Author's note: This portion deals partially with the married life and honeymoon of the Jameson's. Although it is not soft-porn by any stretch of the imagination, it does get more personal, playful and tender than the other portions of the story, but that is to be expected at this stage of their relationship. Anything less would not be convincing or realistic. If you are offended, please do tell me and I will consider revision (if you can offer an alternative) or removal of the story from this site.

anovelapproach@writeme.com

Summary:

Things should now be peaceful for Ron and Denise Jameson. All of their problems have seemingly been solved. They are a newly married couple and are supposed to be enjoying their honeymoon in Hawaii. The painful truth is that the past does indeed come back to haunt. In their case, a man who should be dead and completely gone from their lives is still making a hell on earth for them and there will be no peace until this ghostly and persistent evil is vanquished once and for all. Their happiness and their sanities depend upon it.

Ronald Jameson is an ordinary man; unassuming and not noteworthy to those he passes on the street each day. He minds his own business and keeps to himself socially. The truth is that he has no social life. Events in his past have caused great pain and there seems little chance they will ever be rectified in his lifetime—that is, until he meets Denise Payton, a marvelous woman he rescues from a raving madman she wants to leave behind as quickly as possible.

Denise has a problem more serious than anything she has ever dealt with—a problem that could cost her very life. In fact, it could also cost her newfound love interest his life. The problem is Ted Randall; an ex-boyfriend, mentally and emotionally unstable, who thinks the world revolves around his needs and him alone. Ted is evil incarnate and never lets anyone forget it.

Fate has drawn these three together for a purpose both dizzyingly wonderful and infinitely frightening. Before their ordeal is over, Ron and Denise will face the trials of nature in a mountainous region, their own weaknesses and the worst that their unrelenting and formidable antagonist can throw at them. Facing these challenges may bring them closer together—or it may tear them apart forever. Before they can discover the answer, they must first survive.

Life is full of choices, but when Jenna must decide between two men who come into her life, she finds that decisions are not always easy and appearances are not always what they seem. The rest of her life—and ultimately, the life of the man she chooses—hangs in the balance. There is literally no room for mistakes. She must choose correctly.

The tale continues. This time Ron and Denise must help to protect and console some new young friends that are enfolded in trials as severe as they come. These trials are literally a matter of life and death to these two young lovers, a condition with which Ron and Denise Jameson can identify and which they understand fully. Dangers will come from sources unforeseen and unexpected. They can only hope that help will do the same.

Eleven years later...

