On a crisp fall evening, a young girl sits on a bench along a quiet Boston road. Her legs swing back and forth, unable to touch the pavement below.

In the distance a bus rolls lazily down the road carrying a few passengers. The little girl squints into the setting sun and stands up expectantly. The bus squeaks to a halt and the doors open with a loud “Whoosh!”

The little girl speaks.

“Sir, is this the last bus from New York City?”

The bus driver replies.

“No it isn’t. There’s one more this evening.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The girl hops carefully back onto the bench.

The bus rolls away, kicking up a cloud of dust. She watches a butterfly struggle against the chill, trying to travel south to be with its kin. Looking up, the girl watches a few evening stars appear, and then looks down the road for the next bus.

A low rumbling preludes a set of dim headlights peeking over the distant hill. The girl once again stands up, perched on her tiptoes, head craning.

The bus lurches to a standstill and the doors slide open.

“Sir, is this the last bus from New York City?”

“Yes, sweetie. You expecting someone?”

“Is Mr. Henderson on the bus?”

“Well I don’t really know. You want to have a look?”

The girl cautiously pokes her head in and critically surveys the sleepy bus passengers. As her eyes flit towards the back of the bus, the bus driver notices a sad look replace the hopefulness that was there previously.

The girl suddenly breaks her calm demeanor and yells.

“He was supposed to be here! He said he’d be on the last bus on Friday!”

“Sweetie, calm down.” He pauses. “I’ve seen you out here every Friday for the last six months that I’ve been on this route, and the driver before said he’s been seeing you for even longer than that. Who are you waiting for? Maybe I can help.”

“My daddy went to New York City on a business trip. He said he’d be coming home on the last bus on Friday. He didn’t come back.” Her eyes drift towards the ground. “Mom was sad and said we’d see him again, so I’m waiting for him.”

“I - ,” the bus driver starts with a troubled look in his eyes. “I don’t think...” A pause. “When was this?”

“I don’t remember. Mom said we’d see him again but I want to see him now.”

The driver’s face wrenches into a strange blend of emotions. He suddenly calms.

“Sweetie, you know, there’s another bus next Friday. Maybe he’ll be here next week?”

The girl lifts her head up with a slight smile.

“So this isn't the last bus?”

“Well, no - not technically. Now, I’ve got to get going, and you’d better get home and take care of your mother until your daddy gets back.”

The driver watches her dash off in his side mirror, and with a sigh closes the door to the bus and continues on his route.

Today was a big day. It was not only Dani Talbot’s 10th birthday, it was the day that Mom was finally coming back home.

Sitting on a bench at the bus stop on the corner of 36th and Pine, Dani swung her legs in nervous anticipation as she looked down the street. Tucked under her arm was Binky Bear, an old-fashioned and now well-worn teddy bear that was the last gift mom had given her. It was her constant companion and reminder of how loving Mom was before The Drugs took over.

Her expression darkened as she remembered the night Mom left, almost four years ago. She was sitting in her room clutching Binky close to her chest as she heard Mom and Dad fight. The argument was the one they had regularly for the past few months, about Mom would sometimes disappear all night and wasn’t paying the bills. It ended with the slam of a door and the sound of a car driving away.

Dani snapped out of her funk as she realized that the sound of the engine wasn’t in her head. The bus was approaching! She smiled broadly as the bus slowly hissed to a stop and the passenger door opened.

Her smile disappeared when the only people getting off the bus were an elderly couple. Dani scampered up and stood on the bench to look inside as the bus pulled away. The only people she saw were the driver, an old man and a couple of teenagers.

Confused, Dani sat back down and pulled a slip of paper out of the pocket of her pink cardigan. She unfolded the note, hand-written on stationery from a place called New Light Treatment Center, and re-read it. Dear Danielle, I’m sorry for leaving you. I’m ashamed of what I’ve done and want to make things right again. I’m coming back into town on the 1128 bus, arriving at 36th Street at 6:30 pm on the 18th. I hope we can start over. Love, Mom.

Dani looked at her watch. 6:35 pm. She bit her lower lip and looked around nervously until her gaze settled on the bus schedule posted nearby. It said there was another bus arriving at 8:10. So that was it. Mom must have missed her bus. She’d be on the next one for sure.

