The Blade (working title)

1
The wind moved the treetops westward, but the bike roared south, defiant to the whims of the world through which it passed. The road winded enough that James could feel the illusion of freedom that only sharp negotiations at high speeds could afford. His troubles, after all, were now a hundred miles behind him, locked away in Clayton County State Penitentiary for the next twenty- five years. A newly purchased house in the north Georgia Mountains and his beautiful four year old daughter Nell waited ahead. A new life, free from the threats, bruises and broken ribs of the last ten years… a blessed new start lay before him. The roar of V-8 power through tuned exhaust ports, the glimmer of sunlight reflected on chrome, this was his new battle cry, his cry freedom.

He slowed as the driveway appeared around the next corner, turning up the gravel drive and down the half mile of driveway to the front turnaround that made its turn at the front door. He took the helmet off, hanging it on the handlebars as he gave the bikes weight to its chrome kickstand. Now, the admiration of his new house… a ritual that had taken place every day for a week now, usually with Nell, but with Nell an hour away at Bob and Sandy’s, busy exhausting herself with their own daughter Jenny, He partook the casual white on white elegance alone. Windows, rippling green and blue landscape portraits, giving way to mostly decorative shutters and then to the wood siding he loved so much. Angling rooflines, green tin that made sleeping a joy when it rained, the upstairs balcony and those glass double doors that swing out to it, shrouded in shadow, seeming to move slightly…

James shook his head to stop the tingling feeling tracing its way down his spine. Not having Nell here was something he wasn’t used to, and that difference along with all this newness was making him uneasy, that was all. He shook his head at the silliness of wanting to hop back on his bike and ride away.

“Chill out, Jimmy. You’re giving yourself the creeps.”

And with that, he walked up the porch, unlocked the deadbolt, and stepped inside.
The smell of pine scented floor cleaner rose to greet him; the dimness of the room a sharp contrast to the bright sun outside, like walking from a campfire to the edge of the forest to gather wood.

He walked straight back through the foyer, stopping short at a movement at the corner of his vision. He turned toward it, nearly startled by the fair face, sandy blonde hair, and bright blue eyes returning his gaze with a deer caught in headlights look. He abruptly broke out into a nervous laugh, realizing it was only his own reflection in the antique mirror on the far wall. He continued through the dining room to the kitchen,scolding himself for this unusual case of the jitters, and opened the fridge, taking out a pitcher, startled by its lightness.

“Shit. I just made a pitcher this morning…”

He shrugged and set it down on the table. A kettle sat on the back burner of the stove, and he filled it with water from the sink and turned the burner on under it.

Back through the dining room, left from the foyer, he melted into his favorite chair, reached for the remote and the TV sputtered to life. Chants of “Jerry, Jerry” momentarily filled the room. He flipped the channel, quickly.

“…A shootout today as three escaped convicts from the Clayton State Penitentiary attempted a daring takeover of an armored car. Two of the three, Jamal Harold Griffith and Kelvin Edison Brown, were shot down in a bloody battle with Clayton county police in which six policemen were killed and twelve others transported to various hospitals, two airlifted out in critical condition. It is unknown where the felons got the body armor and automatic weapons they used in this battle, but it is known that a third felon, Regina Elizabeth Collier of Thomaston…”

James stiffened, the past flooding back to him. “Regina…”
How had she escaped? He unconsciously rubbed his ribs, and the smell of her jasmine perfume came flooding back to him. It seemed so real… too real.

“What the…”

He heard the fabric of his chair rip and he couldn’t move, he was staring at red the rusty color of the first truck he had ever owned, but this was a blade, it had to be three feet long and it was coming out of his chair… no, his shoulder, it was sticking out of his shoulder! He reached up and grabbed it and now his hand was red too, but he could see white too and his thumb was hanging at an odd angle, blood squirting a foot in the air from the eviscerated vein and there was this sound, a screaming more horrible than he had ever heard in his life and he realized it was his own… then he was wrapped in a blessed cloak of still darkness.

2

James dreamed of forests and of hell, fields of blade-edged jasmine splashed red with the blood of sinners and saints alike, crosses of samurai swords with faceless screams nailed down with letter openers, a winged demon on a pedestal turning blood to wine and reciting Yeats and Faulkner to legions of…

He woke with a start, and screamed as the blade cut into him with the movement. He lifted his hand, it was wrapped with bandage and gauze, white soaked with red.

Finally he focused on the figure sitting across from him.

“Regina… what the hell are you doing here?”

Hair the color of flame and deep green eyes, and hatred, this was the woman he had married ten years ago, the woman who had scarred him mentally and physically, who beat him senseless with a baseball bat because he had a secretary. Not because of any infidelity, simply the fact that he had a secretary was enough. She would have killed him that day, if her last swing hadn’t knocked him through the glass in the gun cabinet, if the 9mm hadn’t fallen into his hand, if he hadn’t shot her mid-swing… seven times… and then in both hands so she could no longer hold the bat… and if the cops hadn’t arrived as she was trying to choke him to death.

