Tuesday, December 30, 2014
Wreathed in smiles, Abudali came back to himself, poured a drink of cold water, and sighed contentedly. "Fascinating," he breathed as Wil's annoyance mounted.
"Patience, Lone Wolf. I am still reveling in the delightful talk I've had with your daughter. Hers is an astute mind. She has an amazing clarity of intellect that you sorely lack. It must come from her mother. As does her alacrity of speech and her understanding of the finer points of. . . ."
"All right! Enough of the veiled insults, Abu.” Wil inhaled deeply, exhaling slowly to calm himself. "What does she say?"
"First of all, you are correct. Her mother is Siegra. They live in a time approximately three hundred years in our past. Three hundred seventy-three, as a matter of fact."
"Is the number significant?"
"No way of telling without extensive numerology research. I can do that better with you gone. In any case, she says that she's trying to figure out how she can communicate with you too. It's not common among her people, many of whom have Hindersight, their term for psy powers. Theirs tend to be chiefly connected to precognition. The other powers, we deduce, came from your half of the genetic matrix."
"This isn't telling me what I need to know. How can she communicate with me? How can she know the things she knows?"
"I have no idea."
"Abu!" Wil was frustrated and angry. He wanted to yell and break things. This would serve no logical purpose, but would make him feel one hell of a lot better.
"But her instructor had a thought."
"Instructor? What is she being instructed in?"
"Oh, in Hindersight, of course. I thought she would have told you."
"It's not like we've had time to chat. What does her instructor think?"
"Chyou is of the mind. . . ."
"Her—instructor," Abu spoke slowly and loudly as if Wil was slow witted and hard of hearing.
"Chyou is her instructor?"
"That's what I said. Now be still. Sit down, you're pacing again."
Wil had stood in his frustration but hadn't moved from the spot. He sat with great agitation and lit another cheroot. He'd already been through five since this interview started. He began to suspect he hadn't brought enough.
"Chyou is of the mind. . . ." he prompted.
"That it is because you and her mother are from different times. Much as a man can freely travel within his lifetime, given the right instruction and correct set of parameters. . . . You know, that's an interesting phenomenon. I have been. . . ."
"Abu," Wil's low, quiet growl was more ominous than his shouting.
The old hermit cleared his throat and continued. "Be that as it may, we know that time travel along one's own lifetime is possible. It's been done, it's history. However, you may not be aware that it's been speculated that a man can travel through the lifetime of his parents. The actuality is theoretical at best. Outrageously incomprehensible at its worst.
"But," he held up a hand to stay Wil's protests, "we think that is why she is able to do this. She has been given the parameters of both her mother's lifetime and your own. Because of the disparate times you come from, she has much more leeway than a normal individual. And your daughter, Lone Wolf, is far from normal. She redefines psy powers. She's rewritten laws of contact! This should not be able to happen, but it is. Chyou thinks that's because no one ever told her it wasn't possible."
"So my daughter, whom I've never met, can contact me across space and time just because it's theoretically possible and she doesn't know she can't?"
Wil didn't know if he should jump for joy or punch the old man in the nose. He chose to remain sitting down and not react violently for the moment. He wasn't happy either way.
"Do you have any idea how confusing this is? You're talking about seventeen steps from reality. I have an open mind, Abu, but even I am struggling with this."
"Wil, I have made it as simple as I can. Perhaps you'd like the scientific lecture?"
"Is there one?" Wil asked hopefully.
"No, not really." Abu replied offhandedly. "Nothing in science can explain this. I'm truly sorry I can't make it easier to understand. I would if I could. You daughter did what any child would do, she thought of you. Because of her enormous psy power, she was able to make contact."
"And some of this comes from me? A man who never had any psy abilities, no training. . . . I'm a dumb grunt, Abu."
"Far from it, Wil." The old man was quiet and serious now. Gone was the flighty behavior, the eccentric mannerisms. "We both know the Marine doctors did incredibly intrusive things to your body. What we don't really know, as we haven't explored, is what they did to your mind."