But... what if she wasn’t? A nagging doubt wormed its way through her brain. After all, the few times that Mom even bothered to call since she left, it was just to beg Dad for money. Whenever Dani answered the phone, she could hear The Drugs in Mom’s voice as she said “Let me talk to your father.” There was never a “hello” or “I miss you”. Once, Dani blurted out “I love you, Mommy.” There was only a brief pause before Mom said, “Just let me talk to your father.”

Dani looked back at the letter still in her hand. No, this was different. This was the old Mom. She was at a treatment center. She was getting help. Things will be good again. She repeated it out loud to Binky. “Things will be good again.”

She stayed at the bus stop, determined to wait for the next arrival even as the street lights flickered on in response to the oncoming dusk. Dad would be getting worried. She never told him about the letter. She wanted him to be surprised when she walked into the door holding Mom’s hand.

Dani replayed the scene of their happy reunion over and over in her mind until the next bus approached. She watched cautiously as the bus stopped and its door opened.

No one emerged.

She stood up on the bench again and peered into the bus. It was empty except for the driver. Once he realized Dani wasn’t getting on, he closed the door and drove away.

Stunned, Dani stepped down from the bench. She stood there for a moment before angrily crumpling up the letter still in her hand and throwing it into the street. Her head hung low, she looked at Binky dangling from her left hand. Under the harsh glow of the street lamp, her companion suddenly looked worn, beaten and irreparable. Hesitantly, she released him from her grasp and he fell into the gutter with a soft plop, his left leg bent behind his frayed torso. He looked like an accident victim. He looked the way her heart felt.

A few large raindrops splattered against Dani’s face and arms. She looked up and saw the faint outline of dark clouds rolling in, barely contrasted by the night sky. The storm clouds brought her some small relief as she began to walk home. Maybe, in the rain, no one would be able to tell she was crying.

A young boy sits on a bus bench. Two buses pull up and drive away and still the boy sits on the bench, a backpack beside him. The sun is setting, the new moon is rising, and darkness begins to fall. He watches the people in the cars driving by, heading for their homes and family and dinner.

An old man comes walking up slowly, using a cane to steady himself and sits at the other end of the bench.

"Do you mind if I sit here with you for a minute?" he asks the boy.

The boy shakes his head and resumes watching the cars.

"It's going to get a little cooler soon. Do you have a sweater in your bag?"

The boy shakes his head again.

"If you like, I'll let you use my scarf to wrap yourself with if you get a little cold," he says, laying a red plaid scarf on the bench between them. "Are you waiting for someone to pick you up?"

The boy shakes his head no.

"Then, you must be going somewhere, right?"

A small nod is the only response.

A few moments pass. The old man looks at the boy and asks, "Are you running away?"

The startled look on the boy's face gives the old man his answer.

"I see. Something at home is bothering you and you want to get away from it, am I right?"

Again a nod is the only answer.

"Well, where is this home you want to get away from?"

The boy points behind him down the side street and says, "Two blocks down on Maple Street, but I'm never going back!" He reaches for the old man's scarf and tries to wrap it around himself.

"See, I was right. It's getting a little cooler isn't it? Let me help you put that on right. Be careful, there's a hole right there. I did that a long time ago and I don't want it to tear any more," the old man says and his hands linger for a moment on the boys shoulders.

"I used to live on Maple Street many years ago," the old man continues. "Right down this road here. I wonder… maybe my old house is close to yours? It was brick with white windows and a big front porch that went around and down the side. I loved that house, but I ran away, just like you."

"You ran away too? Why? Where did you go?" asks the boy.

The old man sighs. "You wouldn't understand why, but I left my wife and son. I felt terrible about doing it. I always wanted to go back and say I was sorry so we could be a family again, but I never did."

"Maybe they're still there," says the boy. "You could go and see if they still live there and tell them you're sorry and be a family again. I'll walk down there with you and you can see!" The boy jumps to his feet and picks up his backpack.

"I'm afraid it's too late for that, Henry," the old man responds. "It's been too long, but I'll go with you."

The boy pauses. "You called me Henry. How did you know my name? I didn't tell you my name."

"It was just a guess. Sometimes I can do that, guess people's names. You look like your name would be Henry." With an effort, the old man stands and steadies himself with his cane. He reaches out and takes the boy's hand and together they slowly start down the side street toward Maple.

"Which way is your house mister?" asks the boy.

"Down this side on the right. Why don't you just call me John, instead of mister?"

"My house is down this way too! Maybe we are neighbors, mist… uh, John."

