Friends Until Death

James had nothing in mind, just mindlessly surfing the internet. He
typed in his own name. There were the usual sites, White Pages, and people of some sort of renown whom he shared names with, but nothing with his own personal name. He clicked forward to the fourteenth page. Halfway down the page was the blog of Raymond Callaway.

“Raymond Callaway,” James mumbled, “a real idiot, couldn‘t stand him.” An excerpt from the blog read, “My friend James Freeman and I were inseparable…”

“What!” James said at his computer screen, “I don’t even remember having a decent conversation with him. He was a jerk. I told him that to his face. He was obnoxious and bothersome. He spread some rumors around about me and my sister. We almost fought in the hallway. We both had to go to the principal's office. I almost got expelled over him.”

James clicked the link. To James’ surprise, there was a picture of him and Raymond. It looked like they might have been seniors. Their arms were draped over each other’s shoulders.

“How could I have missed that?” James said. “I can’t imagine under what circumstances I would even envision my arms around him. I hated the guy, and he hated me.”

James read, “As I face my last days, there are things that stand like darts in a board fresh in my mind; solid and painful. One had to do with my friend James Freeman. He was ever loyal and understanding. Although not aware of the ailment that will shortly take my life, he showed uncommon courage and understanding.”

“He had me confused with someone else,” James said. “That was not me, it was Bob Constantine.  He was a nice guy; polite and —too polite. Teachers were enamored with him.”

At the end of the post was Raymond’s email. James typed an email, “I’m James Freeman. This is my phone number. Give me a call.”

James left the computer and fingered through his bookshelf. He found his senior annul and looked through the random pictures posted in the back. There it was: the picture he saw on the computer screen (James and Raymond with their arms draped over each other’s shoulders). “I don’t remember this.”

The phone rang. James picked it up. “Hello.”

“Is this James Freeman?”

“Yes,” James said. “Is this Raymond Callaway?”

“Yes,” Raymond said. “I just got your email.”

“I read the post,” James said. “Forgive me for being so direct, but how long do you have to live?”

“The doctors say anytime,” Raymond said. “My system will just shut down. I liken it to a storm; the lights flicker, and suddenly no power. The lights haven’t flickered yet. It’s a condition I’ve had all my life. It’s been managed well.”

“I’m so sad to hear that,” James said. “I always knew there was something wrong with you, but I didn’t know. I don’t think anybody knew.”

“I shared it with no one,” Raymond said. “I didn’t want pity.”

“I must confess,” James said. “I don’t remember the picture being taken that you have in your post. In fact, I found it in our senior annual.”

“There is likely something else you might confess,” Raymond said. “We were not friends. That is probably why you don’t remember the photo being taken. It was a big joke, in the spur of the moment.”

“Yes,” James confessed. “That did confuse me, but we were kids.”

“I was still a jerk,” Raymond said.

“I think I know why, now,” James said. “You didn’t want pity.”

“That’s right,” Raymond said. “A strange way of looking at things, but we were kids.”

They talked for half an hour.

“James,” Raymond said, “you’ll have to pardon me. I’m becoming extremely tired.”

“Sure,” James said, “I’ve kept you too long.”

“Yeah,” Raymond joked, “you're just trying to speed up my death.”

James quipped, “You are such a jerk.”

“Music to my ears,” Raymond said.

“I’ll call again,” James said.

“Absolutely, make it soon.”

“Goodbye, my friend.” James pressed “end” on his phone.

Lights Out

It was the end of the night shift. May slowly walked toward the nurses’ station. She leaned into each room on her ward to make sure everyone was resting well.  May tiptoed into Gilda’s room.

“No need to sneak in like you’ve come home after curfew,” Gilda chuckled weakly 

 May sat in the chair next to Gilda. 

“I wanted to stop in and check on you before ending my shift,” May said.

Gilda smiled and, in a worn voice, said, “Above and beyond.”

“Not really,” May said.

“I think this is the night,” Gilda said. 

“Do you want me to call the family?” May said.

