(Author’s note: It’s been a week. But I went through the last 3 months of comments, and was able to respond. Because I actually care about people’s thoughts. And now that some things have come together on this job, I’m looking forward to the future. In celebration, here’s today’s Fictioneers!)
Harley Parkinson looked at his inheritance, an old structure of a building he once lived in.
“Harley! Came to look at the place?”
He saw her. His old friend, and caretaker of the residence, Carissa Blanks.
“You’ve taken care of the place.”
“Since you left a decade ago.”
“Well, you’ve always been a good friend of the family.”
“Though, I’ve always thought it would be better to be part of the family.”
Harley chuckled, as he looked up.
“Remember what we did in the attic?”
“Yep. Have proof of it.”
“Huh?”
Author’s note: A welcome to all the new followers of Music and Fiction, especially those who are on the new Facebook page (can be found at THIS link), and from Twitter.
Angelia (aka “Nothing But A Photograph)
by Miles Rost
Colin Marchese did not know the pain his father went through.
Dominic “The Dom” Marchese was a major gangland figure in Cincinnati, Ohio. He made a name for himself, and was on the way to being a big name. Something changed in 1988, however, and 15 years later, the shell of “The Dom” had just been laid to rest. His college-aged son, the inheritor of the estate, sought to get the family fortune out of the “family business”, just like his father in the later years.
But Colin still had questions.
Why did my dad suddenly turn from his path? Why did he become so…distant?
Part of being the inheritor of the estate, he was able to see the contents of his late father’s desk. No one besides himself and one trusted confidant, who died months before, ever went into it.
He opened the main desk drawer, and immediately found a small leather-bound notebook. It was well-worn, and when it was opened, the smell of his dad’s pipe tobacco rushed into his nostrils. He turned the yellowed pages of the little book until a date caught his eye: December 14, 1987. Colin stood up from the desk and walked to his favorite chair in the corner, looking out toward the small pond on the estate.
December 14th, 1987,
Ah, bella! I met the most wonderful lady today. Flying from Genoa to London, to the Big Apple, it was a treat to see this beautiful vision. Her name is Angelia, and she was my stewardess for this flight. Belissima! She’s such a sweetie. Her family is Italian, they’re actually from a village near my own, but she’s been living in London for a long time. She makes things so sweet around here, and she’s going to be on the flight to New York! I’m hoping to get a chance to talk with her more.
He paged further through the journal to see more about this ‘Angelia’ that seemed to capture his heart. He soon enough found an answer in a later entry.
March 27th, 1988,
Ah, the trees are blooming their beautiful flowers today. They are very bella serra. Angelia and I spent a weekend together, going through the old haunts of New York. I showed her Lugee’s Pizza, which is now some sort of sandwich plane. Nothing like Katz’s, though. I showed her that place. She seemed impressed by the fact I could pound the pastrami down like no other. Wait until later on tonight. Heh heh.
Colin had to laugh, reading the rest of the entry. Apparently, Dad liked her a lot, and he decided to show her how much. He decided to read on through 1988 to see where things went wrong.
December 20th, 1988
Angelia called me just before I went to bed. She said that she’ll be flying back and spending Christmas with the family. I am hoping little Colin can take a liking to her. It’ll be the first time he’ll meet her, and it is important if she’s going to become the new mother of my children. I love her very much, and I cannot wait to make her the new Mrs. Marchese. She’ll be perfect for the family, perfect for the biz, and she’ll make the new empire proud.
He smiled, though he was a little fuzzy on who she was because he didn’t remember meeting her, even though he was 4 at the time. He turned the next page, and read. The mirth that was on his face dropped as he read on.
December 22nd, 1988
I cannot believe it. Morto infinito. I am crying so much. The news just said it. Pan Am Flight 103, the flight my beautiful Angelia was on, blown up over Scotland. Why? Why, God? Why did you take her away? She was going to be my wife! I just… <scribble> I don’t <scribble> get the bastards. I don’t know what to do…
Colin realized, much too late, that his dad’s turn to introspection and reservedness was caused by this. He looked for more information, more reaction, when he came up to the last page.
January 2nd, 1989
She left me with nothing but a photograph. All I have of my bellissima, my beautiful Angelia, is a photograph. I don’t see how I can go on. She was everything, just as much as Diana was before she passed on. I just don’t know where to go from here. My kingdom for my bellissima.
He looked at the next page, and instead of writing, he found a photograph of the woman his father had pined for. The one who was the love of his life, and the one who moved him to eventually slow down the family operation. His father was right, as she was a very beautiful woman. Beautiful brown hair down to her shoulders, dressed in the powder blue Pan Am uniform that hugged every single curve of her Italian frame, and a smile that could warm the coldest heart.
“She would have made a wonderful mother,” he said to himself, out loud, as he looked out the window. He had business to do, but he would have to remember to take a trip to Scotland to give his possible mother the honor due her from the family.
Parents, teachers, administrators, and students were mystified.