Further down the block, a man and a woman are calling Henry's name loudly.

"That's my mom and dad," says Henry.

"They sound worried about you. Why don't you run ahead and meet them? I need to tie this shoelace before I trip and fall."

The old man watches as Henry runs down the street, calling to his parents. Henry turns to beckon John to join him, but the old man is gone.

Once inside the house, Henry tells his parents about John while his mother serves dinner. His father listens intently, not interrupting Henry's tale.

Waiting until after Henry goes to bed, his father picks up the red plaid scarf and discovers the hole near one end. He remembers that his own father, John, had a scarf just like this. He wrapped it around the revolver that he used to end his own life many years before - in this very house.

The shouting started before Julie hung up the phone. "I told you never to talk to him! Why do you keep calling him?? He doesn't love you!!" Julie flashed an angry look at her mom. "He's still my dad!" she shouted back, stomping out of the room.

Julie gathered her things and stuffed them into her backpack. Her diary, her sweater, an extra pair of sneakers, a change of clothes, her school books, her toothbrush.... She slipped out the back door while her mom and her mom's boyfriend were arguing again. They were always arguing. Always angry. Julie felt the sun against her face as she started down the road. It felt good, and warm, and peaceful.

She arrived at the corner where the bus stop sign leaned slightly toward the street. She wearily put her backpack down and sat on the bench. And waited. In four hours, he'd be here. He was going to come and rescue her. Take her away from all of this.

She watched the cars whizzing by on their way to unknown destinations. She watched the little kids in the park across the street, laughing and running. A cat came and studied her from a distance. She tried to entice it to come closer, but the cat remained untouchable. Julie waited. She checked her watch again. A bus arrived and 3 people got off. She sighed. She stared absently at the trees in the park. She jerked to attention when she felt the bench move. Someone sat down next to her, a lady in her 30s she guessed. I don't ever want to be that old, she thought. The lady fumbled with her belongings, and sat there nervously looking around. "Do you know when the next bus arrives?" the lady asked.

"No, but there was just one here about 10 minutes ago," Julie replied. The lady had weird hair, all pinned up, but sticking out and frizzy like a halo all around her head. She nodded, "Ok, thanks.... where you headed to?" "My dad's," Julie responded, without any further explanation. The two on the bench sat in silence for awhile, and then another bus came. The lady got on, but Julie stayed where she was. He'd be here. He'd be in a white Hummer. He'd see me sitting here on the bench, and stop right where this bus is. He'll stop and I'll get in, and we'll go to his house by the lake. I'll have my own room, and my own bathroom, and I can swim every day and I won't hafta.... Her backpack fell to the ground with a thud.

Julie picked it up and put it back on the bench. A man and a woman came and sat down on the bench. Julie slid over to give them room, with her backpack between herself and the woman as a barrier. The man was large, but the woman was rail thin. The woman looked straight ahead, and said nothing to either Julie or to her traveling partner. The big man on the far end kept clearing his throat, as if to speak, but he never said anything, either. Julie was glad when the bus came, and the pair got on. She had the bench to herself again. She checked her watch. Ten more minutes. Her heart pounded faster. She allowed herself to smile briefly. She studied the cars, looking for a white Hummer.

Another bus came and went. Julie checked her watch again and again. He’s supposed to be here. It’s 5:00. Maybe he got tied up in traffic. He’ll be here, she reassured herself. The air was getting cooler and a breeze shook the leaves on the trees. Papers and dry leaves danced down the street in small crowds. The light down the street turned green again, and Julie watched the cars pass, inspecting each one. It’s 5:27, where is he? Another bus pulled up and left.

The streetlights turned on as the sun faded over the horizon in the west. Julie looked again. 6:05. The cool air took on a chill and Julie popped her sweater out from under her books as it stretched and yielded to her pulling. She put it on, and continued watching cars. She had seen 3 Hummers today. A red one, and two gold ones. Dad’s is white. Wait! Is that it? The Hummer passed her without even slowing. Her heart sank. Her watch showed 7:48. No more buses would be coming. The shops behind her were closing their doors and turning off their lights.

At 9:17, Julie picked up her backpack, took one last look at the empty street and trudged home. As she disappeared into the darkness around the corner, a white Hummer came down the street, slowed to almost a stop by the bus bench before it also vanished into the darkness.