“No,” Gilda said, “They are exhausted. I don’t want them to risk an accident coming in here.”

“Then I will stay,” May said.

“No,” Gilda said, “I’m so full of surprises. You may be staying the whole night for nothing.”

“It would never be for nothing,” May said.

“No,” Gilda said, “go home to your family.”

“You are like family,” May said.

“And my family is sleeping,” Gilda said.

“I don’t think I’ve won an argument with you, ever,” May said.

They sat in silence for a moment.

“I’m the end of my generation in my family,” Gilda said. “We were all quite a bunch; the prohibition, depression, World War Two. It was my generation that invented the computer and put a man on the moon. We also dropped two horrible bombs and killed millions over nothing. I think we’ve done enough.”

May smiled and patted Gilda’s hand.

“I’d like to sleep now,” Gilda said. 

“I’ll see you when my shift begins tomorrow,” May said. 

“Good night, May,” Gilda said.

May stood. She bent down and kissed Gilda on the forehead. “Is there anything I can do before I leave?”

“No,” Gilda said.

“Do you want me to turn off your light?” May said.

“I’ll turn it off,” Gilda said. “Can you tell my family I love them and I’m happy?”

“Sure, Gilda,” May said. “I’ll do that.”

May walked out of the room. She paused for a moment, walked to the nurses' station, and grabbed her purse. She turned back and looked down the hallway towards Gilda’s room. The light shone from the room and into the hallway. May looked down in her purse to search for her car keys. When she looked down the hallway again, the light was out.  

Revenge of the Duck

“Don’t you ever think that maybe we’ve lived before?” Benny said. “You know, reincarnation.”

“No,” Harry said. 

“How do you explain de ja vu?” Benny said smugly.

“Time travel,” Harry said confidently. “For an instant, you go forward and come back.”

“That can’t happen,” Benny said. 

“Deja vu happens all the time,” Harry said.

“No,” Benny said. “I meant time travel.”

“People think it’s reincarnation when it’s really time travel,” Harry said.

“What about people who remember things in the past as a duck?” Benny said.

“You were once a duck?” Harry said.

“Yeah,” Benny said. “But don’t tell anybody.”

Suddenly, Harry stared blankly. He blinked his eyes, and his head twitched peculiarly several times. After a moment, he smiled pleasantly at Benny.

“What was that all about?” Benny said. “Are you okay?”  

“Time travel,” Harry said.

“Time travel?” Benny said.

“Yes,” Harry said. “Time travel.”

“Where did you go?” Benny said.

“Into the future,” Harry said.

“How far?” Benny said.

“Far enough,” Harry said.

“Far enough for what?” Benny said.

Harry snickered. “Far enough to tell everybody you believe you were once a duck.”

“Oh no!” Benny said. “When can I expect people to start laughing
at me?”

“You got about a year,” Harry said.

“How could you do this? Benny said.

“Do you remember when you were a duck?” Benny said.

“Yes,” Harry said. 

“Do you remember one day you were with a bunch of little ducks and you were quacking at another little duck?” Harry said.

“Well, I vaguely remember something like that,” Benny said. “My duck memory is foggy.”

“Well, that little duck that you and all your friends were quacking at was me!” Harry said. “Every time you hear a little kid quack, run, and hide, you’ll know why, and you’ll curse the day you were reincarnated.

“I’m confused,” Benny said.

Next Novel, "Deception In Paradise"

  For the next week or so, I will post some of my unpublished short fiction. They will be posted on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. After that, I will serialize a novel I recently finished, Deception in Paradise. 

  To be more accurate, some may have been published as part of an old WordPress writer's prompt I participated in several years back. It was great fun and put me and my work in front of a diverse array of new readers and fellow writers. 

The writing prompt was delivered by email at 6:00 AM, my time, every morning. The challenge was to submit whatever the prompt prompted you to write. Some writers, I'm sure, had something tucked away in their back pocket or stashed away on their hard drive. In less than five minutes, they had a thousand words of perfectly edited prose.

  At any rate, I had my own rule. I gave myself one hour to write something. What was written had to be fiction. 

