A copy of one of the books from the Spirit Series: this is a story about Elsie's life journey - her determination to avenge the innocent. Her own abuse turns her into a victim but when she sees those she loves abused, she changes. She becomes relentless in her focus to retaliate for the helpless. Her methods circumvent the laws of a justice system that has let us down. While Elsie grapples with her own demons, Detective Gerald Lawrence is assigned the most bizarre case of his career - to apprehend an assailant dubbed "Bite-Woman."

A one-year subscription to Futures Mysterious Anthology Magazine: Futures first STARTING LINE story was Death In Full Bloom written by a very talented writer from Singapore, Ray Wonderly. It won a special first ever given Derringer Award in 1999 for the best short story by a never before published author. This year, A Man of Honor was published in FUTURES Feb 2001 issue under STARTING LINE, then later translated into Italian by its author, Lo Monaco and it won second prize in the Fifth Edition of the Akery National Literary Competition in Acerra, Italy. Our Karen Besecker/Kathey Clarey Memorial Award Contest every year has led the way to publication (novel) for most of the winners. The Short Fiction Mystery Society chose this years Derringer winners to include, Lynda Douglas for Best Mystery Novella, for Lilacs and Lace, published in June 2000. At over 10,000 words, this was the longest story we'd ever published in one issue (without serialization). In addition, they awarded a special Derringer to myself (Babs Lakey) for championship of the short mystery fiction form as well as continuing and enthusiastic support of short mystery fiction authors. Tim Myers was one of five finalists for his FLASH story published in FUTURES. The tributes go on and we've only just begun!

 

For a book in the Spirit Series: I wrote the Spirit books in an effort to inspire those who are abused to seize control, to use their collective power to put teeth into our laws. Do you know of any special organization or group that fights for this very thing? Send me the information on where they are, what they do and how to contact them. I'll draw a name out of one of those who write about this and that person will win a copy of Spirit of the Straightedge, OR, if the winner has already read this book, a copy of Spirit of the Silent Butler, the second book in this series. Winner's choice. For Futures Mysterious Anthology Magazine: Visit the FMAM website at www.futuresforstorylovers.com and take a look at our contests. We have ongoing contests, always something happening. Send me an email with suggestions for the contest you think would get the best response. If we pick yours as the best suggestion you'll win a years subscription to FMAM (value $52 inside the USA.) OR, if you have a suggestion that on how we can get more people to subscribe, tell me that. We'll choose one from all and pick the best!

I'm going to murder a man.

That fact has become my obsession, and obsession my master. This goal of mine controls my every waking thought and deed. It is a goal most women would never seriously consider, yet there is nothing I won't do to snare my prey.

Instinct told me that he would stay away from the restaurant where they met.

The same instinct helped me select my twelve-month-agenda. I'd waited one full year. I reasoned that he'd cower at the risk of returning sooner, but much longer and his vile appetite would seize his brain. He'd start to squirm. It’s true this wasn't the scene of the crime but it was his pick-up-spot of choice and men were creatures of habit.

He'd be back.

During that year I'd taken up a couple of habits of my own. My stark white walls were bare except for a calendar I'd tacked by the bed. Each night I took a marker and blackened one square. If I closed my eyes I could flip through pages of black blobs and count, seeing each mark in my head. I'd never been a patient person, how could I be methodical now? Was someone, or some force from the other-side, nudging me—its will stronger than my own—along this path? I wanted to believe I was on a mission—good versus evil—a quest sanctioned from above.

The months turned into seasons until my year in limbo passed. And when it passed I knew I could begin the next phase of my plan.

Steel resolve, coupled with an air of expectation, joined me in my march into the Chit-Chat. I went to apply for a waitress position on their morning shift. My best friend Lynn—inept words, she was more than a friend. Sister said it better. Lynn met the man I hunted when she worked at this restaurant on the early shift.

In the beginning, that fact was all I had.

I walked briskly through the restaurant door and "slap" - the scent of their house blend tea hit hard. My knees buckled. That smell carried with it a heady collage of memories. I'd loved its spicy-sweet aroma from the first day Lynn brought it home. I hadn't used the tea or returned to our apartment since her murder.

I stood inside the door with my rubber knees and talked to myself. You'll gather some spine and work with that "homey" tea daily, I told myself. Either that, or give up this insane plan - go home, have yourself a womanly weep.

That did it. My back straightened; the smell faded.

Determination got me hired on the spot.

Once working, I began to wait again. I changed the color of the marker I used to end my day, changed from black to red.

Every single day I went to work expecting him, believing at the very core of me that he would come. I didn't have to imagine a monster behind every kind face.

Then one afternoon, one glorious afternoon, eight months and eight days after my first day on the job—every one of those days wondering how many more "have-a-nice-days" were left inside my mannequin's smile - I bent over a just cleared table to wipe it clean and turned to see a man watching my behind.

From out of the blue.

I looked into eyes of evil and knew. Don't ask how; I just knew. As luck or fate would have it, the hostess brought him to my section. Yes. He'd done what I'd always known he would do. It was he who found me.

The moment I'd waited for all these days, all these nights? It had arrived.

"You are a great undiscovered beauty," he flattered, as he extended his hand. His name, he said with a swagger, was Peter. The morning of her murder Lynn had mentioned his first name. I wanted to stun the beast poised slyly before me with a whispered, "I already know your name."