Now she leaned forward, a smirk on her face, this demon in a woman’s body, as beautiful as the day he met her and as deadly as the day she’d nearly killed him.

“Hey, Jimmy.”

Her voice dripping that sensual southern drawl that would have been downright overpowering were it not laced with venom.

“how’s my favorite kidnapper? Still using your dick to get ahead, hon?”

“Regina, I told you, I’ve never used my dick to get ahead with anyone but you, you bitch.”

He tried to sit forward and nearly passed out from the bite of the blade. He fought back the red edges that crept into his vision and stared at her.
“Where’d you find a sword, anyway?”

“Well, now,” She leaned in, her face inches from his own, her fragrance bearing in on him, a smirk marring her beauty. “That’s quite a story, if you’ve got time to hear it… which you don’t, because I’d say that you have maybe ten minutes before you pass out from loss of blood. And, you need those ten minutes, Jimmy… you need every one of those minutes to tell me where the hell my daughter is!”

James smiled and shook his head.

“There’s no way, you bitch…”

He was rocked sideways by a fierce backhand, crying out as his shoulder twisted against the steel blade, blood dribbling from his mouth.

“Oh, Jimmy, baby, you’ll tell me… You’ll tell me or I’ll cut you apart one piece at a time, love.”

She held up another blade, fuzzy to his blurred vision.

“Come on, love, you’re a realtor, not a soldier. You weren’t trained for torture, not like I’m gonna give it to you.”

The very thought seemed to make her radiate.

“So, Jimmy, I’ll ask one last time…” She lowered the blade… “Where…” He could feel the point slide against his other shoulder.. “is…” His whole body tensed… “Nell?” The blade dove deep into his left shoulder, his scream tearing into his own eardrums, and she twisted. Blessed darkness crowded in once more.


3

When he awoke again, Regina was not in sight, and he listened carefully, silently for signs of her whereabouts. He heard no breathing behind him, listened for movement further back in the house… then heard the boards creaking upstairs. Good, so He had some time, perhaps. He looked down at his right shoulder to where the blade still protruded, blood soaking his whole right side. His left shoulder was bleeding badly too, but there was no blade. Regina was still armed. He tried to slide up the blade slowly, and nearly passed back out from the effort. He had to get himself out of this chair, he knew, or he was as good as dead.

“Alright,” he muttered, “I’m just gonna have to fling myself off of this chair.”

He tested his left arm, finding that he could still move it around, but his right arm was dead weight. He tried positioning his feet, but they felt like rubber. There was no strength to be found, too much blood lost to support his weight. James groaned, his head hanging helplessly, far too aware that he had little time before he lost consciousness completely.

Light flooded the room, and only then did he realize that night had crept in, his throat tightened as he realized that it must be Bob and Sandy bringing Nell home… right into the hands of a lunatic. Sounds of an engine dying, and the creaking of the floorboards from upstairs rang in his ears, melding into a single, horrifying sound. The doorbell rang, and James started screaming.



4

There was no memory of the next few moments, but James found himself face down on the floor, the chair on top of him. He rolled onto his side, the chair falling away… no sword. He found himself staring at the reason- Bob, face down, the sword protruding from the back of his skull. James staggered to his knees, his mind already on Nell.

A car horn blared from just outside, and he was on his feet, wrestling the sword from the gore that encased its blade, adrenaline pressing him toward the sound. The front door was smashed in, and he moved carefully through the fragments, searching the darkness for the car, and then moved toward it, using the gloom as best he could to conceal himself, searching for any sign of Regina. She was halfway in the backseat of the car, reaching for Nell as the child screamed and pressed hard against the opposite door, struggling with the door lock. James rushed the car, ramming the rear door with all his strength, knocking Regina’s body against the door frame, hearing the hiss as the air rushed out of her body. He reached around the door and grabbed her, pulling her out of the car with strength he didn’t know he still had. Regina hit the ground hard, rolling down the soft slope towards the lake. James turned to Nell.

“Come with me, baby girl.”

Her eyes were locked on the front seat, where Sandy lay face down against the steering wheel, blood seeping out of a wound in her temple.

“Nell!” he shouted, shaking her gently. Her eyes, filled with terror, slowly turned to him, tears building but not yet falling.

“Come on baby, we’ve got to go.”

She slid forward slowly, and he scooped her up in his arms, running to his motorcycle.

“I need you to hold on to me, just like I’ve shown you how to, okay?”

Nell nodded slowly, almost lethargically. He sat her on the rider’s seat and hopped on in front of her, wrapping her arms snugly around his waist. He stepped hard on the pedal, the bike’s engine roaring to life. Aiming the bike down the driveway, the rear tire spraying the house with gravel, he tore away, rounding the first bend… right into the branch Regina swung into his face. The world exploded in white.