Science Fiction: Welcome to my Worlds

Matchmaker
by Don
(copyright 2009)

Ryan yawned and stared bleary-eyed at the time projected on the ceiling in foot-high numbers by the nightstand clock: 3:13 AM. He sighed. The bathroom called—even if it was Saturday and no other earthly reason to get up. Linda’s arm was across his chest and her soft warmth pressed against his nakedness. He patted her pert bottom fondly. He had already risen to the occasion… but he knew that any attempt to rouse her before 10, for any reason, would meet with a chilly reception.

Gently he slid her arm off his chest, threw back the covers, and clicked on the night light. Its feeble single watt of illumination was enough to show his way clearly to the bathroom… and reveal the night-gowned little girl perched across the room on the bureau. She gave him a cheerful wave.


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“I’ll explain in the morning, Little Miss. It is late now. Try to go back to sleep. I think it will not happen again.”

She started to protest, then shrugged and blinked sleepily and sank back into the covers as Rajiid turned out the light.

The twinge he felt in his head told him he’d done that even though it certainly hadn’t been a conscious thing. He sighed. He supposed he already know it. His talent wasn’t gone at all. Just buried.

The head flew off the madly spinning doll and bounced off two walls before dropping to the floor.

“Missy!!!”

Her eyes opened, squinting at the light. Confused, she sat up slowly and looked at the mess in the room and her father standing over her. “Daddy, what’s the matter? Why’d you wake me? What happened?”

“You were… having a nightmare.” How much should he tell her now? It was a very long story and still the middle of the night.

“It wasn’t…” She stopped quickly, looking embarrassed. “How did…?” Her face flushed bright red and she avoided looking at him.

Puzzled at first, he thought quickly back to his own childhood. “Oh.” Embarrassed, he could feel his own face growing warmer. And, from what he’d read, the sexual tensions were much more pronounced in girls exhibiting the talent. He started to stroke her hair soothingly, then thought better of it and wound up giving her sort of a pat on the head.

“Missy.” He spoke softly and restrained himself from shaking or nudging her. From his own experiences, he knew that was not a good idea. She had always been a heavy sleeper, though, so he might wind up having to shout to wake her. He thought was pretty sure that once she woke the phenomena would be interrupted and she could then continue sleeping normally without the side effects from her wakening talent. As far as he knew this was the first time—or second, he supposed if you counted the occurrence with the intruders in India—that it had manifested. She started breathing more erratically, almost in quick gasps, as a smug-looking smile spread on her face.

“Missy, Wake up!” It wasn’t exactly a shout, but he was glad they didn’t have any tenants in the motel yet. Still she didn’t wake. But apparently she did notice and was working it into her dream… and not necessarily in a good way. The smile faded slowly and a frown took its place.

Still suspended in the air, the doll began spinning end-over-end. Faster and faster until it became a blur. The Hawking picture accelerated abruptly in his direction, still spinning as well. He didn’t have time to raise an arm before it smashed itself to splinters of glass and twisted fragments of metal six inches from his stomach.

Chapter 5

Rajiid was having a hard time keeping his eyes open as he rocked in his favorite chair in front of the wall-mounted HDTV. Some comedian was droning on about something and he couldn’t seem to keep his mind on it long enough to decide if it was funny. Really should get up and go to bed before…

Thump. CRASH!!! His eyes popped open wide. It was coming from Missy’s room! He jumped up from the chair, swiping the half-empty glass of soda with his elbow in his haste, knocking it to the floor and spilling the contents on the carpet. No time for that now.

Hurrying down the hallway, he reached for the doorknob of Missy’s room barely getting it open a crack when something SMASHED into splinters on the wall beside the door scattering fragments of colored ceramic across his slippers. He reached toward the wall dimmer and flicked it into semi-brightness with his fingertip. Continuing into the room, he ignored a rag doll which bobbed and swooped beside a spinning framed photo of Stephen Hawking.

Missy tossed and turned on the bed but, oddly he thought, the expression on her face seemed quite happy. She was breathing heavily and the covers were twisted and tangled around her.

witches itching to lead you astray. If any have the powers they claim… they certainly don’t come from God.” He shook his head at them slowly to show his disappointment. Then shook his finger and roared, “YOU KNOW WHAT THE BIBLE SAYS about Diviners, Witches and Sorcerers!” He heard many cries of “Burn them!” over the general noise. He waited a minute for their belated enthusiasm to quiet then impatiently chopped it off with a gesture. The silence was immediate.

