Category Archives: Flash Fiction

September 20, 2017

This entry is part 2 of 3 in the Flash Fiction: Sky is Falling

This was going to have a second scene, but I got halfway through it and hated it. So next time 😛 This is a bit shorter, written in 40 minutes.

It had been two years since he’d been in the same room as Elizabeth Webber, and before then, he could only remember a handful of times he’d run into her since she and his sister had moved back to Port Charles.

Growing up, she had been in and out of his house as often as Emily, but she’d always seemed…so young. He’d been a senior—she and Emily in middle school. He was in his first year at the PCPD when they’d gone to prom. There just…hadn’t been a reason to know her any better.

Until that last year when she’d been assigned to Violent Crimes at the district attorney’s office and had been overseeing the warrants and legal paperwork he’d needed investigating a string of rape-homicides.

He watched her from the corner of his eye as they cross the street to the Starbucks, and then held the door for her. She didn’t look much different. Still short, but the length of chestnut hair he vaguely remembered had been cut to something sharper, just beneath her jawline.

She looked older, but it wasn’t just the hair. The eyes were older. And he couldn’t help but look at her collarbone, where a thin, thin jagged scar snaked out beneath the blue blouse she wore.

“So,” he said as they waited in the order line. “You left the DA’s office.”

“Yeah. I couldn’t—” She lifted a shoulder, but it was a jerky movement—it wasn’t the casual gesture she’d intended. “I needed a more flexible schedule.”

“Yeah.” He ordered a black coffee and his gut twisted as he listened to Elizabeth order a hot chocolate. His sister’s favorite drink, and now, he remembered—it was something they’d had in common.

Jason didn’t think about Emily much these days. He had some photos of her hanging around, and sometimes he mentioned her to his parents or to his former sister-in-law, but he found it easier to just…not think about her.

Drinks in hand, they went outside to the terrace. It was empty this time of day—the change in season had brought a breeze that others weathered inside.

“You left the PCPD,” she said, as if there hadn’t been five minutes of silence as they settled themselves.

“Yeah. Well…my priorities changed.” It had been the last desperate attempt to salvage his marriage. After Emily, his wife Courtney had been…unable to handle the implied danger and threat. If one of Jason’s criminals came after his sister, well wouldn’t she be next?

And since he’d taken a vow, he left the department. It still hadn’t saved their marriage, and now Jason missed the work.

“What do you think they’re going to do with Dillon?” she asked. “I never worked with the Fourth District, but…they didn’t look like they’d let this case go.”

“Yeah, the Fourth has a reputation of being a bit cowboy,” he admitted. He’d worked out of Central, overseen a squadron of detectives. “One of my guys worked there for a while. Their lieutenant is a bit…enthusiastic. Taggart.” He sipped the coffee. “Death of an elderly woman. A young guy accused of it. There’s not a lot to tie him to it, but if those crime scene reports come back without any prints for someone else—”

“His alibi isn’t great. Lucas and Spinelli said they didn’t see him leave, but if they had headsets on—”

“I’ve seen those idiots play. They wouldn’t know if a marching band came through.” Jason exhaled slowly. “They’re not gonna hold.” He flicked his eyes to hers. “Look, after…I left the department and—well, anyway, I’m certificated as private investigator. I mostly work for other law firms. Some insurance work. You’ll need someone. I’ll do it for nothing.”

She bit her lip, said nothing, and sipped her hot chocolate. “We don’t know if we have to worry about any of that,” Elizabeth began.

“If we do.”

“I mean, I’d be stupid to say no,” she admitted. “I doubt Dillon can afford me, much less a PI. And don’t even say it—of course, I’m not charging him. I used to baby sit him and—” She looked away. “He came to the hospital a few times to see me.”

And then Emily was between them again. They’d been able to ignore it while they were talking about Dillon, but the hospital brought it back.

“Listen, I wanted to apologize about—I wanted to back then. It just never felt like the right time, and then you left your job—”

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Elizabeth said with a shrug. “Everyone was upset. And it was just…it was bad. And—” She sighed. “It was easier in a lot of ways that your family kind of…”

Abandoned her, but Jason didn’t say it. Elizabeth’s family had left the area while the girls had been in college, and Elizabeth had come back to Port Charles because of Emily.

And after Emily died—

“I moved,” she said. “Robin packed up some of my things. I couldn’t go back. And the DA’s office was kind, but they…couldn’t give me the time off I really needed. So I left and went into private practice. Johnny and I have nearly starved, but it’s starting to get better. My therapist says I have avoidance issues. She wanted me to call you last year on the first—” Elizabeth shook her head. “But I didn’t.”

“I wanted to call you,” he told her. “But I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me.” He shifted in his seat. “Still, I never should have said it was your fault—”

“It was,” Elizabeth said flatly. “It was mine. It was yours. Because we did our job, and Emily was always the target. That’s why I’m not dead. So yeah, I’d say we each have like one percent responsibility. But that’s it. The rest of it belongs to Diego Alcazar.”

To hear her state the situation so bluntly, to have his thoughts put into words without any attempt soften them—

It shouldn’t have felt reassuring.

“Everyone told me it wasn’t my responsibility,” he said after a moment. “The captain. Hell, the commissioner. My parents. Courtney. It was just the job. The price of doing the work.”

“Our contact information is hidden like that does anything.” She snorted. “He followed me home from work. Had followed me every day for two weeks.”

“You didn’t—” He swallowed the words.

“I didn’t know it then. He told me while he was—” Elizabeth swallowed, looked away. “If I had looked over my shoulder, or watched the cars on the road. Maybe I would have been able to see him. Arrest him. It was my fault for being stupid. For doing a man’s job.” Her voice trembled. “So he wanted to make sure I knew what a woman was good for.”

He wanted to reach across the small metal table, just to to touch her hand. To let her know she wasn’t alone.

“He sent me pictures,” Jason said after a moment, the words forced from his chest. If she could open herself up, the least he could do was offer something in return. “Of…you. Of…Emily. During. After.” He swallowed. “And before. He’d stalked Emily, too. I didn’t know about you.”

“I used to blame you a lot more,” she admitted. “If you could have just found him, arrested him. And that’s not fair,” she added quickly. “You did the best you could. I know what that case was doing to you. How hard you were all working.”

“Didn’t matter.” Jason shoved the coffee aside. “Couldn’t find him then. They took me off the case after. They still—last known confirmed sighting was somewhere in Mexico.”

It had been the worst part of it — to know that the son of bitch who’d butchered his sister and all those other women—that he still had his freedom. That he hadn’t been caught.

“I’ve had to to figure out a way to live with that.” She lifted her chin slightly. “Anyway, all that’s to say is that I never held what you said in the hospital against you. Nothing to apologize for.” She lifted her bag into her lap. “Do you have a number where I can reach you if the PCPD decides to go further against Dillon?”

“Yeah.” He reached into his wallet and dug out of one of his cards. When she put her fingers around it, he didn’t let go right away. Their eyes met. “Thanks for helping Dillon. He’s an idiot, but he’s mine.”

“He was Emily’s,” she said simply. “And now he’s mine, too.”

He released the card. She slid it into the bag and then walked away, crossing the street back to the PCPD parking lot where her car remained. He watched her get in, back up, and then pull into traffic.

September 19, 2017

This entry is part 1 of 3 in the Flash Fiction: Sky is Falling

I wrote this in 42 minutes, give or take about ten seconds. Not edited for content, spelling, or grammar. Alternate universe and a new version of the short Micro Fiction series, Birthdays and Anniversaries.

