“Wait here,” said the attendant. “He’ll be with you shortly.” The door closed.

“Okay,” said Clare, “who’s going to be the leader in this interview?” The implication was clearly that she should take the lead.

Katie started to say, “I think I sh…”

“I don’t know about anyone else,” interrupted Lola, “but I think he really fancies me. I think a little shaking of my booty will bring results.”

“Oh, give it a rest, Lola. He sees right through your cheap sexual tricks. You couldn’t be subtle if you tried. I’ll make him see sense. I won’t give him an option.”

Katie spotted a photograph frame lying face down on the table in front of them. She turned it over. It was a picture of their father.

“What’s that?” said Clare, grabbing the photograph. “What the ...”

Expletives ricocheted around the room like bullets. She threw the photograph against the nearest wall. The frame shattered. Katie ran and picked up the fragments.

“Oh, please … please … he’ll never let us go if you break things. Please don’t ruin things, Clare.”

“What’s he playing at?” Clare exploded into Katie’s face. Katie shrank back, terrified.

Lola grabbed the photograph out of Katie’s hand, scattering the fragmented frame again. She tore the picture into small pieces. “That’s what I think of that child-molesting rat. He made me like I am. I hate him.”

Katie sat sobbing, totally dejected.

***

From behind the two-way mirror, Doctor Travers shook his head.

“Take her back to her room, nurse.”

“She’ll be really disappointed doctor; she was hoping you’d discharge her soon.”

“Unless she manages to control Clare, I can’t release her back into the community. I can help her overcome Lola, but right now Clare is still too violent.”

Hello? Can you hear me? Hello?

Try opening your eyes... that’s it.....

That’s it, there’s a good chap. Well done. Can you hear me?

Good. Good man. Well, here you are. If you’ll......

No, you’re not in a hospital. Now, if you....

Well, I’m trying to. It’s a bit of a sticky situation, really. If you give me a moment, I’ll try and explain...

No. I’m not a doctor. More of an... accountant, if you will. My name? Well, we’ll get to that in a moment. Yes, I know who you are. Please be patient, Mr. Phillips. I’m sure all will become clear.

Please, Mr. Phillips. As I said, this is a rather delicate situation, but rest assured, I am fully trained to deal with it, so if you bear with me I’ll be finished in a jiffy.

Can you stand? Good. Actually, you may prefer to sit... no? Very well, that is of course your right.

I am assured by my superiors you will be feeling much better - you are experiencing no pain? Excellent. That’s almost always the case, but sometimes mistakes are made.

May I ask - what is your last memory before you woke up? My records indicate you were... let’s see, an automobile accident? You remember the vehicle skidding.... the sound of shattering glass... and that’s about it, yes? Not to worry.

No, as I said, this is not a hospital. It’s actually a.... better place.... ha! That’s rather witty, if you’ll forgive me a small conceit.... pardon?

Very well, then, if I must. My name is Death, Mr. Phillips. I’m here to make your journey as simple as possible. However, I must balance your account before I decide where you're going next, you understand.

If you’ll just calm down, we can begin....

Ford grinned over the rim of his brandy glass and rubbed his smooth chin, his eyes trying to see through the layers of silk and cotton bodice the woman wore. He finished off his glass and tapped his finger elegantly on the counter for another, coolly sliding a coin across to the barkeep without taking his eyes off the woman’s lacy neckline.
He could tell there were other women watching him; a group of flustered young officer’s sweethearts sitting in the corner. He had afforded them a smile a while ago, but he was getting older, and his tastes matured with him.
One of the girls whispered to her friends and stood up sinuously, carefully smoothing out her skirts as she did so. She flicked what she thought was a discreet, suggestive glance over to the famous captain, a post captain now by his twin gold epaulettes, and slipped out from behind the table. Ford tossed a dismissive glare at her and curled his lip in plain distaste before returning to his scrutiny of the older, more refined lady. The men thought of him as a rogue, and the women saw him as a prize; he didn’t really want to be either.
“But then,” he muttered to himself and hummed in appreciation as the woman sat down and the tasselled hem of her skirt revealed a flash of white ankle, “old habits die hard.” He smirked wickedly and slipped off the bar stool, full of Dutch courage and the knowledge that he was sailing tomorrow anyway. “May I join you?” His voice had the same rich texture as the claret in the lady’s glass, and she willingly murmured her assent.

A lone gull slowly wound its way to the ground watching her as he landed on the rocky cliffs. Her long red hair caught up in the passing breeze framed a kind face. He watched her small clumsy fingers play with the shiny hasp on the basket. His heart beat a little faster. Her short almost stubby legs crossed Indian style shifted as she bent further over to examine the contents of the basket. She stopped and fussed with her hair, placing it behind delicate ears in a futile attempt to tame it from the rough wind.

She again bent her head to the basket, and he crow- hopped a little further down the cliff until he was on the beach to her far right. Her freckled face now furrowed in concentration she pulled something out of the basket and began to work with the wrapping. He hopped a few feet closer, ah the suspense was killing him! She got the sandwich unwrapped and took a bite. Her button nose crinkled as she chewed. SCORE! Tuna Sandwich! He hopped even closer, wait for it. She stood up and collected her toy pail and shovel. There was a half built sand castle to finish. He heard her childish laughter playing to the waves as he ran in and gobbled up her discarded sandwich.

