“Asshole,” he muttered. “Smarmy voiced failed voice over actor.”

The morning brightened as the sun climbed into view and Kyle finally spotted the DJ pulling into the station’s parking lot. This was it, he thought. He chambered a round and ran screaming across the street.

“Vickerson!” Kyle yelled.

To his credit, Vic reacted with alarmed speed. He looked up and saw the crazed hoodie clad man charging him with a rifle, spun on his heel, ran for the line of parked cars and dove between two of them. Kyle slowed as he approached the vehicles and cautiously walked around to where Vic dove. When he turned the vehicle’s corner there was no one there.

“C’mon out Vic!” Kyle yelled. “I just want to talk.”

“Who are you?” came the DJ’s frantic voice.

Kyle figured he was just a few cars over. He must have slid under a few parked cars. Kyle jumped up on top of the car nearest him and looked over the parking lot through the rifle’s front sight.

“I’m just here to talk about your programming choices.” Kyle responded. His voice didn’t sound crazy at all. He caught movement from the corner of his eye and he jumped from vehicle to vehicle until he landed on the ground in front of the DJ. Vickerson, on his hands and knees, looked up to see the nearly two foot long barrel pointed at him.

“Stand up,” Kyle said calmly. Again, his voice didn’t sound crazy at all. Vic complied.

“Look,” Vic began to stammer. “I don’t know who you are, but…”

“Shut up,” Kyle interrupted. “Start walking to your car.”

“You can have my wallet,” Vic said as he started walking. “You can have the keys…”

“I don’t want your money or car. I just want to talk to you,” Kyle said. To emphasize how much he wanted to talk, Kyle pushed the barrel of the gun into the space between Vic’s shoulder blades. “Walk faster.”

Vic began to whimper and the two walked in silence to Vic’s car. When they got there, Vic started to reach in his pocket for the keys.

“Keep your hands out,” Kyle told him. “Turn around and look at me.”

Vic did so and he did not like what he saw in Kyle’s eyes.

“What do you want?” he asked.

Kyle looked away from Vic to the car as he spoke.

“Do you remember all of the songs you played yesterday afternoon?”

“What?”

“Your set list, Vic. Do you remember it?” Kyle fired a round into the driver’s side door.

“No. No I don’t.” Vic’s hands covered his face.

“Let me help. You started with ‘Hey Joe’ by Hendrix. Then you played ‘Houses of the Holy’ followed by some song by The Allman Brothers I didn’t recognize.” Kyle fired a round into the hood of the car.

“Okay…Why?” ask Vic. His paints were dark around the crotch.

“Do you remember what you played before going to your first commercial break? Do you remember what ‘St. Louis’s Oldies Connection’ played at 4:32 pm. yesterday afternoon?” Kyle squeezed the trigger twice. The two driver’s side tires deflated.

“No. I can’t remember. Please let me go.” cried Vic.

“You played ‘Enter Sandman’ by Metallica. ‘St. Louis’s Oldies Connection’ played ‘Enter Sandman’ at 4:32 pm yesterday.” Two more shots and the front and back windows on the driver’s side exploded.

“Okay. Okay. I played it. Why does it matter?”

“That song was released in 1991. In 1991, I was fifteen years old.” Two more rounds. The driver’s side mirror flew off of the car in pieces. The side blinker shattered. Vic’s only reply was scream.

“Songs from 1991 are NOT oldies,” Kyle said in a terse voice. He fired the final two rounds into the vehicle’s windshield. He ejected the magazine and slung the rifle back over his shoulder. Vic was on the ground crying.

“1979 is the cutoff. Don’t fucking play songs from my childhood on your station.”

Kyle walked away and smiled knowing he’d made his point.

Emily knelt far to the right side of the church in the front row, bowing her head in silent prayer. She was a modestly dressed young woman with delicate blue eyes and short auburn hair. Her unpainted face was a smooth porcelain white. Her lips were pale yet full. Her nose, although somewhat narrow, curved at just the right angle to keep her broad face in proportion. As the music stopped, she lifted her head and settled back onto the unpadded wooden pew. She looked to the front of the church and truly felt close to God. She gazed lovingly at the twisted image of Christ on the cross covering the towering wall behind the altar. Looking closely at his hands and feet, she imagined the feeling of the hot, sacred blood spilling down her wrists and ankles. He had suffered for her. She truly loved him. She always tried her best to obey him. Surely, he would be waiting for her upon her death, standing at the right hand of the father as the holy spirit flowed around them. What more could she possibly need?