When the leaves changed color in upstate New York during the fall and the cafes began stocking pumpkin spice in bulk, not everyone was overjoyed.

In fact, for the last two years, when the short summer season signaled the coming of autumn, Elizabeth Webber considered hibernation. The bears had the right of it.

She’d once been ambivalent about this season — years of going back to school or beginning a new semester at college and later law school never triggered much excitement.

But Halloween and her birthday day after? Those had been holidays to anticipate with glee. She’d once scoured newspapers and internet listings for haunted houses to explore. She and her small group of friends had made it an all night event in college and law school — celebrating the candy filled horror and the passing of another year in life.

And in the two years after law school, when friends had scattered and she’d settled into her job as an assistant district attorney in her hometown of Port Charles, Elizabeth and her long time best friend, Emily Morgan, had created a new tradition.

They’d watch scary movies and hand out candy and sit up all night talking. Catching up with gory stories of Emily’s first year as an intern at General Hospital and Elizabeth’s first foray in the legal system.

Her birthday and Halloween had always seemed like the same holiday to Elizabeth.

Until it was the two days of the year she’d do anything to wipe from the calendar altogether.

She tried not to think about it anymore, and after the first year and therapy, she did an okay job of it.

But this year, the leaves had changed and it was harder to forget.

“Take a vacation,” her other oldest friend, Robin Scorpio, had suggested. “Just get away from Port Charles for a few days.”

“Avoid people and social media,” her boyfriend Patrick had added. “Like the plague.” He seemed to reconsider it for a moment. “You should just do that in general.”

But as September began to slip away and October was just around the corner, Elizabeth had made no plans to leave.

Leaving felt like a defeat. An admission that the last time she’d celebrated Halloween or acknowledged her birthday…it would continue to destroy her life. That the nightmare wasn’t over.

Not that she had much of a life left, she thought to herself as she let herself into the cramped suite of offices she shared with her law partner, Johnny Zacchara. She frowned when she saw that their receptionist, Maxie Jones, wasn’t behind her desk.

“Johnny?” she asked, poking her head into the office next to her own. “Where’s Maxie? Did she call out?”

“No.” Johnny stood, his handsome features twisted into concern. “She’s usually pretty good about opening the place up, but she hasn’t called yet. Should we call her?”

Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. “It’s only nine. Let’s give her a bit more time. Maybe she forgot her phone. Or didn’t set it.”

Her cell began to ring even as she started to cross the tiny lobby to her own office. She dumped her bag on the chair in front of her desk and fished the cell from inside. “Elizabeth Webber.”

“Liz? Oh, my God. You have to come. Right now.”

The panicked words fell on top of one another as Maxie Jones continued to speak, and Elizabeth had difficulty deciphering them.

“Maxie, calm down. Take a breath. Where are you?”

“The police department. Um, I’m at—” There was a moment as her voice was slightly muffled. “The fourth district. Downtown somewhere. They’ve got Dillon.”

“Dillon?” Her pulse picked up. “What do you mean, they’ve got Dillon? Where?” Oh, God.

“In interrogation. They’re threatening to arrest him, he asked for a lawyer and they ignored him or something, and then he managed to convince them to call someone. Georgie called me because of you, but I thought she was insane. Or mistaken. Dillon wouldn’t hurt a fly. So I came here first just to be sure, and holy shit, Liz. They’re holding him for manslaughter, and they’re not listening to me about a lawyer.”

“The Fourth District?” Elizabeth repeated. “Okay. Okay. Breathe. Tell whoever is in charge they’re about to get a fax about representing Dillon and if whatever asshole is questioning my client after he asked for an attorney is interested in getting a boot up his ass.”

Behind her, Johnny had come in, overheard part of the conversation, and was already pulling up something on her computer. Probably the letterhead so he could type the fax.

“Maxie, why didn’t Dillon call Jason?”

“Oh.” Maxie hesitated. “Jason left the department last year, I think. Or something. Maybe Dillon didn’t think to ask. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. Jason’s not a lawyer. You are. Come down here and make them let him go.”

“I’ll be right there, Maxie.” She shut her phone and tapped it against her forehead just a moment.

“Or maybe he called Jason, who got the ball rolling to get to you and Maxie isn’t telling you.”

Johnny even tone had her turning with a frown. “There’s no reason not to tell me. Jason and I aren’t…we’re not not talking. We just…haven’t talked.”

“Yeah.”

“He’s been going through a lot in the last two years. His parents moved to Arizona, his brother went to New York. I think Maxie said his marriage fell apart, and apparently he left the department.”

Johnny raised his brow. “And his sister was brutally murdered.”

Her chest squeezed. “Johnny—”

“And you barely survived the same attack.”

“You think I don’t know—”

He rose and set the sheet in the fax machine. “Look, I’m just saying, I get it. You both look at each other as the reason Emily was in the middle of things. Diego Alcazar wanted to swipe at the cop who arrested him and the attorney who was prosecuting them.”

“I can’t think about this right now,” Elizabeth said as she tossed her cell back in her bag and looped it over her shoulder. “The Fourth District has Jason’s cousin—Emily’s cousin—in interrogation on charges of manslaughter, and God knows how long he’s been talking without me.”

She turned back at the door to look at him. “Jason and I were barely friends when Emily died. He was my best friend’s older brother. Always in college, always doing something else. We only knew each other really that last year when we started to work some of the same cases. He didn’t owe me anything when it happened. And honestly, looking at him—it was too hard. So yeah, we didn’t keep in touch. It doesn’t make him the bad guy.”

“Doesn’t make him a great guy,” she heard him mutter as she left the office.

——

Dillon had not called his older cousin. When the cops had pulled him out of bed in the middle of the night, he’d cooperated. He had nothing to hide, and he wasn’t going to play the My cousin is a kick-ass cop card.

Because it wasn’t true, and hell, Jason hadn’t worked at the Fourth District so maybe these assholes didn’t even know him.

By the time Dillon worked out that his car had been at the scene of a hit and run resulting in the serious injury of an elderly woman who had later died in the hospital and he was the primary suspect—well, by then, he’d used his only call to tell Georgie he’d be missing class in the morning.

He’d asked for an attorney then, but somehow they’d talked him out of it. He still wasn’t sure how that worked.

“Let’s go over it again,” the bald one said. He was angry. One of the guys who seemed like he thought everyone was guilty of something and all that was left to figure out was what crime had been committed.

“What’s to go over?” Dillon demanded. “I parked my car around three yesterday. I worked until like two last night on a project for school. You guys pulled me out of my bed at four.” He rubbed his eyes. “That’s all I know.”

“Look, we get it. Freedom in college. You’re enjoying yourself. Maybe you had too much to drink—”

He scowled. “I want an attorney.”

“We’ve been over that—”

“Nope. It’s been six hours. I’m done now. Attorney.”

“Quartermaine—”

“I can spell that for you if you want,” Dillon said, his teeth clenched. “Let me call my attorney.”

“Why do you have an attorney? You got a record we don’t know about?” the bald one pressed.

“My girlfriend’s sister works for one. Elizabeth Webber. She’s…well, I’ve never asked her before but I’ve known her all my life. She’ll represent me. Let me call her.”

“You got her direct number?”

There was a knock on the door, and then it opened. Like a manna from heaven—there she stood. Five foot nothing, brunette, and pissed as hell.