He watched her play in the sand while his much loved tuna sandwich settled in his stomach. She watched him too, of course. Her piercing green eyes full of mischief would level on him every once in a while. He knew this was part of the game. Shortly she would launch herself at him; he would take wing and promise to meet her on the morrow as he flew off into the noonday sun.

The servant brought the woman. "My Prince Karon - this is Maris", he said. Karon looked up. Maris was curvy and moved with catlike grace. Her hair was dark, with a touch of copper, and curled. Eyes dark like storm clouds, and a strong nose. No apparent beauty… But there was something about her, an air of feline strength, and slyness in her eyes.
"So you are Maris", he said. The woman curtseyed briefly, than straightened herself again to look at him. "I am, My Prince", she said. Her voice was dark, smooth and firm. He circled her.

She had firm breasts and strong arms. He absently outlined the curve of one of her breasts. She pushed his hands away.
"If you want to touch me, you’ll have to pay for it, like anyone else".
Karon stopped dead in his tracks. After some instants, his lips curled in a smile.
"I will pay you more than sufficiently, woman".
She acknowledged that with a nod.
"You can have me, then".

Karon, still smiling, sat down behind his desk.
"I do not intend you for myself - though this certainly would be fun. I intend you to marry the King".
Maris seemed unmoved.
"Is the King in such need that his Prince is hiring wh0res?" she asked.
Karon was next to her in a second and slapped her face. She tumbled.
"Strike me once more, Prince, and I will kill you", she hissed.
Her eyes were aflame, her breathing ragged.

Karon stood paralyzed, then burst out in laughter. "You would be a great toy for me, Maris. But it is the King you are meant for. Don’t question why".
She nodded.
"I will not, then".
Her neck was set in a strong and graceful line. Karon nodded approvingly. She would do well.

As the familiar and unfriendly ringing of her alarm clock so rudely interrupts her dream, Mindy moans as she slams one tingling, still asleep hand down to silence it. As she rubs her eyes, he mind wanders back to her pillow as “five more minutes couldn’t hurt” slides through her mind. Suddenly the realization of what day it happens to be wakes her as she hears her mother saying goodbye to her eldest brother.

She looks over toward her dresser to remind herself what clothes she had set out for the day. Her favorite skirt, that means she is going to have to shave her legs. She grunts. She stands and stretches, a few of her joints pop. Grabbing the folded towel and her shower bag (she never liked the idea of her brothers having access to her soaps and shampoos) she heads down the hall to the bathroom. Her younger brother is exiting the bathroom as she gets there. He giggles; it smells. She sighs as she turns on the shower, her older brother has left it on jet again, and she still is not tall enough to reach the showerhead. Having spent five years in gymnastics makes shaving easy; of course being vertically challenged does help a bit.

After taking a quick shower she dresses herself and puts up her hair. She glances in the mirror. Although most of her friends are now wearing makeup, she never does as she has inherited her mother’s natural beauty. Her ponytail bounces as she hurries down the stairs. She runs into the kitchen and gives her mother a goodbye kiss while grabbing her lunch of the counter. She grabs her bag and heads out for the bus, ready for her first day of Junior High.

For what seemed like an hour, he stood grinning at his victim on the floor, taking in every detail. Her long blonde hair now tinted red, her once beautiful blue eyes shallow and empty. With eyes full of hate and the slightest hint of a smirk crossing his lips he watched her. Silent. Still. Dead.

He vrushed a dank, greasy hair from his face and rubbed the sweat from his forehead with a blood smeared hand.A flash of her last moments entered his head. Her laugh, her nasty mocking laugh.

Who's laughing now?

The moment I saw her, I knew that she would change my life.

A fiery beauty - not as you may expect, but so full of light that you couldn't help but stop and stare for a moment. As I watched he a gust of wind blew wildly up the street, it carried a scrap of old newspaper in its torrent which whipped against the wheels of her chair.

She turned... released... and let it go from its cage and let it float on down the street. As she looked up I caught her eye. Those dark blue, almost black, hypnotic eyes. Caught in a trance from which I would never be released, I began to cross the road to where she was handing soup to the bedraggled bums. If I had only known then what that magic, wheeled princess was capable of I may have kept walking; or I may not.

'...here I am, standing over her body, blood covering my hands, I pick her up and carry her, now I'm in Iraq, walking the streets of Baghdad, asking an uncaring public for help, why is everyone staring at me, here comes the car bomb that starts the ambush, run, everyone, , now I'm on a mountain, it's Afghanistan, why am I here, I'm carrying her body up the hill, the medic is there, I reach the top, now it's Fort Benning, the jump towers, where's the medic, I need a medic, I'm so sorry Anna, Dear God, where's the med...'
Something blared in Andru's ear, startling him out of his nightmare and into wakefulness. Sitting up quickly and staring around the room wildly, he noticed that he had his .45 automatic pistol in his hand, cocked and ready. His visual search of the room continued until he found the source of offending noise, his alarm clock, its red digital lights telling him that it was 0600. After reaching over to turn it off, he swung his legs off the bed, turned on the light and looked down at the pistol still in his shaking hand.
"Wow, that's the third time this week," he grumbled to himself, "well, at least it's not every night anymore." Andru sets the pistol down on the bed-side table and his eye falls on the worn picture that rests there.
It shows a happy man and woman, smiling despite the tropical rain dousing their honeymoon, the new rings on their fingers shimmering in the flash of the camera. Andru could barely recognize the man in the photo, young and grinning foolishly, happy with his beautiful young bride, the horrors of Afghanistan put behind him, and the horrors of Iraq and beyond not yet visited upon him.