,” he said.  “Are you dying?”


“No,” she said.  “It’s nothing like that.”

“Then what is it?” he asked.


“Sometimes, when someone loves another, the height of their affection is unimaginable,” she said.  “Do you agree?”  He told her yes.  “And sometimes that affectionate can take over a person.”  She stared at him.  “I mean take them over.  Consume them, like fire consumes a building.  That’s where we are.  Can you feel what I’m saying?  In here?”  She poked him in the chest.  “In your heart?”


She made him nervous at times.  He would not be surprised to learn she was dangerous, a psychotic person.  But she was like a drug.  He could not get enough of her.  “I agree,” he said.  “We are there.”


“Good, let’s go on the ride,” she said.


They walked out the back door of her six thousand square feet house on the waterfront.  She led him by the hand to the canoe.  A picnic basket was inside.  He looked at her.  “What am I going to do with you?” he said and kissed her.


He helped her inside.  Then he got in and grabbed the oars.


She told him how romantic he was as he rowed them out into the darkness.  They were quiet and listened to the water.  After ten minutes of rowing, she asked him to stop.  The canoe drifted.  He leaned in and kissed her.


“Did you enjoy our unrushed time tonight?” she said with playful eyes.


“You know I did,” he said.  “It was the best.  One day it’ll be forever.”


“Good,” she said.  “Because you’ll like what I have for you.”  He looked her up and down.  “Not that yet.  A gift silly.  There.”  She nodded at the picnic basket.  “Pick it up and open it.  It’s heavy.  Don’t be slow about opening it.  Don’t torture me.”  She ran her tongue over her lips.  “I’m anxious to see if you like it.”


“It’s coming from you,” he said.  “I love everything you get me.”  He picked up the basket and put it in his lap.  “It is heavy.”  The canoe shifted from left to right.  He could not stop smiling.  “You’re so beautiful.”  He lifted the lid and squinted.  The moonlight was not enough light for him to see.


“Wait,” she said.  “It’s too dark.  You can’t see it.  I have a flashlight.  Cover your eyes.  Don’t ruin your surprise.”


She reached into her pocket and removed a small flashlight.  “Don’t look,” she said.  She leaned toward him and pointed the beam inside the picnic basket.  “Open them.”


He opened his eyes, smiling.  His expression shot to pure horror.  “Oh…what the hell…what the hell!”


I hope Part 4 gave you an idea of Erica’s surprise.  You’ll discover her love knows no boundaries.  How about yours?

I’ll see you tomorrow. 

Stephen Wallace



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There is something about being in a canoe with Erica.  I’m just not sure what it is.  Enjoy Part 3.




Erica and Harry were slow to get out of bed.  Her head was on his chest.  “I’m going to fall asleep if you keep stroking my hair,” Erica said.  She lifted her head.  “I want my canoe ride.  Let’s get dressed and get in the canoe and see where the night takes us.”


“Sounds good to me,” Harry said.


“Give me my boat ride, sir,” she said.  “And I have another surprise for you.”  Her lips brushed his ear.  “But you have to be a good boy.  Or you won’t get it.”  Her voice went from sultry to sinister.  She was like that.  Scary sometimes.  “You will be a good boy.  Right?”


“Aren’t I always?” he asked.


“No,” she said.  Her tone was hard.  “But we’ll work on that.”


Harry swallowed and wondered what her problem was now.  He tried to lighten the mood.  “Whatever you have planned, I can’t wait,” he said.


“I felt a hesitation in your voice,” she whispered.  “Be careful.  I may attack you.  It’s dark on the water.  And the world won’t see us.”


The lump in his throat was now hurting.  He was afraid of her.  He had taught himself to go along with her.  Things always turned out well when he did.  He refused her a few times.  The first time she smacked him.  The next time she choked him.  Both times she came back a few minutes later and said she was kidding with him.  So he told his best friends about her. They advised him to stop seeing her. He told them he could not and that he loved her.  He did agree to let his friends know where he and Erica were going when he went to see her.  So at least they knew about her.  But she did not know about them.


“That sounds like a threat,” he said.  “I’ll take it.”


“Oh, you will indeed,” she said.


They quickly put on their shorts and shirts.  The night was balmy.  It was ninety-six degrees with no wind.  Erica told him when the air was still, the night belonged to lovers.


I hope Part 3 made you want a late-night boat ride. 

I’ll see you tomorrow. 