Natalie was in a hurry that night. Her hunched, trembling, trotting form starkly contrasted with the light snow in the air, and the slumbering trees in the park. As she neared her destination, her lip quivered with a fear that shook her harder than any winter’s afternoon could.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” she whimpered, “I hope the next one comes soon!”

She stood looking at the bus stop for a moment, then opted instead for a bench further into the park.

“Too obvious,” she thought aloud, “maybe they won’t bother looking back here.”

“Fear . . .” hissed a voice, softly in the quiet winter air.

“What?”

“Fear, my dear,” came the now gentle voice, “it really isn’t good for you. Yet you appear to bear an abundance of it.”

“They – no - you scared me, talking out of nowhere like a ghost or something!”

“And yet I am little to fear. If I were, I sure you would have run by now.”

“I’m - ”

“Already running. An act some would deem cowardly, I’m sure.”

“You have no idea! They’ll kill me!”

“They, being mobile and in your pursuit, would likely not be deterred by a change of location.”

“I need to get help, get some of my bigger friends, that’s all!”

“What you need, my dear, is to calm down.”

With that, music snuck over to the bench and crept into her ears, to bring peace to her rattled nerves. Like the tune of a trickling stream it poured in and washed her tension away and out past the slowly amassing fog bank surrounding the park.

“What the . . . hey, what is that?”

“Is it perhaps, music, my dear?”

“Sure, it sounds like it. A piano?”

“Look around, you will find my ivories in the trees.”

She looked around and noticed how the icicles shook with each note. Then she noticed the fog.

“Hey it’s getting cloudy out there,” she said nervously, “I won’t be able to see the bus.”

“The one that just departed?”

“No!” she screamed, attempting to get off the bench, nearly tearing her freezing jeans in the process.

“Stay, stay and know that everything you cannot find through the fog is yet another thing that cannot find you.”

“But what if they find me!”

“Why, I would dare them to try! Just look at the fog, who would dare venture through that?”

“Somebody who’s really angry.”

“Someone foolish, my dear,” answered the voice, as the snow grew heavier.

She looked around once again. The trees appeared to be freezing solid, the pavement was barely visible, and she could not see any movement around her, save the snowflakes. The icicles were growing larger. As they did, the song deepened in pitch, grew in volume, and doubled in beauty.

She went silent for a moment, starting to enjoy the music.

“It’s getting dark, I should get home.”

“Home . . . they could be waiting there.”

“But it’s so foggy and snowy and dark, they’d never be able to see me,” she pointed out, “I can barely see anything myself!”

“But the one thing you can see is my masterpiece. Tell me about the colors, my dear.”

“I can’t see much color, most of it is just white. It is getting dark though, so some of it’s starting to look blue.”

“White, the hue of purity. Blue, the hue of divinity. Is there a better palette on Earth? In the heavens, even?”

“I guess it is pretty . . .”

“Then stay, my dear, and enjoy.”

So Natalie decided to stay. She forgot all about the men in the alleyway. She ignored the sound of the bus pulling up, and the sound of it driving away. She considered asking whom the voice was, but decided against it. It would only interrupt the music, which was becoming more difficult to hear. As her eardrums dulled to the beauty of the winter night’s song, she began to listen with her eyes.

She watched as the trees and the grass and the pavement turned to white, to blue, to ice. She was cold, but felt incredibly warm. To her, the blanket of ice might as well been white-hot fire, and the surrounding fog a giant blanket. As the fog drew closer and closer, she felt safer and safer.

For the finale, the music rose just loud enough to fill a symphony hall, but to her it was just a dull roar. It reached its climax, and then began to wind downwards; each note less audible, more melancholy than the last. As the song neared it’s end, Natalie looked down at her hands in her lap. She watched silently as they turned to white, to blue, to ice.

Reggie was in trouble – big trouble! Not just the kind of trouble that he had already known that he was going to be in for being late; but the kind of trouble that made him yearn to be grounded.

He was supposed to go straight home from school, but he'd stopped to play video games with his friends. He was only going to stay for a few minutes, but the next thing he knew, it was getting dark.

Reggie had taken off running when he suddenly found himself sprawled in the middle of the asphalt. But, instead of smashing his chin and skinning his knees, he had melted into darkness. When he scrambled back to his feet, he was in the middle of a thick, strange forest.