The large brown bag Trisa carried in her arms was overflowing with groceries. It was a good two or three miles from town – a long ways to carry the necessary burden – but she enjoyed the walk. The clean, crisp air always calmed her nerves. But while outside buzzed with the anticipation of spring, her mind was focused elsewhere, contemplating the events that would transpire the rest of the day.
She turned and walked up small cobble-stone path that ended at the door of a beautiful, yet quaint little house. Dr. Niche had found this little house for Trisa, at her request one year ago. She unlocked the arched-shaped door and entered. The lingering chill from outside disappeared as the warmth of Trisa’s little home enveloped her. She set the bag next to the kitchen sink, then turned and flipped on the small V-cine that sat on the island counter. She began unpacking the bags contents as she listened.
“The Government is currently, still on the search for the 'Mischief',” said the voice from the screen. Trisa stopped what she was doing to listen. “The dispatch has classified this man as a Class A outlaw.” A skewed picture of a man’s silhouette appeared on the screen. Trisa chuckled softly. “Nice picture,” she whispered. “Looks just like you.”
The voice continued: “Class A is considered armed and dangerous, and enemy to the union. The Government asks that if anyone has any leads on this man, please report his location or the location of where he was last seen to your local enforcement agency. The Government needs your help to catch this vigilante.”
Trisa scoffed slightly as she turned the V-cine off. “Vigilante?” she scoffed, grinning and shaking her head, and finished putting away the groceries. When this was done, she gazed out the window above the sink. Two children were outside playing in the yard next door - a boy and a girl. Trisa sighed, stepped back, and leaned against the island. She lifted her right hand and traced a finger over the scar that decorated her palm. Memories rushed through her mind of that day. Sighing again, she walked over to the adjacent living room and collapsed onto the tiny fabric couch. She was growing impatient. There were still six hours to go, and she could barely stand it. The day he had left began replaying in her mind.
During the time before and after Toan and Trisa’s father had died, a new political power in the galaxy which called itself simply The Government, was quickly gaining sovereignty. It was declared as an equipoise union, only to mask the sagacious terrorism that underlined the federation. It was a dictatorship, and so many were blind to see it. There were those that did not concur with the new system of government. They were the individuals that could see through the deceit, and took action against The Government. In turn, they were alienated as rebels, and soon became known as the outlaws. People were convinced by The Government that theses outlaws were dangerous and “malicious”, and to stay away from anyone who was suspected of being an outlaw.
At 16, Toan began to feel the confusion, as though he didn’t think he belonged on Centrion - he didn’t know where his place was, and he wanted to find it. At the same time, he did not want to leave. After all, he’d made a promise not too long ago.
“You want to leave, don’t you?” Trisa asked as she confronted him one night. She could see through his facade better than anyone, even better than their father ever had. Toan said nothing and looked down. “Trisa… I can’t,” he choked out.
“Why not?” She knew it was a dumb question, but asked it anyway.
He looked down at his palm. “Trisa…I have a promise to keep.”
Trisa reached out and grabbed his hand. “A promise you made a long time ago when I was very scared, Toan. I’m not a little girl any more, and I’m certainly not scared.”
“But I pro…”
“Toan,” Trisa interrupted, “I can see right through you, you know. It’s in your eyes and it‘s in your actions: you want to leave, and I’m not going to be the reason to stop you. In fact, I am forcing you to go. You not going to be able to stay here and be completely happy at the same time.”
“But what about you? You…”
“I’ll be fine. Dr. Niche will take care of me until I am old enough to be on my own, which is only four years away. Toan, please – I can’t stand to see you torture yourself. You just aren‘t happy here anymore. You need to get out or it will drive you crazy, which will in turn drive me crazy, and then I will be unhappy too.” She could still see the struggle in his eyes, and came up with an idea. She lifted their hands to eye level. “Let’s make a new promise.” Taon looked up, hopeful. “A new promise? How is that supposed to work?”
“Oh, come on. Humor me.”
Toan chuckled. “Ok. You know I’ll promise you anything.”
“Don’t forget about me. I expect letters and pictures every week, not every once in a while when you get around to it. Okay?” Toan smiled at the request, squeezed her hand and pulled her close for a hug. “Of course,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

The next morning, he was gone. She didn’t know when she would see him again, or if she would see him at all. This terrified her, but she would never let Toan know that. For the next five years, she received detailed letters of everything he was doing. He’d joined the alliance, acquired his own star ship, found a close friend, and had become increasingly talented at driving The Government insane.
Trisa was brought out of her trance as the small clock on the wall chimed two o’clock. She sighed, and went back into the kitchen.