Stephen Wallace



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Enjoy Part 2.  And remember that romantic is subjective.  One person’s romantic feeling is another person’s suspicion.     




HARRY LAY IN BED beside Erica and stroked her back and kissed her shoulder.  She turned over and faced him and stared at him.  Her red lips pouted just enough to grab his complete attention.


“What’s wrong?” Harry asked.


“Will you take me on an old-fashioned canoe ride?” she asked, circling his lips with her finger.  “I know it’s after midnight.  And you’re probably tired from work.  But it’ll be romantic.  It’ll be a great way to end our night.  And I have a surprise for you.  I think you’ll love it.”  She kissed him.


“You know I will,” he said.  “I’d love to take you on a canoe ride.  And I can’t say no to your surprises.  I can’t say no to you period.”  His eyes scanned her body.  His hand slid across her back.  She was a few years younger than his mother.  But he was not confused about who she was and what he was to her.  She did not remind him of his mother or her friends.  Her age was inconsequential.


“Are you sure you can tear yourself away from these sheets?” she asked.  He told her he would try.  “They’re your favorites.”  He was confused.  He did not have favorite sheets.  “You forgot.”  He squinted.  “They’re from Four Seasons, silly.”  He looked surprised.  “The night we flew there?  Did you forget?  NetJets?  Dinner?  Late-night walk?”  She paused.  “You forgot.”


“No, of course not,” he said.  “No one could forget that.  Who randomly flies to Naples on a one hour notice?”  He kissed her.  “That was my first time going to Italy.  And I had this amazing woman on my arm.  No one forgets a night like that.”


“I was worried,” she said.  “I thought you did.”  She put her forehead against his and pinched his cheeks.  “This is a reminder.”  He went to kiss her.  She twisted his cheeks.


“Ouch,” he said and pulled away.  “That was painful.”


She laughed.  “Now you’ll always remember that night,” she said.  “Anyway, before I checked us out of the hotel, I told them to add the entire bed to my bill.”  He pursed his lips.  “You said you loved the entire bed.  I’ve arranged for that bed to be in your apartment.  Not the bed we were on.  I’m keeping that one.  Yours is new.”


That gift worried him.  He did not know why.  But it did not feel normal.  The truth was that it felt weird.  She was acting strange tonight.  She was more edgy than usual.


I hope you enjoyed Part 2.  And remember what they say, do not take gifts from strangers. 

I’ll see you tomorrow. 

Stephen Wallace



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People fall in love for different reasons.  Sometimes love is so strong it will not be bridled.  It consumes everything in its path.  It crushes anyone who attempts to stop or alter it.  The price of a person’s interference with this level of love may be unbearable.


Enjoy the story. It will be either a 4 or 5 part story.  You will get a part every day. 


To give you quick insight:  Harry and Erica are in love.  How they fell in love is unimportant.  The level of their love is what is in question.  And when some people are in love, you don’t want to get in their way.




ERICA LAY BESIDE HARRY paralyzed with exhaustion.  Never had one man made her feel more like a woman than he had.  She knew what it felt like to be wanted.  Harry made her more than satisfied.


Harry was twenty-three.  But his age did not have any effect on his passion for her.  At forty-two she had had her share of lovers to compare him to.  He was excellent in every category.  She had only one complaint.  It was a minor problem that was solvable.  And it would be solved.


Harry was always in a hurry when he was with her.  She found that cute at times and rewarding.  It added to the passion he had for her.  It intensified their moments together.  There were rare occasions when they could relax in each other’s company.  But those days were a luxury.


There were, however, other benefits for having limited time.  It forced them to remove any awkward moments in their meetings.  They had to say and do what they wanted without delay.  It brought out honesty on every level of their relationship.  That alone was an intoxicating feeling to have.  ‘Just get to the point’ is rare for most to experience.


But even with all the positives, their hurried relationship irritated her.  It stole the normalcy from their relationship.  Everything was stripped down.  The playfulness was gone.  The sweet comments were often not said.  And at times, all the rushing turned Harry into a teenage boy.  She felt like his first real love.  He moved at warp speed.  He never took his time with her.  There was no holding her afterward.  He just got up and left.  It made her feel cheap.  And a woman like her would never be confused with cheap.


Harry also got embarrassed when she made a woman’s demand to him.  He tried to cover his insecurity with an expression of confidence.  He was far from having the confidence he would need to be with her.  But there was time for him to acquire it.  She would help him with it.