At least he thought it was a forest. It was like no forest he’d ever seen, but it was more like a forest than anything else he could think of. He supposed that the thick gray undulating bodies with bushy yellow tops could be trees and the spiky black orbs could be flowers.

Reggie immediately fell back to the ground and dug frantically, but there was no familiar asphalt to be found. Not knowing what else to do, he started walking. As far as he could tell, the land around him was completely silent and deserted. He never saw any movement directly, but sometimes he caught a glimpse of shimmering air out of the corner of his eye. No matter how quickly he turned, however, he could never quite see what it was.

Then he moved beyond a group of the quasi trees and found a bench. It wasn’t some type of strange, distorted approximation of a bench that his mind labeled as a bench in a futile attempt to make sense of his surroundings. It was an honest-to-goodness, green, plastic, park bench. He debated briefly with himself, and then decided that there was nothing else to do, so he sat down.

At first, nothing happened. Then Reggie’s jaw dropped open in amazement as a bright yellow school bus pulled up and stopped in front of him. The door opened, but Reggie did not get on. Sitting on the bench had seemed to be a fairly innocuous action, but he could not bring himself to get onto the bus. It remained for a few seconds, frozen in time, and then the door closed and it pulled away.

After a while, another bus pulled up. Like the first, the door opened and this time Reggie stepped towards the bus. He had decided that he would get on, but then he saw that there was no driver. He backed away quickly and screamed as he dove back to his bench. Curling himself in a tight ball, he sat rocking hardly aware of the increasing darkness around him. When he finally stopped sobbing, he realized that the twin blue orbs that he had labeled as suns were sinking into the horizon. Not knowing what else to do, he sat and rocked until he fell asleep.

Elvsa sat transfixed watching the news report. “Muh, can’t we please go see him?”

Elvsa turned almost purple as he stared at the screen, wondering what would happen to the stranded human boy.

I normally don’t pay too much attention to the bus stop, but for some reason the kid sitting there caught my eye. Not many people in this area of town use the bus; it is mostly a mode of transportation reserved for the housekeepers, gardeners and nannies who come in during the day and are cleared out by 5:30. Occasionally, one of the neighbors will decide to strike a blow against global warming and use public transportation into the city, but two days of mingling with the masses is usually enough to assuage his guilt. Then the Lexus gets a fresh coat of wax and he’s back on the road.

It was close to 6:30 by the time I’d cleared the freeway traffic and made the final turn onto my street. The bus stop blended into the neighborhood, at least as much as it could. The dark-green enamel on the wrought-iron bench fit with the understated elegance of the large homes surrounding it, and the landscaping the Civic Association had paid for made it look more like a mini-park than a bus stop. Even the small sign with the route number had been discreetly placed in front of a shade tree to hide the unsightly metal post. Tall, perfectly manicured bushes behind the bench effectively blocked it from view of all except one home – mine.

Although it was unusual to see someone on the bench at this time of night, it wasn’t unheard of. I think what caught my attention at first was his age. He was 12, maybe 13 years old, too young to be one of the gardeners. Then I noticed his clothes. His khaki pants, pressed shirt and designer shoes were the standard uniform of kids in this neighborhood. Except that they didn’t take the bus, and wouldn’t be caught dead sitting on that bench. Yet he didn’t look uneasy. He just sat there, calmly waiting.

I pulled my car into the garage, and by the time the door shut I had forgotten about him. I kicked off my shoes, poured myself a nice glass of merlot and took it into the living room to relax for a few minutes before dinner. I was getting ready to draw the curtains against the late afternoon sun when the 6:37 bus pulled up. It paused, then pulled away. And there he was, still sitting on the bench.

I wondered why he was there. Did he think that more than one bus route passed this way? If so, he was sadly mistaken. Maybe his mom or dad rode the route, and he was waiting for that specific bus. Or did his parents think that he was in his room studying, when in fact he was waiting for a friend to pick him up? Curious, I left the curtains open and sat down with my wine, wondering which scenario it was going to be.

My glass was half empty and the sun nearly gone when the 7:07 made its rounds. Again it paused then pulled away. And again, the boy remained calmly on the bench. An older couple and their golden retriever appeared on the sidewalk. They looked surprised to see him, but without hesitation they crossed the street and continued on their way. Next came a carload of teenagers, music blaring loud enough to be heard through my closed windows. I heard their voices, first as questions then as taunts. Still the boy sat there, composed. Frustrated by his response, they gave up and drove away.