* * *

Toan sat at the bar, swirling what remained of his drink around in his cup. He glanced at his watch and grunted. “Where is that moron?” He set the cup down and rubbed his face with both hands. Today was the day – and he wondered if he would be able to stand going back. Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t notice the man that sat down on the stool next to him.
“Toan, you in there?” The friendly, though comical voice was accompanied by a hand waving in front of Toan’s face. He blinked and shook his head, then turned. The man smiled wide and laughed. “Welcome back!”
“Kayan! Where have you been? You were supposed to be here an hour and a half ago!” Toan yelled.
Kayan held his hands out in his own defense. “Hey, settle down. The galaxy isn’t going to be in ruin because I was a few minutes late.” He turned to the bar tender and ordered a drink.
“Well?” Toan demanded.
“Well what?” asked Kayan, trying to look innocent while thanking the tender for his drink.
“What do you mean well what? You know what!”
“I got caught up, is all – helping a friend.” He grinned and finished his drink.
“Do you have any other hobbies besides conning girls into thinking you’re the most amazing thing since anything?”
“Oh, whatever,” Kayan shot back. “I’m charming and you know it. Besides, like I said, she just needed some help with some stuff she was loading onto a carrier, okay? So I helped. Honest.”
“And that took forty-five minutes?”
“It could have.”
They both laughed, until their attention was turned to a large V-cine as the familiar informatory voice began to speak: “The outlaw known as the “Mischief” is still on the loose…”
“Hey, you’re on the screen again,” Kayan whispered to Toan, and Toan smiled.
“…He is considered extremely dangerous. Please contact your local enforcement agency if you have seen this man,” continued the voice. A picture flashed up on the screen. It was an awful picture - it was too dark and barely showed the side of his face.
“Nice pic,” Kayan teased.
Toan slugged him, then looked at his watch. “Wow, I gotta go,” he said. He stood up from his chair and Kayan followed.
“Who was it you were going to visit again?” Kayan inquired.
“My sister,” Toan answered plainly.
“Oh, right. What was her name again?”
“Trisa.”
“How old is she?”
“Forget it.”
“What? I can’t ask a harmless question?”
“Nope.”
“What does she look like,” Kayan pushed. Toan stopped and glared at him, then sighed. He reached inside his coat and pulled out a photograph, and handed it to Kayan.
“Hey, she’s pretty cute, for a kid,” said Kayan as he handed the photograph back, and continued walking along side Toan.
“This picture was taken about five years ago. I have no idea what she looks like now.”
“You haven’t seen a pic of her in five years?” asked Kayan.
“Nope.”
“Does she know what you look like?”
“Nope. Once I got into “the business”, I felt it was best not to send pictures.”
“What about those letters you write? I’d imagine if anyone got a hold of those, they could do some damage.”
“Nah. I never send them interstellar post.”
“Oh, well that’s good…I guess. So, how you two expect to recognize each other?”
“You are a moron, you know that?"
“Has she described herself to you at all?” asked Kayan. Toan groaned annoyingly and shook his head. “What?” Kayan defended. Toan shook his head. “I suspect she’s taller now.”
“That’s it?”
“Yep.”
“Oh come on.”
“She‘d never write much about herself. She’s not a narcissist like you.”
“Whatever. What’d you write about?”
“Oh, just about everything.”
“Everything?”
“Yep.”
“Even me?”
“I might have.”
They didn’t speak the rest of the way to the ship field. Kayan walked with Toan to his ship, but stopped when they reached the stairs of the massive frame that rested beside his star ship.
“Hey, when will you be back?” Kayan asked.
“In one month,” Toan replied. “I’ll meet you hear in exactly one month.”
“Got it.”
Toan began ascending the stairs toward the main door of the ship. “Be careful!” Kayan called after him. Toan chuckled and waved as Kayan turned to leave.
Up at his ship's entrance, Toan punched in the code on the dial pad next to the door.
“Welcome back, Toan,” said a mechanical voice as he entered the hull.
“Hey, Mag. How’s the ship doing?”
“Everything’s repaired and operating at 100%.” Mag answered lively. Toan laughed – it wasn’t very often you met something mechanical with such a human personality. It was rare, and Toan loved it. “Good. Let’s get ready to launch.”
“Right away.”
Toan made his way to the bridge and sat down in the pilot seat. “Primary thrusters on,” he said as he began the check list. “Request green,” replied Mag, his voice resounding through the overhead speakers. “Pre-launch systems set.”
“Fire engines. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two…” The ship’s engines roared to life as the ship began to thrust toward the sienna atmosphere. White smoke filled the air around the launch pad. Within moments, the red tint of Linoa dissolved into a black blanket dotted with stars.
“What if she’s not there?,” Toan asked himself, leaning back in his chair.
“Who?” Mag inquired.
Toan had been unaware he had said it aloud. “My sister. We are going to Centrion to visit her.”
“Oh. I didn’t know you had a sister.”
“You don’t know a lot of things about me, Mag.”
“That is true. What does your sister look like?”
Toan pulled out the picture as a small, cylindrical robot appeared next to the pilot seat. Toan handed it to the robot, who took it in his three-fingered, mechanical hand. Mag starred at it. “She’s very pretty?” he asked. Toan laughed, and answered. “Yes, she is. She looks like our mother.”
“May I ask you a question?” Mag inquired.
“When are you not asking questions, Mag? Sure, what is it?”
“If something were to happen to you, to whom would I be left?”
“Are you still stuck on that?”
“A lot of other so called ships ‘know’ who they will belong to when their pilots leave them - they are programmed to know. I just want to know who or what I will be inherited by.”
“Does it really matter right now?”
“What about her?” Mag held up the picture.
“Trisa?”
“Yes.”
Toan laughed again. “Sure, Mag. What the heck, you will belong to her.”
“Oh, good.”
Even though he was a computer, Toan picked up on the sound of relief. “Why is that so good, pre tell?”
“Now I know that at least I will not be left to that bum Kayan you call a friend.” Toan laughed aloud again. Mag was not very fond of Kayan, ever since Kayan had accidentally almost blown Mag to smithereens. “I think you’re too hard on Kayan, Mag. He‘s not all that bad - just stupid sometimes. And how do you know the word ‘bum’? Have you been watching the V-cine while I was gone again?”
“I might have,” Mag replied, then headed to the back of the bridge. Toan chuckled, then sighed. Hopefully, he thought, I will never have to leave you with anyone, Mag.

