A little mystery...

Wind was howling through the man-made canyons of downtown San Francisco. It was rare enough for it to be windy, but even more so for the amount of wind. 60-70 miles per hour was the high wind warning for the day. Scott pulled his coat a little tighter around himself and soldiered on to his hotel. It was a boutique hotel off of Bush Street called The White Swan Inn. His contact for this particular trip had booked the room and made all of the arrangements for his stay.
    It was a quaint spot with a decent view, free baked goods, coffee and tea throughout the day and a central location to the businesses he had the need to visit. That it was within walking distance of Union square and a short cab ride most everywhere else also helped. Generally speaking, he would have liked to be closer to the Haight and Ashbury part of town, but the hotel had not been his choice.
    Breakfast was a quick endeavor in the small dining area in the basement. While reading his notes, he partook of the breakfast of the day: scrambled eggs and a couple of sausage links paired with some toast and excellent coffee. By 8am he was walking to his first stop, a commercial upscale building being renovated for a larger business. Naturally, since the person who was meeting him there had a vested interest in the completion of the smaller project, it was deemed necessary to have their business handled there.
    If the wind had been less intense, or his business far enough away to warrant a cab, he would have missed her. Cowering in a small corner, waiting for a bus, was a long necked blond woman with her hair up in a messy bun. She wasn't glowing like the night he'd seen her carousing with a married man, but there was no mistaking the woman from the restaurant. She had on a long tan London Fog trench coat which was belted tightly on her pleasantly curvy figure. He looked longingly across the street, wanting to go over to her. To ask what the hell she was doing out here, and to find out where she was going. The traffic wasn't slowing down and there was no hope of getting across without a light. By the time he got to the light and was across, her bus had already picked her up.
    A girl he had once known, a million miles away in a small mountain valley town, had told him that the difference between stalking and being pursued was if the girl thought you were cute. He'd have to handle this delicately. He couldn't risk freaking her out. But this just wasn't something that happened to people. There was a reason he'd seen her. He quickly wrote down the number of the bus to look up after his meeting and continued on his way.
   
    The meeting could have gone better. He'd kept the account, but only after promising some provisos that would not make his boss happy. He arrived back at the small room on the top floor of the quaint 'French' hotel and quickly opened his laptop. After almost a half hour of searching, he was unable to locate the route that the wayward young lady had taken. The number 2 line ended near the Golden Gate park, but from there, he didn't have any idea where she might have gone.
    Really, the only hope he had was to go back there the next morning around the same time and see if he could find her again. It was a depressing thought, and before he could get too far into it, he was on the phone with the client for the next day. The client was calling to reschedule for later the next afternoon, as something had come up at his daughter's school. Being that Scott had already decided that he was going to go to Haight and Ashbury for dinner and a couple cocktails, it was welcome news.
    The afternoon was spent with a light lunch from the corner bodega and writing out both the new terms of the client from that morning and a prospectus for the next client. By six o'clock, he was in a cab, headed for Martin Mack's Gastropub on Upper Haight. Scott knew all about San Francisco cab drivers and gave him specific directions so that he wouldn't give him the run around "tourist route" that took twice as long and cost twice as much. After tipping the man and walking along part of Haight to see what had changed since his last trip, he headed inside.
    It wasn't his normal fare. Most days he would have opted for an upscale restaurant that served overpriced tapas that required several courses to even approach something close to being filling. But today, he just wanted a fucking cheeseburger and a beer. Okay, maybe two or three beers... and a shot.
    He had ditched the suit for something a little more low key: Jeans and a button down t-shirt. All still solidly designer items; apparently he didn't own anything that wasn't designer anymore. Not that he knew when that had even happened for sure. But none of the tags were visable and he really didn't care at the moment. He just needed to get his mind in gear and figure out what he was going to do next.
    There was a menu at the end of the bar, so he sat down and started looking for the cheeseburger section. Maybe he'd even get a side of jalapenos to put on top. If he was very lucky, they would even be pickled.
    "Hello, what can I get you?" Scott put down his menu, gasped and proceeded to choke on his own spit. The bartender had big azure eyes and soft, but slightly wild, blonde hair that had been swept up into a loose bun high on the back of her head. She pivoted gracefully and grabbed him a glass of water and patted him on the back while leaning over the top of the bar. She smelled like vanilla, figs and something else wild and entirely her own. After a moment, he had stopped coughing and took a sip of the water. She was back on her side of the bar and had a genuinely concerned look on her face.
    "Are you okay?" He realized that he was blinking rapidly and didn't actually have any kind of plan on what he would say to her when he met her. Usually he had all of his interactions completely planned out. It was sort of his buffer against losing control of the situation. "Do you want something else to drink?" She was smiling tentatively now, almost like she was trying to put him at ease.
    "Yep, yes, actually... yeah. A beer. Whats on tap?" He was seriously screwing this up. She pointed down the bar about three feet away with a thumb as he raked his hand through his hair. Turning back to him, she giggled softly to herself.
    "Tell you what, I'm just going to make you something you'll like." He made a gesture to wave it off and actually managed to open his mouth to protest when she cut him off. "Don't worry, its on me." And she winked at him. Winked! What the fuck?!
    She returned to his place at the bar with a mysterious and large glass of what looked like a margarita.
    "Don't over think it, just give it a try. You'll like this, I can tell." Her eyes were glowing and she had on a mischievous little half-grin. He sniffed at it doubtfully before taking a sip. It was a margarita, but there were a few extra ingredients that made his taste buds stand up at attention.
    "See? I told you you'd like it." She grinned wider, before turning pseudo-serious on him. "You're gonna want to eat something with that, though. What'll it be?" She already had out her notepad and a pen from her apron and was waiting patiently.
    "Cheeseburger with pickled jalapenos on the side. French fries and a small side of ranch." She nodded her approval, grinned again and walked over to put in his order and help some other customers who had just come in.
    He was still trying to figure out what to say to her when she came over with an ice water and asking if he'd like a refill. She'd have to charge him for the next one, though. He nodded yes and managed to smile back. Not the debonaire smile that he used to pick up women, but his own, slightly goofy one.   
    He was still mentally beating himself up when he noticed the three people come in and take turns hugging his mystery woman. In all of the excitement, he still hadn't caught her name. The bartender and the woman of the threesome looked very alike, except for their hair. One of the men was obviously with the curly haired redhead.  The other one was leaning in towards his bartender in a very casual, but more than a little possessive, masculine way.
    She didn't seem to notice, or if she did, didn't seem to care. Either way, it didn't bode well for her apparent (or at least hoped for) single status.

