1969: After the Storm, Part 2
“You don't have to hide,” Toby Johnson said as he stood by his father's fresh grave. The headstone read simply Gavin Johnson with a date for his birth and another for his death. There was no mention of him being Doctor Nocturne.
“I didn't want to disturb you,” the Other said as he emerged from behind a nearby tree.
“Nonsense, we're family. Get over here.” The Other did as directed and took his place next to Toby.
“It's such a modest grave,” the Other said, “no different from any of the others here.”
“That's all dad wanted.”
“But lesser heroes have received monuments. Captain Crusader, for example. The man has become infamous, and he still received a monument.”
Bane: The Interview
|"I checked him out after getting your message. Daniel Lee's file is owned by the Pentagon. My clearance level doesn't come close. All I can tell you is the few brass that would talk to me about him tell me the same thing I hear from my defense industry friends: be careful dealing with Lee. They say he's good to his word but not above arranging the pieces on the board as it suits him, and he's always ten moves ahead of where you think he is."
"One thing that I was able to find out ought to peak your interest, though. Daniel Lee is the sole trustee of the New York Knights Perpetual Trust. He's in charge of all their property and assets. Everything, including the Pier, is his to administer."
Iron Maiden: The Interview
|Flying commercial wasn't the thrill it had once been. Leah remembered the thrill of excitement she always got at take-off when the jet finally raced forward, hurtling down the runway, inertia pushing her into her seat. And the moment when the rumble of tires across asphalt ceased and the whole airliner tilted for a steep ascent into the sky. There had been few thrills to match it. Now--it couldn't compare to flying under her own power, with the wind in her hair. It was never going to be the same.
1969: After the Storm, Part 1
|Amy Winter stood atop a landscape retaining wall at the Battery Park refugee center and scanned the crowd. She clutched a doll which, upon inspection, proved to be alive. Living Doll had spent the first couple of hours at full size holding Amy while they searched the crowd, but the little girl insisted that she should hold the shrinking superhero like an actual doll. Living Doll even allowed Amy to brush her hair, a mistake she would not make twice.
“I don't think mommy's here,” Amy said.
Living Doll hugged the little girl as best she could with her tiny arms. “There's a lot of people here, Amy. It might take a long time for us to find her.”
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Home Is Where The Hurt Is - Samuel Montgomery
Samuel was in the chair, and then he wasn't.
But he knew where he was, and that knowledge struck him like a blow to the solar plexus. He saw the brown leather sofa and his dad's recliner. The big screen tv that had been the focus of many a Saturday game party, and Sunday review session. His mom's cat was staring at him from atop a well used cat tree, the carpet the covered the various posts and beams of it snarled and frayed. He could smell the Murphy's oil soap his mom used on the hardwood floors. The cinnamon from the every-Christmas cinnamon broom that was no doubt leaning against the side of the fireplace.
He could smell coffee.
From behind him, in the kitchen, he hard a plate shatter.
Grinning - Samantha Edwards
She was sitting at the table. And then she wasn't.
Her knees were touching her nose, and it felt like loops of fire were burning at her ankles and her wrists. She was being jostled, it was very dark, and she could hear the muffled sound of the wind and the road. She could smell oil and a hint of exhaust fumes lacing the cool air, and the her cheek rested upon scratchy carpeting. She could feel herself pushed forward as whatever it was she was in, a car trunk probably, slowed, then stopped. There was a muffled conversation in front of her, then the vehicle shifted as its occupants got out.
There was the sound of three doors slamming shut, a muffled crunch of footsteps, then light and cold air washed over her as the trunk lid rose.
Family Man - Richard Joseph Lombardo
Richard was sitting at the table. And then he wasn't.
His computer screen glowed at him, an Excel file showing last weeks projections that needed updating waited with an almost accusing air. He'd fudged the numbers a bit over the course of this project, and he'd need to fudge them a bit more. The little numbers in the toolbar clock read 11:35. His windows were dark, his little lamp with the beat up wine colored shade cast a soft yellow wash of light over the controlled chaos of papers, folders, pens and notes that was his desk.
He could hear the cleaning crew conversing loudly in spanish as they moved from cube to cube outside his door, emptying bins and running their little manual sweepers over the tightly woven carpet. Someone laughed.
The Color of Light - Marcus Turner
He was at the table. And then he wasn't.
The room was warm, and smelled of sex. He was lying in his bed, sheets tangled every which way around his naked body. The shower was running, and light crept around the corners and edges of the not-quite-shut bathroom door. His ceiling fan spun lazily on its lowest setting overhead, and the clock on his nightstand said 1:48 in crisp red led. He had that tired, satiated feeling he always had after a good fuck, and he could see his clothes scattered about on the floor, along with a skirt, blouse and bra that definitely weren't his.
Humming could just barely be heard over the sound of water.
The Bees - Hamilton Wylie
Hamilton was sitting at the table. And then he wasn't.
"She totally doesn't understand why it has to be yellow," said Leslie Morrow, Hamilton's receptionist and gal Friday. She was filling her wine glass as she spoke, and around them was the murmured conversations of at least thirty other diners. They were at Melliface's, a trendy new seafood restaurant with a waiting list at least a week long, and it was evening. Waiters and waitresses in crisp white shirts and black slacks milled about, and candles burned softly on tables full of lobster and other delicacies from the sea.
Change is in the Wind - Part 3
|"Why must I be here?" Gypsy's plaintive question cut through the silence. There was only fifteen minutes left until the press conference began and Damien could not shake the feeling something wasn't quite right.
He should have been in a good mood. As promised Brina had called him not long after he got home the night before and told him her friend would be able to make something to protect Patrice. The item, in the form of a locket, would be delivered to Damien's office within the next few days. The only downside had been that Brina's friend could only promise one working talisman but as the second would be only for show he could provide a non-working version if Damien desired.