Rather more timidly than usual, Ron heard Dr Parker ask, “What should we do Pastor Hoagie?”

“There are things you can do.” He motioned for his assistants to begin passing out pamphlets. By now they should be much more receptive to the suggestions contained within. Looking into the active camera and waving a copy of the pamphlet he added, “Those of you at home may access this information on our website at the address shown on your screen.” He made a universally encompassing gesture. “My friends, there is only One True Way to the kingdom of God. All others must come to the Way or…” he shrugged, “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

their own ends or line their own pockets?” Only a few scattered hands were raised hesitantly. “I know you’ve seen them. You might as well be honest… God is watching too.” Over half the hands were now raised. He had already made sure that four such insults to God were discredited and others were in the works. “You see this every day… and you do nothing.”

“How many of you watch the news and see those of other beliefs—particularly Muslims—spit on Christianity and call for what they refer to as a Holy War?” Nearly every hand was in the air. “How many of you realize these people are not acquainted with God—and have no conception of the real God—but merely follow the lunatic ravings of some who pretend to be Holy Men?”

Again a sea of hands. As he spoke, a contingent of his elite commandos was en route to take out the worst of the Muslim spiritual leaders. By tomorrow it would hit the news. “You see this nearly every night on the news… and you do nothing.”

A murmur of surprised agreement rippled through the huge cathedral. “How many of you have called a Psychic Hotline or consulted one in person or through your home computer recently?” Without thinking, over half the congregation raised their hands. Ron made no effort to hide his disgust. “These are false prophets. Many are

difficult, he knew. He raised his hand and struck the podium a hard blow with the flat of his hand making it CRACK into the microphone. “Before we ascend to the Throne of Heaven we must cleanse the earth!” The shocked silence was total. He spoke slowly and distinctly, confident he had their full attention. “You wouldn’t leave your trash on the ground after a picnic, would you?”

He had to struggle not to smile as he saw a small boy bend down quickly to pick up a gum wrapper he’d discarded and slip it into his pocket. Would that his son were so attentive and obedient. Ron could see him sitting there beside his mother—who had always been an asset to his ministry—with that sullen look on his face he always wore in church. Ron just couldn’t figure where the boy got his stubborn, belligerent streak. And his lack of reverence for the Lord.

“I know none of you are going to be waiting in line for the Beast to stamp his mark on your foreheads.” Ron smacked his own for emphasis. “But it doesn’t seem to register that many of you do things nearly as bad every day.” He nodded at the surprised murmurs from the crowd.
“True as the gospel of John.” He waved his finger in general at all of them. “How many of you have seen television evangelists who twist the Word of God to suit

to make sure the rest of his audience could too. “Many of you know the End of Days is nearly at hand.” He sliced off the murmur of approval with a gesture. “But how many of you know what that means?” A few eager hands raised in the congregation including one of his best contributors in the front row who loved the limelight. Ron gestured for an attendant to hand him a microphone.

“We must prepare to meet our maker.”

“Very good Dr. Parker.” Once again he swept the crowd with his gaze searching for signs of understanding. “The key word is prepare. God expects more from the truly faithful.”
Interpreting his words as another request for money, he saw Dr. Parker get a big smile and make a show of flashing some thousand dollar bills from his wallet where those sitting around him could see. “Money is a useful tool in the service of the Lord, my friends, but this time I ask you for more than mere money.”

He could see Dr. Parker’s smile fade to a look of complete puzzlement… something reflected now in many faces of the congregation. Money was easy. They were used to giving and they could see the results, such as the magnificent church they were standing in. Getting them motivated to do something—even in the service of their Lord—would be much more

Chapter Four

Ron couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride and accomplishment in the new church as he looked out on the thousands of new faces in the crowd. Many were standing, making enthusiastic praise gestures to their brethren as they spoke about the Glory of God and their place in the hierarchy as members of his ministry. He could see there were only a very few seats still open.

Soon even this huge cathedral would be outgrown. There were already people at work finding the best location in Chicago for his next church. He stood at the entrance to the stage and let their spirit soak into him for another minute before stepping out. Their roar of approval hit him like a wave and, behind that, he sensed a Presence that could only be the Holy Spirit itself.