  That meant there were some badly written and edited pieces of short fiction. I'll dust them off a bit before posting. You'll be reading the best. And if I can't find the best, you'll get the second best. 

  Thanks for visiting. Have a morning coffee on me, take care. See ya Monday. 

Thanks For Reading "A Cult In Paradise"--And More On The Way

 Well, the novel, A Cult In Paradise, is now complete. The complete book is available for purchase on Amazon. It is available in both paperback and digital formats. 

It will continue online at this site. 

However, if you've read it or are reading it, please show your appreciation by kindly donating. Information is provided in the left hand column. 

What have I been doing while posting A Cult In Paradise? I've been busy writing another Trace Troy adventure. Details will be provided in the next post.

Thanks so much for being a part of this site, and I hope you return for the next South Seas adventure.

A Cult in Paradise; Episode 50 (Final Episode), A Complete Crew

This is episode fifty, the final episode, of the fifth book in the Trace Troy Adventures in  Paradise series. The Title is A Cult in Paradise. It has been featured in episodes over the last few months. It will eventually be published in full on Amazon. All of the Trace Troy books, as well as my other novels, can be purchased on Amazon by clicking the Bookstore tab above. I hope you have enjoyed this adventure. And thanks for stopping by.

A Complete Crew

After a good meal, Trace and Tom visited a clothing store. Trace bought Tom a couple of changes of clothing. They tossed the robe away.

Walking on the sidewalk away from the store, Trace asked, “Where have you been sleeping?”

“Here and there,” Tom said. “I found an empty shed for a couple of nights. Any place I could find that was out of the way. I thought about getting arrested so I could, at least, sleep in jail and get a meal.”

“Come back to The Tramp Islander tonight,” Trace offered. “You can stay in one of the cabins.”

“I’m not going to pretend to be too proud,” Tom said. “I’m going to jump at it.”

“Good,” Trace said. “You’re at risk of becoming sick without proper food and rest. It looks like we’ll be in Pago Pago for a couple more days. My dad married someone from the island. I don’t know if that means I have any influence, but I’ve met a few people related to my dad’s wife. Maybe we can put something together for you, a job, and a way back to The States.”

“I’ve lived five years not making any decisions on my own,” Tom said. “It’s like being institutionalized. I’m not used to doing things on my own.”

They reached the dock and walked across the gangplank and onboard The Tramp Islander.

Trace opened the hatch to the front companionway. “Go all the way through, past the galley, to the very end of the hallway. The last room on the left will be yours. Get some rest.”

“Appreciate it,” Tom said.

“I’ll tell Makani you’re onboard,” Trace said. “He always has snacks on the bar; help yourself.”

Tom ducked down the companionway and made his way forward to his cabin.

Sage rested on the lid of the forward hatch. He watched the sun cast its final glow below the green vegetated hills laying lazily west of  Pago Pago harbor. His thoughts bounced from one situation to another; the future, the past, and the wide gulf in between. Adam, his dad and trusted advisor, was long gone, enjoying life with Talei in Hawaii. Coyote, the straightforward, honest friend of Adam, was likely in Texas, conjuring up stories about the last few months in the South Seas. Sage is here. That is why he is here; for times like this. 

He climbed below, using the forward companionway. He walked to Sage’s room and rapped on the door. 

Sage opened the door. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Come up to the pilothouse,” Trace said. “I want to talk for a while.”

“Sure,” Sage said. “Let me get my shoes on.”

Trace climbed up to the pilothouse. He sat in the chair at the chart desk and waited for Sage.

Sage arrived a couple of minutes later. He carried two cups of coffee. 

“I could tell you have something on your mind,” Sage said, handing a cup to Trace. “I wasn’t sure it was coffee or whiskey. I thought we’d start with coffee.”

“Good choice,” Trace said.

“You know I was reading The Sea-Wolf when you knocked,” Sage said as he sat on the bench.

“Let me guess,” Trace said, sipping the coffee, “I’m Wolf Larsen and you’re Humphrey Van Weyden?”

