What moves you to Write?

I love to listen to Pandoras Chill/ Downtempo channel.  It never fails to set the mood for writing.  It's contemplative, mind altering, and mood expansive.  It will take you places; and for me, it boosts my writing output.  What do you listen to when writing?  Do you have a certain song that will always help you break through the vaulted writers block wall?  For me, it's Mark Farina or......Groove Amarda.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DsShRmkR7BU
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DsShRmkR7BU

An Introduction to The First

He flew low, just feet above the water’s surface. He wasn’t sure if their radar could pick him up, but it wasn’t worth risking. Even though their surface to air defenses posed no threat to him, it could slow him down; and right now, time was of the essence. He stayed just under the speed of sound, not wanting to trigger the high velocity speed sensors placed on buoys that bobbed intermittently on the ocean's surface. Even still, the water split, rising in twin walls, and pulled upward in the wake of his passing. He pitched his hearing towards his objective, and could hear the increase in the pitch of the voices. The tightening of the vocal cords, and their rapid-fire heartbeats told him that he was running out of time. He would have to risk the attention of their defenses if he was going to make it on time.

With little effort, The First accelerated, blasting past the sound barrier and arching higher into the air. The shoreline was in view, and again he accelerated, hoping that he would be past whatever defenses they might have before they could lock onto him. He heard the air raid sirens blast in the distance, triggering their anti-aircraft weapons. The air around him lit up as tracer fire and flares marked his location. He heard the hypersonic scream of air being split, and felt the pressure wave ahead of the first artillery shell that struck him in the chest. At least in the air he didn’t have to worry about controlling the deflection of it, steering the debris so that it would not hit innocent bystanders. Instead he just let the mortar hit him and explode harmlessly.

He instantly marked the half buried turret that had fired on him, but rather than advance on it, he spun in mid air, his hearing detecting the sounds of approaching jets. The surface to air attack had been meant to keep him busy while the fighters approached from behind, hoping to take him out unaware. He accelerated through the air towards the first fighter, banking left at the last minute as the jet rolled right. He glanced back to track which way it would come at him again, when he realized that the second fighter had taken the opportunity to get a lock on him from his right side and was firing. The atmosphere around him crackled as twin barrel twenty-three millimeter cannons strafed him. Armor piercing, three hundred and twenty gram rounds hit him at over three thousand rounds per minute.

Despite himself, he flinched as the shells bounced off his skin. He turned in the air and accelerated away from the first jet. He listened for the roar of the turbines as the plane accelerated to keep pace with him. He let the craft draw closer and waited until it once again began to lock onto him. Before another barrage of rounds could be unleashed on him, he turned in mid air to face the craft. Flying backwards, he slowed his pace and let the jet fly into him. It was a Jian-10 fighter; designed for air-to-air and air-to-ground fighting. But most of all, it was designed for speed; a flattened silhouette, and extreme aerodynamic profile gave it the ability to achieve supersonic speeds. Unfortunately, the long, sleek nose cone ended in an antennae shaped projectile that easily fit under The First’s powerful arms. As the second jet shot passed them, it looked like The First had simply grabbed the one billion dollar fighter in mid air; much like a rodeo cowboy would wrangle a steer to the ground.

Inertia caused the plane to begin to crumple and tear itself apart as its forward thrust came to a stop. He ripped the nose unit from the body of the now shattered craft, and tore it into two pieces. He turned, spotting the now banking second jet just as the wreckage became a giant fireball around him, and hurled one of the metallic pieces at the circling jet. With the same fluid motion, he swung around and hurled the second piece of the plane at the ground. One piece of shrapnel tore through the second fighter plane, shearing through it like tissue paper. The second hit the base turret with the force of an MX missile, tearing through layers of concrete and steel to destroy the targeting system that ran the ground to air weapons array that had first attacked him.

He sped on, streaking towards his destination. Five miles, and barely seconds later, he zeroed in on what appeared to be a desolate area of desert just outside of large shantytown that was built at the base of a mountain. He dropped from the sky feet first, his landing sending a tremor through the ramshackle constructs that passed for houses. A few children that were kicking a ball in a nearby field stopped to gawk at the imposing figure that fell from the sky.

The First had landed straddling a hatch that had been spray painted the color of the ground around it. Roughly five feet in diameter, there was a circular, iron wheel attached to it that controlled the locking mechanism. He had spotted the imposing brown tank that had rolled up to within fifty feet of the hidden entrance from the air. It would present no threat to him, and he had intended to ignore it, but he realized that while it posed no threat to him, the same could not be said for the throng of children that were now gathering to stare in his direction. He heard the rumbling of the big engines that powered the tank, and the distinctive metal on metal grinding of the cannon swinging around to target him.

The first shot was a direct hit, striking him in his back as he bent to grab the wheel that was bolted onto the latch. The explosion was deafening and he could hear the children scream and begin to run in all directions. He grasped the top of the latch with both hands and wrenched it free from the ground. He held the steel lid in his hands as he turned to face the tank. As casually as one of the children might toss a Frisbee, he threw it at the tank. The lid struck the opening of the cannon, splitting it into pieces as it burrowed through the front of the tank and drove the entire machine backwards and into the ground.

Just as the lid was impacting the tank, The First was already deep within the underground structure, the terror filled voices drawing him to the center of the hidden construct. A two feet thick steel door crashed open under his fist and he walked into the central control room. Ten sets of eyes stared at him, their fear turning to awe.

“Where is it,” he said in perfect Farsi.

No one moved, until a single scientist stepped forward, his hand shaking as he pointed to a grey and black metallic box, about four cubic feet in size.

“What is it,” The First asked.

“It’s an RDD. A Radiological Dispersal Device. A dirty bomb.” Still, none of the other scientists in the room had spoken or moved. “When we realized what it was, that it was armed, we brought it down here, but it won’t matter. From what we can tell, the explosive device inside is only designed to propel the radioactive isotopes inside into the air. The ventilation system in this control area will automatically vent the contaminant outside into the atmosphere. It will―”

“Shut up you fool!” One of the other scientist had found his voice and rushed over to the where they stood looking at the bomb. “This is an agent of the Americans! We will be put to death for even speaking to him―”

“I don’t care,” said the first scientist. “We are dead anyway. When this thing explodes, everyone within twenty-five miles will die a very slow and agonizing death! If he can stop it―”

“I can’t,” said The First. “How long before the detonation?”

The two scientists looked at one another, before the second finally shook his head and moved away, a look of sadness and acceptance flooding his face. He looked at his watch, and laughed. “Just inside of one minute.”

The first scientist swallowed hard and turned to The First. “It wasn’t supposed to be live. I don’t know how it became armed―”

He was cut off as the First stepped forward and picked the box up, and leaped skyward. He flew straight up, blasting effortlessly through tons of concrete and steel that separated the bunker from the outside. He powered through the earth and into the open, accelerating on contact with the air. The sonic boom and scorched air were all that marked his passing. In the blink of an eye he achieved escaper velocity, and within the span of a couple of human heartbeats, he was at the Earth’s upper atmosphere. There he paused his ascent, drawing back one heavily muscled arm to throw the box as hard and as far as he could. It instantly disappeared into the heavens, but he watched it until he saw the detonation, far away from the earth, where the vacuum of space absorbed the radiation, gently scattering it along the solar winds.