Ron fairly floated to the podium, buoyed by the support he would need for this nights work. Hidden from sight of the congregation, six cameras were ready to carry his words to the remotest corner of the world. Raising his hands, Ron was gratified by the instant silence. He swept his gaze over the crowd who seemed to barely breathe as they waited in anticipation. Then his attention narrowed to the camera with a red beacon above its lens. This crowd could feel his presence. He needed

There are big differences between Science Fiction, Fantasy and Horror genres and you will probably find many different definitions of them. My purpose here will be to define them in a practical manner so you will know what I mean when I refer to them in the future. One caveat I should mention: In general, I tend to like both science fiction and fantasy-- but I do NOT usually like novels (or movies) in the horror field. That prejudice may show in my definition. :)

Science Fiction is usually thought of in terms of hard science: That is, spaceships and other futuristic technology which is at least reasonably projectable from some aspect of current technology. Some people (myself included) also think that at least some paranormal phenomena, i.e. psionics, telekinesis, clairvoyance, telepathy, astral travel and etc. should also be included in the category of Sci-Fi, IF they are presented in the proper manner, even though they don't spring from a root science that has been acceptably 'proven' to be true as yet.

Now why should that be, you might indignantly ask. Because, as in many other areas, sometimes the appearance of something is more important than its underlying reality. Paranormal phenomena may turn out to be complete pseudo-science but, as long as the possibility of its validity exists, and it is presented as science rather than supernatural, in the story, then it should fall under the heading of Science Fiction. As an example, the Darkover novels of (now deceased) Marion Zimmer Bradley (based totally on the psionic science of laran) are unquestionably science fiction because of their technological background. The Pliocene Exile series of Julian May is another excellent example of psionics in a technological setting.

That being said, I would add that this applies only to the areas of the paranormal which can (pseudo)scientifically be considered to spring from human origin. Stories about ghosts and demons, for example, normally fall under the supernatural heading and would always be fantasy UNLESS some story twist shows that said ghosts or demons are, in fact, misunderstood extraterrestrials. Alien species almost always fall under the heading of science fiction.

Generally speaking, it is the attitude of Fantasy that 'anything goes' which distinguishes it from Science Fiction. When you are talking about the BEST of fantasy, however, you will usually find there are underlying rules, even in the use of magic. Even though magic or sorcery has NO basis in scientific fact, if the author does not provide some method of operation for their magical system it quickly becomes meaningless. The Lafayette O' Leary novels of Keith Laumer are a great read and good examples of providing a magical system of operation.

Again, it is a question of attitude which distinguishes Horror from Science Fiction. Superficially, the genre of Horror may appear quite similar to that of Science Fiction in that it has many of the same elements such as aliens and futuristic technology. That's where the similarity ends. Science Fiction normally provides a more well rounded representation in that it depicts aliens who are different enough to provide needed conflict for the story but still shown as 'people'. That is they are represented as intelligent beings with their own set of priorities and needs which don't necessarily coincide with those of humans.

The horror genre presents a much simpler context in which aliens are always 'monsters' without any regard for more subtle factors. In short, a Horror novel or movie is designed with the quick thrill of terror in mind (much as you might get from riding a roller coaster) and no depth of character at all.

The best example of Science Fiction versus Horror I can think of occurred in the TV series Earth: Final Conflict. When the series began, and for the first few seasons, it was unquestionably Science Fiction. It was even good Science Fiction. Then, apparently the ratings fell a bit and the producers decided to go for something 'tried and true' (translate seriously cliche') like alien monsters. So their interesting aliens reverted to alien monsters... no doubt to the delight of twelve year old juveniles everywhere. And, their wonderful Science Fiction series became a Horror atrocity. Television (and sometimes movie) producers have an unfortunate tendency to shoot for the lowest common denominator when making SF flicks... but that's another topic.

I don't expect everyone to necessarily agree with my definitions... but it is how I see them.

“Bill Jones. I’ll be back by sometime but I may not be the one who pays for the next week.” Rajiid must have looked his shock because the man continued, “Don’t worry. I’ve been around enough to know an honest man when I see one. Later.”

Jones climbed in the truck, revved the engine and was soon lost to sight down the highway. Amazingly enough, on the nearly deserted stretch of highway another beat-up looking blue car passed the truck before it could get up to speed. Rajiid would be willing to bet it wouldn’t stay ahead long. “Always in a hurry. I guess I will have to get used to the way these Americans do business.”

to give the repair service another call first thing in the morning. The driver slowed, then stopped in his tracks. “Sir, I really don’t have time right now. I’m already late.”

“Surely you would want to see what you will be getting for your money. I had not intended to charge quite so much…”

Missy gave Rajiid a sharp look and interrupted. “But for exclusive use, it certainly isn’t too much. We may have to turn other customers away.”