The newspapers didn’t know what to say, at first.
Many of the witnesses could not believe what they saw.
For those who witnessed Charlene Herrera keel over in 6th period Chemistry class, they were in a daze. Some even trying to block out the memory of what seemed to happen.
Sherry Makinami was a witness to what happened. What people didn’t know, and what she was unsure of, was that she may have been the one who caused it.
She read the headline in the morning paper: STROKE TAKES LIFE OF LAKE GROVE SCHOOLGIRL
She remembered everything, and what was happening that day.
A junior at Lake Grove High School, Sherry was not exactly the pick of the litter. She was mostly average. Average height, average weight, and didn’t really stand out. She did her work at school, socialized a little bit, but didn’t stand out in anything. She was not the type of person to be outspoken, as she rarely raised her hand in class. She kept to herself many times.
This made her a bit of a target for some in her grade, including Charlene. 6th period chemistry class, the last class of the day, was always the worst for Sherry. No matter where she sat, there was some form of adversity. She had to adapt to survive, but chemistry was an unadaptable situation.
For most of the day, she was being harassed by Charlene and her entourage. The real events, where it all came to a head, started with a missed question, and an experiment.
The chemistry teacher, Mr. Palachuk, was finishing his lesson before they were to do their lab work.
“Alright, class. As a quick review, who can tell me why the alkali metals are reactive as they continue down the chart?”
Sherry was about to raise her hand, when she felt a solid piece of something hit the back of her head and proceed to plop to the ground. She felt behind her head, and looked at it. She saw what was a remnant of a spitball that was in her hair. Sherry turned around, sighed, and looked back at the teacher.
Someone gave the answer to the question, and he let everyone move to their workstations. The directions were clear, to experiment with alkali earth metals and see what happened.
Sherry moved to her workstation and looked at the metals in front of her. She started to do a little bit of work, when she was bumped from the side. Water spilled across her hands, and she looked over at the rotund form of Charlene’s bottom.
“Oops! I didn’t even see you there!” she said with a sickly and sweet smile, “You should have said something if you saw me coming.”
Sherry just looked at her, and shook her head. She picked up a piece of magnesium ribbon with her tongs, and put one of the ends in the bunsen burner. It glowed brightly, as the white flames slowly traveled down the strip. She was studying it intently, when she spotted someone about to crash into her side.
Charlene moved backwards again, this time pushing Sherry over. She fell with her to the floor. People started laughing and joking.
“Charlene, what are you doing?! That’s on fire!”
Charlene sneered.
“And she finally speaks, only to yell at me,” she said, looking down at Sherry. Sherry got up and put sand on the magnesium strip, while Charlene and her entourage in class laughed.
Sherry looked at her intensely. She felt the anger in her chest beat heavily, threatening to betray the calm exterior by which she stared at her.
I wish she would just go away.
The thought spread across her sub-consciousness, peeking itself into the conscious for just a moment. She turned and looked down at the magnesium, covered in sand. She kept looking down, but pointed her eyes straight in Charlene’s direction.
I want her to leave me alone, she cried out in her mind, I want her to leave everyone alone!
Suddenly, without warning, Charlene winced. A small pain started in the center of her head. She put one of her hands to her head and tried to feel where it was, as it wasn’t a normal headache. As the seconds ticked by, the pain grew.
She doesn’t know pain, she doesn’t know anything, Sherry thought, spitting the words out in her mind.
The pain in Charlene’s head grew. For her, it was like a migraine that just went supernova. She clutched her head and gritted her teeth.
“Char, what’s going on?” one of her friends asked.
“I don’t know. My head is just….owwwwwww.” she cried out, the pain ratcheting up a notch.
Sherry continued with her gaze, not moving an inch and not doing anything. She didn’t seem like she was doing anything except sulking.
Charlene started to scream, as the pain in her head grew to a point. Her brain felt like it wanted to rip her skull open and run away. The pressure grew to be incredible. Blood leaked from her nose, and started to drip onto the floor.
For a split second, the screaming stopped. For Charlene, the last feeling she had was of a pop and a pressure release in her brain.
Her body crumpled like a weighted tent, splaying her on the ground, her head hitting the floor with a sickening *crack*.
Sherry looked over at her lifeless form, and did the only thing she could do.
She screamed, then fainted.
——–
The next day, as she looked at the paper and read the headline, she looked at her family at the table. They were all silent as they ate breakfast.
Her mom put down her butter knife, and looked at her daughter.
“Sherry, I think we need to talk,” she said, plainly.
Sherry looked back at her mom, and tears started to fall down her face.
“Mom? Did I do this?”
Her mom got up from her chair, walked over to her, and put her arms around her daughter.
“That’s why we need to talk. I think I know what happened, and it’s something that you’ve inherited. It looks like we’re gonna have to have ‘The Talk’.”
Sherry breathed a heavy breath, and she started sobbing into her mom’s shoulder uncontrollably.
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