“You charging my client with anything?” Elizabeth demanded.

“It’s his car,” Baldy began.

“And witnesses who said it was him behind the wheel? Proof he wasn’t exactly where he said he was?” Elizabeth held out her hand. “Arrest warrant or we’re walking.”

They stared at one another for a long moment before Baldy looked at Dillon, disgusted. “Get out of here.”

“Don’t open your mouth,” Elizabeth said as Dillon passed her. She pushed him out of the interrogation area and through the squad room. Neither of them said anything until they reached the parking lot, where Maxie, her sister Georgie had been joined by Lucas Jones and Damien Spinelli.

There were hugs and relief, and measures of gratitude directed at Elizabeth, who allowed it for a minute.

“What did you tell them? What did they say?” she demanded.

“My car was found abandoned a block away from a hit and run,” Dillon told her. “A woman was hit.” He swallowed. “She died like an hour ago. I didn’t know what they were asking for, Liz. I swear. They came in at four this morning, hauled me out of bed, put handcuffs on me.”

“He called me because he just thought he was coming in to talk about his car,” Georgie said. “I came to see what was going on, and they refused to let me see him. I got worried, so I asked Maxie for your number.”

“And I printed up a letter of representation,” Maxie said without shame. “But it wasn’t signed by you or Johnny, so they refused to take it. So I had to call you.”

“I just told them I don’t know anything. I came home from class at like three. Parked my car in the driveway. Worked on a project pretty much until two.”

“I can confirm that,” Lucas said as Spinelli nodded. “He was holed up in his room the whole night while me and Spinelli were playing Call of Duty. I mean, he could have gone out his window, but why?”

“And when did you notice your car missing?” Elizabeth asked.

“I didn’t.”

“We didn’t hear anything. Video game was loud and, uh, we may have been too.” Lucas’s cheeks flushed, but Elizabeth understood the way some guys played video games—as if they were going to war. And if they’d had their headsets on.

“Okay. You don’t talk to them again. They’ve got my card. They go through me from now on.” Elizabeth pressed a hand to her head. “Go home. I’ll be in touch—”

A green SUV pulled into the spot next to Spinelli’s second-hand beat up Datsun. Elizabeth watched as Jason Morgan slid out, his long legs quickly eating up the space between him and his cousin.

“Why the hell didn’t you call me?” he demanded, folding the younger man into a rough hug that looked half affectionate, half-irritated. “Did you even mention me?”

Dillon shrugged, swallowed. “Didn’t think of it honestly. But Georgie got it all going.” He glared at her. “And I guess you called him.”

“You’re suspected of manslaughter, you dink,” Georgie shot back.

“You got him out?” Jason asked as he focused on Elizabeth for the first time. His chiseled features twisted in relief as he stepped forward for just a moment—maybe to hug her or something. But then he didn’t. “Thank you.”

“Hopefully the crime scene report will have someone else’s prints,” Elizabeth said with half a shrug. “And I’ll send over Lucas and Spinelli as alibi witnesses, for what it’s worth.”

“I’ll make a call of my own,” Jason said to Dillon. “Between the two of us, we’ll get this taken care of.”

“Great,” Dillon said with great relief. “Can I go now? I got two hours of sleep and I’m supposed to work tonight, and I got class—”

“Get out of here and remember—”

“Don’t talk to the police,” he muttered. “Yeah, yeah. You’d think they were the enemy.”

Jason remained while the five of them crammed into Spinelli’s car. “If I were still on the beat, I’d write them a ticket for reckless endangerment,” he muttered as the car left the lot.

“Considering the way you used to pile football players into your sad little Chevrolet,” Elizabeth said with half a smile.

He looked at her then, the first time they’d been in the same room since he’d visited her in the hospital after the attack. “Hey.”

“Hey.” She shifted. “It’s, um, nice to see you.”

He managed half a laugh as he shook his head. “You don’t mean that, but thanks.” Jason gestured to the cafe across the street. “Let me buy you a coffee. We can catch up and talk about making sure my cousin doesn’t get into anymore trouble.”

“All right,” she said with a half-hearted shrug, even though everything in her screamed to refuse.

September 17, 2017

This entry is part 4 of 9 in the Flash Fiction: 25 Minutes or Less

Note: I actually like the concept of this story, and this will probably be the last entry for the micro fiction. I’d like to play with it as a longer short story. I’ll keep you posted.

Running late for a dinner with family, so remember: I wrote this in 20 minutes and didn’t edit or spellcheck.

Two years earlier, it had been the day after Halloween. Elizabeth and her best friend since childhood, Emily Morgan, had scoured the local store’s candy fire sale, brought it back to Elizabeth’s apartment and prepared for their annual post-Halloween scary movie marathon.

The tradition had gone back to the first time they had gone trick or treating by themselves (all brave at the age of twelve) and had fallen asleep through the third Halloween movie, woken up the next day to finish the rest of the series. To them, it had seemed like the perfect solution — trick or treat on Halloween and eat the candy the next day so they could watch all the movies and not worry about falling asleep or being sent to bed by one of their parents. And the fact that it was Elizabeth’s birthday? Beyond perfect. Elizabeth hated birthday parties and this was the perfect way to get out of them.

For fifteen years, they had kept the tradition. Through high school, through college, through law school and med school. Even the year that Elizabeth had been pissed because Emily had gone out with the guy from the newspaper Elizabeth had had her eye on. They’d fought bitterly the week before, but then Emily had shown up at her door, on November 1, with a bag of jellybeans and a battered copy of the IT miniseries. The guy was forgotten, and they’d moved forward.

Until two years ago.

“Escaped,” Elizabeth said flatly. Of course he had. “Do you have leads? Sighting? How the hell did he get out?”

Jason rubbed his hands over his face. “They won’t tell me much. It’s not our case and I’m too emotionally involved.” He bit out those last words with a lot of heat.

Elizabeth said nothing. Legal protocol, of course, would prevent the brother of the victim from getting anywhere near the case, even if he had been the original investigating officer.

She’d been the prosecuting assistant district attorney trying to put Diego Alcazar in jail for a string of serial rapes, and Jason had been the one to slap the cuffs on him a week before that day. And the target of his rage.

Absently, she rubbed her shoulder. Every once in a while, she could still feel the sharp slice of pain as that knife had slashed towards her. And the residual horror when she’d watched from her fallen position as Alcazar had gone after Emily.

“Listen,” Jason said after a moment. “You told me not to bother you last year—”

“I said that two years ago,” she muttered. “You just…listened.”

“You changed your number. You moved. And then you quit your job.”

She shrugged, returning to her desk and the paperwork. “So?”

“So, what I said that day—” Irritation flashed across his chiseled features. “I didn’t mean it.”

“Yeah.” Elizabeth met his eyes. “You did. And it’s okay. It was my fault. I Zknew he’d made threats—”

“I wanted to take it back,” he interrupted. “But you were in recovery and I felt like enough shit. I just—I hoped you wouldn’t remember it. My family was shattered. The job put me on administrative leave. And by the time I could—” He shook his head. “You disappeared, Elizabeth.”

“Bullshit.” But it was said without heat. “You’re a fucking cop, Jason. You wanted to find me, you could have. I didn’t change my name. I still practice law. Hell, your old partner arrested my current client. You knew where to find me.” She shrugged. “You didn’t.”