The maze was cruel and twisted. Some passages were completely aphotic and lifeless. The rest glowed by a diluted yellow light emitted from some concealed source. The walls of these passages seemed to crawl with the shadows of invisible creatures and machines, and a weird, sickly breeze hovered near the ceiling, carrying with it haunting whispers of whatever arcane thing waited at the end. The shallow and wavering sound of Lee’s breath was the only other noise that accompanied the whispers. The air was bitterly cold. As he slowly made his way down the longest corridor he’d been through so far, questions swam through Lee’s mind about how he had ended up in this sinister place, the memory seemingly out of reach.

Lee no longer questioned why he did not just turn back. He had tried already, confident in his memorization abilities. It did not take long for him to realize that nothing looked familiar as he had expected. Disheartened, he turned back around, feeling there was nothing else to do but push onward to the end. Assuming, that is, that there was an end. He really wasn’t sure anymore; it seemed every time he turned a corner, the walls and shadows behind him would shift. The corridor he had come down just moments before, each turn or doorway fresh in his mind, was gone. Lee experimented on his suspicions, rounding one corner and a moment later, leaping back. The hallway he had just passed through no longer existed. If it had been short, it now extended and curved beyond his sight. If it had been lit, it now harbored the absolute nothingness that made Lee’s stomach churn. Familiarity was impossible.

Right or left? Lee was certain this must have been the thousandth time he asked himself this. It was yet another unwanted decision he had to make. Or was it another mistake? Perhaps. “Eenie, meenie, miny, moe,” he said aloud. He meant for the words to be comforting, the sound of his normally comical and careless voice bringing back some of the courage he’d lost along the way. Instead, the sound of his own voice made him shudder; the sound was alien to his ears.

He turned right.

It took Lee just one second to realize, hands down, that this passage was the worst. The whispers he’d never gotten used to began to grow. They howled and moaned as they whisked past his ears. The menacing shadows remained invisible, but now, instead of dubious glimpses out of the corner of his eyes, he could feel them. They reached out to him as he walked past. What felt like frozen flesh and steel on his skin cut through all layers of his clothing, making his body tremor all over. He began to run, flailing his arms out in front of him in an attempt to ward off the shadows. As he ran, the voices continued to grow. Lee still could not discern whether they were warning or taunting.

The frozen air in his lungs burned as his heart raced faster and faster. The walls suddenly seemed to be closing in, shrinking every way as he ran. Lee’s mind willed his legs to move faster, to keep up with his heart, but they were numb and unresponsive as they moved. “Come on. Come on!”

In the midst of the chaos that filled his mind, one of Lee’s aching knees locked and he stumbled to the floor. He closed his eyes and covered his head, waiting for the harrowing sound of bones being crushed by the immense force of the black walls. After a minute or so had passed, he wondered if he had missed it. Had the walls been quick and merciful? When he opened his eyes, would he find himself in light or darkness?

Slowly, Lee opened his eyes and looked up. Before him was a circular room, the same dull shade as the rest of the maze. He glanced over his shoulder to discover the opening he had just flown through remained the same dimensions as when he had started down the terrifying passage. He turned back around, propping himself up onto his knees. The air was warmer in this room; his lungs no longer burned. There were no shadows or voices, and the light that filled this room was white instead of a sickly pale yellow. Everything about this room was different, especially the lone door standing in the middle of the room.
An intense light shone through the narrow spaces between the door and its frame. It danced.