The First turned and flew back towards Earth, gently altering his trajectory to take him back to the United States, no longer concerned with the actions of a few madmen bent on genocide. He was confident his latest display would give them something to think about before they again tried perfecting their weapons on their own people.

The underground Bunker was quiet. The ten scientists that had been cowering in fear were all dead. They had been lined up single file against the wall, and shot through the left eye at point blank range.

A tall, older man, with striking white hair stood in the center of the room. He cradled a laptop in one outstretched arm that worked hard to download the data from the array of sensors that were hidden throughout the complex. Two guards stood at attention by the entry, eyes fixed on the thin figure in the room.

“Well that was a mess,” came a voice over the Bluetooth earpiece the man wore in one ear. “Those scientists were some of your brightest. Was it really necessary to waste such talent?”

“They were more than expendable,” he replied.

“Well, at least we know the alien is working with the American government somehow. They are controlling him. But other than that, we have nothing to show for six weeks of research and development. Those isotopes were not cheap you know.”

Oh, I wouldn’t say it was a failure,” said the old man. He smiled as he walked over to where the dirty bomb had been sitting. He looked up at the hole made by The First as he had flown out. Metal and rock shrapnel had rained down onto the spot where he stood. He bent over and picked up a piece of razor sharp alloy. He lifted it carefully and held it up the light. A single drop of blackish fluid was contained on the tip of it. “I wouldn’t say it was a failure at all.”

Back to Basics for American Horror Story?

Here's a picture of the new American Horror Story: Covens poster.  I can't tell you how excited I am for the return of this amazing show.  I'm even more excited that this season will deal with the oldest, and most endearing of the supernaturals: witches.  Vampires and werewolves may be coming to the end of their cycle.  While some might say that zombies are the new vampires, I personally will always rank witches at the top of my list for favorite, supernatural characters.  They've been around in literature for centuries, and there is a reason they endure.  They are the originators of things that go bump in the night, and can't wait to see what AHS does to this classic.,  Count me all in.

Why Hollywood Fears Wonder Woman

So.  I was watching The Avengers, for the hundredth time; and for the hundredth time I caught myself wondering why there has't been a good movie made with a strong, powerful female superhero in the lead.  I know what you're thinking; there has been!  Catwoman and Elektra come to mind, but do we really consider those good movies?  Elektra is an amazing character, one of my all time favorites.  but let's face it, the movie version sucked.  And don't get me started on Catwoman.  That was just an excuse for some Halle Berry fanboy to show off her amazing ass and great breasts.  That may sound sexist, but so was the movie.  It was basically about Sharon Stone's freakout at growing older and finding a wrinkle.  The whole premise was preposterous and an insult to powerful women everywhere.  While I applaud Hollywood for making a quasi-attempt at these, I always find myself coming back to the same thought:  why don't they do Wonder Woman?
Yeah, I know, her origin and backstory could be tricky.  how do you handle a Goddess who was molded from clay, bought to life by the Gods, and raised on an island of immortal beautiful women, and then goes on to champion equal rights in "Man's World"?  Well, for starters, you could just borrow from the current origin story that tells us she is a daughter of Zeus.  That would work; I mean, that horny old man was nailing everything back in the day.  Who knows how many children he's dropped. But whatever you decide to do with her, it can be done.  Hell, I've got dozens of workable ideas for a live action movie, and I'm sure there are plenty of others out there that do as well.
 But I don't think that is Hollywoods problem.  I know someone like JOSS WHEDON could handle her, without resulting to having her run around half naked on a beach with other women trying to cater to teen age boys more sapphic-minded fantasies.  He cold make her what she is: strong, honest, truthful, respectful....and best of all, the most kick-ass of all the kick-asses out there.  But he, or Zack, or anyone else will probably never get that chance, because when it comes down to it, Hollywood isn't afraid they can't sell Wonder Woman.  They are afraid, the can't sell Wonder Woman.  Because what makes a great Hollywood summer action blockbuster?  Merchandising.  That's right, the toys, and action figures, and Lego this and Lego that tie ins.  And H-wood is afraid they can't pimp the Amazon out enough without looking like they are pimping her.
They can't turn her into an action figure and sell her because boys play with action figures.  but Wonder Woman wouldn't be an action figure; she'd be a doll.  God forbid little Billy down the street play with a doll; no, daddy would never have that.  Little girls may want to be her, but would they really want to play with her and Barbie together, making them share Ken?  Gross.  That isn't Wonder Woman either and H-wood knows that.  So whom do they target to make this movie a success?  I'm not sure women would go to it enough to make it a success.  I don't think men would be enough to drive it either, because unless she's naked and tied down, I'm not sure many straight men would admit to enjoying a female action star.  So who does that leave to carry her?  The DC fanboys?  But I'm not sure we're enough to persuade a studio to invest the 100 million plus it would take to do Her justice.
No.  I think we have to wait and hope for a Justice League movie.  Hopefully she will be there for more than just carrying Batman's utility belt or dancing around Superman's cape.
What are your thoughts on the Amazing Amazon?  We know it can be done, but will it ever be done?
#Wonder Woman, #Superhero, #Justice League, #Batman, #Superman

Smashwords announces agreement with Oyster

Smashwords has announced a new distribution deal with Oyster, a subscription service for eBooks.  Oyster is offering an all you can eat, er, read service for $9.99 per month.  By signing a distribution deal with them, Smashwords can now ship their titles to Oyster as a part of Oyster's library.  Basically, this is Smashwords answer to Amazon's KDP Select program, which allows Amazon's Prime members to download and read a book for free.  Smashwords will allow any author to opt in or out of the program, and while they have not released the compensation structure for authors, Smashwords founder Mark Coker states that it will be beneficial to indie authors.  One big difference between this and Select will be that Oyster does not require exclusivity.  You can opt in to the model and continue to sell your books on whatever other sites you are currently using.  The only caveat for entrance into Oyster is that your Smashwords book be in their Prime catalogue.
Personally, I have mixed thoughts on the subject.  One of the things about Amazon that made me shy away from Select, was the exclusivity agreement.  I want to get my work in front of as many eyes as possible, and while Amazon may be a Juggernaut, they aren't the only game in town.  Plus, let's face it, their shelves are packed lately, and getting seen in their store is getting harder and harder.  I'm still a firm believer in the adage that if you write a good story, the readers will find you.  But spreading your work out to as many distributers as possible can only help.  Plus, I've heard many authors complain that their sales began to tank the minute that Select was created.  Why would someone pay full price for a book if they can find something else on Select for free?
If the author compensation is as good as Coker is saying it will be, then why not take advantage of it?  Especially if the deal comes with the equivalent push of exposure and marketing that Select members receive from Amazon.  Just like with internet radio and Netflix, it appears that subscription services are trending, and we as authors need to get on board with the new model and figure out a way to make it work, or we start swimming against the current and drown.  Coker is stating that 72 hours prior to the implementation of distribution, he will email all current authors in the Smashwords library to detail the payment structure.  That gives me some time to think; but in all honesty, what is there to think about?  Time to get cracking on the next novel.  As always, looks like the more quality content you produce, the better off you are going to be.  Sound off below, what are your thoughts on going free?

Batwoman Back Into The Closet?