Footprints

A crisis of conscience and a conflict of heart. How do you make the decision of which is right? And once the decision is made, how do you heal the wound that is left behind?

Footsteps on your heart are the marks of those who have made an impression on you that last long after they're gone. This could happen from a person who you met in a bar dressed up for Halloween. It could be a loved one who seemed to only care about you when they needed someone's help. It could be from a treasured teacher who cheered you on, even when their own lives seemed worthless and bleak to them.

For all of the people that make up a life, whether they are a vocal part in a chorus of good experience, the out of tune tenor that is lying drunk under the table or the lead soprano who is always mysteriously and conspicuously absent; they represent the whole. "No man is an island."(John Donne)

Even people who are, for all intents and purposes, a hermit; they are a sum of their environment and the cards that they were dealt upon birth. If you play your cards right, you can sometimes find the one person who makes this complex and sometimes frightening life worth living. Intelligence, tempered with heart and graded by wisdom gleaned from experience is the reward for a well lived life.

I've often mentioned my view of life as it relates to a choose your own adventure book. There are crossroads in life, as in these stories, where one must decide if they're on the correct path, or if they should "slay the bear." Often enough, it is these instances that define who we appear to be in the eyes of others. Are we Good people? Bad people? Trustworthy or Foolish? Are we Brave? Afraid? Or are we Hesitant because we fear being hurt again?

Are we doomed to be a certain way, through an accident of birth? Or, are we a combined product of these predetermined factors and the lives that we live as a result? There are shades of grey in every decision and in every life. Wounds we've carried from decisions and events in our past color the paths we choose down the line and, I believe, make us better people for it.

Ultimately, we are our own worst enemies when it comes to fruitful decisions. Do we stay on the well worn path that leads down to the well known road or do we push through the harder path, with the possibility of danger, hurt and rejection, for the promise of a better possible future? I know which one I prefer. But then, my heart is shaped a little differently from yours... ;)

Dead!

Benjamin vahn was dead to begin with. Marley would have appreciated that point; Dickens too, if it came to that. Lara, on the other hand, was unimpressed. Actually, if she had had to pick an emotion to coin the occasion, pissed off would have fit much better.
That Ben had died and she had lived was a constant reminder of the underlying problem of their work. Another problem was who had done it, and where in the multiverse had they gone?
Moriarty had nothing on Ben's brother, Caleb.