Lee started to take a slow step forward. “Lee,” a soft, feminine voice whispered in his ear. He stumbled to the side and searched the room frantically. He’d felt the cold breath of the voice in his ear, as though someone, or rather something, had been right beside him. “Lee,” the voice whispered again, this time from across the room. Lee followed the voice with his eyes as it continued to call his name arbitrarily throughout the room. The voice was soft and strangely soothing, so different from the terrifying whispers that had surrounded him until now. It was mesmerizing.

Lee didn’t realize he’d been moving until his back pressed up against the door. He slowly turned to face the slab of dark wood, taking one cautionary step backwards. The light behind it continued to shimmer, but it did not translate throughout the room. There were no splotches of light dancing across the curved walls as there should have been. A shot of ice ran down Lee’s back as he reached out and grasped the dull brass doorknob. The bits of the mechanism rattled against one another as he wrestled with the idea of opening the awful thing. Finally, he twisted the decrepit metal until he would have opened the door, but stopped. A chilled breath rested on his ear once again, and the voice whispered:
“Sie transit gloria mundi.”

The door shot open with enough force to knock Lee to the ground. A powerful wind threatened to rip the door from its hinges, but the small pieces of metal held fast. Lee shielded his eyes from the overpowering yellow and white beams that now engulfed the once dismal room. The sound was colossal – a synthesis of thunder and waterfalls. Lee stood back up and carefully made his way forward. As he stepped over the threshold, the voice spoke once more from behind, the soft words somehow breaking through the blast. “Tu fui, ego eris.” Lee did not understand the words. Nevertheless, they suddenly filled him with great fear; his heart pounded against his chest, begging for relief from the terror surrounding it. Lee turned to escape back into the round room, but stopped short as the door slammed shut, stifling his final scream for help.

A compliation of fantastical short stories.

SWEET REVENGE

A Novel

By

Paul W. West

2478 W. Long Meadow Drive

Taylorsville, Utah 84084

Phone: (801) 966-0063

pwwest@earthlink.net

http://www.geocities.com/paulwwest/Paul_West_Novelist.html

http://valona.blogspot.com/

--------------------------------------------------

AUTHOR’S NOTE

The setting for this story is real. Places and objects have been described as faithfully as the author’s memory and research could recreate them. However, any similarity to actual events or people in the school and community depicted is coincidental.

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SWEET REVENGE

CHAPTER 1

Christmas Eve was usually Mark Wilkerson’s favorite night of the year, or had been until his father ruined his life. Mark hadn’t wanted to perform with the family at that revolting old-folks home. The smells of rubbing alcohol, mixed with stale coffee, antiseptics, urine, and stuff he couldn’t imagine, always made him sick. Not to mention, he couldn’t even be certain the “inmates” as he called them, were even all there. But his dad had threatened to ground him for a month if he didn’t go.

With the program behind them, Mark’s anger simmered as he looked out his rear seat window. His father was driving the family south on I-80 through the City of Vallejo. Beyond the freeway lights, dim Christmas lights on the houses and businesses seemed to peer back at him through the fog like glowing, condemning eyes.

The “Wilkerson Family Singers,” they were billed. Every year Mark’s family put on benefit Christmas programs around the Sacramento area. But his solo tonight made him wish even more that his father hadn’t made him go.

As part of their performances, Mark always played a touching rendition of “Mary Did You Know.” But for some reason, irritability, stress, whatever, this time he had twanged a sour note on his guitar, then embarrassed, he’d forgotten the lyrics and stumbled to some kind of ending that he made up on the way down.

So, that’s what you get for making me go, Dad, Mark thought, staring out the window and refusing to make eye contact with anyone else in the car. The more he thought about it, the more he figured it was really all his dad’s fault.

Now, Mark and his family were finally on their way to Grandma Emily’s house. She was his father’s mother, and every year Mark and his two sisters, 12-year-old Amy, and 6-year-old Sabrina, along with their mom and dad, spent Christmas Eve and Christmas Day at her home in the tiny town of Port Costa. It was on the Carquinez Straits, just a couple of miles east of the larger town of Crockett, at the south end of the Carquinez Bridge.