So I just learned that the creative team behind Batwoman will be leaving the title over "creative differences" with DC involving the depiction of Batwoman's wedding to her female partner.  Partner?  No, let me clarify that.  In comics, partner can always mean sidekick, or business partner, or any number of non-sexual couplings.  But in this case, partner means lover; as in betrothed, girlfriend, wife.  Apparently, something about that has miffed the executives at DC.  Now, according to an official statement from the creative team of J.H Williams III and W. Haden Blackman, there were other factors involved; like last minute changes to the story arcs at the eleventh hour, and being asked to completely disregard long standing story arcs that would have negatively impacted the character and the series.  But the final straw appears to have been a directive to not show any part of the wedding between Kate Kane, Batwoman, and her lover Maggie.
The series has had a rocky road from it's inception, with previous talent also leaving due to "creative differences".  But through it all, Batwoman has persevered.  She has even managed to carve out her own personality from the every growing members of the Bat Family.  She wasn't a girl, or anyone's sidekick, nor did she herself need a sidekick.  She was smart, resourceful, and could throw a roundhouse kick to rival the main Bat himself.  She was troubled, and faced her demons head on.  She dealt with mature themes in a mature way...and that included her complex relationship with her girlfriend.  Forget the fact that she is gay, just look at her relationship for what it is: two grown ups dealing with all of the many faceted aspects of an adult relationship.  Navigating waters of trust, love, lust and responsibility.  I repeat, she is an adult in an adult relationship.  One that might not have been perfect, but that is what made it all the more real.  It may sound cliched, but I am sure that somewhere there is a young, feisty lesbian in the making that reads this comic and thinks, "Hell yeah, this is who I need to be more like".  It gave hope and visibility to so many LGBT youth (and adults) that they do have representation.  A voice from someone who must understand how they think, and wants them to know that there is nothing wrong or different about you.  You're going to have the same ups and downs in dealing with whoever you choose to love that everyone else in mainstream media has.  But don't dispare...you're not alone.
But now, we're told that Batwoman can't be seen married to another woman.  What the fuck is that about?  You put a positive role model out there, and then do an about face and tell everyone she should be ashamed of who she loves?  Not cool at all.  Send her high kicking back into the closet.  Everyone involved is stating this is not because of her sexual orientation.  Well, I call bullshit on that.  She can be a lesbian, but don't show any proof of who she is.  Why not just make her a nun?  Better she renounce all sex than have the wrong kind of sex.  DC, I know it doesn't matter to you, but maybe you need to look at what's going on in your house lately.  You have very talented people working for you...well, not as many as you used to have, but there is still talent there.  Listen to them.  They know their audience.  That is what makes some of your creatives so special...they have their finger on the pulse of their audience.  Let them do what they do best.  Trust them.  you were making history with this title.  Do the right thing; don't wake up in five years, and find you're on the wrong side of that history.

#Batwoman

Amazon Announces Matchbook

At long last, Amazon seems to be addressing something that fans of eBooks have long clamored for.  Sort of.  As a major reader of electronic books, and a devoted Kindle app user on my iPad, I've often looked at my trove of physical books and wondered if I should go to the expense of replacing them with electronic versions.  I've also wondered why the electronic version of a book weren't included in the purchase of an eBook.  Much like they now bundle Blu-Ray, DVD and the electronic version of movies.  It seems like Amazon is now addressing this with their MatchBook program.  Essentially, you can now download the electronic version of any book you have ever purchased from them for a fee.  That fee ranges from free to $2.99.  Not bad; I could definitely swing that on some of the physical purchases I've made.  Tell me, do you think this is a good thing, and does it really benefit you?  Moving forward, I don't see myself going back to purchasing physical books, but looking back?  Yes, there are a few that I will hunt for to replace.  I'm sitting here, in my home library, surrounded by all my old books as I write this, and I'm thinking; what could I do with this room if I were to replace all these shelves of books with one slim, beautifully designed, tablet?  I don't know if I could bring myself to do it, but it's a tempting thought.  Maybe I'll cruise around on Amazon, after downloading a few eBooks, and see what kind of pool tables they have in stock.
Sound off in the comments section below if you think Amazon's MatchBook program is a pro or con to the book lover.

Cliff Jumping Hawaii - The one at :14...no Way!

Ellen's Qantas Flight

And it's On to the Next One

Whew.  Well, while I'm happy to have finished my first novel, and am ecstatic to see it posted on Amazon, B&N, and iBooks, I've decided I can't sit back on my laurels waiting for sales to take off.  In all honesty, with it being my first novel, it's going rather slow.  But that fact that a few people have seen it and purchased it, makes me smile on the inside.  I knowSuperheroes aren't everyone's cup of tea, but I have always had a thing for them.  Larger than life, saving the day, swooping in to banish away all the eveil that lurks in the dark.  That was my idea of superheroes as a kid.  As an adult, I started to think, "No way would these guys act like this in the real world".  They're human, with human flaws, and human desires.  I think their powers would just allow them to act on their most base desires.  Not everyone of course, but enough of them.  That's the world I'm creating.  A single mother in an abusive relationship and what happens one fateful evening when she has a literal run in with what will eventually become Earth's First true superhero.  It's by turns dark and horrific, but also uplifting.  A tribute to friendship and love; and what can happen when you have to trust your life to those around you.
I don't know how it will sell, or if it will ever find an audience, but I'm proud of it.  Now, having said that, I'm not going to look at my sales reports or sit around trying to find a way to market it.  No, I think the best marketing I can do is to get the next book out, and the next after that.  It's back to writing for me.  After all, that's when I'm happiest.  There is so much going on in my head right now that I have to get it out.  Hope you'll join me on the ride.  Oh, and if you're curious, you can find excerpts from my novel here.
Thanks for listening,
MJ

Are There Really Perks to Being a Wallflower?

So last night I watched one of my all time favorite movies, The Perks of Being a Wallflower.  Normally, I wouldn't go for a movie like that.  It had some things in it that I typically avoid; namely teenage angst and high school.  Typically I would run from a movie like that quicker than I would that two dollar hooker that hangs around outside a nearby 7-11.  But this one drew in; in no part because of the cast involved.  Emma Watson and Ezra Miller led the charge; and bringing up the rear was Kate Walsh, Dylan McDermott, Joan Cusak, and Mr. Never-A-Bad-Performance Paul Rudd.  Ok.  I'll admit it. Really it was Paul Rudd that made me check out the movie.  The man could read the fine print on an insurance contract aloud and I'd watch.  But I digress...
The story revolves around high school freshman, Charlie and his longing to fit in while battling emotional demons resulting from a personal tragedy and the suicide of his best friend.  The movie revolves around Charlie and the new group of friends he makes, primarily step siblings Sam, whom he develops a crush on, and her brother Patrick, whom develops a crush on Charlie.  Charlie, of course, is your typical Wallflower.  Always on the outside looking in; hoping to find a kindred soul to whom he can relate.  He finds that he isn't alone, and that there is a common bond in being an outsider; strength in numbers, even if those numbers are among the unseen of the high school hierarchy.  What I'm wondering however, is does this really happen?  When I was in high school, I had the luck of being one of the more popular kids.  I was an athlete and an academic, so I moved easily in both worlds.  But I remember seeing the Charlies of the school.  The loners that sat alone, buried in their books, forever being teased because they lived on the lowest rung of the social ladder.  I never took part in the teasing.  I never came up behind someone and knocked their books out from under their arms, which seemed to be the easiest way to make someone an instant point of laughter and mocking attention.  As a matter of fact, I would on occasion stop and help that person pick everything up.  But I never went out of my way to extend my hand to one of these Wallflowers.  Partially because I didn't think they would accept a hand, but also, because I didn't think they had anything to offer me in return.  Watching this movie has made me wonder:  what exactly are the Perks of Being a Wallflower?  I'd love to hear from any past or present Wallflowers out there.  Oh, and parents; this is an excellent movie to watch with your teens...no matter where they stand in High Schools Hierarchy. If anything, always tell your children that they can do better than accepting the love they think they deserve.  Watch the movie; you'll get it.
#perks, #wallflower, #high school

Do You Follow Elmore's 10 Rules?