Wishful thinking

<p>&nbsp; The wind bit deeply into the tips of their noses. The snow had started early for the season and they'd had to rush to bring in the last of the harvest before the first frost. Now winter had its icy fingers into all of their flesh. It was the burden of the watchmen to keep them safe. </p>
<p>Noel would be twenty three this winter. It would be his fifth winter in the watch since he'd become a man of the village. That he still had not offered for a bride was a very popular subject at the local tavern. </p><p>
His bachellor status worried his mother, and it concerned his grandfather. But his father was very quiet about it; when he was home long enough to acknowledge he was still living there.</p>
<p>

A little off the top

The day started out busy enough, but by two thirty the steady stream of walk-ins had died and stylists were beginning to pack up and go home. By five it would be down to two stylists and the chance of an evening rush. Basically, it was turning out to be a typical Saturday. Except for the dead guy, that is...
Of the several shops Constance had worked in, this was definitely the best. Hourly wages, good insurance, and a full service salon with light waxing and nail duties. She might get one or two leg or body waxes a month, but it was never anything too difficult. There were bonuses for those who had more clients and better sales. But, mainly she did hair, and mainly it was men getting the haircuts.
Mostly, her schedule was routine now. Once the salon was closed at seven, she took out the trash while Vicky did paperwork. Thats when she saw it - him, her? - in the dumpster. She'd watched enough crime dramas to know what a dead body looked like, and instead of puking (which was her first instinct), she dropped the bags of trash and ran back inside.
After locking the door, she ran into the office and called the police. Vicky learned about the body at the same time as the policeman on the phone.

Testing, 1-2-3

  She walked back to the bathroom and picked up the stick. Positive. Candace studied herself in the mirror for a long moment. It was the third test she'd taken that day and three days past when she should have ended her period.
  Sitting down on the toilet, she held her head in her hands and tried to force down some deep breaths. James had been so distant lately and the last time they'd made love it had been perfunctory and quick. She hadn't even orgasmed. Not that she did manage that most times they made love anymore.
  "Shit... Shit shit SHIT!" What the Hell could she even do about it? Nothing really. She wanted kids, but not if James couldn't even give her the time of day. She had to talk to him about this when he got home.
  Being an average Friday, he would probably be home late, so she had to call him to try and get home earlier. She cleaned up the box and set the stick on top of the bathroom cabinet that stood above the toilet. Then she proceeded to clean.
  First the bathrooms, then the kitchen and living room. She called James to ask if he could get home early tonight since she really needed to talk to him about something important. Once laundry was done and everything was dusted and she had finished vacuuming, she finally felt like she could relax.
  Any time she was really stressed out, she would clean. After sitting for fifteen minutes, she was in the basement, cleaning and sorting through the random junk being stored there. By six o'clock she was exhausted and filthy, so she decided to take a shower before James got home.
  As she towel dried her hair, she heard his key in the lock and quickly got dressed. Meeting him in the living room, she offered him a drink. He smiled at her questioningly as he took off his shoes.
  "Candace, what's up..." He jiggled his Scotch glass inquisitively. "Come sit."
  She smiled tensely but didn't sit. Instead, she paced, trying to formulate how she wanted to say what she needed to say. He had almost finished his scotch.
  "Would you like another one?" She really wanted a drink too, but she couldn't, obviously. He was losing his patience.
  "No Candy, I'd like to know what the Hell is going on. The house is spotless, you're a pacing nervous wreck and you're trying to get me liquored up. Spit it out already." For as stern as his subject matter, he seemed remarkably calm and gentle.
  She held up a finger to indicate wait a minute and trotted to the bathroom while holding back tears. He hadn't talked to her like that in years.
  She returned with the test and held it out guiltily.
  James blinked at it for a split second before he was on his feet, embracing her first, then picking her up and spinning her around.
  "This is great news!" Candace herd his words and felt his enthusiasm, but all she felt was dread.

Meetings

She returned to his place at the bar with a mysterious and large glass of what looked like a margarita.
   "Don't over think it, just give it a try. You'll like this, I can tell." Her eyes were glowing and she had on a mischievous little half-grin. He sniffed at it doubtfully before taking a sip. It was a margarita, but there were a couple extra ingredients that made his tastebuds stand up at attention.
  "See? I told you you'd like it." She grinned wider. "You're gonna want to eat something with that, though. What'll it be?" She already had out her notepad and a pen from her apron and was waiting patiently.
   "Cheeseburger with pickled jalopenos on the side. French fries and a small side of ranch." She nodded her approval, grinned again and walked over to put in his order and help some other customers who had just come in.
   He was still trying to figure out what to say to her when she came over with an ice water and asking if he'd like a refill. She'd have to charge him for the next one, though. He nodded yes and managed to smile back. Not the debonnaire smile that he used to pick up women, but his own, slightly goofy one.
   He was still mentally beating himself up when he noticed the three people come in and take turns hugging his mystery woman. In all of the excitement, he still hadn't caught her name. hi