She guessed when she stepped back to see their relationship, she did not like it.  It was going to change.  And what better time to change it than tonight, she thought.


I hope you enjoyed Part 1.  I’ll see you tomorrow.

Stephen Wallace



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This is one of those stories that came out of nowhere.  It was in the corner of my mind.  Who knows?  It probably wanted to come out.  Enjoy it.


The Massive Rottweiler stormed out of the open door.  Bob turned around to the faint sounds of someone digging dirt.  The Rottweiler was kicking dirt and dust in the air.  He was running fast.


Bob started running.  With no one else in sight, he was the obvious target of the crazed animal.  A fence was approximately twenty feet in front of him.  The question was, could he get to it in time?  Then could he get over it?  His chances looked bleak.  The dog was gaining ground.


Bob assumed he was five feet away from the fence.  The dog was probably the same distance from him.  He imagined it was.  He was not about to lose ground by turning to look.


He jumped for the fence.  Something snipped his shoe as he did.  He could not think about it.  His fingertips just caught the top of the gate.  Three of his fingernails peeled back and tore away from the nail beds.  They dangled on by a piece of tissue.


Bob did not feel the pain as he hoisted himself up and over the fence.  The beast of a dog smashed headfirst into the fence just as Bob cleared it to get to the other side.  Bob landed in seven feet grass near the fence.  He cried out in pain when he hit the ground.


The dog barked voraciously and paced back and forth.  He was breathing hard.  He stopped from time to time and dug at the bottom of the fence.  It was as if he had changed tactics.  The fence was too high to clear.  But maybe there was a small opening under the fence that he could expand and get to his prey.


Bob felt the piercing sound of a whistle in his ears.  The dog’s ears perked up.  The sound was so sharp Bob covered his ears to stop from getting a headache from it.


The dog stared at Bob and growled.  He then turned and ran fast back toward the whistle.


Bob panted and reached down for his thigh.  He could not move it.  He pulled back the tall grass and felt faint from what he saw.


Part of a lawnmower was buried in the dirt.  Its blade had impaled Bob’s right thigh.  The two feet of the blade sticking up through his thigh was covered in blood.


So much for taking a short cut home, he thought.


I hope you enjoyed the story.

The next time you decide to take a short cut, make sure it is worth it.

See you next time!

Stephen Wallace




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I read an article that made me think of this story.  I’m always interested when people ask me if I believe in good and evil.  And, if something is good, why is there evil in it and vice versa?  It does make you think sometimes.  Enjoy the story.    


FLIGHT 601 DROPPED FROM the sky nose-first.


It was how the news anchors described it.  That was because witnesses in the rural and country areas of Udorn, Michigan told them that was how it happened.  But the passenger out of the two hundred and thirty passengers onboard flight 601 disputed the eyewitnesses’ accounts.  The passenger was Ernie Pilsner.


It had been ten years since the crash.  Ernie still struggled with how the plane crashed.  A few therapists told him he struggled with survivor regret.  He doubted their diagnosis.  He never regretted surviving.  He considered himself lucky to be the only survivor on that flight.


What he did have was a deep sadness.  He was sad for all those lost lives.  That still haunted him.  And one question stayed on his mind at all times.  Maybe he should have asked the right questions that day to the woman in the aisle.  Would the outcome have been different?  He would never know.  He remembers the sequence of events as if it were only yesterday.


The captain announced extreme turbulence on flight 601.  The plane shook and dipped.  The wings tilted from left to right.  The flight attendant came down the aisle attempting to be calm.  She assured everyone that everything was fine.  The captain had everything under control.


The passengers were still fastening their seat belts.  The seat belt warning sign had come on about a minute earlier.  The flight attendant made sure all the passengers were securely in their seats.  She then went and took her seat facing the passengers.  She even smiled a few times to cover her fears.  The passengers saw through her.  The plane went dark and dropped.


Screams went through the cabin.  Sounds of passengers slamming against the sides and top of the plane were all around him.  Passengers who were not wearing their seat belts were paying the price for it.  Arms and legs and heads went about striking other passengers in the faces and necks and everywhere.  That sent another wave of panic through the cabin.


The plane’s engines roared.  They were louder than before.  Screaming had increased.  Cries for help were coming from all sides.  All of this, including the darkness, was almost unbearable.  Then the lights came on.