I was always a fan of Elmore Leonard's style.  His prose was direct and to the point.  How many of his 10 Rules of Writing do you break? More importantly, which ones do you never break?

1.  Never open a book with weather.
2.  Avoid prologues.
3.  Never use a verb other than "said" to carry dialogue.
4.  Never use an adverb to modify the verb "said” … he admonished gravely.
5.  Keep your exclamation points under control. You are allowed no more than two or three per 100,000 words of prose. 
6.  Never use the words "suddenly" or "all hell broke loose."
7.  Use regional dialect, patois, sparingly.
8.  Avoid detailed descriptions of characters.
9.  Don't go into great detail describing places and things.
10.  Try to leave out the part that readers tend to skip.

I always try to follow number eight.  I want my readers to build an idea of my characters in their heads, thereby building a much deeper connection with the character.

What are your thoughts?

#Elmore #writing #novel #rules

One of my new favorite design finds is the Knomo carrying case for my MacBook Air. The cases come in two sizes, 11 inch and 13 inch to correspond to the size of the Airs. All I have to say if I love it. I searched high and low for something to cary my MacBook in. The problem is, the Air is such a beautiful work of art in itself. Apple spares no expense when it comes to making sure their products are as beautiful as they are functional. I couldn't just throw it into any old PC bag. It needed something unique and stylish. I was close to settling for a Marc Jacobs creation when I stumbled across my Knomo in an Apple store. IT was love at first sight. The Knome comes in a high grade, brown leather with a very stylish and soft brown velvet interior. The underside of the fold over flap is a gorgeous rust/ orange color that complements the brown nicely. It also has a tag sewn into the flap that has the serial number of your particular bag printed on it, along with telephones numbers in the US and the UK to call if it is every found. The great thing about this case is it is more like an envelope. It hugs the Air perfectly, fitting like a well worn, favorite glove. Simple and elegant in its design; it is timeless and has already become one of my favorite possessions (along with the Air itself).

#writing #accessories #mac book air 

Inspiration

Inspiration:  Diana of course.  THe original.  The biggest.  The baddest of the Big Babes.  When I write my MC I think, how would Dina handle herself in this situation?  She wouldn't just charge in all brawn and bravado...no, she is careful, and considerate in everything she does:  even if what she's doing is handing out a serious ass whipping.

Now, we just need to get her that movie deal....

#Wonder Woman, #Super strength, #Superhero, #Heroine

Excerpt From My Superhero Novel

This is from my debut Novel Earth's First. It details the first appearance of Earth's first, true superhero, and what happens when he crosses path with single mother in an abusive relationship.  No ones life will ever be the same after that fateful night.

1

It was during the dark days when the American government began buying up its country’s giant technology firms, that the first true superhero appeared. The United States citizens were growing uneasy; paranoia was beginning to grip the country and many were whispering of Black Cells and agencies designed to keep an eye on the people of a once proud nation. Unlike the heroes that followed, he did not come from some twisted mutation of the flesh; he did not spring into being from a womb that was destroyed by his birth. No, his arrival was heralded by a single sonic boom, and a flash of light that turned night to day in the high country of Maine. His charred and limp form hit the Earth at roughly three times the speed of a bullet. The resulting heat and shock wave devastated the surrounding forest. Within a one and a half square mile radius, everything simply disappeared. Anything that lived was vaporized. Anything that stood was flattened. On the outer fringe, trees that had been standing when Columbus stumbled upon the shores, were up rooted and cast outward; flung about as easily as a child might swipe his arm over a table, scattering his toys. Some animals, those that were fleet of foot, and had sensed the impending danger, managed to escape the searing heat blast; others were seared alive, antler, fur, and bone melting in the outer rings of the concussive blast. The Earth moaned in response; trembling at the site of the impact. Dirt, sand, leaf and root all fused into glass. Eyed from above, it would look like someone had dropped a pebble into the center of a perfectly still pond. But instead of ripples radiating out, it was heat, nigh irresistible wind, and cosmic debris that rose in a plume high into the atmosphere.

In the center of it all, He lay. Motionless, and for the first time in His existence; unconscious. Although he was unaware of His surroundings, His body began to adapt; to heal. Lungs that were collapsed and solid in the void of space began to inflate. Arteries that had retreated into His heart, so as to be unaffected by the vacuum of space, began to extend throughout His body and down strangely humanoid looking limbs. The first draw of air into His system activated chemical receptors buried deep within His brain, analyzing the atmosphere and causing His internal organ structures to conform and function in Earth’s atmosphere. Skin that had been horribly charred during his fall through the atmosphere began to heal; already taking on its natural bronze hue. His skeletal structure had not been damaged by the impact with the planet's surface, but He had suffered muscle and tissue damage; although damage that was caused by the impact and damage that was caused by the events that transpired before were anybody's guess. Either way, by the time His hearing became active, His body had healed. He opened his eyes. Protective sheathes that had covered them in space, allowing Him to see and retain fluid around his orbs, retreated. They were dim, but soon enough would be pulsing with their normal, brilliant blue sapphire color. He had no pupils, or iris; in fact, His eyes were nothing more than two solid orbs in His face that glowed and pulsed with His biorhythms.

He lay there, looking up into the heavens. There was a time when He could discern the spectral analysis of stars and entire solar systems if He concentrated hard enough. But He was not yet sufficiently healed, nor was He aware enough to do this. Instead, He simply gazed at the stars, not recognizing them for what they were. He could feel hardness beneath his flesh, but He did not move. He listened, but there was nothing to hear. Everything for a mile around was quiet; deafeningly quiet. Had it been possible for Him to experience a chill travel up His spine he would have. He, one of the most powerful and feared beings in the universe, lay there, with no knowledge of who or what He was. For all intents and purposes He was new born; a blank slate that needed to be imprinted. A brain capable of processing information at a rate incomprehensible to humans, could formulate but a single thought; "Who am I"?

Slightly pointed ears, that lay close to His skull detected sound. They moved slightly, orienting themselves to the source. He could hear the crashing of far away water cascading over rock, and He could make out the sounds of animals walking; just starting to peer out of their hiding places, already their dim brains forgetting what had driven them to flee. He listened to the rhythmical thumping of their heart rate as it returned to normal. But somewhere, beyond the sounds of the forest, there was something else. Something that seemed familiar to Him. He listened more intently. His brain began to shut out all other sound as it focused. There. Roughly sixty miles south of him. Voices. Human voices, and they were singing.

He stood. Drawing Himself up to a full seven feet of height, and then slowly began to walk south.

2

Maura Riley sat in her pew and prayed.