He glanced toward his truck, still running by the road, then nodded. “You may be right. It is very important that my people have exclusive use for the time they are here.” He pulled a huge wad of bills from his pocket making Missy’s eyes widen. Hastily he peeled off fourteen one hundred dollar bills and stuffed them into Rajiid’s shirt pocket. “That’s $1400 for the first week. They’ll probably be hungry and thirsty too so you might stock some sandwiches and beer before they come.” Turning away, he started to move rapidly back toward the truck.

Even if he didn’t have boots and a cowboy hat, this American was crazy. “I must at least give you a receipt. Come with me to the office. It will just take a minute. I don’t even know your name.”

“Hi. Are you the new owner of the motel?”

Rajiid squeezed his eyes shut tightly for just a second. “Yes, yes. Are you needing a room for the night?”

The trucker looked surprised. “Me? No, not at the moment. But we will be having more drivers by shortly and some of them will.” He coughed at the dust still swirling in the air from the passage of his truck. “Sorry, allergies. I stopped to ask if you would be interested in an exclusive agreement for one week each month.” He seemed to still be having trouble breathing and had pause for a few quick breaths. “I can offer you $100 per day per room.” Rajiid was so startled he didn’t react at all for a minute. The driver added, “Payable in advance.”

Rajiid beamed at the driver. It looked like this might not be such a money-losing prospect after all. He had a fairly comfortable economic cushion after all his years of owning the pharmacy but this would be all to the good. “I see no problem with that at all. Come, let me show you around.” He gestured toward the nearest motel unit and motioned the trucker to follow.

Missy stepped in front of him shaking her head. “Not number six. Remember?”

He winked at her and smoothly redirected the driver toward the next cabin in line. He would have to remember

“Sarah told me her dad uses this road a lot when his truck is overloaded.”

Rajiid’s interest was caught. “So you are making friends already. Good! You must tell me about this Sarah.”

“I was meaning to ask you if she could spend the night sometime…”

Rajiid had just opened his mouth to answer when the driver succeeded in getting the big rig stopped and, leaving it parked along the road, hopped out and started walking rapidly toward them. “Perhaps we have a customer. Are the rooms all ready to be occupied?”

“They’re all cleaned with fresh sheets and everything, but number six still has that hole in the back wall. Unless the workmen have fixed it already.”

Rajiid got a pained expression. “I knew I was forgetting something. Thank you, Little Miss. You have really pitched in to help get ready for the opening.”

“A maid is still a good idea…”

Rajiid was expecting a cowboy hat and boots from what he’d heard about truckers, but this fellow was really quite nondescript. He wouldn’t have gotten a second glance from the people who’d frequented his pharmacy. Instantly, Rajiid regretted thinking about the pharmacy as images of Anna swept through his mind.

She shrugged, obviously not at all concerned. He noticed her eyes kept straying back to the workmen. “Not much logic in anything teachers do if you ask me. School is pretty boring here anyway. They won’t let me test out of anything. They must think everyone is retarded.”

“Missy!”

“Well, it’s stupid for me to go through stuff I already know about. Having an extra day off can’t be a bad thing anyway.”

Watching her eye the workmen, Rajiid wasn’t so sure about that. He almost welcomed the distraction as a big truck came roaring down the road. Rajiid thought he saw the driver do a doubletake as he saw the motel sign. Then the big rig’s wheels were sliding and the engine strained to absorb the momentum as the driver downshifted. Black smoke poured from the exhaust pipe and the truck reluctantly began to slow, growling its displeasure.

Rajiid was quite sure he had been exceeding the posted speed limit. But then, that seemed to be something that was mostly ignored in America. Along with traffic etiquette. He disliked driving even in the nearby town of Fort Scott. “That is odd. I thought most of the big trucks usually take the four lane highway.”

“Take it up!” The foreman of the work crew called to the crane operator. As the cable tightened, the new sign, bearing the logo ‘Motel 666’, rose slowly into the sweltering dry air. Heat waves shimmered from the newly asphalted lot. Most of the shirtless workmen were sweating profusely as they heaved the lower end of the pipe into position over the hole. It dropped down with a ‘plonk’ and several of them started pouring in wheelbarrows of concrete around it as another made sure it was set plumb.