The church was crowded with familiar faces. Emily could see the Walkers sitting in their usual seats up front. She could see sweet old Mr. Heinrick hunched down in the pew across the church just past that new family with the three adorable little blond girls. She had been coming to this church since before she could remember. She had grown up at the Saint Francis School for Girls that shared the same parking lot with it. All of the faces were familiar. All but one. She could not help noticing a strange yet comforting face at the back of the church. He sat straight and dignified in his black suit and gray striped tie. He had dark black hair and blue eyes. She felt an unfamiliar tingle in her spine when she looked at him. His face was long and lean with a strong jaw and high yet delicate cheek bones. Emily found him quite striking. She even thought he might have been looking right back at her, but when she let a faint smile drift across her face; he didn’t seem to notice.

Emily tried to put the stranger out of her mind. She was not here to meet men. That could wait for the proper time and place. She stood up as the priest began reading aloud from the gospel according to John, and listened with fevered intensity to every word. She felt as if she was able to feel the scripture more deeply than she usually could. The priest seemed to have a fire in his eyes that she had never noticed before. The whole church seemed to glow with a radiance that sharpened the faded colors of the stained glass windows, lining the tops of every wall. She believed. Yes, she really believed. She felt the warm rush of perfect certainty swelling in her chest. When the priest finished reading she drifted softly back onto the pew and waited for him to begin his sermon. Emily listened carefully, as Father Sullivan began to speak. He was an intelligent and thoughtful priest. He always presented neatly organized, pleasant sermons that proved the power of God’s love could overcome any obstacle. Emily was thankful that she lived in his parish.

Yet, for some reason, this particular sermon was different. Father Sullivan had never been the type to ramble on and on about the fires of Hell and eternal damnation, but she could see the anger swelling up inside him. His troubled eyes glared toward the back of the church. He seemed to be looking right at something. “And the Day will come when we must all be judged!” He went on, “And on that day, can all of you say that you were true to the one, almighty God?” Can all of you say that you cast Satan out of your heart? Will you join me in the kingdom of God? Or will you suffer the deceits of the fallen one?” Emily cautiously turned her head around to see if she could spot what was so obviously holding his attention. All she could see in the path of Father Sullivan’s impassioned eyes was that handsome man in the back of the church.

He sat quietly with his head held high, not seeming to notice that the priest was staring right at him. Emily had no idea why Father Sullivan would be so hateful to a new visitor to their lovely church. What gave him the right? Her heart sunk as she looked sympathetically toward the handsome stranger in the back. This time, he looked back at her. This time, she was sure she saw him smile. Suddenly, Father Sullivan’s words began to drift off. He let out a long deep sigh and looked around the congregation. He looked confused and unsure. He finally hobbled back to his seat behind the altar and collapsed with relief. The altar boys looked like they never noticed. The first chords of “Nearer My God to Thee” floated from the great pipe organ and the mass continued. There ˝was no sign of alarm from anyone. The congregation filed down the red carpeted aisles for communion, waited politely for the closing procession and began to file out.

Emily looked over her shoulder to try to get a last glimpse of that strange man she had noticed. He was gone. She had been hoping to get one last glimpse of him before she left. Of course, she would never have had the courage to speak to him, but she liked the way her heart seemed to beat a little faster when she looked at him. The church was over half empty when Emily got up to leave. She grabbed her small, leather handbag and slid into the aisle. She was still feeling uneasy about the way Father Sullivan had acted during the sermon, so she made a special point to walk around to the main door as she left. She at least wanted to shake his hand and wish him well. She scuttled toward the back of the church where Father Sullivan stood shaking hands with the few remaining stragglers, walked up to him and smiled politely.

“Good morning,” He replied casually with an extended hand.

“Good morning, Father. How’ve you been?”

“Just fine. How ‘bout you?”

“Oh, I’ve been good.”

Emily walked on by and Father Sullivan did not give her a second look. He looked like nothing was wrong, thought Emily. In fact, he seemed to be feeling quite cheerful when she shook his hand. She put him out of her mind and headed out the towering wooden doors of the church. She was fumbling with her handbag to find her keys when she was suddenly interrupted.

“Good morning.”

Emily almost dropped her purse as she tried to gather her wits. She looked up and took a quick step back when she saw him standing there. He was right in front of her. He was just as handsome as he had looked from across the church. She even thought he looked better from up close. She was usually extremely disappointed to see people that smoked, but the way he dangled the crisp, white cigarette from his right hand gave him an air of careless elegance. He was smiling broadly to reveal perfectly straight white teeth. His skin was pale and whisper-smooth. Emily tried in vain to find even a trace of hair on his perfectly shaved face.