Some passengers who wore seat belts were unconscious in their seats.  Some passengers lay in the aisle moaning.  Some were sobbing and groaning.  While some were not moving at all.  Their eyes and expressions and the way their bodies laid said they were dead.


Ernie was overwhelmed by the death and destruction.  He could not force himself to open his eyes to see it.  He just wanted it to be over.  He prayed for a miracle.  He prayed for help.  He barely felt the plane careening toward the ground.  But he knew the end was near.


Then he felt a hand on his shoulder.  He looked up and back.  A woman in a dark blue jacket and matching skirt stood beside him.  She was middle-aged and attractive.  She had dark hair and a pleasant warm smile.  He assumed it was the flight attendant.  But she was out cold in the seat upfront.


Ernie looked back and up at the woman.  Her hand was still on his shoulder.  He went to speak.


The woman leaned over and pressed her finger against his lips.  “It’s not your time,” she whispered.  “I’ll be back for you in twenty years to the day.  Until then, spread the word.”


“Are you an angel?” Ernie asked.  “What’s your name?”


She smiled and stared into his eyes.  He was still scared to death.  But in her eyes he saw no fear.  She winked and whispered, “I’m whatever gets you through this.  And I’m known by many names.”


Ernie could not remember anything after that.  He woke up two days later in the hospital.  He was questioned extensively.  He told his story to the FBI, Homeland Security, the police and agencies he had never heard of.


No one remembered the woman he saw on the flight.  None of the airport cameras picked her up.  Her face was not on any camera, or anywhere.  Some therapists thought Ernie’s mind might have made this woman up to help him control his fear.


Ernie never cared what they thought.  It was the tenth anniversary of the plane crash.  He still wondered what the words were that he was supposed to spread.  And who was that woman?


I hope you enjoyed the story if you did send it to someone who may also like it.  And please leave your email and follow me.

Have a great week.

Stephen Wallace   

Not My Life


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I had a conversation with a stranger once about their life.  It was an odd and happenstance meeting.  They appeared to want to talk to unload.  And so I listened.  The tone of this story is of that conversation.  At the time, the conversation was uncomfortable for me.  At the end, they thanked me for listening.  I wished them the best.  Now that I have rambled, enjoy “Not My Life.”   

Not My Life


Evette was embarrassed.  She did not want to be.  She struggled to understand why some things happened the way they did.  That confused her at times.  She dealt with that.  It was the damn guilt that held her back from being free.  It clouded her view of right and wrong.  She was not wrong.


Her mind-numbing battle pulled her where she desperately did not want to go.  It tricked her.  It made her think that what she did was unforgivable.  And that was not true.  It was forgivable.  And when she looked at the circumstances, it was clear that it was not her fault.  She was the victim.


She dared anyone to put themselves in her position.  Her life was nothing less than a living hell.  It was a torturous wheel that went round and round.  It never stopped let to her off.  The guilt never went away.  It crushed her at times where she could not breathe.  Each time she cheated was worse.  She wished she could stop it all.  But it was not her decision.  It was Jack’s.  He drove her to it.


Jack and Evette met thirty years ago.  He was muscular and strong.  A dark complexion that said he lived at the beach.  There was no shortage of women admirers for a good reason.  Jack was more than just a desired physique.  Women craved to be with the Ph.D. on his resume.  Smart and impressively built.  What else could a woman want from her man?


But the years saw him throw it all away.  Too many drinks.  Too many late-night dinners.  Too much golf with the boys.  The boys were close to sixty and seventy years old now.  But it was the life he chose.


Evette tried to warn him that he was getting soft around the middle.  He was too busy to exercise and take care of himself.  For years she tried to show him what he had become.  Then one day she stopped showing him.  That day was still clear in her mind.  The emotions, however, had changed from excitement and butterflies to dread and darkness.


It was an afternoon in August.  Rick, their next-door neighbor, came home.  She heard his Porsche and peeked out the window.  He was a handsome forty-year-old who took care of his body.  She always peeked at him when she got the chance.  She planned her schedule around his coming and going when she could.


That day he looked in her direction.  She froze before she eased back from the window.  She always released the curtain slowly to avoid being seen.  It did not work that day.  She had let it go too fast and he saw her.


Rick knocked on her door.  She did not want to open it.  The fear of what she thought and what she wanted to do would be all over her face.  She crossed her arms and was quiet.  But he did not go away and knocked again.