Rajiid knew the motel was more an excuse than a real business, but he still couldn’t help feeling a twinge of pride as the sign went up and they prepared to open. If they actually got any business it would be a plus. Then he noticed Missy. Thankfully she was dressed decently now, in her skirt and frilly blouse, but she was certainly displaying far more interest in the workmen than he would have liked. He doubted she even noticed there was a new sign. “Where is your school bus?”

“Didn’t I tell you? They’re having a big teacher’s conference in Kansas City today. I get a three day weekend!”

“But you just started a week ago and your school will close for summer vacation in less than a month!”

Sometimes he wondered if they should have picked another country for relocation. But he did have family here—or at least in Kansas City—and his brother’s descriptions of America had always been very positive. “People in American sue each other over the oddest things. Well then, we could call it Motel 66… after that famous road.

She pointed out the window at the empty street. “But we’re not on route 66. If you want to name it for a road, shouldn’t it be the one we’re on?” Missy looked at him and then at the cat who seemed quite dissatisfied that its food dish was empty. “You even named our cat Six!”

Rajiid shrugged. “It has six toes.” Noticing she had their attention, the cat rubbed against Rajiids leg looking pointedly at the empty dish. Unlike daughters, cats were at least fairly transparent about their needs and interests. He refilled the dish, earning a contented purr.

“I still think you’re buggy about sixes.”

“Buggy?”

“Kids at school say that. It means crazy or obsessed, I think.”
Rajiid raised an eyebrow at her.

“Sorry Daddy.”

“Well, since I am ‘buggy’ about sixes, I guess we’ll just have to call it…”
* * *

“Daddy, what are you going to call this place? It needs a name that will stick in people’s heads since it’s practically in the middle of nowhere.” She looked out the window at the empty road in front pointedly. “Shouldn’t you have asked your brother about locations and such before you bought this?”

He had already heard from his brother on the subject. His email hadn’t spared the adjectives in describing either his choice or his judgment in picking the location. But, until he discovered how much of his unasked-for talents Missy had inherited, it was the perfect place to keep her out of trouble and keep others from coming to accidental harm from her. Not knowing how to get started on an explanation of that, he decided to answer the first question. “I was going to put up a big sign with ‘Motel’ on it.”

She looked like she’d just spit out a bug. “Motel?! You can’t just call it ‘Motel’. That would be like naming a restaurant ‘Eat’!” She reached down to pet the cat that dropped in and made itself at home the day they arrived.

He hadn’t really given it much thought. “How about Motel 6 then?” Rajiid gave her a little grin and patted the cat's paw with his finger.

“No good. Someone already has that name. You’d get sued.”

Chapter 3

Rajiid swept the last of the dust bunnies into the dustpan and looked up as he caught a motion from the corner of his eye. Just a few feet away stood his daughter bent over the counter wiping away in her underwear! “Little Miss! You cannot be wearing your underwear in the lobby. What if a customer should walk in? It is not decent!"

She looked down at herself and grinned at him impishly. “It isn’t my underwear Daddy. And, besides, we aren’t open yet anyway."

It certainly looked like underwear. In fact, it looked like less than underwear. Half her bottom was… “But your, your buttocks are showing…”

She laughed at him then gave a couple of quick tugs to the back of the ridiculously short pants. “There. All better.”
As far as he could see it wasn’t any better at all. Maybe just a bit more uneven. He opened his mouth to tell her…

“Girls wear these at school all the time.” Then her voice trailed off so he couldn’t hear the last part.

“Good Heavens! This American school must be a nest of, of… I must speak to the administrators.”

She plopped her cleaning rag down on the counter, apparently thinking she was finished. “We still have to…”

“NO!” She looked scandalized. “I don’t want all that icky goo in my lungs.”

He smiled at her. “As soon as they get the fire out I want you to pack a bag and get ready to leave.

“Where are we going?”

“I think it is time to take my brother’s advice and get into the motel business.”

rubbed her bruised bottom. “I just got a bit of a bump when they dropped me, that’s all.”

He let out a sigh of relief. “Looks like we got lucky this time.”

She looked at him bewildered. “What’s it all about? What did they want?”

He struggled to put it into words. “Some people are afraid. Of others who are different.”
“Different?”

“There are some things I have not told you about myself.” Thoughtfully, “About both of us, I think.”

She gave him an exasperated look. “Spit it out then. You sound like a bad detective in a soap…”
Sirens screamed in their ears and three fire trucks pulled up, parked in the road, and quickly connected hoses to the hydrant out front and started dragging them across the yard toward the house. “What…?”