“I am sorry,” he continued, “I really did not mean to startle you.”

“That’s all right, I was just looking for my keys,” Emily stammered, “I wasn’t paying any attention.”

“Well, let me explain,” he said. “My name is Nicholas. I am new in town and I just saw you standing in church. I realize I am being quite forward, but I thought perhaps we could have a drink together sometime.”

“I didn’t think you saw me.”

“Oh, I saw you. You can be assured that I saw you.”

“I don’t drink.” Emily stammered, “I mean, not usually. I did have some Champaign at cousin Amy’s wedding, but I don’t know. ”

“Well, let me know if you change your mind.” Nicholas turned and began to drift away. Emily couldn’t believe what she had just done. She had been hoping beyond hope to get a glimpse of him and then. . . “Wait!” she called ˘ after him. She ran up to him and tried her best to smile. She felt guilty for being rude before. “I really would like to meet with you sometime. I just might even have one drink with you. ”

“I can’t wait. How about next Saturday?”

“Well, that sounds fine. What time?”

“Eight o’clock. Just come right here to meet me. I don’t know my way around town yet, and I would hate to get lost trying to find you,” Nicholas decided.

Before Emily could respond, he turned and glided quickly away. Emily took two steps toward him, but when he disappeared behind one of the sprawling willow trees that surrounded the church, she lost sight of him. Emily took a deep breath, straightened her blouse and picked her keys out of her purse. She couldn’t believe what had just happened. Her mind raced with questions. What was she going to wear? Where would he take her? What was she going to say? Where did he come from? She tried to put the questions out of her mind as she hurried to her reliable tan sedan and headed home.

The week flew by. Emily’s new boss was trying to test the water, so he kept everybody busy. Emily liked to keep busy. She didn’t have any really close friends at the office so it was easier for her to submerge herself in her daily typing and filing than it was for her to try to join in the conversations around her. This week was just about perfect. Not a moment of wasted time spent searching for something to do. It wasn’t until Friday that she started to get anxious about her date. She hadn’t had a date in over a year and a half, and that one had been a disaster. Her mother had found some desperate, forty-two year old divorcee that she sent calling. He was too old, too crude and in every way, entirely unsuitable.

She could tell Nicholas was going to be different. He was handsome and polite. He wasn’t too old, and she could tell by looking at his hand-sewn suit and his elegant gold watch that he wasn’t in any financial trouble. Emily hurried out of the office at five. She wanted to get home and get a good night’s sleep before she met Nicholas on Saturday. She went home and changed, made a quick supper, did a little light cleaning and went to bed by eight o’clock.

When Emily woke on Saturday she rolled over and looked at the clock. Eleven o’clock blinked back at her in quick red flashes. She never slept past eight. She had been tossing and turning all night. Her nerves must have gotten hold of her, she thought. She was trying to shake herself awake when she began remembering the strangest dreams. She had dreamt of Nicholas, that much was clear. She didn’t usually dream about men. Certainly she never dreamed about men in that way, she thought, as her mind filled with half-forgotten details.

Of course she hadn’t really done anything wrong, but she was still glad to get up and get in the shower to wash the night away and clear her head. At about six o’clock, Emily finally began to dress for the evening. She went over everything in her closet trying to find just the right outfit. She finally settled on a long gray skirt embroidered with delicate red flowers and a lightweight gray sweater. She looked in her closet for shoes that would look a little nicer than her usual comfort-first flats, and found a pair of black pumps in a box near the back. She had bought them for her father’s funeral three years ago and had forgotten all about them. She pulled on the shoes and stood in front of the floor length mirror in her bedroom.

Emily never wore make-up, but she found herself thinking she needed a little something extra. She went into the bathroom, got down on her hands and knees and dug out an old dusty make-up case her mother had given her as a not-so-subtle hint. She found a discreet, deep, reddish lipstick and awkwardly worked it around her mouth. She looked again in the mirror and decided she was as ready as she would ever be. It was only a quarter past seven when Emily pulled out of her apartment building’s parking lot, but she didn’t mind if she had to wait. She was so anxious to see Nicholas that she wanted to be there to watch him pull up. She drove with the radio off, practicing just the right words to say. She only lived a few blocks from the church, and when she pulled into the lot it was empty. She parked right in front of the main entrance and got out.