She opened the door.  They had met three times.  Each time was uncomfortable for her.  He seemed to relish in her fidgety nature.  He played with it.  Once he had a neighborhood barbeque at his house.  His wife and kids were inside.  Jack was talking with other neighbors.


Rick was the attentive host.  Too much so for Evette.  She knew he was flirting with her.


She told herself it was wrong but harmless.  And why not accept a little attention from others?  She was a fifty-seven-year-old woman.  She had suffered from her weight and self-esteem issues her entire life.  A little flirtation was a great pick-me-up.  That was all it was.  That was all it would ever be.


Evette climbed out of bed and wrapped the sheet around her body.  Rick finished putting his shoes on.  He was in a hurry.  They went over the one hour he had planned for lunch.  Two hours with his car parked in his driveway would not be easy to explain to his wife if she saw it.


Evette felt so ashamed and stupid.  How could she let him convince her that a little pleasure between neighbors was okay if no one got hurt?  Someone always got hurt.  Their one-time affair ended that day.


Three months later, Evette was on-call whenever the urge hit Rick.  He was no different than the six or seven previous men.  Her only hope was that he tired of her sooner than later.  And just move on and not look back.  Because if he did, or for that matter any of those from the past, she would abide.  She did not know how much more she could take.


She could not face what she thought she was.  And she could not accept responsibility for what had happened.  Life circumstances were to blame.  She did not make herself overweight.  Wrinkles were not her choice.  Aging was not her fault.  Life put her where she was.  That she could accept.


Her self-esteem sunk to an all-time low.  Her anger was at an all-time high.  When Rick knocked on her door that first afternoon and was with her and saw her crying afterward, he left.  He left without comforting her.  He was in a hurry, after all.


She should have known better.  She wished her husband had never changed.  But if Rick did not show her a little more kindness, what would happen to him would not be her fault.


I look forward to the next time.  If you enjoyed this story, send it to someone.  And please leave your email to follow my blog. 


Stephen Wallace

WHY ME? – Part 2


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 Enjoy the last of the story.  And remember, some lives should not be a secret.  Pleasant dreams. 


Home is where the love is.


Part – 2


Kyle was angry for not killing Lucy.  He was more upset with himself.  He assisted Lucy in ruining his life.


Lucy was his next-door neighbor.  She meddled in everyone’s affairs.  She would knock on a neighbor’s door with the pretense of borrowing something.  The entire time she would try to sneak a peek inside their homes.  That is what happened to Kyle that afternoon.


He had finished lunch.  He was excited to get to his new fascination.  He was about to clean up the plate and glass from the table.  The doorbell rang.  He initially ignored it.  But his car was parked in the driveway.  People would have known he was home.


To be neighborly, he opened the door.  He regretted it immediately.


Lucy stood in the doorway.  She must have sensed Kyle was not going to talk to her.  She put one foot in the doorway to ensure the door stayed open.  Kyle would never close it on her foot.


Kyle was speechless.  She was more aggressive than usual.  Then, in front of him, his world began to fall apart.


Lucy’s face turned sour.  The corners of her mouth turned down.  She held her breath.  Her nose wrinkled.  Her head recoiled.  She then turned her head sideways and vomited.  She spewed it halfway on the steps and on the side of the house.


Kyle asked if she wanted to come in.  He reached and grabbed her arm.  She backed away.  Fear was in her eyes.  Her five feet frame and portly body were not strong enough to shake his grip.


Kyle pulled her to him.  Under the circumstances, he could not allow her to leave.  It should have been easy to keep her there.  She had an attraction to him.  She was married.  But it did not seem to matter to her.  She had even bumped him with her butt a few times.  It was when he was at her home for a neighborhood cookout.  She had asked him to reach a pan for her from a tall cabinet.  It was then that she leaned over to look in the cabinets below for something.  Her butt just so happened to grind against his leg a few times.  Now here she was on his steps trying to leave.


Kyle begged her to come inside.  He told her they could make love as she wanted.  He would be her puppet.  She could be his family.


She screamed and jerked her arm away.  The sleeve of her red sweater ripped off her arm.  At the same time she twisted and fell backward.  Her feet went in the air and off the steps.  Her body bounced off the concrete.


Kyle held nothing but her sleeve.  She scrambled to get up.  Kyle threw the sleeve down and went down the steps to grab her.  In one quick motion she was to her feet and running.  She was barefoot.  Her sandals had come off and were at the bottom of the steps.


