The Stranger

First published at Perpetual Motion Magazine Publishing.

“I can't go to sleep,” Jonathan said, laying on the doctor's couch. He counted on his fingers to keep his mind active. “I'll certainly die if I do.” He pointed at the man sitting in the chair without looking at him. “You told me so.”

“That wasn't me,” said Dr. England. “That was the man who kidnapped you.”

This man didn't have a beard, Jonathan thought. And his hair wasn't grey, and he didn't yell all the time, and he wore a suit and tie. Still, it was him. Jonathan curled up on the sofa, his knees to his chest, his back to the man.

“I don't believe you.” Jonathan twisted his neck until the man appeared in his peripheral. “You lied to me before.”

“Tell me what happened, Jonathan.”

“I did already.”

“Tell me again.”

Neither spoke for a few seconds. Jonathan rolled onto his back, still clasping his knees, and stared at the ceiling. He rocked from side to side.

“I was on my way home from the soccer game. Mom was at work, so I had to walk. I turned the corner and you grabbed me and pulled me into the bushes. A cloth covered my mouth. I smelled something funny and fell asleep. I woke in a cabin chained to the wall.”

Dr. England wrote in his pad, his legs crossed, and finally said, “Then what?”

“You were there. Why do you keep asking?”

“My memory isn't as good as yours.”

Jonathan frowned. Maybe if he told the story one more time the man would let him go home.

“You told me we were going to play hide and seek. I said I was fourteen and too old to play.” Jonathan hugged his knees tighter. “You told me we were going to play the adult version. That's when you said I'd die if I fell asleep before the game started.”

“How long did he wait to start the game?”

“I don't remember. Three days?”

“What happened than?”

“You entered the cabin, put a big knife on the table, and tossed me a key. I ignored it. Stared at your eyes. I could tell you'd been drinking.”

“How?”

“It was how mom and dad looked when they came home from a party. Not that they ever tried to hurt me.” Jonathan glared at the man. “Not like you did.”

Jonathan wondered where his dad was and if he'd ever come back.

“Then what happened.”

“You told me to free myself, take the knife and run into the woods. You said you'd count to twenty and then come after me. I didn't move—until I heard you start counting.”

“Did you take the knife?”

“Not at first. Then I saw you pick up the shotgun and rack a shell into the chamber.”

Jonathan paused.

“Go on,” Dr. England said, his pen suspended in the air.

“This is stupid. You know what happened. Unless you're a moron. Are you a moron? You sure act like it sometimes.”

“No, I'm not a moron, Jonathan. Go on.”

Jonathan straightened his legs and continued.

“I ran as fast as I could, given it was dark and there wasn't a path. I went until I couldn't see the cabin and turned at a right angle, ran some more and turned again. I planned to circle back so I could follow the road out.”

“That was smart, Jonathan.”

“Until I tripped over a log and sprained my ankle.” Sweat beaded on Jonathan's forehead. “I crawled behind a tree and concentrated on slowing my breathing. Figured you'd find me if I didn't. That's when I heard you calling me. I inched into a recess in the tree and waited. I couldn't outrun you, even if you had been drinking. A twig snapped nearby. I clutched the knife and waited. When you stepped in front of me, I stabbed your leg. You grabbed the wound, and I stabbed you in the side. You fell to the ground, and I stabbed you in the back—over and over and over—until you stopped moving.”

Jonathan's breathing was rapid. He began counting on his fingers again.

“What did you do then?”

“I waited until dawn and made my way to a road where an old man gave me a ride in his pickup truck.”

“What about the man chasing you?”

“He was dead. I told the old man what had happened. Why I had blood on my clothes. He told the police.”

“You're sure he was dead.”

“Positive,” Jonathan said with venom in his eyes.

“Then how can I be him?”

“I haven't figured that out yet.”

“Have you slept since you've been home?”

“No.”

“Don't you want to?”

“No. You'll kill me.”

A Pact Between Lovers

A naked blob of mayonnaise, shaped like a ghost, rested in the corner of her lip. So did the leftover tension from their afternoon argument. The more they talked the more strained the words became, like water struggling to pass through a clogged pipe. He would apologize. It was his turn. That was the agreement.

Prompt words: ghost, mayonnaise, afternoon, naked, pipe

My Resolutions for 2015

Dear Mom and Dad,

The only resolution I ever kept was when I said I wasn't going to create any more resolutions, and now I'm going to break that one.

First, Dad, I know our relationship is strained, partly because I'm a disappointment and partly because of Georg. You think I'm with him because I have PTSD. I don't. I tried not to fall in love with him. He was one reason I enlisted, to get away from him, and you, and my inability to make it in college, and Becky breaking up with me, and everything else happening in my life. But he wrote me every week while I was in basic training and later during my two tours in Afghanistan. I hesitated opening the first couple of letters. I thought they might be sappy and insincere. They weren't. He wrote as a friend, not a lover. Anyway, we plan to marry in a few months now that I'm back in the States and out of the service. I hope you'll come to the wedding. If you spend some time with Georg, you'll see why he's right for me. My first resolution is to make things better between us, Dad, to return us to the father and son we used to be, before I became a screw up and a disgrace to you.

Mom, I wish I could have been there for you when Uncle Andrew died. The Army didn't consider it a hardship and wouldn't let me come home. It must have been hard losing your only living relative. I plan to stop in Ohio on my way west from New York to visit his grave and lay some flowers for him and Grandma and Grandpa. I know that Dad's and my strained relationship has been painful for you. I want to fix that if I can. Along with my first resolution, I plan to spend more time with you and Dad. Hopefully, I can find work in the Sacramento area, near where you and Dad and Georg live, to make this happen. Did I tell you Georg works from home as a technical writer? That gives him some flexibility if I can't find anything close by.

After the wedding and settling into a new job, Georg and I plan to have children. Not right away. We need time for each other first. Dad, I know how you feel about adoption and the kids not being real family. That's why we plan to find surrogates to have our children. Two is all we're planning on, one for Georg and one for me. The babies will have our genes and will be blood-related. I know this is a shock, but it's something Georg and I want. And I think if you give it a chance, you'll see that you'll have the cutest grandbabies ever. So, resolution three is to be the best parent I can and to share our joy with you and Mom.

I don't want to get carried away with this resolution thing. I'd rather stick with ones I feel I can make happen. I learned a lot in the Army. I was lost for a while, swimming in a morass of hate and despair and confusion. There were times I wasn't sure I wanted to come back. But I think I've found myself and what I want in life and who I want to live it with—including both of you.

There, I put these on paper and shared them with you, so I'm bound by my words. I love you, Mom and Dad, and look forward to seeing you in about three weeks. I'll give you a call a couple of days before I show up at your door. And Mom, I have one request of you—to make your wonderful meatloaf. The Army's meatloaf sucks. Hahaha.

Your loving son,

Jerod

And You Think You're Having a Bad Day

Harold, his face battered from the beating by Celia's brothers, who caught him cheating with their other sister, June, limped past the beggar with the thicket of red hair. The generous vagrant smiled and offered Harold a shot of bourbon. Harold couldn't decide which burned more in his gut, the liquid or the beggar's knife.

Prompt words: thicket, beggar, limp, generous, shot

Yet Another

He maneuvered the taxi through the upscale neighborhood, the night streets silent, empty. Snow-white hair covered his head, as if glued on. His breakfast threatened to evacuate his stomach. Like the back seat, his life was suddenly unoccupied, void, desolate. Still he had to do it. Deal with the drunk driver who killed his Jenny. (55 words)

Prompt words: taxi, neighborhood, snow, breakfast, empty