The air was cool and crisp and the sky glowed with the purple mist of sunset. She could see the day’s last rays of light drifting toward her past a faded bronze cross that stood at the peak of the old stone church. Standing by her car made her feel nervous and impatient, so she walked up the stone steps to wait just where Nicholas had said to meet. “Just come right here,” he had said.

She remembered every word he had said to her. When she got to the place where they spoke their first words, the strange rush of excitement she felt on Sunday came back. She was nervous, but she couldn’t wait for him to come. “I’m so glad you decided to come,” came from behind, causing Emily to jerk around in fear. “I am sorry. I always seem to frighten you. ”

It was Nicholas, standing there in the same black suit. He wore a red-and-black striped tie and still dangled a cigarette from his right hand. Emily hadn’t seen or heard his car pull up, and she had been looking out for him. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I probably seem like I don’t like it when you talk to me.”

“I know that if you didn’t want to talk to me, you wouldn’t be here waiting.”

“I was just a little early,” Emily replied apologetically.

“What a coincidence, so am I.”

“Where’s your car?” Emily asked. “Excuse me?” “I just didn’t see you pull up. I just wondered where you parked.”

“Why Emily, my car is parked right next to yours.”

Emily turned and looked. Sitting right next to her car was a beautiful black automobile. Maybe she was too lost in thought to really be paying attention before. Besides, what difference did it make? Nicholas was here and she was happy.

“So Emily, what would you like to do this evening?”

“I really don’t know. I thought maybe you’d have an idea.”

“Have you ever been on a picnic at night?”

“What?”

“I brought a bottle of wine and a blanket. I thought perhaps we could drive outside of town to some peaceful place to talk and look at the stars.”

Before Emily could respond, Nicholas turned and headed down the steps to his car. Without thinking, she followed. He stopped to open the door for her and took her hand as she climbed inside. She settled back in the plush seat and inhaled the fresh leather smell. Before she had time to take another breath, Nicholas was sitting beside her smiling contently and starting the whisper-soft engine. She hadn’t even heard his door. He seemed to be able to do everything effortlessly and elegantly. She had never met a man quite like him.

“Do you like music?” Nicholas asked as he switched on the radio.

“Yes, very much.”

“I think this should suit you,” he said as he punched another button on the glowing console. Violins slowly filled the car as Beethoven’s ninth symphony came to life.

“That’s amazing,” Emily responded, “That just happens to be one of my favorite pieces.”

“Really.”

They pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward the two lane highway that led out of town. The car was picking up speed and the music seemed to get louder and louder. Emily looked at Nicholas, but he didn’t seem to notice. She couldn’t tell where they were going as they weaved their way around the tree-lined curves. She couldn’t recognize anything. Still, the car seemed to be going faster and faster. The music crashed around her. She felt a lump in her throat and began to speak. Before she could let the breath leave her lips, the car came to a sudden yet smooth stop. Her head was still spinning. She looked around and tried to decide just what had happened. The music was fine. Nicholas looked calm. Maybe it was just her imagination.

Opening the door and grasping her hand, Nicholas was helping her out of the car before she could decide. He led her to a patch of fresh-smelling grass with a huge red blanket stretched out over it. There was an expensive looking bottle of wine and two shimmering wine glasses resting against a large rock. The night sky had never been so clear and filled with stars. She looked at Nicholas and couldn’t keep a smile from her lips. He walked over and picked up the bottle of wine and poured them each a glass. She never did see him open it. He handed one to her and raised his to the star-filled night.

“To the night.”

“To the night.”

Emily couldn’t remember when she had felt so good. Her head was swimming in the wine and the stars. She couldn’t believe a man as exciting as Nicholas was spending his time with her. They sat on the blanket and spoke without words as they sipped wine and stared into the night. Emily had only intended to have one drink, but she was so enchanted by the night she kept letting Nicholas fill her glass over and over. She never did see him get another bottle. She felt alive in the night, more alive than she could ever remember feeling before.

“Well Emily, as much as I dread to see you go, I think I should take you home.”

“O. K.”

They walked back to the car without stopping to pick up the blanket or wine. Nicholas again opened the door and helped Emily inside. Again, before she knew what had happened, he was sitting next to her and starting the car. This time there was no talk or music before the car exploded to life. The wind howled past the window. Emily’s head spun as the trees circled and straightened. She still couldn’t recognize where they were going. When the car came to its sudden stop, it was right in front of her apartment building.