© 2014 Dellani Oakes
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Tuesday, December 23, 2014
Drake Mann is a comic magician as well as a college student, studying Special Education. He's fallen for his nephew's teacher, Amalia Capo. Their happiness is marred by the fact that someone is stalking them and trying to intimidate them. Drake calls one of his cousins, who happens to be a police officer who's engaged to an FBI agent. Agent Danielle Torv comes over to spend the night on the couch in order to keep an eye on Drake, Amalia, his nephew Davy and his daughter, Shelby.
Drake showed Danielle to the front room where the fold out couch was neatly made.
"Don't worry about a thing," she assured them. "I'll check on things during the night, but I have selective hearing loss." She winked.
Drake hugged her. "Thank you. This means a lot to me."
"You're family," she replied.
Amalia was out of sorts when they went to Drake's room. She was anxious and nervous. Instead of trying to make love to her, Drake held out his arms to her.
"If you don't want to, I'll understand," he assured her. "It's a little weird for me to have someone else in the house too."
Amalia grinned. "Performance anxiety?"
"Never. But we aren't always real quiet. I don't want to make her jealous." He tickled Amalia's back with his fingers.
She gasped, jumping against him. It was her most sensitive erogenous zone and he'd found it the first time they made love. Drake loved the fact that all he had to do was brush his fingers across it and she'd react favorably. He massaged it gently and she relaxed against him with her eyes closed.
"You know that makes me crazy," she murmured.
"Mm hmmm," he replied, nibbling her ear.
"What about our audience?"
Drake leaned back slightly, looking down at her. "Well, I'm a performer, Molly. I love having an audience."
She smacked him on the chest. "Oh, you!"
"When I make you scream, try to muffle it. I don't want Dani coming in here with her weapon drawn. She might shoot me in the ass."
"That would be unfortunate. I might not get my orgasm."
"I'd be shot in the ass," he reminded her.
"Yeah. Bummer. . . . And I wouldn't get orgasms for weeks while it healed." She pursed her lips, shaking her head. "I'll be quiet. I don't want to deprive myself."
"Not to mention, I'd have a bullet in my ass."
She grabbed his ass, stroking it. "That would be a pity. You have a very nice ass."
Tuesday, December 16, 2014
Moira Crane is an English teacher at the local high school. She has a strict rule about cell phones in her class and has a padded bin that everyone has to put their phones into before class begins. One day, hers rings, though she thought it was turned off. The students insist she put it in the bin with theirs. Someone steals it. She reports it to the phone company, but also goes to the police. When it turns up at a crime scene a few days later, she finds herself in a sticky situation.
"It wasn't me!" Moira Crane protested. "I didn't do it. I'm not a murderer!"
"We found this at the scene," Detective Rhys Fletcher set an evidence bag on the table. "Your fingerprints are all over it. There are texts made to all the victims, including Amy Sutherland, who still can't be found. Is that your phone?"
She reached for the bag with difficulty, her cuffed wrists making the movement awkward. "It looks like it," she replied once she'd looked at it carefully. The face was cracked and crusted with dried blood. The bright pink case with flashy rhinestones, was distinctive.
"So, you admit it's your phone."
Her dark brown eyes fastened on the police detective. "No. I admit it looks like mine."
"The case is distinctive."
"Any five year old can switch a case. That means nothing. You need to work on your listening skills, Detective Fletcher."
"If it's not your phone, why is it covered in your prints? Why have we picked up your DNA—"
"Wow, you're good," she said, her tone sarcastic. "You got a DNA sample run in less than three hours? Will wonders never cease?"
His jaw tightened, gray eyes turned steely. "Being flippant won't help your case."
She leaned forward aggressively, pleased to see him flinch slightly. "Lying doesn't help yours either. If it's my phone, it doesn't mean I was there. I reported it stolen six days ago, Detective."
He glared at her, but she could see calm resignation in his stormy eyes. "Begin with that," he said quietly.
"Begin with what?"
"The theft of your phone six days ago. Tell me everything up until now."
"Can I pee first?"