Usually, he looked forward to this night. Grandma’s ginger bread and whipped cream was always a hit, and he loved her special hot cocoa recipe. Every year, all the family would sit around her huge Christmas tree in her living room enjoying the lights, telling Christmas stories, and acting out the Nativity. Her tree always smelled pine fresh, and was piled high with gifts the family would open in the morning, along with Santa’s gifts for Sabrina. But this year Mark didn’t feel like enjoying Christmas, with or without his family. It seemed nothing could change his mood. He was angry, yes, but even more embarrassed by his goof.

One bright thought occurred to him. His cousin Gary would be there. Mark always looked forward to seeing his favorite cousin – well actually his only cousin, but it seemed the only times they could ever get together were on those special occasions like birthdays and Christmases. They never had enough time for Gary to introduce him to all those cute girls he always bragged about. Actually, knowing how shy he was, Mark doubted his stories anyway.

Mark wiped at the condensation on his window to see into the night better, but it only made a smear that didn’t help. Thickening wisps of fog blew past his window and he knew the Carquinez Bridge, only a couple miles further south, would be socked in. With this fog, they were going to be late getting to Grandma’s house.

Mark looked toward the front seat. He could see the back of his father’s head and his hands on the steering wheel. He seemed uncharacteristically quiet. He had driven the family in fog before, but this time he was gripping the steering wheel tighter than usual. Was it the fog, or the scene he’d created earlier before going to that senior citizens home?

Probably both, Mark figured. And his stupid mistake probably wasn’t helping.

Mark heard a hint of a snicker and glanced sidelong at Amy. She glanced back with a big grin on her face as if waiting for him to say something so she could open up and rub it in about his goof. He knew she was never going to let him live it down.

He looked away again, but his glance at her must have pulled her trigger. “You sure blew it,” Amy finally said, then snickered and burst into a fit of giggles.

Mark wanted to slap her, but he never would. That was not his style to hit girls, even if they were his dumb sister and deserved it.

Sabrina, sitting in the front seat between their father and mother, sat forward and turned around to look back at Amy. Even in the dim light Mark could see the serious expression on her face. “I think Mark sounded good. I liked his song.”

“What would you know?” Amy said, reaching forward over the back of the seat and playfully patting Sabrina on top of her blonde head.

Mark gave Amy a dirty look and turned away again. Even though he was five years her senior, he felt she would try to run the family if it weren’t for their parents.

Still giggling, Amy said, “I think even Grandma could have heard that sour note of yours. What did you do, break your g-string?” She giggled even harder. “And where did you ever come up with those wild lyrics?” She now looked like she was about to burst wide open from laughter.

“Shut up.” Mark didn’t feel like discussing it. Then he recalled her little foible. “But I saw the goof you made in our ‘Santa Claus is Coming to Town’ routine. I almost missed grabbing your hand, and Mom just about fell all over you.”

Elizabeth turned around to look in the back seat. “Okay, kids! That’s enough. I think we all did just fine. I doubt anyone in the audience even noticed our little goofs.

Of course not. They weren’t even there, at least not all there. Mark thought. That was my point in the first place.

Mom continued, “In fact the manager of the home asked me if we could come back again next year. So, I think we should all be grateful for the talents God has given us, and the opportunities we have to share them with the less fortunate.”

Good grief! Next year? Mark felt like groaning. Next year he would be 18. He would be away at college and maybe have to, or rather get to, miss all those dumb benefit programs.

Elizabeth turned back and looked over at Robert, a concerned look appearing on her face. “Maybe you should slow down in this fog.”

“I’m okay,” Robert said. He sounded terse. “The bridge is only a little farther, then we should be okay, assuming the road between Crockett and Port Costa isn’t socked in. I’ve seen it thicker than pea-soup on that Snake Road. Mother is going to worry if we’re late, and you know how she gets.”

“Is there something else bothering you?”

Robert shook his head. “No. It’s nothing.”

“Is it the fog?”

“No, nothing. Just a headache.” His voice rose a few decibels. “Don’t worry about it, Liz.” He reached around Sabrina and patted Elizabeth’s arm.

Elizabeth turned back to the front, then added, “Something seems to be bothering you. Is it the program?”

“Some program,” Amy said. “At least Sabrina did her part well. But Mark! That’s why Dad’s mad. First he didn’t want to go and we almost had to hogtie him. Then, like the pig he is, he hogged the whole show, as usual.”

Mark couldn’t hold back. “You just don’t appreciate talent when you see it.”