He exhaled slowly. “Fair enough. I didn’t. I tried to tell the state troopers Alcazar might come for you, but they ignored me. They think he’s on his way to Canada, but you and I both know why he came for you.”

“Yeah,” she murmured. “I guess we do.” She sat down, looking back at the Quartermaine notes. “Look, thanks for telling me. I’ll check into a hotel or something—”

“Elizabeth—”

Her office phone rang before he could protest further. “Zacchara and Webber,” she answered, turning away from him.

“Ms. Webber? This is Officer Falconieri from the PCPD. We responded to a report of a break in at your apartment.”

Her blood chilled. “My apartment?”

“Ma’am, you should…we need you to meet us at your home.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.” Slowly, she placed the phone back on the hook and turned to Jason. “The PCPD…someone broke into my apartment.”

His expression hardened like granite. “You’re not going alone.”

And though she was relieved that she wasn’t alone, this wasn’t quite the birthday wish she’d wanted. She looked one last time at the gaudy remains of Johnny’s goddamn cupcake. Fucking birthdays.

July 15, 2017

This entry is part 3 of 9 in the Flash Fiction: 25 Minutes or Less

The cupcake was iced with garishly pink cream and some sort of candy hearts and it was set in front of her with candle already lit.

“Make a wish.”

Elizabeth Webber propped her chin on her fist and gave her best friend a dirty look. “Wishes are for kids. Birthdays are for kids. Who told you?”

“I snuck a look at your driver’s license when I realized we’d been working together for a year and it hadn’t come up.” Johnny Zacchara shrugged. “Blow it out.”

“Bite me.”

“Thought about it,” he said carelessly as he sat across from her, behind his side of their battered partner’s desk in their shabby office. “It wouldn’t work.”

“That’s because you laugh too much,” she muttered, eying the cupcake as it were toxic poison. “It distracted me. Also, you don’t do it for me.” Though it was a mystery because Johnny was, objectively speaking, pretty fucking sexy with his dark hair, soft brown eyes, and killer smile. And yet… “And your girlfriend would kick my ass.”

“This is true. Nadine is tiny, but feisty.” Johnny frowned now. “The candle is going to melt the cupcake if you don’t blow it out. C’mon, Bits. Make a wish.”

“Wishes are bullshit,” she muttered. “Fine. You know what I wish for?”

“Jesus, don’t say it. That’s not how this works.” He looked faintly horrified. “They don’t come true if you say them outloud.”

“God save me from Catholics and their superstitions.” She sighed. “Fine. I’ll wish something to myself, I’ll blow this out, and we can go back to work.”

“It has to be a real wish, not something stupid—”

“There are a lot of rules for a goddamn birthday cupcake,” Elizabeth retorted. She closed her eyes and decided what the hell. She wanted to see Jason. Just one more time. She opened her eyes, blew out the candle, and then shoved the cupcake across the desk. “You eat it. I’m not in the mood for a sugar rush. I have a defendant I have to keep from going to prison for the rest of his life.”

“You’re no fun,” Johnny said, but he grabbed the cupcake, tossed the candle, and ate it. Then he mercifully stopped reminding her it was her goddamn birthday, got back to work, and let her work in peace.

A half hour later, he headed home to the lovely Nadine while Elizabeth continued reviewing the lab reports for court the next morning. If she had a prayer of keeping Dillon Quartermaine from doing ten to fifteen years for a crime he hadn’t committed, she needed to keep her head in the game and poke as many holes into the DA’s case as possible.

A knock on the door to their suite distracted her about an hour after Johnny had left. She blinked bearily when the knock sounded again, but realized it was likely that their receptionist had left for the day. “Come in—it should be open.”

“It’s not.”

The voice was muffled, but its identity was unmistakable.

Elizabeth rose slowly to her feet and went into the cramped room that served as their waiting room, passing the wastebasket where she could see the gaudy cupcake wrapping and the candle still decorated with icing. “What the fuck are you?” she muttered down.

She slowly unlocked the deadbolt and tugged it open to find out that she was not, as hoped, hallucinating.

Lieutenant Jason Morgan was, indeed, standing at the threshold of her office.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, and then winced because damn if that hadn’t sounded like more angry than she had intended. Well, better than happy or relieved, or aroused. Because she was all of those things to. He didn’t dress like a high-ranking member of the Port Charles Police Department—not in his jeans that wouldn’t be called tight, but they certainly clung to the right parts, and a t-shirt that stretched across a broad chest with rippling muscles.

God he was gorgeous.

And standing in front of her. Fucking birthdays.

“You gonna let me in?” he asked, his brow arched.

She stepped back to do so, closing the door when he passed her. He turned at the tiny desk that Maxie Jones usually sat behind and faced her. “What are you doing here?” Elizabeth tried again, and was pleased her tone was way more even than it had been before.

“It’s your birthday,” Jason said, leaning against the desk. “Did you think I’d forget?”

Hoping. Praying. “You did last year.”

“You told me not to come by last year,” he reminded her. “But this year…well, it’s been two years. I wanted to check in.”

Check in. Sure. “Well, you’ve checked in. I’m alive. Looks like you are, too. Great. I have court tomorrow.” She went back to her desk.

“You always have court tomorrow,” Jason retorted as he followed. “Are you seriously still mad at me?”

No. Yes. Damn it. “I don’t know,” she muttered, but she felt better behind her desk. “Are you still mad at me?” she demanded.

He hesitated. “I don’t know,” he echoed. “I just…it’s been two years. I just thought…we should acknowledge it.”

“It’s been acknowledged. Your sister is dead and it’s my fault. You made that clear then, and since you can’t decided if you’re still mad or not, you still think so.” She shrugged. “So if there’s anything else…”

“Damn it.” It was more of a hiss than an actual swear, but he closed his eyes for a minute. “I came here to check on you, yeah. But also…Diego Alcazar escaped from Sing Sing about three hours ago, and I thought he might…”

“Come to finish what he started.” Her bones chilled. “Because he escaped on my birthday and the anniversary of the day he killed Emily and nearly killed me.”

July 5, 2017

This entry is part 2 of 9 in the Flash Fiction: 25 Minutes or Less

“Tell me about San Diego.”

Elizabeth stared down at her husband of three days, still out of breath and even a bit sweaty from another long afternoon spent in their honeymoon suite. “Now?” she managed.

“Well,” Jason replied, not sounding at all exhausted despite the marathon of fantastic sex—God, she loved that stamina. “I figure this is the best bet for you talk to me for more than five minutes.”

“We’ve talked,” she grumbled as she slid off him, dragging the cool sheets over her heated skin.

“More and faster aren’t what I hadn’t in mind,” was his only response. He dragged on a pair of black briefs, crossed to the mini fridge on the other side of the room and tossed her a bottle of water. She dragged herself up against the pillows and sighed as she twisted off the top. “We’re leaving for Port Charles tomorrow and we still don’t know anything about each other except where we’re from and our names.” He raised a brow at her. “I know you said we’d just…have fun for a while and that’s fine. But you’re coming to live at my house.”

And would be supporting her for a bit while she got back on her feet, but she was grateful that he had left that part out.

“There’s not much to tell,” she said after another minute, a bit disappointed he hadn’t rejoined her in bed but maybe that had been smart. She was getting really good at distracting them both. “I grew up in Colorado and went to college there. I have a degree in art history but there’s not really much I can do with that. I taught for a bit, but I got laid off. I thought…there was something for me in San Diego, but I was completely wrong.”