Before Emily knew what was happening, Nicholas was escorting her to her front door. This time her head didn’t stop spinning when she was out of the car. The wine had gone to her head and she didn’t even remember that her car was still at the church. Nicholas walked up to the front door with Emily clinging to him as she struggled to keep her balance. He turned the knob and pushed open the door. Emily could no longer stand without assistance. Nicholas swept her into his arms and carried her through the doorway. He headed down the narrow hallway and took her into her bedroom. Emily was half conscious as he laid her on the bed in the dark.

“Don’t go,” she muttered with closed eyes.

Nicholas pulled off her sweater and unzipped her skirt. He pulled her shirt off and situated her gently in the center of the bed. Her forehead was covered with shimmering beads of sweat, dripping over her closed eyelids.

“Yes,” she murmured.

Nicholas bent over her and unfastened her white lace bra in the front. He slowly let his lips fall between her delicate breasts and kissed her chest. Then, he stood up, turned around and walked out of the room, pausing to shake some tiny flakes of food into Emily’s fish tank before walking down the hallway and disappearing out the front door.

Emily woke the next day with the alarm clock flashing eleven o’clock. Her head was pounding. She looked down and saw that she was nearly naked and on top of her sheets. She tried to remember what had happened after she drank the wine, but it was no good. The whole night was a blur. She wondered if Nicholas would ever want to see her again. She wondered how she had acted. She felt clammy and dirty as she got up from her bed and took a long shower. She had to get the filth off her body. She was rinsing the shampoo out of her hair when she finally realized that she had already missed mass. She hadn’t missed mass in almost two years until now.

When she got out of the shower she pulled on some sweat pants and a T-shirt. She walked over to her fish bowl and found her twin goldfish floating lifelessly on the water. She fell to her knees in confusion and cried. The rest of the day she spent on the couch with a tall glass of water in one hand, a remote control in the other and a full supply of aspirin. She never was sure how her car ended up parked neatly in her driveway.

The next week, Emily couldn’t stop thinking about Nicholas. She couldn’t stop having strange dreams about him. Whenever he called her in her dreams, she came. Whenever she came, he disappeared. She wanted to see him again. She wanted to do whatever she could to show him that she cared. She didn’t have his phone number and for once in her life she would have called him if she had. She had no one to blame but herself. She should have behaved herself.

The next week droned on. She went about her work with a casual disinterest. Daydreaming took up quite a bit more of her time than usual. As the week came to an end, Friday at the office wasn’t filled with excitement again. She didn’t have much to look forward to. She spent the night at home watching TV. Saturday she spent cleaning the house and grocery shopping. On Sunday, she got up extra early. Maybe, she told herself, he would be at church. She wanted to make sure she saw him if he was. She carefully picked out her clothes, pulled on the black pumps and even put on a bit of lipstick.

She pulled up for ten o’clock mass at nine fifteen. There was no sign of his car. She parked, got out, and strolled up to the church. She went in and walked quietly to her usual spot on the right side up front. She looked over her shoulder, but he wasn’t there. Frustrated, she stood up and walked back down the aisle toward the door. There in the entryway stood Father Sullivan talking to him. Both men were smiling as she walked toward them. As she drew near, they both stopped their conversation and looked right at her. Father Sullivan bowed politely and casually stepped away.

Emily paused with confusion. She couldn’t understand how the two men had come to terms with one another. Just weeks earlier, Father couldn’t seem to control his rage toward Nicholas. She couldn’t understand quite a lot about Nicholas, really. Still, she felt herself more drawn to him than ever. She walked up to him and forced a smile. “Hi.”

“Hello.”

“So, do you ever want to see me again?” Emily asked, “I must have acted terrible. Although really, I don’t remember too much.”

“I will always be waiting for you right here.”

“Well, do you think we could go out again sometime?”

“Of course. Saturday night. Eight o’clock.”

Emily walked past him and smiled. She kept walking until she was in the parking lot. She got in her car and was halfway home before she remembered that she was supposed to stay for mass. It was too late now. It would just have to wait for next week.

Next week crept up far too slowly for Emily. She couldn’t wait for Saturday night. Finally she would get to see Nicholas again. She had been seeing him at night in her dreams every night now. She liked the dreams, but seeing him in the flesh was what kept the dreams alive. When Saturday finally rolled around, Emily couldn’t stand it. She tried on every dress in her closet to find just the right one. She slipped into her black pumps and put on her lipstick. She grabbed her purse and flew out of the Ì house. She was an hour early, but she didn’t care. She just needed to see Nicholas. She pulled up to the church and jumped out of her car. Climbing the steps to stand where they had met before, Emily took a long breath and closed her eyes. She was startled to find that when she opened them, there he stood. Again, silently, wordlessly he had arrived. He stood in front of her smoking a cigarette and smiling.