Then he noticed smoke coming out of an upstairs window. “Something’s on fire.”

He thought he heard one of the firemen mutter, “He’s quick.”

Missy just gave him a shrug. “I was asleep.”

A thought struck Rajiid. “You weren’t… smoking?”

Just as they got the front door open and stepped outside, Missy woke up and tried to sit up groggily on the bouncing blanket. “What are you doing…?! Daddy!”

Rajiid’s car pulled into the driveway, screeching to a stop in front of their van. Faheen dropped his end of the blanket, dumping Missy unceremoniously to the grass. “Hey!” He ran toward the low picket fence in the back and, as she struggled groggily to get up, he jumped it like a deer, and kept going.

Abdul saw the man getting out of the car had no weapon. He wasn’t a big man either. If he was anything like a real man. Abdul definitely had the weight on him. But he ran faster than the long-legged Faheen and there was death in his eyes. His death. But more than that. He didn’t fear the long sleep in the service of Allah. But this father-demon would rip his soul to shreds and eat the shreds if it could. He could feel it. It was already making him weak. Abdul ran through the fence, barely slowing as it smashed and splintered at the impact.
* * *
Rajiid didn’t spare the running Arabs a second glance. “Are you all right, Little Miss? Did they hurt you?”

“No. I don’t think so. I was taking a nap and when I woke up they were carrying me outside on the blanket.” She

Indecision rooted him to the spot. They had accomplished nothing, but it would be worse than nothing if they were caught here. The secular police here would accept none of the spiritual imperatives. They would be jailed and another black mark would go on the Pathan record. Punjat would not be pleased. He doubted Allah would be pleased either. The whole thing was a miserable failure. Was he missing something simple……?

Wait… “Faheen! Don’t run like a Jackel with its tail between its legs. Help me. Get the other end of this blanket.” Fortunately the girl demon was still sleeping. Or perhaps it was just feigning sleep while laughing at their pathetic efforts. No matter. It was his duty to try. If they could get it into the van they could take it to Punjab and it would be his problem. He was obviously an idiot as well not to have sent a holy man with Abdul rather than this pathetic fool. He saw the other hesitate. “Pick it up! Grab the other end of the blanket and we’ll get her in the van.” He winced as his burned hands took the weight.

Gingerly Faheen did as he was asked and, holding the edges of the blanket as far from the girl as they could get, they made it down the stairs. Faheen went wild-eyed every time the girl started to slide down a bit toward him.

Six inches from her frilly pink blouse the knife stopped. It felt like he had already plunged the blade into living flesh. Tough flesh. It would move a bit sideways but no further downward. Moving closer to the bed, Abdul applied not only his strength but his considerable weight to the knife. It might have moved another quarter inch. If it wasn’t his imagination. Stubbornly he continued to push against the resistance. He closed his eyes and decided to ask for help. “Allah… aid your servant… in his holy work.” Abdul felt it was his duty to keep trying. Beads of sweat popped out on his forehead at the effort.

“Abdul! Stop! Look!” As he opened his eyes he saw an agitated Faheen dancing in indecision, one foot out the bedroom door and pointing in his direction.

A shower of sparks scattered in all directions. “AIIIII!!!” Reflexively, Abdul jerked his blackened hands away from the smoldering leather of the handle. The blade of his knife glowed white-hot, still throwing off sparks as it landed on the bedcovers. They ignited instantly where the blade touched. Seconds later a smoke alarm began a shrill shriek of warning.

“Abdul, we must leave. The neighbors will hear!”

jarring noise that he supposed was intended to be music coming faintly from the muffs. Good. With a little more irony than necessary Abdul motioned the other to enter and proceed. An itch under his turban distracted him momentarily and when he looked back he saw the idiot Faheen about to slit her throat.

Abdul couldn’t help a disgusted expression as he motioned for the other just to stab her in the heart. Faheen shook his head no and mouthed the words silently. “I want to see her bleed.” He really was going to have a word with Punjat when they got back.

His bushy face split by an ear-to-ear grin, Faheen put the knife to Missy’s throat—and jumped back a foot in terror as it spun out of his hand and stuck quivering in the ceiling. He whispered, “She IS a demon!”

Abdul gave him a scornful look that would have scorched paint. Never mind that he’d had similar doubts. He motioned the other back and drew his own blade. If Allah demanded, it would be done. He gripped the leather-covered handle with both hands, raised the vicious looking blade over his head and plunged it without hesitation toward the heart of the demon in disguise. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Faheen poised to run.