She hesitated then, not really sure how much she wanted him to know. He was a great guy and sexy as well, but there was some spots she didn’t want to poke too deeply. “Things went south there, and I had to get out. I had been saving for…” The future. A life. “But I was in such a bad place, I just kind of said screw it and booked a flight to somewhere that wasn’t San Diego. Cabo was the first available.”

“What about your things in San Diego? Do you need them shipped out?”

“I put anything that mattered in a storage locker and paid two months,” Elizabeth said. “I figured I could decide the next step from there.” She arched her own brows. “Tell me about Port Charles.”

“I guess you’re not really interested in the local sights and gossip.” He sipped his own water. “I was engaged to someone I’d dated for a long time. Someone who was with me before I made any money, so I thought that meant something. And then about a week ago, I came home from a road trip and I guess she’d lost track of time because she was screwing my brother in our bedroom.” He lifted a shoulder. “Kicked them both out, went to sleep, and decided to go on the honeymoon anyway.”

It didn’t look like he was much interested in discussing the ex or brother based on the way his eyes shifted away from hers, so she asked the next question. “Road trip? Money? What exactly do you do?”

He grinned then, a lightning quick one that lit up his entire face in a way that she hadn’t seen outside of bed. “You really don’t know.”

“No,” she muttered, feeling stupid. He wasn’t a movie star or anything or he wouldn’t be living in upstate New York. “Am I supposed to?”

“No.” Jason shook his head and took a long swig of water. “No, I guess I’ve just been living in a bubble. I play baseball with the Port Charles Rebels.” He grimaced. “God it’s a stupid fucking name, but all the good ones are taking.”

“Baseball,” Elizabeth repeated dubiously. “I know the Yankees. And the Padres, but that’s because I lived near the stadium. You…is it professional? I mean—” She pursed her lips. “You play sports.”

“Yeah. The Rebels are an expansion team—” He shook his head when she just blinked at him. “Never mind. I grew up in Port Charles so I thought it’d be good for all of us when I was claimed in the expansion draft. Close to both our families.” Jason snorted and finished the water. “Anyway. Yeah, people know me. Usually. I played in the All-Stars game last year.”

“Oh.” Elizabeth tilted her head. “Okay. So…that sounds like fun. Um…” What the hell should she say next? The only thing she knew about baseball was from the movies.

He laughed then and climbed back into bed with her. “You know what? I think we’ve talked enough for one night.”

“Oh, thank God.”

July 1, 2017

This entry is part 5 of 5 in the Flash Fiction 60: A King's Command

The way forward was not immediately clear. Jason wanted to leave Elizabeth in their room, locked securely behind a door guarded by his most trusted men while he hunted down the bastard who had stolen their child and attempted to murder his wife.

But that was never an option—not after Elizabeth had reluctantly admitted that she had spent the greater portion of her own childhood in such circumstances.

He would have to allow her into the world even if it meant he would put her safety at risk.

But first, he had to take a stand with his family.

His aunt swept into their room several days after Elizabeth had first left the bed. Her color had returned but she still tired easily and was only just managing to take solid foods.

Tracy pursed her lips as she took in the swaddled figure in the chair by the fire before turning her attention back to her nephew. “I am relieved to see your wife is feeling better.”

“Are you?” Jason replied with his brows raised. He clasped his hands behind his back. “Do not think your behavior these last six months has gone unnoticed, Aunt. Your place here has been important, but—”

“Husband…” Elizabeth said, softly. She rose to her feet, keeping a shawl tucked around her shoulders. He scowled at her but she ignored him as she joined his side. “Your aunt tested me and I failed. I did not push for a place here. Truth be told, I did not think I would be able to measure up. I was not expected to make any marriage at all, much less to a Highland chieftain who required a better wife than I.”

“Elizabeth,” Jason growled, but she put a hand on his arm.

“’Tis true and you know it. I wanted peace and a family. I wanted to be a good wife to you—”

“You have—”

“Perhaps to the man,” Elizabeth agreed with a half smile. She looked to Tracy. “But I am not merely married to Jason Morgan, the man, but Jason, the laird, and I have a responsibility to that position.”

Tracy raised her chin. “Aye, you do. And this clan deserves better—”

“Tracy—”

“But they have me,” Elizabeth said, again interrupting him. “I do not know if the poison given to me was meant nefariously or to free Jason from a disadvantageous marriage. I cannot think they wanted to prevent the birth of a child as no one knew of the bairn.” Her voice slipped then, and this time she did not argue as Jason steered her back to the chair by the fire.

Tracy shifted, uncomfortably. “It is still difficult to imagine of our own could do such a thing. I wish I could maintain it was an accident, but Barbara has assured me it could not have been. I…have not been as welcoming as I ought to have been to the wife of my nephew. The king chose you—I ought not to have questioned it. And…” She looked at Jason, the bedgrudging fondness clear in her expression. “It is quite obvious you have been a good wife to Jason.”

“I have tried,” Elizabeth said, softly. “But ‘tis time for me to be the lady of this clan. My mother did not prepare me for such things. I would like to be worthy of the name the king and my husband have given me.”

“That is ridiculous,” Jason began.

“If it ‘tis your wish to learn how to go on, to run this keep, I will see it done. It will be your children that will inherit, not mine after all.” She hesitated again. “I am sorry for the loss of the child. We have long looked forward to the birth of a new generation. For Jason to have strong sons to continue our fine traditions. And Dillon has told me of your wish to be a mother.”

Elizabeth looked away, towards the fire, tears burning in her eyes again. “Aye,” she murmured.

“Jason’s mother lost three children before their first birthday, and two more were never born,” Tracy said, matter of factly. “I lost two of my own, including my eldest son in battle. Highland women bury their children. Their sons in warfare, their daughters in childbirth. ‘Tis our duty to move forward, to look to the future. You conceived once, you will be with child again. We will take your safety seriously.” She looked to Jason. “I apologize if my behavior led any in the clan to think I would countenance such an action.”

She nodded to Elizabeth and left.

Elizabeth exhaled slowly. “I think that your aunt accidentally called me a Highland woman.”

Jason managed a smile as he knelt before. “’Tis her guilt speaking. She’ll be calling you a Sassenach again tomorrow. I…I do not believe she was involved.”

“No, I do not think so. She would come at me directly. She never pretended to like. I have always known where I stand.”

“I want it to be clear, Elizabeth, that in no way have you disappointed me. You are my wife and that is the end of it.”

She managed a slight chuckle as she brushed her fingertips against his cheek. “And I am grateful every day to my king and to God for that fact because I truly believe it. But we will have a child one day. A son who will follow you, and he deserves a strong mother. I have been hiding these last months, content in these four walls to be a good wife in private. But I want more. I want to take my place by your side and gain the respect of your men because I deserve it, not because you have commanded it.”

“I…am terrified,” Jason managed to say, likely using that word for the first time, “that I do not know who my enemies are. That they may come for you again.”

“I am terrified every day you leave this room. I have worried for months that you will be taken from me by someone you trust. I do not believe they will come for me again, but for you. But I do not wish to live my life afraid of all that might happen and miss it entirely.”

He nodded. “All right. We will try it your way. I will find the man responsible, Elizabeth. And I will keep you safe.”

June 30, 2017

This entry is part 1 of 9 in the Flash Fiction: 25 Minutes or Less

At the time, it had seemed like the most genius plan either of them had ever considered.