She wasn't the most spiritual of persons, but she hadn't quite abandoned hope. Though God knows, if anyone had a right not to believe, then it was she. It wasn't that she did not believe in God, she just wondered if maybe He had turned his back on humanity. What other reason could there be for such wickedness in this world? If she were truly honest with herself, she needed spirituality in her life. Her problem was with the message that sometimes came out in the sermon.

She looked around the room, only half listening to Deacon Myles as he postured and ranted.

Only half the town was there. Not to worry, the other half had come to the morning sermon.

Had they truly come out of reverence for the Lord, or were they looking for absolution? She knew that most of the people sitting around her didn't believe in God. But in the back of their minds, a small, childish voice would sometimes whisper, "what if"? What if He did exist? Would He truly forgive the many sins they committed behind closed doors if they didn't even bother to walk into His house at least once a week? Could He see the rank filth that played across their minds? The darkness that hid in the depths? And if He could see that, then did such things matter to someone who created worlds? Maybe He even put those things in us; a way of weeding out the unfit, and testing the strong.

Not that she was perfect. Lord knows she had done her fair share of sinning. There was no rationalizing some of the things she had done. Looking back, she could blame some of it on youth. But that excuse could only go so far. What was done in the past, stayed in the past. All she could do was look forward, and try to move on. Each day spent hoping against fleeting hope that she would find the strength to survive another sun up.

She winced. The bruise on her side, just below the rib cage, ran deep. Sitting still was a chore for her. Unable to stand and shift her weight as needed, all she could do was arch her back slightly and take deep breaths. At least it was starting to fade from blue/black, to phlegm yellow. A good sign. It would be healed soon. If she were lucky she would get another week, maybe two, before he forgot all the apologies and promises that he would never hit her again. Maybe if she were really lucky, and really quiet, she would get a month of respite.

Her mother had looked at her and simply shrugged and looked away when her daughter asked her if she had ever been hit before.

"Men are not like us, baby. They react without thinking. We make them mad, and it is only natural for them to lash out at times. That's why the Good Father made us different. We are quieter, more thoughtful. And we are built to take pain. Every now and then, we are reminded of just how much we can take. But we always heal. The trick is to not let it poison your mind. Your man doesn't mean to do what he does. He's always sorry after the fact right? We just have to remember our place, and like the Good Book says, turn the other cheek."

Turn the other cheek. That was easy to do. Until one day you look in the mirror and see both cheeks are bruised. Makeup and oversized sunglasses only go so far. She sighed to herself and looked over at the slight, hunched form of her mother sitting beside her.

Is this the life that her mother had endured for all those years at the hands of her father? The man had died almost two years ago, and her mother hadn’t spoken of him since. She had loved him; that much was certain. But Lord knows he could be a mean cuss when he drank. Many were the nights that Maura remembered him stumbling in, smelling just this side of a brewery. Her mother would always tell her to just stay in her room and keep quiet. She remembered listening hard to the muffled sounds that came from downstairs in the kitchen where her mother would always greet him. Every now and then she would hear a glass break or a pan hit hard on the floor. Sometimes her father would shout, and other times she was sure he was sobbing. Either way, she knew not to go down and see what was happening. Try as she might, she had no memory of her mother with marks or bruises on her. Maybe he had never struck her. At least not physically. She remembered listening to a talk show psychologist one morning and hearing him say that emotional abuse was still abuse. That scars inflicted by words could take even longer to heal than those left by fists.

Yeah right. Maura was certain that the good doctor had never been clapped so hard on the side of the head that he couldn't hear out of one ear for a week. She winced at the memory. Unconsciously shifting in her seat to take some of the pressure off her sore ribs. She ignored the slight glare her fidgeting drew from her mother.

She wasn't feeling the spirit today. Certainly if it hadn't been for the fact that lately it seemed like Sunday was the only day of the week she saw her mother, she would have found a reason to skip service. She tried to focus on the sermon, but found her mind wandering. She was thinking about Andy and whether or not she was ready to stay with him and his temper for the rest of her life. How would her mother react if she told her she was planning to leave him? And if she left him, where would she go? Her entire life had been lived in the confines of this small, close-minded town. It and its inbred inhabitants were all she had ever known. Andy wasn't a bad man, she reasoned. He just had a problem controlling his anger, and she had a problem with always seeming to provoke it. She was getting better however. She knew when he was brooding about something, or he'd had a particularly bad day at the quarry. On those days, she would just put his supper in front of him without saying a word and go about her business. Careful not to say too much, and careful to make sure that his drink cup stayed full.

She was also getting pretty good at reading his signals. Knowing when the laughter was genuine and when it was a precursor to screaming and cussing. She knew to follow his leads in conversation, and when it was safe to venture her opinion, as opposed to just nodding to what he had to say. Most of all, she knew what, and who, not to speak of. Still, it wasn't always bad. And she figured as long as he kept his anger focused on her, and not the child that sat cradled on her lap, then everything was ok.

After the service, she went back to her car, picked up her babies diaper bag, and headed over to her mother's SUV. Justin was already fastened into the back car seat, and she leaned in, kissing him and ruffling his hair.

"You be a good boy. Mommy loves you, and I'll pick you up tomorrow when I get off work." She smiled; again amazed at the ache in her heart every time she looked at him.

She looked at her mother. "Thank you. I'll pick him up at eight. I know it's a pain when I work a double, but I really could use the extra money."

"Wouldn't need the extra money if you had a man that worked his fair share."

"Mother. Mama; please. Not now. I appreciate everything you do, but not now."

Her mother looked at her with weary eyes. Smiled and raised her hands, brushing back a stray strand of red hair from her daughters face. "Don't worry. We have all kinds of fun planned for tonight don't we little one." She smiled at her grandson in the back seat. "Don't work too hard. You're starting to look thin. Why don't you go on home after your shift? Get some sleep. I can certainly bring him to you later on in the day."

Maura smiled at her mom, and leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. One last wave at her son, and then she headed back to her car.

She knew her mother was right. While she might not be sure as to whether or not her man was a good man, she was certain that he was a lazy man. Granted, she was making good money as a nurse at county general, but it was all she could do to keep her house up, diapers on her son and bills paid. To say she was stretching things, trying to take care of a grown man, was putting it lightly indeed. Lord knows she was tired. Deep down in her bones tired. While she hated to admit it, she was glad her mother had offered to keep Justin just a little longer. Recovering from a double shift was never easy for her, and to be honest, she never slept well knowing Andy was watching her son. Hell, Andy needed watching just as much as the little one. She allowed herself a slight smile at that, just as she rounded a blind curve.

She saw him, or it, whatever the hell it was, standing in the middle of her lane. She had a brief moment to register that it looked like a man, but a very tall one, with glowing eyes that seemed to be looking at her, but not really seeing her. Reflexes took over, and she slammed on her brakes, while simultaneously wrenching the wheel to the right. Amazingly, her mind was crystal clear. She knew there was no way to avoid a collision. There was no panic, no flashing of her life before her eyes as she felt her car hit the figure head-on at forty miles per hour. Remarkably, the one thought she had was, "I'm just glad Justin is not in the car".