“Talent? You call that goof talent. Oh yeah, it sure takes a lot of talent to break your g-string.” Amy started giggling again.

“Okay, you two,” Elizabeth said, her voice sounding stern this time. “You know, I’m wondering if Santa Claus is going to come this year with those kinds of attitudes.”

Sabrina turned in her seat again. “You guys better be good. I don’t want Santa to miss me.” She sounded like she was beginning to cry. Even in the dark her pale blonde hair glowed, and her little pout almost melted Mark’s attitude.

“Santa Claus?” Amy said. “Come on. I know all about him.”

Elizabeth looked over at Robert again. He seemed to be concentrating on the roadway ahead and ignoring the banter. “You sure you’re okay?” she said.

Mark looked over at Amy. “Oh? And when did you grow up?”

He looked back ast his father.

Robert nodded, but Mark could see his fingers tightening on the steering wheel. “Sure. A couple of aspirin wouldn’t hurt, but I’m okay.”

Amy looked back at Mark, an incensed look on her face. “I’m not that dumb.”

Mark had to laugh. “Maybe not that dumb, but still pretty dumb.” She’d left herself open to that one.

“Mom! Did you hear what Mark called me?”

In the dim light, Mark could see his mother sighing.

“Well, she called me a pig,” Mark said.

“Santa Claus is not dumb!” Sabrina scolded back. “He loves everyone, just like Jesus.” She turned to sit forward again in a huff.

Mark fought the urge to laugh.

“How about we change the subject,” Mom said. “Maybe we should sing some more Christmas carols and get back in the Christmas spirit.”

“I want to sing ‘Jingle Bells’,” Sabrina said, bouncing in her seat.

Amy patted Sabrina’s head again. “We just sang that one, silly. How about ‘Winter Wonderland’?”

Mark rolled his eyes. “Okay. At least it beats ‘Jingle Bells’.”

Sabrina turned around again and scowled back at Mark and Amy. “I like ‘Jingle Bells!’ Mommy, I want to sing ‘Jingle Bells.’”

“We just sang that one, honey. Sit down, now. Let’s let someone else choose this time.”

Amy started singing in her young, but clear soprano voice. Sabrina and Mom joined in.

Sleigh bells ring, are you listening . . .

Mark didn’t feel much like singing, but decided to join in on the second stanza anyway. As they sang, Mark noticed that his father didn’t join in as usual. He still seemed upset and Mark knew he was probably the reason.

. . . A beautiful sight,

We’re happy tonight,

Walking in a winter wonderland.

When they finished the song Mark said, “Now, how about ‘Hark! The Herald Angels Sing’?” He could have almost predicted what came next.

Amy butted in, “No. We’re almost to Grandma’s house and I want to sing ‘Silent Night’ before we get there.”

“You just picked ‘Winter Wonderland’. It’s my turn,” Mark said.

Again, Mom to Amy’s rescue. “I want to sing ‘Silent Night’, too. Don’t I get to choose?”

Mark struggled to not let out low growl. Amy always got her way.

Looking out his window again, Mark saw that they were finally at the Carquinez Bridge. As expected, a wall of dense fog socked in the half-mile-wide channel between Vallejo and Crockett.

As Robert drove onto the bridge, bright yellow lights warning drivers to slow down, burned into Mark’s eyes. Then the they were behind them.

Silent night, holy night,

Mark and his mother joined in with Amy and Sabrina.

All is calm, all is bright,

Robert looked over at Elizabeth. “Getting thicker, Liz,” he mumbled as he slowed the car even more.

Round yon virgin, mother and child,

Mark felt the car slip sideways slightly as it crossed a steel expansion joint. “Road’s getting slick too,” Robert said.

Holy infant so tender and mild,

“Robert, be careful of that big truck.” Elizabeth’s voice sounded tight.

Sleep in heavenly peace,

Robert eased the car into the center lane to pass a lumbering, yellow gasoline tanker.

Sleep in heavenly peace.

Mark never saw the car that rushed up behind them, only its headlights shining in his father’s side mirror. Then the bright flash of red taillights as it swerved to avoid hitting another fog-enshrouded car just ahead. “Look out!” Mark yelled.

Sabrina and Amy screamed.

Mark heard and felt the crunch and scrape of metal on metal as the passing car clipped their left, front fender. The impact tossed Amy against him.