“So, Emily, where would you like to go this evening?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Of course, you do know we could go anywhere you want?”

“Maybe we should just leave the wine out this time,” Emily joked.

“Whatever you like.”

“Maybe we could just go to the park by my house for our picnic this time.” “Well, Emily, I really don’t see the point of having a picnic without wine.”

“Maybe just a little drink.”

“Fine, it’s settled,” Nicholas stated.

Emily saw Father Sullivan peeking out from inside the church with a smile on his face. She stopped to wave to him as Nicholas walked over to him. She watched them shake hands as Nicholas pushed the priest back inside. She turned and headed to the parking lot. When she got to the car her body froze when she realized that Nicholas was already inside smoking a cigarette. This time, he forgot to open the door for me, she thought. This time, I’m not drunk. I’m not crazy. The door opened and Emily felt herself drawn inside.

She relaxed into the soft cushioned seat and looked at Nicholas. She still wanted him. She wanted to be with him. She was afraid, but she knew he could explain everything.

“What is the matter, Emily?”

“Who are you?”

“You know who I am. You have always known who I am.”

“I still don’t know who you are.”

“Oh Emily, do you think I would come for you if you didn’t call?”

The car started and the music played. Faster and faster, the world outside swirled into a faded darkened blur. The car stopped and Nicholas turned to Emily. He was smiling calmly. Emily closed her eyes and suddenly Nicholas « appeared at her door to guide her gently out of her seat. They had returned to the same beautiful clearing where they had spent their last Saturday together.

“Who are you?” Emily asked again.

“Call me Nicholas. Have a drink. ”

He picked up a glass overflowing on the hood of the car. It hadn’t been there before.

“Who are you?”

“You know who I am. Drink.”

He pushed the glass in her face. She could smell the wine. She still desired it. She still desired him. She drank. Her head was immediately sent into a swirl. She looked for Nicholas but couldn’t find him anywhere. She fell on the grass where the blanket should have been. She could feel the earth crumble beneath her as she fell. She reached out and grabbed nothing but the crumbling earth. The rotting roots of dead trees slapped her face as she fell. Her head slammed violently into solid ground. She peered up through glassy-eyed pain. She could feel the dark rich earth cascading across her body as she drifted off to sleep.

Sunday morning, Emily’s eyes fluttered open nervously. She could feel the cool, smooth cotton of her bed sheets against her naked body. She looked to the window and felt the burn of the sun. Her hair was tangled and dirty. Her body ached. A confused tear fell across her right cheek. Clutching her legs, she pulled herself into a ball and tried to remember and tried to forget. After several moments, she exhaled deeply and loosened her limbs. She stared down at the St. Christopher medal she had worn every day since her father had given it to her for her thirteenth birthday. The clock next to her bed was flashing noon.

The last mass had ended an hour ago, but Emily knew she would have to go talk to somebody. Father Sullivan was her only hope. She crawled out of bed and went into the bathroom to rinse the filth off her body. She quickly found a pair of pants and a shirt, pulled them on, grabbed a pair of sandals from the closet, and headed to the door. She found her purse on the hall floor and hurriedly grabbed her rosary and her keys, suddenly remembering that she had left her car at church last night. She opened the front door slowly and peered outside. Her car shimmered in the sun.

She crept slowly and carefully to the car. Her eyes raced around as she scanned the parking lot. Trying to open her door, she dropped her keys; she dropped her keys, again. She finally forced her door open and climbed inside. She pushed her key into the ignition, but it wouldn’t fit. She tried again, but it was no use. The car rested serenely in her stare as she got out and quickly stepped away. She only lived a few blocks from the church. Her first steps were short and careful. Before long, she was running to the church. Turning the corner, as she passed the willow trees, Emily looked up at the church steeple and caught her breath. She looked to the church door and saw Father Sullivan sitting on the front steps with his hands folded gently in his lap and a peaceful smile on his face.