Then everything went black. The impact should have sent the figure flying into her windshield and then careening off in some obscenely bent mess of shattered bone and torn skin. Instead, it was like her car had slammed full tilt into a concrete barrier. While her car may have come to a complete, crumpled stop, she didn't. A body in motion stays in motion right? The flimsy seat belt snapped as her mass continued to carry forward. She was blissfully unconscious when she hit the windshield headfirst―the impact shattering the glass and the front portion of her skull as well. Shards of glass ripped at her clothing and gouged her skin as she passed through it. One of her femurs snapped as her lower body made contact with the steering wheel on her way out of the car. The impact with the pavement outside of her vehicle would snap the vertebrae in her spine, crush her chest, and drive shards of her splintered ribs into her still beating heart. Her nervous system would shut down long before the rest of her body, keeping her from experiencing any pain or shock. She would never know what if felt like to have her lungs fill with her own blood, suffocating her in minutes. It would be one of those painless deaths that she had seen carted time and time again into the emergency room. She had never really thought such a thing was possible. They had to feel something, right? Some flash of supreme pain as they passed on, right? But no, she would leave this world with the last thought in her mind being one of her beautiful son.

But it didn't happen that way. She was unconscious and her body was exiting her car through the front windshield, on the way to its fateful meeting with unforgiving pavement. Then she stopped, almost in mid air. He caught her with such precision and gentleness, that he was able to bleed her forward momentum down to nothing as he turned with her, shielding her already broken body from further damage as glass, plastic, and steel wrapped around his frame. The nose of the car was caved in and diving down into the pavement. That caused the rear of the vehicle to rise up, threatening to flip over onto the pair. He casually lifted one arm and braced it against the hood of the falling car. A simple shrug of his shoulder sent the vehicle flying into the thick trees that lined the road.

He looked at the frail, broken form in his arms. His features, while somewhat humanoid, were unreadable. He felt no connection to this creature he cradled. No kinship, no sense of protector-ship. Had his actions been purely reflex he wondered? No, for some reason he knew that he did what he did because it was the right thing to do. He did not know where he was, or who he was; he certainly did not know what this soft, pulpy mass was he cradled, but he knew it to be a living, sentient being, and as such he could not allow its life to be snuffed out as a result of his actions. But now what? Instinct told him she was close to expiration, and even if he knew how, there was nothing he could do to help her sidestep the abyss. Since he could do nothing to stave off the inevitable, he carried her gently from the road and into the marsh that surrounded the area. A few hundred feet into the dense growth, he laid her gently behind the protective covering of dense shrubs.

He strode away without a second glance back. In all honesty, as soon as he stepped away from her he had already forgotten her. Once again, his ears were tuned to the strange drone of human voices that were still miles away. He wasn't sure how, but a part of his mind was beginning to decipher the strange clicks and whistles and translate them into some semblance of a language he could understand. While he didn’t know how he was doing it, he was actively learning the English language; and by the time he reached the source, he would be nearly fluent in its usage.

****

She lay there, broken and bleeding for almost two full days. The undergrowth where he had placed her protected her from the sharp eyes of buzzards, hawks and owls that circled the skies; ever vigilant for a quick and easy meal. While they could never have scooped her up as easily as they did, the field mice and rabbits that darted about, they might have been tempted to drop down for a quick bite; easily mistaking her for a dead thing that for some reason just had not started to smell yet. She didn't move. Not when snakes and rodents crawled across her. Not when those pesky Black Flies and no-seeums lit on her and took long, satisfying drinks from her open flesh. She didn't move. Not even when a grey Coyote sniffed at her and started to take a lick from one of her wounds, but for some reason thought better of it and went on about its business. Other critters gave her a wide berth as well. Where she should have attracted the attention of scavengers that would have lapped her up, she instead repelled them. Instinct told them this one was not ripe for the picking. More than that, biting her might just prove their undoing. So they scampered all about, but never ventured too close.

At dusk, on the second day, she sat up.

No struggling, no wincing from pain. No effort at all. She just sat up, and drew breath deep into her aching lungs. God that felt good to her. It was as if it was the first breath of air she had ever drawn. And in some ways it was. Although a bit confused, Maura was quickly becoming aware of her surroundings. The cool evening air was already beginning to collect into a fine sheen on her naked legs. Her Sunday dress, or what was left of it, was near soaked through. She could feel cold, wet mud caked on one side of her face. Her throat was burning. Thirst, true thirst, was a bitch. And that bitch was clawing relentlessly at her from the inside. Her head ached something awful. She reached up and felt gently. There was a goose egg on her forehead that throbbed and pounded in response to her hands gentle probing. What had happened to her?

She sat there, trying to remember, not trusting her legs to get her up off the ground just yet. She had gotten up early, she remembered. Early enough to have some coffee and time alone on the front porch before Justin awoke. Justin! Where is he? She was frantic now, unable to quell the rush of emotions that began to fire through her. Where was her baby? She looked around, feeling at the ground around her. But then she remembered; she had taken him to service with her. They sat with her mother at church; and then, what? Her mother was keeping him. Yes, that was right. She had packed him into her mother's car and kissed him goodbye. He was going to stay with Grandma while she worked that night. Work! Oh no, she thought. I cannot afford to lose that job. How long have I been lying here? It was late she knew. The sun had almost completely set. If she hurried, then she could still get to work, and maybe get away with only being given a verbal for tardiness. But something, some inner clock, told her that she was a lot later than a couple of hours.

She had to get to her car, maybe start … and that was when it hit her. Her memory came flooding back. She had been in her car, and on her way to her evening shift at the hospital. She had packed a duffel bag with her scrubs in it, so she could go right from church to the hospital. She had come around a bend. That damned bend that she was always afraid of, because it was so blind. She always went that way from church because it cut twenty minutes off her drive. But it was a dangerous road. It was not frequently travelled, so there was always some form of road kill littering it; the animals had no fear of crossing it, and she had always been afraid that one day she would come around that curve and their would be a big buck standing in the way. But it wasn't a buck she had hit. It was something else. A man? God, had she hit a person? She remembered a flash of someone tall and powerfully built standing in the road. But that was it. Everything after that was not even a blur. There was nothing else swimming around in the old grey matter, until just a few minutes ago when she had opened her eyes and sat up.

She got to her feet. A little more wobbly than she would have liked; but all things considered, she was happy to stand and be able to take in her surroundings. God her head hurt. She raised her hand to her forehead to see if she were actively bleeding. Her vision wasn't blurry and she didn't feel nauseous. That was a good sign at least. Hopefully she had only whacked her head really good, but hadn't gotten a concussion. Best she could judge she was a couple of hundred feet from the road. How long had she been lying out there? Why hadn't someone seen her car in the road and come to find her? For that matter, how had she gotten so far off the road? No way she could have been thrown that far. If that had been the case she would have awakened at the pearly gates. Maybe she had walked into the woods in shock, and then passed out? Yes. That would explain where she was. But not why no one had come to look for her. Granted that road was deserted, but it was still trafficked enough that someone should have spotted the wreckage and called the local police by now.

Oh God. What about the … whatever it was she hit? If that was a man, then he might have been knocked into the far ditch. At the rate she was travelling, if he survived, then he would be in pretty bad shape. If he survived. Judging from the shape she found herself in, that would be a long shot.

