Hunk Slave

“I can’t believe I let you drag me here. I must’ve been crazy.”  Christine Conrad shook her head, bouncing a brown curl into her face as she maneuvered through the crowded hotel lobby.

Dressed to impress, women of all ages, shapes and sizes littered the establishment, eager for the charity auction to begin.  The event’s big, glossy poster caught her eye.  Help a Child. Buy a Hunk.

 “I don’t know what’s crazier—me not having a date in weeks, or you sitting at home reading Macbeth to your cats.” Scowling, her friend Taylor Grant pushed through the crowd.

“It’s not my fault they hate Hamlet.”

Her friend glanced sideways at her. “Why do I bother?”

“Exactly. If I leave now, I can finish reading Act II to them tonight.” She eyed the exit and cursed herself for allowing her friend to talk her into wearing a pair of black, do-me heels. She’d probably break both her ankles before she reached the door.

As if sensing her need to flee, Taylor grabbed her hand.  “Oh no you don’t. You’re here to help me buy a hunk-slave.”

She reeled back.  “Hunk-slave?”

Her redheaded friend grinned.  “Yep. I’m here to get me a good-looking man to do what I wish.”

“Boy, do I feel sorry for the guy you win.”

“Don’t be. I can promise you he’ll be smiling by the time the date is over.” Devilment gleamed from her friend’s gaze. “You know, Chrissie, since you’re here, you might as well have some fun too. Why don’t you bid?”

She snorted. My friend has lost her mind!  “Me? Own a hunk-slave? Ah, no thanks. I like my dates willing.”

Soul Survivor

“It’s over, Mom and Dad.” Fragile lilac branches quivered under the pressure of Leah Wilson’s grip and bit into the soft flesh of her palm. The fragrant blossoms became a purple blur as she knelt in the soft grass, still wet with morning dew. “I did it. He’s behind bars where he belongs.”

Half elated, half devastated, she placed the flowers on the graves and allowed tears to fall freely for the first time in years. Lovingly tracing their names, her fingers slid into the groves of the cold, granite surface.

Judge William Connolly and Beloved Wife, Katherine Connolly.

She shivered. A name was missing. Hers.

Why? Why couldn’t I have been murdered, too?

Shoulders trembling, she gazed unseeing at the green strands of earth protruding from her grip. “I should’ve been with you when the car exploded, not away on some high school field trip.” Fist shaking, she ripped out a clump of grass.

Why have I been left to survive on my own?

Neptune’s Gift

“Hudson, Phillips, come with me. Everyone else wait here with Laurel and the professor.”

As he stepped into the chamber and possible danger, her heartbeat quickened. None of her discoveries mattered without him.

“Are you seeing this?” the professor whispered.

Oblivious, the room and all its possessions took second fiddle as her eyes remained on her walking treasure.  Heart pounding, senses on alert, she willed things to go smooth.

Carter inched around the room, lighting wall torches while checking for booby traps and unseen perils. Finally, in what seemed like hours, he returned.

“Okay. It’s safe.

Professor Weston’s whoop of joy drowned out her sigh of relief. With the danger dispelled, excitement replaced worry, and eager to devour the history teeming before her, she stepped inside and gasped.