Emily strode up to him with her heart thumping, Before she could get near, Father Sullivan quietly rose and turned to open the church door. He calmly stepped inside and motioned for Emily to follow. “Why Emily,” Father Sullivan asked calmly, “What’s the matter?” “I don’t…know.” Emily stammered. “I think I might know what’s bothering you,” drifted from the pew next to where Emily was standing. The hair on her arms sprung to attention. She recognized that voice. Nicholas stood up and leisurely walked in front of the two of them. He looked no different than before. He was smiling comfortably. Father Sullivan faded into a frozen ghost and slumped into the pew behind him.

Emily looked on Nicholas with a defiant hatred that glared through her tears, as she clung to the rosary in her pocket. “I think I will be going now,” he stated calmly. “Just remember, nothing will ever be the same.” He turned and stepped out of the church with a wave. Emily looked over to see Father Sullivan shaking his head. “I’m sorry,” he shrugged. “I feel a bit light headed. Please, Emily, tell me what’s the matter

Table of contents for Staring Off Rooftops

1. March 28, 1999
2. March 21, 1999
3. March 30, 1999
4. April 6, 1999
5. April 10, 1999
6. April 23, 1999
7. May 1, 1999

Egon Schiele, an artist in the late 1800’s, early 1900’s, has a drawing called “little Tree”. It’s a small tree in the foreground with a mountain and lake behind.

The tree’s base isn’t shown. Instead, its stalk of a trunk which flows down the front of the picture as if it was only a line of paint dropped onto the canvas.

I have yet to see the picture in a true form; just mimeographs.

And to this, I hold it dear. Not that the true work wouldn’t become so, but that this simple brown dropped paper “etching” is so, and from this I hold its truer intent.

An intent that is perhaps not solitude or involvement, but a singular point where at each holding point stands a thin frail link; there in the frame.

Kyle had just turned 16 over the summer and even though his car still wasn’t up and running, Josh knew it would just be a matter of time.  He didn’t see Kyle often, funerals, weddings, an occasional Christmas Eve, but he knew Kyle could do anything, he’d have that car up and running by winter for sure.  Stepping outside, the falling sun barely lit the back of the funeral home and he struggled to find his cousin.  He walked a few more steps out and turned in a circle, not noticing the soft hint of smoke drifting out from behind the dumpster that smelled faintly of dead flowers and stale coffee grounds until he heard a soft voice.  “Josh, what are you doing out here…c’mon then, get your skinny little ass over here.”

Kyle stood slumped behind the dumpster, shaking shaggy brown hair touched golden in the falling sun from his eyes.  A red striped tie hung out of a pocket, shirtsleeves rolled up, black pants sagging and falling on black tennis shoes.  He held something smoky in one hand that didn’t quite look like the cigarettes his dad used to smoke.  “Well shit ya little fucker, if you’re gonna come out here like this, I guess you may as well hit this thing too,” holding out the smoldering joint, “We both deserve it today.”   Josh knew what it was now.  He’d never smoked anything before but he’d heard about it and seen it in movies, on TV…and if Kyle was doing it, he was damn well going to do it too.  He reached out and grabbed it clumsily with a hand sticky from donut glaze an hour before, put it to his lips and breathed slowly before crouching over in a coughing fit.

“Well, give it back.  And, try to fuckin’ be quiet.  You’re gonna get us busted.”  They stood mostly in silence a few minutes more.  Passing the joint back and forth and shuffling feet.  Watching as the sun kept falling, first below the line of tall trees in the distance, then below the rooftops more nearby.  “Shit, we better get back inside or somebody’s gonna come lookin’.  Well, c’mon, don’t just stand there, move…you’d think you’ve never been stoned before.”  And with that Klye slipped past and slipped quickly in the door.

Josh stood still for another minute, feeling the air fill his head, feeling a hazy fog blur his thoughts.  He felt better, stronger, grown.  He wasn’t just a little kid anymore.  He turned away from the dumpster and gave it a quick little kick and he turned and headed back in the door and down the hallway, feeling the rush of confusion in a crowd.  “There you are,” his mother said,” as he looked up at her through bloodshot eyes.  “I know, I’ve been crying too.  We all loved her.”  And with that she pulled him close and they melted together for a few moments before she stood up straight, and flattened her dress with quick hands.

“Your  father and I are going to be here late, but you need to go home and get some rest before the funeral tomorrow.  Uncle Harry is waiting for you in the lobby, he’s going to take you home and leave Kyle to watch you.  Now, don’t give him any trouble.  And, don’t you get embarrassed if he can tell you’ve been crying.  It’s perfectly OK”

“I’ll be fine mom.”

“Dad and I will be home before too long, now be good.”

“I will,” he said with a smirk.  “Kyle can take care of me.”