Chapter Two

Abdul wasn’t one to question his spiritual leaders, but right now he had to wonder. First, why had he been stuck with such an idiot to help him in this task? Faheen was practically drooling in his beard to kill the little girl himself. Allah might require one to remove a diseased member, but surely such pleasure should not be taken in the act. Secretly, he also wondered if this necessity had been correctly interpreted. Abdul patted his well-padded stomach and smiled. He carried the weight so it was only fitting to let the skinny idiot bear responsibility for a mistaken action.

They crept silently through the house listening intently for any clues as to the location of the little girl. Aside from a bit of wind noise from outside, Abdul could hear nothing. After examining the large kitchen area and some utility rooms, he decided she must be upstairs. He motioned for Faheen to follow and they moved up the fancy staircase quickly. Decadent people these Indians. Almost as bad as the Americans Punjat was so fond of ranting about.
There! And she was sleeping. Helpless. Perfect for a quick clean kill. Her ears were covered with muffs connected to a tiny silver box. He could hear some kind of

He stomped the accelerator to the floor and the car took off with a wild shriek as both the electric motors and hydrogen engine kicked in together. Right now he didn’t care if there was a shred of rubber left on his new tires by the time he reached home.

Even in the midst of his worry, he felt the exhilaration of reckless abandonment to the engines roar as he swerved to pass a car blocking his way and narrowly missed a garbage truck parked at the curb. He hadn’t driven like this since he was a foolish teenager. The look of disappointment his father had given him then was far worse than his punishment. Unlike most of those around him, he’d never been much of a believer in all the many religions, but if there was an afterlife, he’d bet his father would understand this time.

for the door, making a quick jump to the side to avoid the Arab who tried to step into his path.

“Wait, sir. I have a question…”

Ignoring him, Rajiid straight-armed the door, startling a couple who were about to come in. He pushed between them, promising himself he’d apologize later. He wasn’t in the same shape he’d been in back in college when he left his friends in the dust, but he could still sprint, and he was running flat-out toward his car after ten feet.

He didn’t so much hear the explosion as feel it. A massive hand of wind at his back pressed him forward, almost moving him past the car before he could slow down. He didn’t hear the click as he pressed the button in his pocket, flicking up the lock tabs inside the car, but he saw the brick fly by his ear. And another nearly hit a pedestrian by the road. For some reason the guy seemed to be pointing at him and waving his arms in excitement.

Rajiid coughed at the dust in the air as a big wad of powdery fluff settled on his shoes. Pausing for a split second, he turned to look. Only a three-foot high pile of rubble remained. Then it hit him and something squeezed his chest hard, making his heart skip a beat. “Anna…”

Hastily he wiped away the tears. He didn’t have time for ‘might-have-beens’ right now. He had to get home fast.

The old woman was speaking. “What kind of doctor are you anyway.” Then to Anna, “What has he been taking?”

He could feel Anna shaking his shoulder. That was good. He needed to get out of this fog and get over there. But he couldn’t seem to move. One of the men was pulling a knife! He saw Anna’s hand waving in front of his face. Okay… he’d gotten the warning. Now he needed to get out of this and get to his house!

Through the fog he could see the concern etched on her angular but finely-molded features, only inches from his. He felt her shake him again. Much harder. He didn’t know if it was the shake or another surge of the ‘warm fuzzy’ but suddenly something gave and he could feel his muscles spasm and lock. Something slammed into the pill bay and bottles and pills flew into the air. Anna jumped, loosening her grip. He gasped for air, now back in the pharmacy. He saw the old woman try to slam the door on her way out, but the closer prevented it from being effective.

“Rajiid!”

“Missy. Something wrong. Must go.” His words sounded mumbled, even to himself, but he didn’t have time to make it any clearer. He knew Missy was in danger. It was not his imagination. Something else was trying to nag at him too, but he didn’t have time for it now.

Rajiid ran

jacket, you Russian slut’ simmering in there and—apparently—so could Anna. He’d be the first to admit he didn’t know much about women, but he’d been around Anna long enough now to know when she was coming to a boil. Without thinking about it he put his arm around her and tried to move himself in between the women to prevent a runaway loop of bad feeling. Then he had to wonder if that was a good idea because he seemed to pick up something from her like he had from the Arab. But this time in a good way. Warm and fuzzy.

The old woman turned her attention back to Rajiid. “My arthritis. I need some pills for it.”

“Certainly. Let me have your prescription and you can pick it up in a few minutes.”