Of course, twelve hours earlier, they had been drunk in a pricey resort bar in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico and had been lucky remember their own names—which had come in handy when the heavily accented officiant had asked for their names.

Somehow, when coming up with the grand plan of marrying a complete stranger, they had not even exchanged the most basic of courtesies.

They’d exchanged a great deal of other things to be sure after the ceremony had concluded, but now…as Elizabeth Webber groggily came to, she realized that while she remembered that she had exchanged vows with the gorgeous man next to her—

She couldn’t quite remember the name he’d said to the officiant.

She sat up, the silky cerulean sheets falling her to waist, her hair tumbling around her shoulders in a tangle that likely resembled a rat’s next and looked at him again. This time, he was looking back, his eyes the same deep blue as the Gulf of Mexico that lay beyond the window of their hotel suite.

“So,” Elizabeth said with a half smile. “That happened.”

He grinned and put a hand under his head. “Yeah. That happened.” He raised his eyebrows. “Jason Morgan.”

“Hmm?”

“You were looking at me like you didn’t know me.” His eyes slid down her torso, and she flushed, reaching for the sheet.

“I remembered you…just not your name so much.” She tilted her head. “That didn’t seem nearly as important last night as…other things.”

“Hmmm…” He sat up, the sheets pooling at his waist. “Is this where we decide it was a giant mistake and go our separate ways?” The words came easy and effortlessly—even carelessly, but there was something in his eyes that said just the opposite.

“We probably should,” Elizabeth said slowly, “but you know…” She sighed and laid back, looking at whitewashed ceiling. “It doesn’t feel like that’s the right idea.”

“You don’t—” He turned on his side to look at her. “I can still help you get a new passport and a ticket home.”

She should say yes. Chalk this entire trip up to a learning experience on why you shouldn’t trust anyone with your love or your passport. She didn’t know this man outside of the bedroom, but for some reason, despite everything she had ever known, she thought he might be the rare unicorn—a man who meant what he said. She could ask him for a divorce or some sort of annulment and he would probably still make phone calls to the embassy for her.

But go home to what?

And let him go home alone?

“What about what you said last night?” Elizabeth asked after a moment. “Didn’t you want to stick it your ex and your brother? Show them you didn’t need them at all?”

Jason laid back on his own pillow. “It seems colder now than it did then,” he admitted. “I liked the idea of going home with you, showing that I had already forgotten her. But would it be fair to use you like that?” He shook his head. “You deserve better than that.”

“Well, you deserve better than finding your fiance in bed with your brother the week before the wedding.” Elizabeth sat back up and pressed her lips together. “Look, I’m not looking for a fairy tale or forever after, you know? I just…I don’t have anything much to go home in San Diego. There’s no job. I’ve always been crap and making and keeping friends. You made a good case last night. I could get a chance to take a breather, figure out the next step. You could piss off your ex. And well,…” She trailed her fingers down the lean muscles of his torso, slipping her fingers under the sheet resting low at his waist. “We could have fun for a while.”

He studied her for a moment. “Just fun?”

“What else is there?” she returned with an easy smile.

“Friends,” Jason replied, catching her fingers in his grasp and rubbing his fingers over the cheap, gold band on her finger. “You’re right about not guaranteeing fairy tales or forever, but I think I’d like to be friends with my wife.”

Friends. The word felt foreign on her lips but she managed to keep the smile on her face. “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try anything once.”

He tugged her down to him. “Of course, there’s still four days left before we have to check out.”

“Whatever will we do with all that time?” Elizabeth grinned as he rolled her to her back and leaned to kiss her.

June 23, 2017

This entry is part 7 of 8 in the Flash Fiction: 60 Minutes or Less

Prompt: Your heroine captures something on film that makes people want to kill her.

This is unedited, so excuse the typos.

Elizabeth Webber wrinkled her nose and looked at her film editor. “Can you replay that last fifteen seconds?” The beleaguered Dillon Quartermaine clicked a few buttons and the footage of the park the previous day began to roll again. When it had ended, he looked at her. “Wanna go another six times or can we go to print?”

“I guess.” Elizabeth sat back in her chair and touched her pen to her lip. “I just feel like I’m missing something—”

“You’re doing a minute thirty bit on the annual police barbecue.” Dillon played with a few more buttons, adding titles and shaving an extra half second off the back end. “It’s not really Pulitzer Prize material.”

“You don’t win Pulitzers for television.”

“Okay, well, whatever you win for TV.” Dillon slid the tape out and handed it to her. “I’m sorry to break it to you, but you know this might even get relegated to the D-block.”

“Yeah.” She sighed. “It’s not really what I wanted to do. I wanted to investigate, break stories that matter—”

“You wanted to be Woodward or Bernstein or those guys from the Globe who broke the priest story. You want to do something that people are gonna make Oscar movies about.” Dillon shrugged. “Welcome to the club. No money in that kind of journalism any more. Believe me.” He sighed, wistfully. “I wanted to make documentaries, but it’s like impossible to get funding—”

“This just isn’t how I pictured my life is all,” Elizabeth grumbled. She took out her phone and flipped through the missed notifications and checked her text messages. “My friend at the council’s office said they’re going to try to hold that vote tonight.”

“Yeah? They’re really gonna try to impeach the mayor?” Dillon whistled. “There’s a story. You got a connection to that, maybe—”

“I tell Ned and he’ll just give the story to Carly. Again.” She pursed her lips and eyed him. “You still handy with a camera?”

“What, you wanna show up at the mayor’s office to see his reaction?” He considered it. “It’s not the worst idea in the world—”

“No, I want to go to City Hall and be on scene when the vote goes down. If we’re already there with a camera—”

“More likely Ned will let us at least get the first on camera. He’ll remember you’re alive.” Dillon rose to his feet. “What the hell. I’m not doing anything else interesting tonight.”

The street was quiet as Elizabeth pulled her battered Ford into an empty parking space in the City Hall lot. There were only a few other cars—and it didn’t look like any one was holding a top secret super important vote.

“Maybe Em was wrong,” she murmured as she got out of her car.

“Maybe we’re just super early. “ Dillon hoisted the station camera over his shoulder. “You want to shoot an intro just to have it ready?”

“No, but maybe get some background footage—we can play up how secret and hush hush the vote is. Or we can just film in the dark,” she muttered, pulling her denim more tightly around her.

Obediently, Dillon started to pan the parking lot for about thirty seconds. He frowned. “Hey—what’s that over there?”

Elizabeth came around the side of the car to follow his gaze. On the far side of the parking lot, a man had stepped out of his car, followed by another man. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but they were furiously arguing. “Film it,” she ordered. “Maybe it’s a council member—”

Later, she would try to describe the sound she heard later—firecrackers. A sharp crack.

But she would never be able to really put into the words the sound the gun made as it flashed. One of the men crumpled to the ground.

“Oh, shit!” Dillon cried out, frantically zooming in. “Oh, shit, that’s—”

“Get in the car, get in the car—” Elizabeth yanked the passenger side door open and shoved him towards it. Dillon’s exclamation had carried—and the shooter had turned towards them.

Had started to run towards them.

Elizabeth stumbled and nearly dropped her keys as she threw herself in her car.

“We have to go,” Dillon said, voice shaking. “Go. Please go. Go.”

“I’m going, I’m going—” She threw the car into drive and squealed out of the parking lot.

“Holy shit, holy shit,” Dillon whimpered. “We just—did you see who that was?”