Kyle chased after her.  He was telling her how much he loved her.  She was fast.  He knew he would never catch her before she got home.  And if he broke in to get her, the neighbors would know it was him anyway.  They watched everyone and everything.  Nosey neighbors.


That was twenty minutes ago.  It was when he first heard the sirens.  Lucy betrayed him.


He could have left his home for good.  Long before the police arrived.  But he could not force himself to abandon them.  One more look, he thought.


He stood up and went to the bedrooms.  In the first bedroom was Leslie, twenty-nine.  The second bedroom was Janice, thirty-one.  The third was Helen, thirty-five.  All full-figured women.  Ideal for him.  They were every man’s dream.  They treated him like he was the only one in their lives.  They were loyal.  They were unlike his wife.  She was a cheat.  She earned her place in the basement.


The sirens were now in his driveway.  He could see out the sheer curtains.  Police officers with guns were everywhere.  What could they arrest him for?  He was not hurting the women.  They were all there under their free will.  It was not like they had any other place to be.  No one wanted them.  They were abandoned.  He claimed them as his own.


Instead of them rotting all alone with no one to care for them, he gave them a home.  Why should they have suffered in six feet deep dark holes in the ground?  They were just like him.  They needed care, too.


Knock!  Knock!  Knock!  Knock!  Police!


I hope you enjoyed this dark tale if you did send it to a friend.  And follow my blog.  

Until next time.

Stephen Wallace          



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Why Me? is a 2-part story.  I got the idea for the story while watching the local news.  The news story was both shocking and unbelievable.  You almost wanted it to be made up.  Of course, I added my own twist to the story.  I wish I could tell you more.  But I would give away too much.  With that, enjoy Part 1.


PART – 1


Kyle sat in the leather chair.  His eyes were closed.  A half-smile was on his face.  Blue Velvet by Bobby Viton played in the background.  Sirens outside were in the distance.  They were not as faint as two minutes ago.  The six or seven or more were getting closer.  They seemed to collide into one.


Kyle watched the front door.  His hands were on the armrests.  His back was straight.  Feet flat on the floor.  He was like a statue, still.


Five cans of Lysol spray were on the small table next to him.  He cut his eyes to the right and left.  He wondered how his world got to this point.  Three days ago he was happy.  It was the first time in five years he felt this way.  That was when his mom died.  He never thought he would smile again.  Never.


He remembered when his life changed from everyday drudgery and pain to purpose.  It was that day that he realized his life was different.  And it was going to be different from now on.  It just clicked.


One evening he came home for his daily lunch.  He went into the refrigerator.  The turkey and swiss cheese sandwich and tall glass of orange juice were waiting for him.  It was always waiting for him.  Every night before going to bed he made it and poured the glass of orange juice.  It was his favorite lunch.  Rarely did he have anything other than that.


The lunch did not taste extraordinary.  It was bland.  But it was easy and fast to make.  He gobbled it down in ten minutes.  That left him thirty minutes to pursue his hobby.  Over the last ten months it was no longer a hobby.  It had elevated to part of his life.  Now it appeared that it was about to alter his life again.


Kyle pushed his six feet, four-inch frame up and out of the chair.  His two hundred-and sixty-five-pound body felt heavy.  He was not sure if it was his weight that made him feel that way or his heart.  It ached.  He could hardly breathe.  It hurt so much.


He found life cruel and unfair.  It was as if a bitter cold had blown in and ended summer.


He picked up a can of Lysol in each hand.  They were tall cans.  One was lemon-scented.  The other was a summer breeze.  He shook them hard.  Then he pointed them in the air and sprayed the air.  He kept the nozzles pressed down as he walked through the house.


He generously sprayed the family room.  The kitchen got a quick spray.  The hallways and walls were doused with spray.  The first bedroom of the ranch house was sprayed for ten seconds.  The next two bedrooms received the same.  After each bedroom, he looked around the room before shutting the door.


He dropped the empty cans in the hallway and went back to his chair.


He flopped down in the chair.  His shoulders slouched.  His body sunk into despair and down into the chair.  The sirens were closer.  They were warning him.  His life.  His wonderfully designed life was coming to an end.  Ruined in one quick moment.