Detective Rhys Fletcher rolled his eyes. "Really? Moira—"
"I need a bathroom, Rhys. Badly. I had a latté grande before you unceremoniously arrested me—like a common criminal! The least you can do is let me urinate." She held up her wrists. "Without these, please."
"Rhys—" Her tone turned dangerous.
"All right. But Officer Simpson is going in with you."
"I distinctly hope that Simpson is a girl, or some other man will see parts of me you haven't."
Angry, she stood up. Fletcher called in a blonde, female officer. Simpson escorted Moira to the bathroom, removing the cuffs once she'd locked the door and checked the tiny window. Moira did her business and washed her hands. The cuffs were back on as soon as the paper towel hit the trash. At least Officer Simpson didn't click them quite as tightly as Fletcher had when he arrested her.
Walking through the interrogation room door, Moira sensed more people behind the glass. Smiling in their direction, she took her seat, waiting for Rhys to collect his thoughts. He repeated his demand.
Sitting as comfortably as she could in the hard, metal chair, Moira began. "Six days ago, my phone was stolen. . . ."
© 20114 Dellani Oakes
Tuesday, December 09, 2014
Daphne Winstead is new in town. She meets a woman named Karen at the doctor's office whose records she's going over. The practice head thinks that somone is embezzling. It's up to Daphne to find out who and how.
For now, however, the city's had the first major snow of the season, so the women get an unexpected day off. They decide to spend a long weekend at the home of Ian and Cynthia Yarrow—a multi-billionaire and his wife.
"Booya! Beat you at your own game, Mister Yarrow!" His British accent was strong, but sounded genuine.
"Someone give the man a cookie," another male voice said. "Or he's gonna explode from puffed up self-importance."
Loud laughter ensued. It faded slightly when Karen and Daphne entered the room. They looked up expectantly. Some of the faces were familiar, others weren't. The women rushed to her, hugging her and dragging her into the room. They tried to introduce her to everyone at once until Karen took control.
"Give the girl a chance to breathe! Let's start with the host and his lovely wife. Daphne, my cousin Ian Yarrow and his wife Cynthia."
A strikingly handsome man sat on a chaise lounge, his legs in some sort of odd braces. He smiled. "I'd get up, but I'm still getting used to this contraption. Welcome, Daphne. We've heard about little else from the girls. Glad to finally meet you."
"Thanks for inviting me, Mr. Yarrow."
Ian's booming laugh warmed her. "Just Ian is fine. Or Yarrow. I even answer to hey you." He took her hand. "Welcome. I'm glad to have another person to call friend. Honey?"
He deferred to the attractive redhead seated next to him. She was very pregnant, due pretty much any day, so far as Daphne could tell.
"I'm so glad to meet you. I hated that I missed the last girl's night, but we were getting Ian's brace adjusted." She stood awkwardly, hugging Daphne. The baby kicked and both women laughed.
"When are you due?"
"Soon. About a month. Gillian's due Monday."
"Which is why they invited me," a handsome dark haired man next to Reva said. "I'm Hal."
"The token doctor," Ian interjected
"What they don't know is I haven't delivered a baby since my residency."
"A hundred years ago," the ginger haired Brit said, coughing.
"Don't get cocky, squirt!" Hal said, laughing. "He thinks since he just won that round, he's da bomb!"
"The British contingent is represented by Gillian and Fritz Heathrow-Cooper," a pretty dark haired British woman said politely. "I'm Gillie and that ginger haired turnip is my husband. . . ."
"And hyphen," he added. "Fritz Cooper. She hyphenated, I didn't. What we'll do when the baby is born, I don't know. I can't see saddling a little tyke with that sort of handle, can you?"
Daphne wasn't sure what to say. She didn't want to get into the middle of an argument, if such it was. "I don't know. I never had any occasion to hyphenate."
"Sounds positively dirty when you say it like that," Fritz said with an enthusiastic rubbing of his hands. "Oi, love! Let's hyphenate!" He winked at his wife, nudging her ribs.
She smacked him playfully. "Cocky bugger. As to the babe, she won't hyphenate. Her middle name is Heathrow, her last Cooper."