She made her way out of the undergrowth and up onto the side of the road. One hand holding the side of her pounding head, and the other clutching instinctively at her torn dress, holding the tattered remnants closed over her breasts. She looked around, but didn't see her car anywhere. She crossed the road as swiftly as her shaky legs would let her but still did not see any sign of her wrecked vehicle. She knew the direction she was coming from and looked along the ditch in the opposite direction. No sign of a body, and the weeds and vegetation looked undisturbed. Nothing larger than a field cat or a fox had bounded through. Maybe the police had come by and had her car towed, and had been unable to find her body. But no, that didn't really make sense to her at all. She looked at the road, and her eyes were drawn to two parallel dark stripes that appeared to be burned onto the asphalt. Those were definitely her skid marks. They were short, and they just stopped. No veering to the side, no swerve into the ditch. They just stopped. There was no sign of whatever she had hit, just as there was no sign of her car.

She was starting to feel uneasy about the whole thing. Her head ached, she really wasn't thinking clearly, and her throat felt like it was on fire. Self-preservation was starting to kick in and she began to wonder how she would make it back to her house. She knew she could cut through the woods, maybe find a house, and it would definitely take some time off getting back to civilization, but was that really the best plan of action? In her condition, she wasn't sure she was up for a cross-country trek. She had a good idea of which way to head, but if she became disoriented and lost, or worse yet, she really did have a concussion and passed out, no one would find her and she would probably lay out there and die. That wasn't an option. She had a son that was depending on her, and dammit, she was not dying in the woods and leaving that boy to grow up with someone like Andy. The thought of that made her burn, giving her a quick shot of adrenaline that helped her steel her resolve. She headed back the way she had come, walking along the edge of the road. This would take longer, but she had a better shot of someone coming by and offering help. If only she could find her car, then maybe her cell phone was still working.

No. Stop thinking like that she told herself. All those "if onlys" and "what ifs" and "maybes" were just wasted energy at this point. Put one foot in front of the other and start moving girl. Before you pass out again, and end up face first in the middle of Highway 29. 

She guessed she had been walking for about 20 minutes when she heard a car coming from behind her, heading in the same direction she was walking. She turned and waved frantically. One hand gripping her torn, mud caked dress, the other waving stiffly in the air, back and forth over her head. The car swerved and was past her before she saw the brake lights come on, and it screeched to a halt on the side of the road. She ran to it, grateful that one, it had not hit her, and two, it had also stopped for her. She was on her way to the car when she saw both the passenger and the driver's side car doors open. A man in his late sixties was driving and he rushed towards her, the concern on his face was easy to read. A woman of roughly the same age was riding shotgun. A little on the heavy side, she wasn't quite as quick as her husband to reach her.

"Miss, are you ok? I almost ran you over!" The man's words were warm and caring. He reached her just as her legs started to give out, and she tumbled forward into his arms.

"I… I was in an accident. Just a ways back up the road." Her words sounded foreign in her ears. Flat, weak, tremulous. The fire in her throat was making her speech raspy and hard. Like dried, broken twigs being dragged across scorched pavement.

The man's wife reached her just as he was steadying her.

"Land sakes, Charley, she looks about dead!" Her words matched her look; heavy and rushed, without enough wind behind them to carry them much further than Maura's ears.

"She said she was in an accident, a ways back. Did we see a wrecked car back there?"

"Lord knows. What with the way you drive, it's a wonder we can see anything"

Charley ignored her, focusing instead on the young woman in his arms. He reached up and kindly brushed the hair back from her face, noticing the wince when he touched her forehead. "We need to get her to a hospital. Martha, help me get her to the car."

"No." Maura's voice was weak, and she could hear it cracking. "No hospital please. I'll be ok. I just hit my head when I ran off the road." She looked form one to the other, taking in the measure of empathy on their faces. These were good people and they meant well, but she had to get home to her son. She had to make sure he was ok.

It was Martha who spoke up first. "I don't know, honey. You look pretty banged up. Looks like you took quite a lick to the head."

They had made their way back to the car. An old Crown Victoria with a blessedly big back seat. They buckled her into it before seating themselves up front.

"Are you sure we can't take you to the hospital? County General is just a ways up the road, sweetie." Martha's words were warm and her concern was sincere. She reminded Maura of her own mother and that thought just made her all the more anxious to get home. Her mother would be worried sick about her at this point.

"No, thank you, but I really am starting to feel better. I don't know if it is out of your way, but if you could just get me home I know I'll be fine. I just need some rest and a hot bath." The smile she forced made her face feel like it was cracking in two. But the funny thing was, she really was starting to feel better. Her throat was still aching, but her head had settled down to a dull roar. The little bit of walking she had done before Charley and Martha had come along had obviously helped loosen her aching joints, because the stiffness in her hips and lower back had lessened considerably. "If you can just drop me at my house, then I'll be more than happy to pay you."

"Oh hush now," Charley said. "We'll have none of that. You're just lucky we came along when we did. We'll drop you anywhere you like."

She thanked him and gave him her address before sinking back into the stiff but embracing faux leather of their old Ford.

It had taken multiple assurances from Maura, that she didn't need a hospital on the way home. Finally, when she had told them that she was a registered nurse, they seemed to ease up on her a little. She promised them that she would have herself checked over when she reported for work.

They dropped her off at her front door, and again refused any type of payment. Seeing Andy's jeep wrangler in the drive, she assured them she would be fine for the night. She couldn't thank them enough, and again apologized for having taken them so far out of their way. She watched them as they pulled away and disappeared down the road. She looked at the front door to her house, then at the jeep sitting in the drive, and back to the front door and took a deep breath. What was the likelihood he would let her take the jeep to pick up Justin? She would just have to call her mother and ask her to bring her baby back to her. Legs heavy, she walked up the steps to the porch and opened the door.

Stepping into the small entryway, she was met with both the blaring sound of heavy metal being blasted from the stereo in the family room, and the pungent smell of burning weed that permeated the entire first floor. Jesus and God, she had told him about smoking that shit in her house. And that music was bringing back the headache that she had only just begun to realize was gone. Nice to see I was missed, she thought.

She walked into the kitchen to find Andy bent over the counter making a sandwich. He looked up at her, mouth dropping open as if he had seen a ghost.

"Maura? Where the fuck have you been woman? Everyone and their fucking brother has been calling looking for you."

She ignored the cursing. She had long since giving up on trying to clean up his vocabulary, only making the effort now when he would swear in front of Justin.

"I was in a car accident. Out on Highway 29. I hit… something. Ran off the road. Must have knocked myself out."

Andy looked at her. If there had been a look of concern on his face, then it was creeping away. Replaced instead with his usual look of annoyance. "A wreck? Is the car ok? Goddammit, I just put new brakes on that thing for you."

Now it was Maura's turn to be annoyed. Usually she would have let this slip, but was not in the mood for it right now. "No, Andy, the car is not ok. But don't worry, I'm fine. Can I please have some water."

He winced at her words, but still made no effort to apologize or act concerned as she made her way to the kitchen table.

"The hospitals been calling for you for two days now. Said you never showed up for work. Your mamma's calling too. Keeps going on about calling the police on me if I couldn't tell her where you was. Fucking bitch. She needs to mind her―"

Maura cut him off. Turning to face him. "What did you say? How long have I been gone?"

Andy looked at her, cocking his head to one side. "You been gone two days, Maura. And if you didn't call into work, then I'm betting they will fire your ass. You better not end up getting fired cause you didn't have sense enough to call out."

She couldn't contain the anger that she suddenly felt well up inside of her. Two days? Was that possible? And if she had been unconscious for two days, why the hell had he not come looking for her? "I was in a car accident, Andy! How the hell could I call out if I were unconscious?"