“It was too dark and they were far away—but you zoomed in, Dillon—” She glanced at him as she turned a corner. She headed for the highway—not thinking about a destination, just wanting to put as much distance between herself and the lunatic with the gun.

“The mayor—” Dillon swallowed. “Julian Jerome just shot Justus Ward.”

Her stomach dropped. “Well, shooting the Speaker of the City Council is one way to avoid impeachment.” Elizabeth swallowed “Do you—do you think he knows who we are—” She looked at the camera in his lap—with the station’s logo—WKPC—emblazoned across it. The light had been shining.

“Well, it was dark,” Dillon managed. “But um…” He looked at her. “I know Julian. I mean, he knows me. I mean, it’s—I dated his niece for a while. A-and the light was kind of—” He waved his hand. “All over us both.”

“Shit. Shit.” Her options were limited. They could go to the police but—ha—

“There’s no way this doesn’t go bad for us,” Dillon said. “The department is in Julian’s pocket. This tape will disappear and you know they’re saying he’s got connections, and he sure as hell doesn’t mind killing people—”

“And if we take it to Ned, we put him in danger.” Elizabeth winced. “Shit. I know who I have to call.”

Dillon frowned. “Who?”

“My ex-husband,” she muttered. “Damn it.” She’d sworn the day she walked out she’d never say another word to him. Damn it.

“How he’s going to help?”

“He works for the FBI,” Elizabeth sighed. “Damn it,” she swore again as she fished in her pocket for her phone. “Siri,” she said, her teeth clenched. “Call Jason Morgan.”

“Calling Jason Morgan…”

 

February 1, 2017

This entry is part 6 of 8 in the Flash Fiction: 60 Minutes or Less

Robert Scorpio had led a life of adventure–an agent for the WSB in his early years and the later decades spent as a police commissioner in the small metropolis of Port Charles where his family had settled generations ago.

To accompany the collection of careers and identities he had accumulated, he also had a variety of women.

His first wife had worked as a double agent for the WSB and DVX—Anna had given him Robin, though Robert would not know of her until years after their divorce and Anna’s own death in the line of duty. Robin came to live with him at the age of twelve—a bright but cynical girl who was most like her father.

His second wife had served as part of his cover as his career as an agent had wound down. He had cared for Marsha, but once the job had been over, he had left her behind as well—along with a daughter he was never very close to. Elizabeth had grown up knowing her father as the signer of monthly checks and a yearly visit lasting no more than a week.

In his later years, he had married one more final and brief time—the third wife, Felicia, had died of cancer when their daughter was young. Cognizant of his failures, he had spoiled the girl more than the other two, and Maxie had grown up to be a bit selfish and immature.

Three daughters. Sisters who were not close—and one of whom had never really become part of the family. At the end of Robert’s life, these women were his legacy and he was determined to fix in death what he had broken in life.

Those who meant to honor him gathered at the home that had been in the Scorpio family for nearly fifty years—a comfortable three brick home that reminded his middle daughter of the types of homes people had in the movies. She stood outside of it, her breath little puffs of white in the brisk and chill of upstate New York in January.

“Hungry, Mom,” her three-year-old son said plaintively at her side, his gloved hand tucked inside her own bare palm. “Juice box.”

“I know, sweetie.” Tired by the flight, by the worry over what would happen next, Elizabeth Spencer gathered her energy and picked her son up so they could climb the stone steps to the porch. This house had always intimidated her—as did the woman who likely now owned it.

She knocked, wincing as her freezing knuckles came into contact with the heavy oak door. It swung open, and she stepped back a bit. She knew that face—the kind blue eyes, the chiseled cheek bones. She had met him once, almost a decade ago, but she couldn’t quite place his name.

“Elizabeth, right?” the man said, stepping back and drawing his eyebrows together. “Robin didn’t say you had kids—”

Robin hadn’t known. She had sent a polite decline to the wedding invitation Elizabeth had sent four years earlier, as had her father and her other sister. It had been the last time Elizabeth had reached out to her father’s family. Had Robin married as well?

“This is Cameron.” Elizabeth stepped inside the house, into the blessed warm and set her son on his feet. “I, ah, I didn’t have anywhere—he had to come.”

“Right.” He cleared his throat and extended his hand. “Jason. Jason Morgan. We met once, I think. When we were kids.”

“Yeah, I think I was like fourteen.” Elizabeth gingerly shook his hand but pulled her own back immediately. “I didn’t realize—I didn’t know Robin had married—”

“What?” His eyes widened. “Oh. No.” His cheeks flushed, and Elizabeth found herself comforted by that fact. “No, Robin and I—We’re friends. Just—I mean, she wouldn’t have without telling—”

But he stopped. Of course Robin would have married without telling Elizabeth. It hadn’t been Robin who contacted Elizabeth about Robert’s funeral—it had been some lawyer who wanted her present at the reading of the will. In fact—Elizabeth had learned from that lawyer that the funeral was already over—they hadn’t tracked her down in time.

“Anyway,” Jason continued. “She just asked me to wait here for you. There was a shift at the hospital, and Maxie is—” He frowned. “Not exactly reliable.”

“Oh.”

“Mommy,” Cameron tugged her black coat. “Juice box.”

Elizabeth sighed. She had hoped this would not take long, but apparently— “Cam, we couldn’t bring them on the plane, remember?”

“Mommy had to trow them out,” Cameron told Jason, his lip pouting. She rubbed her eyes.

“I’m sure—” Jason gestured toward the kitchen. “I don’t know if there’s juice, but I’m sure there’s something—”

“I don’t want to impose.” Elizabeth shoved her hands in her pockets. “I thought the reading was supposed to be in—” Twenty minutes. She had timed their arrival to minimize the amount of time she would have to spend here.

“It’s not imposing,” Jason said, but he looked away. Easy for him to say, but she didn’t want a single thing from her sister. Not even juice.

“I’ll come back.” Elizabeth lifted her chin. “We’ll just—we’ll just check into a motel and Robin can call me—”

The door swung open again and her sisters came in then—Robin with her dark eyes and hair, Maxie with blue eyes and blonde, both clad in heavy winter gear. They stopped when they saw Elizabeth. When they saw Cameron.

Robin hesitated, looked at them, then at Jason. “Hey. Thanks for being here—I had to drag Maxie away from Kate.”

“I was busy,” Maxie said, moodily. She nodded at Cameron. “Who’re you?”

“Cameron Hardy Spencer,” Cameron recited. “Who are you?”

Jason smirked, but Maxie scowled—the tones of the three-year-old and the twenty-three-year-old had been remarkedly similar.

“Maxie,” Robin said, touching Maxie’s arm. “Elizabeth, I’m glad you could make it.” She looked at her watch. “Alexis should be here soon.” She gestured at Cameron. “Um, I guess he’s yours. You’re married, right?”

“I was,” Elizabeth said, but she didn’t offer any further information. That was no one’s business.

“Juice box,” Cameron repeated.

“Right,” Robin said, clearing her throat. “Um, would it be okay if Jason hung out with Cameron while we talk to Alexis? He can feed him or just…” Robin swung her hand. “Keep him alive.”

Elizabeth hesitated—she never left Cameron in anyone’s care if she could help it, save her own. Not anymore. But Cameron was rubbing his eyes and if he had to ask for a juice box again, he might throw a tantrum.