"Really? When did you decide that?"
"Just now." She looked self-satisfied.
"They're a crazy bunch," Karen explained. "But fun. Last, but not least, my spouse, Luc Vaughan. Honey, this is Daphne."
"The one you're trying to hook up with Ralan? Aw, hon, she's too good for him." He kissed his wife soundly. "Kidding. He's a great guy. Nice to meet you, Daphne. What would you like to drink?"
"What are my choices?"
Gillian replied, pointing to a variety of insulated carafes. "We've got tea, Earl Grey. Hot chocolate, coffee and hot cider."
"Wow, so many choices! Cider sounds fantastic."
"Excellent choice. My idea," Ian answered. "See, someone besides me likes it, Fritz."
"Insane, she is. Has to be. So, you're dating Ralan?"
"No! What? I haven't even met him."
"Good," Derrick said as he walked in. "That means there's a chance for me to sweet talk you first."
The room exploded in laughter. They weren't laughing at Derrick, more at what he'd said. Daphne looked carefully at the pilot for the first time. He was tall, broad shouldered, blond and handsome. Every man in the room was gorgeous. How could there be so many good looking men in the world and she couldn't seem to find even one? Her two boyfriends in college were nowhere near this handsome. She said as much to the room full of people.
"That's a good question, that is," Fritz said. "Let's ponder it, shall we?"
"Ponder this," Derrick said, grabbing his groin.
"I had hoped," Cynthia said amidst loud, male laughter. "That we could go the weekend without that kind of humor."
"With this lot?" Gillian said. "It's amazing that none of them have dropped their pants and flashed us."
"Give us time," Ian countered. "The day is young and I'm sober."
"I've seen your tukas," Gillian replied in a bored tone. "Magnificent," she whispered loudly to Daphne. "Really posh. Nothing quite so remarkable as a billionaire's arse."
Her husband pinched her ribs, laughing. "I'll remember that, my girl, when you want to grab mine."
"Yours is very nice too, sweetheart," she said in a singsong voice.
"Are you always like this?" Daphne asked, somewhat taken aback.
"Sometimes we're naughty," Derrick replied, grinning as he poured himself some cider.
"I love it! You're just like my family."
© 2014 Dellani Oakes
Tuesday, December 02, 2014
I wrote Something New in four days in June. I got an idea and ran with it. Fortunately, the muse was willing and it came easily. I fell in love with Austin. The rest of the characters are also endearing, but I particularly love him. He's an absolute doll.
Austin is an actor on a show that is an Americanized version of Dr. Who, called The Magician. He has a run in with one of the guest directors, a pervy man named Irving. Irv the Perv tries to entice Liat, Austin's new leading lady, to do something unspeakable. Austin intervenes. Irving got fired and is now trying to sue Austin for slander and the network for wrongful termination.
Austin is having lunch with Liat, her mother Elaine (the show's producer) and Dwight, his assistant. They get a call from the God of the Network, and are summoned to the Presence. Austin isn't quite sure what to expect, but it certainly isn't what's waiting for him.
Moments later, a tall, dark haired man with broad shoulders and muscular chest, came to greet them. He trotted down the steps and stopped in front of Elaine, holding out his hands. She took them and he raised her to a standing position. His arms went around her waist, pulling her close, as he kissed her.
"Hello, darling," she said with a smile. "How was Paris?"
"Boring. French." He winked, patting her on the fanny. "You've had some excitement. Hello, Precious." He greeted his daughter with a kiss and hug.
Austin and Dwight stood, waiting anxiously. Liat's father was an intimidating man. He stood over six feet tall. His black hair was shot with silver, his blue eyes penetrating. His voice was a loud and rumbling baritone, laced with a distinctive Oxford accent.
"You've studied Shakespeare," Austin said as he stepped forward.
The man's blue eyes twinkled. "I have indeed, young man. Royal Shakespeare, 1971 through 75. Astute." He shook Austin's hand.
"No one rumbles like a Shakespearian," Austin replied. "Which must make you Gordon Vogel."