I watched as the neighborhood interacted with the boy. Adults avoided him, ignoring his presence the way beautiful people ignore the ugly sister. The carload of teens drove by again, their mocking louder and more obnoxious.

My glass was empty and the bench nearly swallowed by twilight when the 7:37 came and went. The last stop of the day, yet a small, quiet figure still sat there, patiently waiting.

He didn’t look at me until I spoke.

“Are you OK?” I asked.

He slowly lifted his head and silently looked at me. In the light of the moon, his eyes seemed to glow from within. Slightly shaken, I repeated my question.

He opened his lips to speak, but no sound came out. Where his tongue should have been, metallic coils twisted and glittered in the cold moonlight. Before I could react, one of them shot out and embedded in my hand. I was frozen, unable to move – unable to escape.

His lips didn’t move, but I heard him speak.

“Earth Recognizance Team 3 reporting as scheduled. Initial intelligence correct – race ignores those perceived vulnerable. Recommend immediate commencement of invasion protocol Invisible Populace. Sample alien has been obtained for further in-depth analysis.”

My scream remained frozen in silence.

The door to the interrogation room opened and an arm in a blue suit motioned the sergeant outside.

"We found Benny Ochoa. He's telling pretty much the same story as our guy here. A man in a dark blue running suit with a hood came in late last night to the Muskrat Lounge. After a few beers, he bragged about playing the police in this town for suckers. Said he could get away with murder and we wouldn't catch him. Said he already did two and was going to kill again soon, maybe tonight! Benny didn't know Frankie's whereabouts either. If Frankie tells the same story when we find him, we'll have to let Vagostino go."

"Lieutenant, even if they both corroborate this story, Vagostino IS dirty. Let me take him in the back and. . . "

"Bill, if you or anyone lays a finger on this suspect, the Captain will have BOTH our badges. We can't do that anymore! The department is under heavy scrutiny by Commissioner Barnes. Suspects better not fall down a flight of stairs or anything. No more. . . "

"Lieutenant, you've got a call!"

Lt. Richard Carlson gave his friend, Sgt. William Basso, a stern look and a thumb across the throat, repeated, "No more!" and turned away.

Basso walked to the coffee room and poured his sixth cup of the absolute worst coffee in the world, cut with cream and three spoons of sugar, and tried to settle his gut. Albert Vagostino was guilty, he knew it! The coffee was still bitter. He flipped it in the sink and went to find the Lieutenant again. By the time he returned to interrogation, Vagostino was gone, released for insufficient evidence.

A silver van crosses Memorial Bridge out of the city and into the crammed-in neighborhoods of Woodrow Island. After this last trip, the three men inside will split $100,000 and leave the city, going their separate ways to what they imagine will be a whole new life - somewhere.

"Follow dat bus, Benny, not too close! Mebbe we'll spot one gettin' off." said Albert Vagostino. He was relaxed now that the cops were off their back. It was time to finish what they were hired to do.

"What do you think they want with these girls?" asked Frankie.

"We don't wanna know," snapped Albert. "All I care is, I get my money and my record cleared when we deliver dis las' one. Hey, look at dat!"

A young girl of perhaps 11 or 12 was sitting on a bench. Two buses pulled up and drove away and still she sat there, waiting as the sun sank below the horizon and a crescent moon rose. Night was arriving, and her mother was late picking her up. She thought there might be traffic on the bridge out of the city. She never noticed the silver van that turned at the corner and stopped.

The three men inside the van didn't realize that they had been followed.

"Don't call this in yet, Bill. Maybe they'll lead us to where the other two girls are." The Lieutenant started the car and trailed the van off the island, over the Causeway Bridge and out into the countryside north of the city. Sgt. Basso didn't like the idea of leaving the girl in the van with those creeps, but trusted his friend's judgment and kept quiet. What looked to be woodlands passed on either side of the car, interrupted by occasional large, ornate iron gates leading to the estates that dotted this area. Lots of old money up here, Basso thought. It was 8 p.m. and very dark.

The silver van finally slowed, pulled up to one of the gates, and stopped. Lt. Carlson continued past and then slowed to make a u-turn, killing the headlights. He crept back, moving to the shoulder once he and Sgt. Basso could see the van. They watched as the gate opened and a large black sedan rolled into view. Two men got out, one taking the bound and struggling girl back to the sedan, the other talking to thethree men.