Besides, Jason had been kind to her. Had treated her like Robert’s daughter, and not just…someone who was mentioned in the will.

“All right.” Elizabeth gingerly unbuttoned her coat. “Cam, you’ll be good for Mr. Morgan, right?”

“Juice box,” Cameron said again, but this time he looked at Jason, his eyes narrowed.

“I know that look,” Jason said. “Michael gets it, too.” He put his hand out for him. “Want to go investigate what Aunt Robin has in the kitchen?”

“Okay,” Cameron said. “Bye, Mommy.”

When they were gone, Robin looked to Elizabeth. “I didn’t know you had a kid,” she said, with a hint of irritation. “It must have been hell on the plane.”

Elizabeth didn’t know how to respond to that—it had sucked, but there was nothing in her sister’s expression that suggested they should continue the conversation. These women were strangers, and the sooner she got whatever Robert had left her, the sooner Elizabeth could figure out the next step.
A half hour, Elizabeth learned exactly what Robert had left to her. And to her sisters.

Alexis Davis sighed. “I’m sorry, Robin. Your father was very clear—”

“But he can’t mean it,” Robin said, tears in her eyes. “This house has been in our family for generations—he can’t mean to sell it.”

“And leave us with nothing,” Maxie complained. She turned accusing eyes to Elizabeth. “This is your fault. You were so mean to him. You’re why he’s doing this.”

Elizabeth blinked at the younger woman. “What?”

“Maxie,” Robin sighed. “Don’t—”

“We have to live together here for a year,” Maxie complained. “Or we lose the house. How could Daddy do that you, Robin? You love this place. This is our home.”

“He hoped,” Alexis said slowly, “that you might finally become closer. He regretted not knowing Robin until she was a teenager, that Elizabeth was never part of the family unit.” She looked at Elizabeth. “He realized that it might be an imposition for you—there’s some money for relocating—”

“There’s no need—I’ve already—” Elizabeth swallowed hard. “I just finalized my divorce. I signed the papers the day before you called me, and, um, I packed everything I had for me and Cam. I’m not going back. I—I didn’t know where I was going next, but I’m already—” She looked at her sisters. “If you want to do this, I’ll—I’ll do it. I need some time to figure out the next step. But Cam has to—”

“Of course,” Robin said immediately. “That goes without saying. You’re a package deal.” A tear slid down her cheek. “I know this isn’t home for you—or it wasn’t—”

“She’s the one who stopped coming,” Maxie muttered.

“—but it’s the only—” Robin stopped and took a deep breath. “Thank you. For this. You won’t regret.”

Elizabeth wasn’t too sure about that, but what was one more regret to go with all the others?

October 2, 2016

This entry is part 5 of 8 in the Flash Fiction: 60 Minutes or Less

The cottage was smaller than he had expected, a small stone structure separated from the road by a stone fence. Outside the house, in front of some greenery, a woman was kneeling, her hands buried in the dirt.

Jason stepped up to the gate, and hesitated before calling out. “Mrs. Morgan?”

The woman turned, chestnut hair slipping from its pins. She frowned at him for a moment, her eyes shadowed as she must have taken in the stiff redcoat he wore. She rose to her feet.

“Yes?”

He reached into his satchel and drew out a stack of letters. “I believe these belong to you.”

She stepped towards him then, her face ashen. “What are those?” she managed. “Who…who are you?”

“Captain Jason Morgan,” he told her after a long moment. “You’ve…the letters you’ve been sending…”

“Oh.” Her eyes met his, and for a moment—he thought she would crumple to the ground. She swayed, but then she swallowed hard. “You…have my letters.”

“Yes.”

“And you….” Her voice broke. “And you read them?”

“I—” And he faltered, because he had no excuse for reading them. After the first letter, when he had opened it to discover a woman writing to someone who was not him—he should have put them down. Written her back. Stopped them.

“I read that first letter,” he said finally. “And I thought it might…you had already told people…you were writing the letters to…” He dipped his head for a moment. “I thought telling you might create more problems than you needed.”

“Oh.” She didn’t reach for the stack of letters. “You read them all.”

“Yes.”

“Why?” She looked at him.

“Because I thought…” That someone should be listening to her. Not planning her life. “I’m sorry. I—”

“So for…five years, you read every letter I sent to you.”

“Yes.”

Her cheeks flushed and she looked away. “So you know.”

“I do.”

“My father thought…he wanted me to write for a while, and then…” Her throat squeezed.

“And then have me killed in battle so you could get married as a respectable widow,” Jason answered. He swallowed his next question—he had wanted to ask why she wouldn’t do it. Even with the war over, with Napoleon safely in exile and soldiers streaming home, she still hadn’t. “I wanted to return these to you on my way home.”

Elizabeth blinked then, the color draining from her cheeks again. “Did you—did you go into the town? Did anyone see you? Did you give your name—”

“No. I wouldn’t—”

But the door to the cottage opened then, and a small boy came out, his cheeks flushed and eyes bleary from sleep. “Mama?”

“Cameron.” Elizabeth turned to him.

Cameron, the son Elizabeth had protected all these years. She had written of him, and Jason had waited for those letters. After particularly bad battles—after watching men he served with and befriended mercilessly killed—he had read about Cameron, the little boy who thought his father was a brave soldier rather than…

“Who’s that?” Cameron yawned and focused on Jason. His eyes widened. “Is that….is that Papa?”

“What?” Elizabeth shook her head. “Cameron—”

“It is!” Cameron ran towards him, and Jason—without thinking—caught the ball of energy as the child flew at him. The letters scattered to the ground, with one left in Jason’s arms. Cameron plucked it from his grasp. “’Tis Mama’s writing,” he said, happily. “Papa!”

“Cameron, I must explain,” Elizabeth said, voice thin and uneasy.

If they had had another few moments of privacy—Jason was sure they would have found a way out from under the misunderstanding—perhaps he would be someone who had served with the boy’s father, bringing news of his demise personally.

But they were interrupted by an approaching cart, driven by an older couple. The man, his gray hair peeking out from under his cap, peered suspiciously at the scene. “Whoa,” he murmured to his horse. “Mrs. Morgan, everything all right?”

“Papa’s home!” Cameron crowed. “My papa has returned!”

“Oh!” The woman stepped down from the cart, her blue eyes wide with delight. “Oh, at least, my dear Elizabeth.” She sighed with happiness. “I was beginning to despair that you might ever return, wasn’t I, Mr. Spencer?”

“Aye, Mrs. Spencer,” the woman’s husband replied, though his eyes remained wary. “You sent no word?”

“I—” Jason looked at Elizabeth, whose face had gone white. With only a few words, he could destroy her reputation in this village, where she had lived as the vicar’s daughter. Where she had raised her son after her father’s death.

“He didn’t,” Elizabeth said after a long moment. “I confess, I—I nearly didn’t recognize him.” She met his expression, and her eyes were pleading. They would find a way out of this, but for the moment—

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” Jason said.

“Oh, how lovely,” Mrs. Spencer crowed. “We must get back into town and spread the word. We think so highly of our Elizabeth, Captain Morgan. Standing strong against the world, raising her boy. I am so relieved you have returned.” She went back to the cart. “Elizabeth, the Ladies Syndicate will be meeting tonight, but we do not expect you to attend.”

Mr. Spencer stared at them for another long moment before tugging on the reins and pulling away.

When they were out of earshot, Elizabeth looked to Jason, terror etched in her expression. “What do we do now?” she managed.