"It must, indeed! Gordon Oliver Desmond Vogel, God for short." He turned to his wife, smirking. "You told me he was sharp. Who's your friend?" He held out his hand to Dwight.
"Dwight Wales. He's my personal assistant and good friend."
"Everyone needs those," Gordon said, shaking Dwight's hand. "Friends, I mean. Assistants are a dime a dozen."
"Not good ones," Dwight said confidently. "We go for a dollar a dozen."
Gordon burst out laughing at the silly joke. "I like this one too. Can we keep them, Mummy?" He sounded like a child, directing the comment to his wife. "Sit, everyone. Beverages. Sam-u-el!" He drew out the name like a battle cry.
The windows shook when he called the name. An elderly gentleman in a black suit came to stand by the sunken room.
"You bellowed, sir?"
"Beverages, Samuel. Tea?" He asked the room in general. "Yes, tea. The Oolong."
"As you wish, sir." He bowed, turning his back to the room.
"Great man. Deaf as a post," Gordon muttered.
"I can hear you," Samuel said. "I'm not deaf."
"He's not. I just like yelling. Sit!"
He took a seat beside Elaine, his arm around her shoulders. Liat sat next to Austin, gripping his hand.
"You've been busy. Mummy tells me you've been masquerading as a Fogleberg." He tipped his head, narrowing his eyes, but his smirk gave him away.
"Are you mad?"
"Why ever for? You got the part, didn't you, all on your own merits."
"Then why would I be mad? What's all this crap that's been going on with my network in my city? What's that annoying pimple of a man doing now?"
"He doesn't mean me, does he?" Austin whispered to Liat.
"No, silly. Irving."
"He's saying Austin insulted him and called him names in public," Elaine explained.
"Did you?" he directed at Austin.
"No, sir. Unless he's a mind reader."
"Mind reading," Gordon waved it away, making a rude noise. "Very hard to prove in court. What did you do to make Irving so angry?"
"I took Liat to my trailer." He held up a hand before her father could comment. "I'll rephrase that. Pervy Irv was bothering Liat. Rather than see her karate chop his flabby arse, I took her with me to my trailer. We ate dinner, studied our lines and she went home. He didn't like that I showed him up." He shrugged.
"I called him sir in a snarky tone and did my best to follow his obtuse directions."
Gordon burst out laughing. His blue eyes twinkled merrily. The tea arrived and Elaine poured, passing the sugar and cream after. Once they served themselves, they went back to their conversation.
"After inappropriate snarkiness, what did you do?" Gordon asked.
Austin thought a moment. "Said my lines, hit my marks and nailed the scene."
"Why is the gimpy cretin saying that Austin called him names? Did you call him names?"
Austin shook his head.
"Why's he saying that?" Gordon persisted.
"I flirted with Liat in front of him."
"Did you kiss her?"
"Later. It was scripted," he hurried to explain. "Pants on, I swear."
"Yes, of course." Gordon couldn't keep a straight face. He understood the young man's distress, but he wasn't angry, simply confused. "Then what's he banging on about?"
"Then this is all just stupid, isn't it?"
Gordon leaned back, running his hand through his hair. "There are people starving in this city and he's trying to raise a stink over something that never happened?"
"Precisely my point, sir."
"Are you sleeping with my daughter?" Gordon shot at him unexpectedly.
"No, sir. I'm not."
"But you'd like to."
"Don't make me answer that one, please. I'm thirty-two, single and she's gorgeous."
Gordon laughed, nodding. "The same thing I said about her mother thirty-six years ago when I met her. Have you had lunch?"
"Yes," Elaine replied.
"Good. Did we have anything else to discuss to resolve this nonsense?"
"We're opting to let it blow over. Babs is setting up interviews and arranging his schedule with Dwight and Sandy."
"Everyone wants you, kid. How does that make you feel?"
"Terrified. It's like being the tenderest steak in the shop. Everyone wants to grill you and have a bite."
"Couldn't have put it better myself. We'll get you ready, no fear.."
© 2014 Dellani Oakes
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