Tires squealed. The car slid on the slippery pavement and Mark could see his father fighting against the steering wheel to regain control. The tanker’s horn blared as it bore down on them, tires screeching.

The truck’s headlights, shining through Amy’s side window, momentarily blinded Mark.

“Mommy!” Sabrina screamed.

He heard more scraping and clashing of metal. Sparks from the impact lit up the night as he felt the sedan tilt and begin to roll, first onto its side, then its roof, then over again, tossing the family about like confetti.

Trying to hold onto anything stable, Mark saw Amy grab his door handle. “NO!” The door popped open.

Before he could react, Mark felt his leg, arm and shoulder scraping into the wet, cold pavement, as he tumbled across the freeway.

Mark was amazed that he remained alive, and even conscious. Lifting his head, he shook it to make sure he wasn’t dead. Then he saw the tanker and his family’s car locked together, skidding for several more yards.

Metal groaned.

Sparks flew.

The tank truck exploded and hot flames shot high in the sky, enveloping the car.

Mark felt the concussion from the blast thrusting him even farther back from the wreck, and he had to cover his head and eyes with his arm and roll across the asphalt to avoid the shards of hot metal, glass, and flames that rained all around him.

Mark looked up again and from the light of the fire he saw Amy’s crumpled body on the side of the road with burning debris scattered all around her.

Another car skidded to a halt a few feet behind Mark, and he had to roll out of its way before it hit him. A sharp pain shot though his right arm.

Honking horns, screeching tires, more crunching bumpers, and the pop and tinkle of smashing headlights and taillights echoed through the swirling mist.

Shaking his head, Mark tried to prop himself up, but the pain in his right arm was too intense. He turned to look at his sister again. In the bright headlights from the car behind them he could see her blonde hair soaked with blood. Is she alive? he wondered.

Mark tried to stand, but another sharp pain shot through his right leg and he fell. He wiped at something trickling into his eyes, then looked down at his hand and arm. Blood. More blood soaked through his pants leg.

Looking at the wreck again, he thought he could see his family through the billowing flames, trapped in an inferno, writhing and screaming under the roar of the crackling flames.

“Mom! Dad!” he screamed. “Sabrina!”

Gasoline-fed flames from the tanker licked in his direction. Once more he tried to stand. He had to rescue them, but he stumbled and fell. His leg wouldn’t support him. “Mom! Dad! I’m sorry!” Tears, mixed with blood flowed in his eyes and down his face. The flames were too hot to crawl through. He knew his parents would never hear his apology and the guilt added to his horror.

A motorist yelled something at him, but he couldn’t understand what. Mark realized he had to get Amy out of the path of the approaching flames.

Dragging himself across the cold, damp asphalt, he inched toward Amy’s motionless body. Grabbing her with his good arm, and pushing with his good leg, he tugged at her until they were out of the traffic lanes and on the narrow emergency sidewalk, away from the spreading blaze.

Pulling himself to a sitting position, he held his sister tight, rocking to and fro. “I have you Amy. I’ll take care of you. Just don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead!”

As he cried, he felt her body stir. Looking down into her blood-covered face, he saw her eyelids flicker.

Clutching her tight, he heard the steam whistle from the local C&H Sugar Refinery, just below the south end of the bridge. It was blasting a series of deep-throated tattoos through the foggy night air. Somehow Mark knew it was signaling an emergency on the bridge. Rescue vehicles would be coming.

Frozen by fear, and a leg and arm that wouldn’t work, all Mark could do is hold Amy in his good arm, and shield her eyes and ears as best he could so she wouldn’t have to witness the horror around them, if she were even conscious.

A motorist finally ran to help, but there was nothing he could do. He and Amy could only wait for the emergency vehicles that were already too late.

Mark cried, and rocked Amy back and forth as he watched their mother, their father, and little Sabrina burning to the tune of the C&H whistle.

Rendon Valor, a young man training to be a soldier, finds himself caught up in a plot that started ten years ago when a young girl was falsely accused of murder and sentenced to exile. For years he was under the impression that his father (a respected General and member of the council, now deceased) was a traitor to the state. Rendon must delve into the secrets of the past, along side a mysterious young woman, to prove his father's, and the girl's, innocence.