The Marradith Ryder Series, Parts 42 & 43

Justin Granthem yawned and rubbed his eyes.

The sun was coming up; light pressed in against the closed curtains of Leighton’s office. The rain had stopped. The house was preternaturally quiet. He was sure that everyone else was still asleep.

He had stayed up with Marradith until a little after 3:00 A.M., when she finally had wound down and was tired enough to sleep. They had talked about their plans. For a time he just listened to what she had to say. He watched her mouth. Feeling her eyes on him, there were moments when he was just staring at her, not absorbing what she said .

There was a pleasant cadence to her voice, and he found that he could get caught in the rhythm of it without hearing her words. Instead, he was thinking about being with her.

It was getting more difficult to leave her each night.

Something would have to be done about that, and soon.

Once he came downstairs, knowing that he wouldn’t sleep, he sat down at the computer and began to type out his report. It was best to do it without anyone around to distract him.

  

Wednesday, September 30th

Confidential Report

From: Justin Granthem

To: Rafael Castillo

 Subject: Marradith Ryder

 Skills: Manipulation of electrical impulses. In use against physical bodies, the electrical current can cause severe burns or death. When used on machinery, the subject is able to create bursts of energy to “burn out” electrical systems or to cause them to work.

Impulses expelled into the air have been witnessed to cause localized disturbances in weather.

Blood memory : Marradith exhibits knowledge of the ancient rites of Wolves.  She has never been instructed in this discipline. She also can speak and comprehend the primal language of Wolves.

Tracking abilities: Tracks Wolves quickly and efficiently. Shows little fear when confronted by predators.

Personal strengths: Intelligence, loyalty, and adaptability.

Personal weaknesses: Stubbornness. At sixteen, she understandably has a lack of life experience. She has been taught very little about her non-human heritage. She must learn the limits to her abilities, so that she doesn’t endanger her own safety. With time and instruction these challenges will be easily managed.

Observations: At the time I was given this assignment, I was not looking forward to dealing with what I assumed would be an immature young girl. In the time I have known her she has challenged my every expectation. We have developed a solid working relationship and a personal bond as well.

Recommendations: Ryder has strong familial ties, and every effort should be made to maintain this. (Addendum will outline security measures). I also strongly suggest that I am allowed to continue as her Protector. Other team members will be selected to handle specific areas of her education. Fiona has already begun to assist her with training her psychic abilities (as they relate to tracking Wolves).

Conclusion: Marradith Ryder will not be allowed to return to her old home. Her high school and college education will be completed under guidance of the Sojourners. She will also require training in physical defense to sharpen skills that already come to her naturally.

It’s my belief that we are seeing the beginnings of her abilities. The deepest of her magic has yet to be revealed.

 Justin read over his text a second time, and pressed enter.

He had the keen sense that he was being watched.

Turning sharply to the right, he stood.

As he did, he saw a movement out of the corner of his eye.

The edge of a dress. Brown fingers slipping away from the open doorway.

He got up and walked into the hallway. “Marradith?” he called.

No one answered.

No one was there.

He went upstairs and checked her room. Marradith slept soundly, laying on her side.

Maybe he was being paranoid, or had gone so long without sleeping that he was seeing things. To ease his own mind, he made a second tour of the house, checking doors and windows. Everything was locked, and no one was about.

He locked Marradith’s door and sat with his back against it, and finally drifted to sleep.

***********************

Scorn, Part 43

Jenny Winslow was awake when the sun came up.

It had been a bad night. First of all, her husband never came home.

Around 1:00 in the morning she got out of bed and went down to her living room. She was going to wait for him. Because when he did get home, she was going to let him have it.

Eric had been cheating for a few months, at least. It started with the long evenings at work.

That had been a little suspicious; but then she kept odd hours herself, and truthfully, she didn’t miss his absence as much as she should have in the beginning. It gave her more time to concentrate on her own work. Other things caught her attention. He stopped talking when they were together. He didn’t want to go out to dinner anymore. When she came home from her jogs on Saturday, he let her walk past without so much as a glance.

He used to be amorous whenever she came back from a long run.

Mysterious calls came periodically. It was an unknown caller, and the person never spoke when she answered the phone.

It wasn’t long after that she noticed a woman’s number on his cell phone bill.

It was the credit card bill, showing a transaction at a local no-tell-motel from the month before that solidified her suspicions. She recognized the date. Eric was supposed to be away on business in Denver that week.

It was just like him to be so unreliable she couldn’t even expect him to get home for her to break up with him.

To pass the time, she watched a movie on cable.

I could leave, she thought, pack a suitcase and take the car. Serve him with divorce papers later.

But really, why should she be inconvenienced? What satisfaction would that give her? She wanted to tell him everything, nothing held back. No more letting him kill her in bits and pieces. She was not stupid. If he wanted to be with someone else, why not be honest about it?

Why try to make her feel small?

She made a pot of coffee around 3:00AM, exhausted but too angry to give up her cause.

I am going to be awake, no matter how late it is, she told herself. She took her coffee black, savoring the bitterness.

Standing by the sink, she heard a dog bark in the distance. Her neighbor up the hill had dogs; she heard them from time to time. This sounded closer. She slammed her kitchen window shut and did not think about it again.