His face disappeared, replaced by a tear streaked face, Lynn's face; she talked about a man who wouldn't take "no" for an answer. This man. The fear from her voice rang in my ears but it was his face in front of me now.

I concentrated on keeping the corners of my mouth from turning up into a twisted mask of horror. Instead, I swiped damp palms down the front of my starched white apron and with what I thought remarkable control, extended my hand to him.

I shook the cool, manicured hand of the devil.

Chapter One

I circled the city block. On the second pass I drove past the house to the end of the street, parked at the curb and got out. It was cold—air heavy—the moon and stars blacked out by clouds preparing to dump a load of snow. I looked over my shoulder toward the street; I'd chosen the car because of its lack of character; it was a perfect blend with the night.

Most of the neighborhood houses had lights on, shades up; made it easy to observe the people inside.

There was a chain link fence around their back yard and I stood by the gate. I watched a slight figure move through the house, check the door locks, then the windows. Some dishy blonde - must be Lynn's roommate.

Lock ‘em good, Babe.

I leaned into the shadows. It was a magnificent old house; strange to see a bare light bulb hang in what appeared to be the kitchen. The bulb gave the room a yellowish rooming-house-look that didn't fit the neighborhood. To watch her inside the house while I hid in the dark unnoticed, opinionating on their furnishings, thrilled me. I could do both women at once.

No. Stick to the plan. I'd never done two. And I had opening night jitters. At last I heard the front door close and roomie's footsteps clip, clip, away from the house.

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Spirit of the Silent Butler

"Are you with me Sam?" Her eyes glazed over with a diffused light that darted out rays. Her breathing was quicker--the change almost imperceptible,but he noticed.

"You bet your crazy ass I'm with you, Momma-Belle!" He sucked in her power-it filled him with purpose. He laughed loud and slapped at his thigh.

"Do you really understand this Sam? Do you see that we will be entering the pitch-dark, sun-less, moon-less, star-less haven, where the man with no soul lives? We may not come back, Sam, not ever." While her eyes had been tearful, not any more, now they were dry, and electric.

His answer came fast. Later, he would think back about how easily he answered her. "I been to hell. Could be this'll be my one, last visit . . .my trip through the revolving door."

Elsie nodded. "Just so you realize the risk." She pulled a small brown vanilla bottle from her handbag. "Here, then. This will be your only weapon. If you believe, it will be all the weapon you'll need. Let me explain what to do with it."

And, just that fast, he went from being coked to the gills and sorry for himself, to being the hunter, about to set the trap.

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Spirits of the Once Walking

Along the bank of the Mississippi River is a dead end road. This slice of land was once a burial ground for American Indian spiritualists and healers; many believe that their blood and bones became dust, dissolved into the river, and carried their Spirits throughout the surrounding earth. A junkyard of rusted cars lines the area between the road and the river--distorted hunks of metal, removed years ago by the city, are now used as coffins in what has become a playground for Evil. The rusty cars appear and disappear, they travel piggy-back with the killer giving the reader chilling insights into his psychotic mind.

"In omnem terram exivit sonus eorum, it in fines orbis terrae verba eorum." The priest chanted - his words rode through the swirls on the ice flakes.

"Their voice has gone forth through all the earth, and their words unto the ends of the world." The translation came from behind the wild painted mask.

Gee wore a sacred Healer's shirt, long and flowing. It had been a gift from her great-grandfather. Called an Arapaho Ghost Dance shirt, it was hand painted with stars, a turtle, magpies, crows, all symbolic of protection; all asking for help from the Spirit world.

Gee began to dance, "eeeaahh, eeeaahh," feathers and bones flew - clatter-clatter-clatter—around her. She sang in a chant as she danced; sang of the dust beneath her feet, dust made of the blood, flesh, bones, the very hearts of her ancestors.

"I am the mouth," she sang, "I am here to tell you that this ground, these trees, this river, still live. Reach out and remove this demon from our midst."

"Dominus vobiscum."

"The Lord be with you." Gee said.

"Et cum spiritu tuo."

"And with your Spirit." she threw her words, calling to the Spirit of the earth, and the Spirit that guides man, and the Spirit that has the power over the universe.

Kandle and Elsie's eyes met; the power that Gee spoke about traveled through them, one to the other.

Elsie, free now, thanks to Kandle, grabbed her bottle of Death Angel and ran to the truck.

Mary saw her coming and moved like a flash. With both legs tied together, she lifted her feet and pushed with all her soul and kicked Demon, Randolph, in the balls. His body fell backward.

Kandle leapt to grab Mary, pushing her body like a rolled carpet into the arms of Tony, then, without hesitation, Kandle sprinted toward the river.

Elsie, bottle in hand, blew the bubbles mixed with deadly mushrooms into the air around the demon-man. The translucent bubbles tossed to and fro, riding the gusts, until they landed on his hands, and clung to the red trails that Bobbette had made earlier. The open scratches accepted the liquid as if it were a healing ointment.

"Gloria tibi Domine."

This time Gee was silent. The Latin was made into English by the unseen children’s voices. "Glory be to you, Oh Lord."

Their crying had stopped.

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