At the sight of the girl, Lt. Carlson gunned the engine and hit the lights, sliding to a stop by the van. Both cops jumped out, guns drawn.

"Police! Free…"

The bullet tearing through his brain stopped Basso's words and he dropped silently. Lt. Carlson walked to the van and methodically shot Benny, Frankie and Albert in the head also.

"Have your men clean up this mess, Charles," Carlson said, speaking to the man in the back seat of the sedan holding the girl.

"You certainly know how to make an entrance, Richard!" said Commissioner Barnes. "Shall we join the others inside and begin the ceremony?"

Marla came off the bus and went into the diner. Like clockwork, she opened the register … counting out the cash drawer, as she did every morning for the past 46 years. Satisfied that the till was correct, she turned and pulled out the coffee basket from the machine, slipped in a new filter and filled it with fresh coffee grounds. Flicking the switch, she heard the familiar gurgle as water filled the coffee basket and the smell of coffee filled the air. Glancing outside, she suddenly realized that she couldn’t remember a day when she hadn’t done this. “I’m old.” She thought. Sadness crept into her thoughts but was quickly dissipated when she saw a movement at the corner of her eye …

Across the street in the lot, just beyond the bus stop bench. Marla spied a young girl crouched in the thick grass.
She had mousy brown hair and wore a checked shirt and denim shorts. In her hand, she held a mason jar half full of leaves and twigs. Marla smiled to herself, remembering how she and her best friend, Lila, used to hunt for grasshoppers … She closed her eyes and could hear Lila’s musical giggle … it always made her smile. Looking back across the street, Marla watched the girl stand and hold up the jar so she could peer in at the grasshoppers that crawled on the leaves. Marla gasped quietly … it WAS Lila! But that couldn’t be, Lila had disappeared many years ago … She walked to the window for a closer look, when the 7:45 bus pulled into the bus stop, it’s passengers spilling out like worker ants.

“Mornin’ Marla” Chuck boomed, dropping his briefcase onto his usual spot at the lunch counter. Marla glanced across the street at empty lot … a frown drifted across her face … She turned and smiled “Hey Chuck, I’ll have your light & sweet in two shakes!” He grinned and winked “Hell Marla, if you shake it, I won’t need a cup of coffee … Ha!” “Oh you behave or I’m gonna call your wife …” she shot back sternly. They laughed as people came in for their usual fair. She almost forgot the girl across the street as the bustle of the morning crowd reached its peak, but she caught herself stealing glances at the lot when she was wiping tables and sweeping the floor. The day plodded along and the lunch crowd came & went. The diner, at last, grew quiet again …

Marla stared intently across the street. Her memories crowded in, uninvited. She was almost 13 and Lila just turned 12. They’d been catching grasshoppers and giggling about boys who were suddenly very interesting. “Marla?” Lila asked, “You ever wish you didn’t have to grow up?” “Are you kiddin’ me? I hate bein’ a kid!” Marla replied, “It’s always ‘DO THIS’ ‘DO THAT’ and you got no say in the matter … like we don’t know how to think!” Lila looked at Marla, “Well I want to be right here, just like this … playin’ and all … don’t you?” “If I can play with you Lila? Sure … so do I” Marla replied. “You promise?” asked Lila … Marla smiled at her friend … “I promise … pinkie swear, we can play for ever” A voice came from across the field, “Marla …where are you?” Marla looked at Lila rolling her eyes … “See? Do this, do that, eat your dinner” Lila giggled and said “Go on home, your ma’s gonna knock you out if you let dinner get cold” They hugged and went their separate ways. It was the last time she saw Lila.

Marla sat up and dabbed her tears. The police had never found a trace of Lila and her home was not a happy place. There were whispers that her stepfather was hurting Lila and that he did something awful, but nothing ever came of that. Marla got up for the last few customers … she served a few ‘to go’ orders and they rushed across the street as the 5:25 bus rolled up to receive the sunset crowd. When it pulled away, there she was on the bench, Lila … Marla looked away and busied herself with cleaning … she heard the 7 o’clock bus go through and turned back to the window again … and there was Lila, sitting on the bench with her mason jar, just waiting. Marla went to the door, not believing her eyes. Lila smiled and waved … her giggle floated across the street like a bird’s song. “Marla … let’s play, you gave me a pinkie swear … it’s time!” Marla smiled and walked across the street.