"You mean to tell me you been knocked out for two days somewhere," he shot back at her. "Hell, if that was the case, then you'd be dead! And look at ya, not hardly a scratch on you? You don't look like you were in some Godawful accident. And just so you know, I called the State troopers to see if there were any accidents called in, and they said no." He was eyeing her now. Annoyance was giving way to suspicion.

"Andy, please. I am really not up for this right now. I need to call my mother and let her know I'm ok. Did she bring Justin by?"

"No. Bitch said she would keep him till you showed up. She said if you didn't call her by tomorrow, then she was calling the police on me cause she thinks I did something to you. She is convinced I've gotten rid of you. Especially since you didn't show up at the hospital, and you didn't show up to pick up your Goddamn brat."

She looked at him; anger growing inside of her. What in God's Good Name had she ever seen in him? His beady eyes were narrowed and red. The pot was dimming them and his brain.

He moved closer to her. Slowly moving across the kitchen floor until he was only steps from her. Now she could smell not only marijuana coming off him, but beer as well. She had been missing for two days and he was working on a bender. What did that tell her?

"And here you stand now. Saying that you was in a bad car wreck that knocked you out, but not a mark on you. Your hairs all wild, and your dress is barely hanging on you." The look in his eyes worried her and she backed up, reaching for the counter behind her to steady her as he advanced. "You ain't been in no accident. Where the fuck have you really been? You been laid up somewhere with somebody else?"

Suddenly, the fear that had been creeping into her was replaced by a fury she had never known. How dare he say this to her?

"You ignorant bastard," she hissed. "How dare you?" Her voice trembled and she locked eyes with him, for once not looking at the floor when he bulled his way into her personal space. "You know, if I had any sense I would have 'laid up' with someone a long damn time ago. Anyone would have been better than your lazy, worthless, small dicked useless excuse for a man! I want you out of my house!"

Instantly she regretted what she had said. His eyes were wild with anger now, and she knew what was coming.

"You fucking, ungrateful whore!" She could feel the spittle hitting her face, and she closed her eyes, sensing the blow that was coming.

It was an open handed, back hand slap to the right side of her face that rattled her teeth. She was braced for it, and he hadn't held back. The last time he hit her like that, she had gone deaf for a week. But this time, she barely felt it. The aching in her head was residual from the accident. But the slap had hardly registered. She looked at him. His face red and contorted with dark rage. She looked at him and she laughed. His eyes widened in surprise, but only for a second. Then he drew back his fist and she knew he was not going to pull this one. It was a punch that was aimed straight at her jaw. She heard the pop as it landed and was expecting to feel the cold, hard linoleum rush up to greet her. But she didn't fall. The pain she was expecting wasn't there either. She raised her hands, grabbing him by the front of his shirt.

 She pulled him in close to her. Looked him in the eyes. "I said, I want you OUT OF MY HOUSE!" And she pushed him. Only, he didn't step back away from her. Instead, he flew across the kitchen and into the refrigerator on the opposite wall from them. The impact shook the walls, knocking the small, framed pictures of roosters that lined the walls from their hooks.

She was in shock and looked down at her trembling hands. Then she looked up at Andy as he was just starting to get to his feet. He had hit the fridge so hard it was knocked sideways and the door had flown open. The look in his eyes was different this time, and was one she was not familiar with. He made his way to his feet, not once breaking his gaze with her. "You crazy bitch," he said. Fear made his voice break. "You're fucking on crack ain't you? You've been out whoring and smoking crack with some low life, and then you show up here and pull this shit!" He was on his feet now and moving away from her towards the hall.

"You want me out, well you got it," he yelled from the hall. She could hear him snatch up his keys from the sideboard in the entryway. She was still looking at her hands, only half listening to what he was saying.

"I am out of here, you fucking bitch! You don't have to worry about ever seeing me again! Or my son!"

She heard the slam of the jeep door and the engine turning over before she processed what he said. "Justin," she whispered into the emptiness of the kitchen. "No"!

She was through the hall and out onto the porch just in time to see his back tail lights disappear out the drive in a shower of gravel and dirt. She didn't think, she didn't question what needed to be done. Driven by the thought of protecting her son, she ran after him.

She was off the porch and down the road without even realizing she had taken the first step. For some reason, the jeep that had seemed so far away was not really that far from her. As a matter of fact, it was getting closer to her. No, that wasn't right. She was getting closer to it. She was only vaguely aware of the fact that her legs were pumping insanely hard, propelling her closer to the jeep. So close, as a matter of fact, that she could now reach out and touch the bumper. And she did touch it. Grabbing ahold of it and digging her feet into the asphalt. She felt the car lurch, but then a strange thing happened. The bumper came off in her hands and the jeep jumped forward, continuing down the road. She tossed the bumper aside and ran even harder. Then she was alongside the jeep on the driver side, and could see the incredulous look on Andy's face as he saw her outside his driver side window. Before he could swerve into her, she lowered her shoulder and rammed the jeep. To her surprise, it began to tilt up onto two wheels. Before it could come back down she hit it again. This time driving it up and over and into the ditch. Rage coursed through her as she approached it and punched through the front windshield, grabbing the father of her son and pulling him out of the vehicle.

She hauled the frightened, disoriented form of the man she once thought she loved out through the front of the jeep. She held him out in front of her, both of his feet dangling in the air; not unlike the way a loving parent might raise their laughing child into the air, holding onto their arms or chest. That was how she thought of this man she hated right now. Only he was a very bad little boy that needed scolding.

"You listen to me you little asshole!" The fury in her voice matched that in her eyes. "Don't you ever come near me or my son again! As of right now we are finished, and we don't ever need to lay eyes on one another again. Do you understand me?"

Andy laughed. Held aloft, his limp body racked with labored breathing that told Maura he had probably cracked a couple of ribs in the roll over. "You stupid bitch," he spat down at her. "I don't know what kind of freak shit you've gotten into, but you are definitely some kind of fucking freak right now! And you know what? No one is going to give custody of a child to a fucking freak!" Despite herself, Maura felt his works sting at her. They lashed at her in the same way that his stinging backhands used to. He smiled down at her, coughing with each breath. "I may not want the little bastard, but I will make good and damn sure you never get him."

The coldness of his words, and the meaning behind them, shook her to her very soul. Rage and fury were replaced with fear.

"No," she said, "you will not touch him!" For added emphasize she shook him. But rather than the fear she was hoping to hear in his voice, she heard a resounding pop as his neck snapped, and bones in his arms cracked in her grasp. He was dead before his limp body hit the ground when she dropped him.

"My God. What have I done?" She looked down at her hands. Shock began to circulate through her body as the realization of what had just happened began to sink in. What was happening to her? He had felt like a rag doll in her hands. A grown man that easily weighed a buck ninety was like putty in her hands. She had the feeling that her shake had done a little more than snap his neck.

 When the state troopers received the call about a rolled Jeep on a back woods stretch of highway, they would find his body lying pinned under his jeep; the massive internal damage to his soft tissue organs would be attributed to the enormous weight of the jeep rolling over onto his body. Case closed. Another drunk driver added to their highway death toll. When they would try to notify his long term girlfriend, and mother of his child, they would not be able to reach her by phone, and the hospital she worked at had terminated her employment for failing to report to work. A drive out to her small house, a couple of miles back of the accident, would reveal the signs of a struggle and plenty of contraband. But the woman known as Maura Riley was nowhere to be found.