“You’ve read it?” Sage said. 

“Required, the ninth grade,” Trace said.

“Oh, yeah,” Sage said, “you told me all about it so I could give a book report. I knew the story sounded familiar. I can’t remember how it ends—don’t tell me!”

Sage sipped his coffee while he looked beyond the cup at his lips toTrace. He pulled the cup away and asked, “So what’s up?”

“Sage, you and I have roots in this world,” Trace began. “We’re going to be ranchers. We’ve been raised that way. But if we decide to do something else, we have something to fall back on.”

“You mean like take off and sail the South Seas,” Sage said.

“Exactly,” Trace said. “This is a quest, an adventure, a diversion. We’re serious, but this is not a serious endeavor. It’s going to college and taking all the easy courses.”

“I follow you,” Sage said, “but where does this lead?“

“Remember Tom?” Trace asked.

“The guard who took a cane to your head and you kneed him in the coconuts,” Sage said. “By the way, if you ask me, he still had something comin’ to ‘im. Like a for real knee in the balls.”

“He’s in the last crew cabin on the left,” Trace said.

“What!” 

“Yeah,” Trace sipped. “Let me tell you what happened to me today.”

Trace told him about how he found Tom eating from a garbage can, all the way to him taking the cabin.

“So that’s it,” Trace concluded.

“You left out something,” Sage hesitated. “Your feelings.”

“Yeah,” Trace said, “you know my feelings, maybe better than anyone.”

“So we just hired a deckhand who’s some sort of brainy-ack and never worked anything harder than the Pythagorean theorem Sage said. “And now you want to hire a sick, emaciated former cult member who eats out of garbage cans and snitches on his friends.”

“That sums it up,” Trace said.

“I say go for it,” Sage said, and reached his cup out to toast Trace.

They clinked cups.

“Let’s get ‘im up here,” Trace said. 

“I’ll go below and tell him to come up to the pilothouse,” Sage said. “You handle it. I’m going back to The Sea-Wolf.”

Tom climbed up the aft companionway and into the pilothouse. He looked intensely at Trace, trying to read why he called him to the pilothouse.

“Have a seat,” Trace said, nodding to the bench.

Tom sat on the bench.

“How’s your cabin?’ Trace asked.

“Cozy and nice,” Tom said. “I really appreciate it.”

“Sage and I have been talking,” Trace said. “You really don’t know what’s next, do you?”

“Do any of us?” Tom said.

“No,” Trace said, “but a week from now, chances are, I’m on the seas heading to Fiji. On the other hand, what can you say?”

“I really don’t know,” Tom said.

“Here’s what Sage and I have come up with,” Trace said. “We’d like to take you on as a deckhand.”

“I know nothing about being a deckhand,” Tom said.

“Neither does Paul Purnell. He has the cabin next to yours,” Trace said.

“Paul?” 

“Yes,” Trace said, “he’s going to be a deckhand.”

Tom looked around the pilothouse as if looking for someone to provide an answer. 

“There’s no one here to help you,” Trace said. He reached across to Tom and jabbed his finger on his chest. “The answer is there. It’s inside you. It’s your choice.”

Tom clenched his jaw. “I’ll try.”

“That’s not good enough,” Trace said.

“I’ll do it,” Tom said.

Trace stood and grabbed the mic. “All hands in the mess. All hands in the mess.”

Trace hung up the mic. “Do you know what the mess is?”

“I know what it sounds like,” Tom said.

“Follow me, you’re in for a surprise.”

Trace introduced Tom to the rest of the crew. Paul was pleased to be reunited with Tom. Trace cautioned everyone that everyone was new on The Tramp Islander at one time and that working and learning had challenges.

Trace concluded by saying, “Tom and I had a confrontation with a three-hundred-pound gorilla back at a restaurant. I know his breed. Revenge is in his genes. So let’s get out of port before he storms onto  The Tramp Islander at midnight with a dozen of his goons. Sage, show these landlubbers how to toss the lines, and let’s get out to sea.”