“I don’t have a prescription. Just give me some pills.”

Rajiid raised his eyebrows at Anna… and then he felt things start to slip away. He could still hear them talking, as if from a great distance through a cloud of fog, but his attention was being drawn elsewhere. To his house. To his daughter Missy. Something was wrong. For once he didn’t try to fight it. This was important. He couldn’t pretend it was his imagination. He saw her lying on the bed asleep… and two men were sneaking into her bedroom!

The front bell dinged and an old woman entered the pharmacy. Rajiid remembered seeing her before but couldn’t remember her name. He was usually pretty good with names. Must have something on her mind from the way she was striding toward them. Anna squeezed his fingers. She was so pretty. And so—nice—really. He wished…

She was still looking into his eyes, searching for something. “I know you care for me. Tell me I haven’t been imagining that for the last three years.”

“It is not your imagination Anna. I would have asked you to marry me, but…”

“But what?”

“There are things…” The old woman reached across the counter and impatiently tugged at Rajiid’s sleeve. Relief washed over him in waves. How could he possibly tell her how DIFFERENT he was from other people. The feelings he had to fight off. Things that happened.

“Young man! Could you take a brief vacation from your love life and help me please?”

“Sorry Madame. What can I do for you?” Careful. Not quite such a gleeful smile. Anna was looking daggers at the old woman for interrupting.

She gave Anna a disgusted up and down glance in return. Rajiid could feel a ‘Why don’t you button your

waiting for you…” She pulled her jacket back, revealing more tempting cleavage, put one leg forward—hiking her skirt and showing off her wonderful legs in the process—and wet her lips. He didn’t know which was more tempting. “…stark naked.”

Rajiid stared at her for a moment, stunned. He thought about her being naked often but… “I would, I would… Why would you do a thing like that?!”

Anna smacked the fax orders down onto the counter forcefully, upsetting a bottle and sending a shower of green-striped capsules rolling across the floor. “Because I can’t seem to get your attention any other way! When are you going to let go Rajiid?”

Opening his mouth, Rajiid realized he had no idea what to say. “What…?”
She took his hand and moved even closer. Her lips were practically brushing his. He could smell a delicate perfume he didn’t realize she’d been wearing. His nose had never been good with scents. He wished he dared…

“Your wife Rajiid. I know you loved her deeply. But she’s been dead twelve years now.”

He must have winced because she suddenly seemed less angry and more sympathetic. Her voice lowered to a husky tone. “It’s time to move on.”

With her bright smile, bouncy blonde hair and bountiful endowments peeking decorously from the semi-concealment of her jacket, she was always a joy to watch. “Good Morning Anna. You are looking especially lovely today.”

She gave him a look he didn’t quite know how to interpret. “You say that every day, you know.”

“Probably because it is always true.” It slipped out before he could think about it. He didn’t need any special senses to tell she was upset about something. His years of marriage should have taught him to be a little more cautious when speaking to women. But it had been a long time…

The Arab distracted him momentarily as he caught the motion of his ducking behind the counter to look at something out of the corner of his eye. When he looked back at Anna she was only a foot away from his face.

“You shouldn’t flirt if you don’t mean it. It could give a girl the wrong idea.”

She was looking right into his eyes and he could tell she was expecting some response. Probably an important one. Unfortunately, he had no idea what it should be. “What do you mean?”

She smirked at him. One of her few annoying habits. “What would you do if you came in one morning and I was

Motel 666
By
Don (full name on file)
(copyright 2009)

Chapter One

Rajiid threaded his way through the cluttered aisles at the front of the pharmacy trying to avoid bumping into the chunky Arab. He seemed so completely absorbed in his study of the bandage selection that Rajiid felt reluctant to disturb his concentration. Customers always came first. Behind the counter, he could see Anna had already started pulling last night’s fax orders from the machine.

The Arab reached up to adjust his turban—another Pathan, apparently. He remembered reading in the paper that some cities in India were being practically overrun with them now. The man took a step back just as Rajiid tried to step past. Their arms brushed for a split second and Rajiid almost stumbled as he felt a quick flash of anger—almost rage—pour from the other man.

Opening his mouth to apologize for whatever imagined offence he might have given, he saw only a look of calm interest on the other’s face. Imagination, he told himself firmly. Not going to go down that road again.

He watched Anna work efficiently at sorting pills into various bottles for the fax orders as he stepped up behind the counter and put on a fresh jacket from the cabinet.