“Weel, weel, weel, what do we have here?”

The voice slithered icily down Shane’s spine. This was not good.

“Looks like somebody’s mommy doesn’t love them,” droned Paulie Sewel in his nasal, sing-songy voice. Shane bit back a reply. Best not to match wits with fists.

“Can you blame her with crap like them two?” chimed in Teddy Avery, the thickest twelve-year-old Shane had ever seen. He was the oldest and the fattest boy in the class, his philosophy towards meals and grades being more or less the same—he often went back for seconds. Shane smiled before he could stop himself.

“You think it’s funny you’re a piece of crap?!” asked Paulie striding forward and grabbing Shane by the collar. Shane had to on his tiptoes as Paulie pulled him closer to his face. “Or you got some’n else on your mind, numb nuts?”

Shane was trying to think fast what he could say to avoid the all but inevitable beating to come when the absolute worst thing that could happen, happened…his younger sister spoke up.

“Shane’s nuts aren’t numb!” asserted Sarah with heat. “If I were the pink Power Ranger I’d punch you in your purple faces!”

For a moment, the two bullies stared blank faced, aghast. Then they were both on the ground. Paulie was wheezing on all fours while Teddy rolled back and forth, twitching like some oddity sold at the Cracker Barrel. Just then, a buss rolled by. “Great,” thought Shane. “Now the whole world will know.”

“Did she [wheez], did she [wheez], did she just,” Paulie sputtered.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” managed Teddy through tears.

Shane felt the heat in his cheeks. He knew it well. He tried to speak, but found he hadn’t the words. Briefly, he considered crying, but he fancied he heard a small voice inside him say, “Not now, son. Years later.”

Sarah was still standing tall beside him, hands on hips glaring down at their would-be assailants. He wasn’t sure whom he hated more at the moment: them or her. He vaguely hoped she didn’t say or do anything else.

“If our Mommy were here,” Sarah continued as Shane sucked in a sharp breath, “she would make you eat lemons and send you to bed without your buzzle bear, like the time that Shane went poopy in the pool.”

Shane’s head swam. Wounded animals had nothing on Paulie and Teddy for the piteous howls they were now emitting. By this time Teddy’s arms and legs were skinned and bruised from pounding them against the ground. Paulie’s hair vaguely rivaled a bird’s nest for its integration of grass and twigs and he was bleeding from his lower lip, which he had bitten. Another bus rolled by.

Shane saw his Mom’s minivan turn the corner. It came as small comfort. He made no reply to her apologies for tardiness and uttered something noncommittal as to why he was so red and why those two boys lay sprawled on the ground.

The next day he managed to convince his mother that his red face was, in fact, something that was going around and that he should stay home till he recovered. He avoided going to school the remainder of the week on account of the feverish redness and cold sweats that he could summon with a simple act of memory.

But after a clear checkup from the family doctor, he was forced to return the following Monday. He was not surprised when a hush fell over the hall and all eyes turned toward him. His friend Max, or former friend, he imagined now, came up to him and smiled. Shane braced himself for the inevitable.

“I didn’t know you had it in you,” said Max with what Shane perceived as a patronizing pleasantness. “Why have you been holding out on us?” Shane walked on. Max hurried to fall in beside him. “I mean, why did you wait so long to put those jerks in their place?”

“Look, just leave me alone about it. I’m sure I’ll have to put up with enough from…wait. How did I put Teddy and Paulie in their place?” asked Shane bemused.

“You beat them up didn’t you? Isn’t that why you’ve been gone? Because you got suspended?”

Shane hesitated. “Who told you all that?”

“I heard it from a bunch a people: Ryan, Jordan, Michael. They say they were on the bus and saw you standing over them and that they were crying and all beat up looking and stuff. And no one believes their story. What a joke. We’re calling them Teddy Bear and Poopy Paulie now. The two Flower Rangers.”

“Ya don’t say?” asked Shane with a nervous chuckle.

“Yeah! Losers! They were saying how they were going to beat the crap out of you to prove that none of that stuff really happened and the Principal overheard them. Well he called their parents and suspended them. He said that if they ever mess with you again that they’re out o’ here—expelled. So it looks like you won’t get a rematch. Bummer, huh?”

“Yeah,” managed Shane through a long exhale. He felt like he’d been holding his breath all his life. “A real bummer.”

“Hey, where you are going?”

“To hug my sister,” he replied with a smile.