And with that he spun and headed toward the lobby, almost running into his dad who was standing next to his uncle as Kyle grinned and snickered half in and half out the doorway.

“C’mon little guy…you’re with me tonight.”

With that Josh hopped to and jumped over toward Kyle, heading through the glass doors, past the somber faced and sliver haired men holding them open.  Kyle reached back and pulled Josh to his side as his uncle followed toward a maroon colored mini-van encrusted with dust and mud around the wheel wells.

“I’ll tell you about your grandpa tonight, you probably don’t even remember him.  Everything will be OK.”

And ya know what…that night everything was…that night he was with family.

What was she even supposed to do with the thing? It wasn’t a doll to play with, and she certainly didn’t want to set it on a shelf to look at. It was creepy. But not quite creepy enough somehow. Had it been really and truly haunted, and come to life to stab at her in her sleep, now that would have been something. She could have explained that to Jeremy and Tom the next day, in the woods behind the house. They’d have listened with rapt attention as she’d described how she defeated it with craft and cunning and swiftly thrown blankets. How she’d bundled it up and stuffed it down the laundry chute and heard the screeching of its tiny knife against the aluminum as it slid to its concrete-floored doom.

Their eyes would have been large and incredulous as they were for all her stories and then they’d have jumped their bikes across the creek until one of them fell off into it and had to go home and change out of their wet clothes. But no. This thing only looked creepy, and was not actually creepy. It was not about to come to life or provide interesting stories. If it came to life it probably wouldn’t be able to move in that ridiculous dress anyway, it was way too puffy. She was sure if she took it out to the creek behind the house and blew it up with firecrackers they would find out and then she would be in trouble.

She stood silently behind her closed door and listened to the low hum of them talking to each other contentedly in the other room. She wondered what to do.

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This work by superBadGirl is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License. Based on a work at thegrandconspiracy.org.

Was it in the coffee cup with my favorite painting on it that Carrie got me for my first birthday we spent together? The one I sat sipping strong black coffee from now, staring past the frost on the window over the kitchen sink at the brick wall next door so close I could touch it. The one that was still my favorite, even after we sat crying in the dark, worn out from screaming at each other so shortly after we smiled sweetly, softly looking at the corners of each others eyes when we said I love you. Did I write it down on the stationary Val bought for me before I slept with that waitress with the short blond curls one drunken evening when she was out of town and I thought maybe I got a look at it in sad blue eyes and cleavage? I think that’s in this drawer right here in the kitchen. Yup, there it is with half a grocery list scribbled in blue ink on the tan, unlined sheet with a picture of some famous building the name of which I forget, right next to the matchbook with the name of a Bar-B-Q joint on it that Sarah brought me back from the trip she took to Memphis, the one where she came home and told me how much she wished I could have come…instead of having to go with her new boyfriend after we realized we couldn’t share the same space for more than an hour alone without yawning.

Maybe it was still it the box of pictures that documented my first marriage. Better go look. Not sure, but I think I can almost see it in the pictures of Christmas gone by, shared with family sitting near a tree, smiles born of happiness, eggnog, and beer too early in the day. It just escapes me when I see the picture of us shooting pool with her in that new red ruffled tuxedo shirt she was so proud of, mere weeks after we met outside that dingy bar in the parking lot, both not wanting to go home alone…long before we argued over who got to keep the kitchen knives and accused each other of imaginary wrongs.  Maybe it’s in the worn out pair of shoes sitting in the corner over there, the pair Liz bought me because she thought the ones I wore with my toe sticking out would embarrass her in front of her friends, the same friends who never did warm up to my smoking; who I just saw her drinking with when I accidentally walked by that martini bar last Friday; where she used to tell me how glad she was to have finally found something real before needing someone who shared more of her conceit. Maybe it is somewhere in the painting that still hangs on the wall, a reminder of a long, sweaty night where the rest of the world disappeared in a fog of lust when Sarah stopped by and told me she always thought of me as more than a friend, before she moved to Virginia three weeks later, firmly insisting had we known all this sooner maybe she wouldn’t have had to go.

Nothing to do on a Sunday, but go down to the basement and bring up one of those big moving boxes, sitting empty on the damp, grey concrete next to the washing machine. Time to start packing up all these things and the rest, all mementos of half a life gone by. After all, it’s probably not around here anymore, if it ever was. The sooner I put these things away, the sooner I can step outside into the bracing winter wind and start looking again. Now, if I can just remember what it looks like.