He wiped tears from his eyes.  His thick fingers rubbed Lysol residue into his eyes.  It did not matter.  Here he was, a forty-year-old man acting like a baby.  He was embarrassed.


And if the mood could not get any more desperate and lonelier, The Bee Gees were in the background singing How Can You Mend A Broken Heart.


“You can’t,” he whispered.  His lower lip trembled.  “No one can.”  His shoulders shook as his head hung down.  Tears poured down his cheeks.


He had one thought in this crisis.  He wished for a Genie.  Just one wish.  That was all he needed.  Just one.  He swallowed.


He should have Killed Lucy.  He should have killed her immediately.


I hope you got a good feel of who Kyle is.  If you like this story, pass it on.  And sign up to follow me.  I’ll keep you posted on new writings. 

I will see you next time.

Stephen Wallace



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Enjoy Chapter 5.


Detective Tilman stood in front of the closed pool gate.  Thirty or forty people stood outside the gate.  Some had cold drinks in their hands.  Some fanned themselves with cardboard.  Everyone wore shorts.  Most wore tee-shirts and flip flops.  Mumbling about the sun and heat rippled through the group and grew louder.  Sweat poured from some more than others.  Few armpits were dry.


Detective Tilman heard enough.  “Stop being so ungrateful,” he said.  His face was red and wet.  His shirt and pants were also soaked.  He gasped to catch his breath.  More than a few times he was dizzy.  “Now ya’ll know we’re waiting on Mayor Jeffery.  He gets the first look at this situation.  So stop your bellyaching.”


Tilman stuck his neck out and looked toward the back of the line.  “Leonard.  Jimmy.  Dooley.”  He yelled at the line of people while looking past them.  Three boys around twelve to fourteen ran up to him.  “Go in there and get some more refreshments and get them to the people.  The boys ran around the pool toward Mary’s house.


“More soft drinks are coming,” Tilman said to the line of people.  “So get your wallets out and pay those boys.  Young men working hard so you can see the threat to the fruits of this town’s labor is no more.  Don’t be stingy about paying.  And there’s no credit.  Pay the full price.  Or you get nothing.”


Tilman looked over his shoulder.  The sound of a car had gotten his attention.  A gray Lincoln sedan parked in the driveway of Mary’s home.  A grandfatherly man stepped out of the driver’s side.  He was short.  He wore a white short sleeve shirt and tan shorts.  He was balding and overweight.  He looked to be late seventies.  A woman wearing the same outfit got out of the passenger’s side.  Her hair was white.  She was petite and about mid-seventies.


Tilman turned to the people in line.  Many were talking.  Some were still complaining about the heat.  “Everybody calm down,” Tilman said.  “The mayor is going to speak.”  He turned to the man and woman who were now behind him.  “Go ahead, your honor.”


Mayor Jeffery cleared his throat.  “Detective Tilman called me this afternoon with the sad news,” Mayor Jeffery said.  “One of our long time and respected citizens had lost her life in the most drastic way.”  He shook his head.  “She drowned from too much consumption.”  People clapped and cheered.  “Now, wait a minute.”  People kept clapping.  “Hold on.”


“Be quiet!” Tilman yelled.  “Go ahead, sir.”


“Mary lost her way when she decided to testify against Bane Town,” Jeffery said.  “But what you don’t know is that Mary called me last night.”  Everyone was quiet.  “She apologized for taking our money.  Racked with the guilt she was.  So, let’s say our goodbyes.  And mean it.  And thank Detective Tilman for allowing us to come to Mary’s house with her body still in the pool to see her one last time.”


The mayor and his wife, Janet, walked by Mary’s body first.  The others in the line followed.  Despite what the mayor said about Mary, it did not change people’s minds.  Some said, “She deserved it.”  “She was greedy.”  “Someone probably did her in.”  “The town’s better off.”


Cars and trucks drove by honking their horns.


The mayor pulled Tilman aside.  “Finish with your investigation?” Jeffery asked.

Tilman told him it was brief and extensive.  Jeffery nodded.  “That’ll do for me,” Jeffery said.  “When people finish stomping on her grave, have the coroner cremate her.  No need hanging onto the body.  It’ll bring up too many questions.”


“Already told the coroner,” Tilman said.  Jeffery smiled and walked away.  Tilman turned back to the group walking by Mary’s body.  “Keep moving people.  Keep moving.  We don’t have all night.”


I hope you enjoyed the final chapter.

See you soon.

Stephen Wallace