Over the next hour, she drained half the coffee pot. Her stomach churned, but she was awake. The second movie ended and a stand up comedian came on. His routine was sharp, fast paced and peppered with foul language and sexual innuendo. She’d laughed at it before. On this night, she found it profoundly humorless.

Still walking around her house in her pajama pants and tank top, she did not realize how late - or early- the hour was, until she heard birds chirping.

Light was pressing in around the windows.

Later, she’d blame the idea that came next to her on the caffeine she had in her system. Because it didn’t make much sense.

She went downstairs to the garage, ready to jump in the car and go look for Eric.

Eric’s car was parked alongside hers.

 In the dimness, her foot touched something.

She looked down.

There was something thick on the floor, and wet. Her feet were bare, and she felt something sticky against her skin.

Frowning, she leaned forward, looking at the figure only a few inches from her feet. It could have been seconds, but it felt an eternity before she realized exactly what she was looking at.

She stumbled backwards, and right into the mans arms.

He put a hand over her mouth, clamping his arm around her body. In a cool, accented voice, he whispered in her ear.

“You won’t scream now. Very quiet, sweet one. We are going to go upstairs.”

He dropped his hand from her mouth, and she answered him in a voice that hardly sounded like her own.

“Yes.”

She turned and looked up at his face. His cold, pale eyes bored into her own, with a mouth that twisted into a thin smile.

“Who are you?” she managed, her voice barely above a whisper. She was shivering, but could not move.

Because he did not want her to.

“My name is Syd.”

Lori Titus is the Managing Editor for Flashes in the Dark, and Short Story Editor for Sonar4 Ezine. Her work has been included in three anthologies so far. Most recently her stories appeared in Mausoleum Memoirs, and Toe Tags: 21 Spine-Tingling Stories by the Best New Authors in Horror. Meanwhile, she continues to write The Marradith Ryder Series, posted here weekly. For more info, see her blog at

If distance makes the heart grow fonder, it also makes the mind go madder and the eyes dim darker. Kimberly had promised that the distance would only strengthen their relationship. He had even helped her family pack the moving van. Stupid. But when she called months and miles later, the distance had made her heart grow fonder- for another guy. Justin wasn’t used to hearing no.
      
He was the varsity quarterback, captain of the basketball team, class president and National Honors society to boot; no one told Justin what he could and could not have. Even Kimberly’s former best friend, Susan, tried to comfort him, tried to satisfy his desires. And he was satisfied, for about the length of time it took for the light to drain from her eyes and the lithe body beneath him to cease breathing. He continued his copulations anyways; why waste a warm body.
               
He sent Kimberly letters. He wrote her romance and lust, he wrote her begging and mailed away his tears. For as each letter went unanswered so too was the light in another girl’s eyes extinguished. Another night spent cradling death in his arms.
               
At first he was careful, painstakingly cautious, with each rendezvous, even then the police soon knew. But he was class president, soon to be salutatorian, had brought his school two championships last year. And so the police chief brought him, sat him down, the big man did a lot of hemming and a lot of hawing. In the end, Justin was told that part of growing up was learning not to shit where one eats, and after a few nods of understanding, was pat on the head and sent on his way. Small towns know how to take care of their own.
               
Justin shakes the reminiscings from his mind. What matters most, all that matters, is that he’s here on this fire escape outside Kimberly’s window, in the city where she lives.  He’s been here for a while now, at least since the sun went down. She’s as resplendent as he remembers and he’s fallen in love all over again. He’s observed her on the phone, eating dinner and changing. He’s even got to take the measure of his so called “Replacement.” Pleasured himself while watching her go down on him- pretending, remembering when that was him laying there.
               
He can find very little to like in this new man of her, not even that they resemble each other. Justin finds comfort only in that, as his Replacement opens the door to leave, his demise will bring another small moment of satisfaction.
               
Justin follows his Replacement from what he judges to be an adequate distance to avoid drawing attention but it is an effort on the crowded city sidewalks. He’s not used to being so exposed when stalking his prey. Justin sees him turn down a secluded alleyway he passed earlier. He fingers the switchblade in his pocket itchingly. As he closes in, Justin wonders if his Replacement will wet himself as have the others.
               
Approaching the corner, someone bumps hard into Justin, almost knocking him off his feet. Before he can regain his composure the stranger has already disappeared into the crowd of people rushing past. Dusting himself off, he prowls around the corner, the street lamps casting irregular shadows to navigate by.
               
After a hundred feet Justin reaches the brick-wall ending; he can go no further yet his prey is nowhere to be found. He reverses direction, content to continue the chase another day, but is stopped dead in his tracks. His Replacement stands at the entrance to the alleyway, arms crossed in contemplation.
               
The Replacement takes a few swaggering steps forward, “So this is the country mouse I’ve read so much about.” His lips cut a sardonic smile and his eyes, Justin knows those eyes. They’re predator’s eyes. Justin fumbles in his pocket for the switchblade. His Replacement unfolds his arms and opening both palms reveals Justin’s switchblade, picked from his pocket only moments before.
               
The blade shnicks forward, the glint of metal in the street light, “Let me show you how we city-slickers do things around here. Don’t worry, I’ll go nice and slow, one piece at a time.”

©2009 Andrew Polewarczyk

Andrew Polewarczyk is from Worcester, MA. He has been writing for the past few years and draws story ideas from the rich New England scenery. Although he enjoys writing in different genres from time to time, horror is his first and true love.