Oct 24 2017, 11:45 pm in BFFs, Flash Fiction, Florida Writer, Romance
Burning Revenge
“Mal, I don’t think this is such a good idea anymore.” Katie’s dark-lined eyes scanned the corridor they stood in. Her hands nervously tugging the cords hanging from her black hoodie. They thought it would be a good idea to dress in Mission Impossible black outfits for their covert op, but now she looked down at herself and best friend, she felt ridiculous. This was probably the stupidest thing Mallory had ever talked her in to. She might as well put the handcuffs on right now.
“This is a brilliant idea. Best one yet. Have I ever steered you wrong?” Mallory crouched in front of apartment G-7 and aptly pick the lock.
“Yes, on several occasions.”
“Pff, I get you out of that damn comfort zone you’ve boxed yourself into.” Mallory jiggled the door knob and it opened. She gave Katie a sly smile. “We’re in.”
“How do you know how to pick a lock?” Katie asked. An incredulous tinge to her voice.
Mallory stood, shrugging her shoulders. “I know people. Now let’s go.” She pulled her hoodie down and walked into the apartment as if she had every right to be there.
Katie’s eyes darted around the hallway again. Why did she agree to this? Oh-wait, that’s right. Her ADHD on crack co-worker did everything he could and almost succeeded in sabotaging the promotion she’s been busting her ass for. Anger jackhammered through her as the memories of today’s meeting flashed in her head. She was not going to let that dickhead Tommy Trent get away with what he’d done.
They spent the next few minutes sorting through the two boxes of dildos that cost damn near half her paycheck. The plan was simple. Decorate his entire apartment with them and ruin his top-secret date with Daisy, the HR Director with their firm.
“Who knew they made so many different types. I mean look at this one?” Katie said holding up a double headed penis. It was velvety soft and confused the hell out of her. “How does this even work? Is it like a raunchy tug of war game?” She tilted her head and squinted.
“Ooo, what about this one!” Mallory held up a gigantic cock like a trophy. Her fingers didn’t come close to meeting as she waved it back and forth like a sloppy noodle. “Awe, that’s sad. I think this one needs some Viagra.”
Katie laughed. Snorted and then laughed harder causing Mallory to fall backwards laughing hysterically. Katie hit Mallory in the arm with the double edge dildo. “Shh” snort snort “We’re gonna get caught.” Snort. “Seriously…” and she was gone, lost in fits of snorting hysteria.
“Who’s going to catch us the dildo police?” They dissolved into hysterics again.
“Ohmygod, did you hear that?” Katie pulled herself upright.
Voices came from the other side of the door. Mallory’s eyes widened and Katie’s mouth dropped.
“I thought you said he had reservations.” Mallory whispered. Straining her ear toward the door.
Katie shrugged looking at the colorful penis display they had thrown around them. “Maybe she stood him up?” she whispered back, swinging her arms wide. “What are we going to do?”
Mallory bit her bottom lip as she tossed her hands up with the larger-than-life dildo still in her hand.
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
Mallory’s mouth dropped open. “Ohmygod, Katie. It vibrates.”
Katie rolled her eyes. “Well, it has to do something besides being limp. Now, turn that thing off.”
Mallory turned it upside down, then rolled it in her hands before looking back at Katie. “I don’t know how.”
Katie’s lips pulled to one side as she stared at the puzzle in her friend’s hand. “Shake it?”
Mallory pumped the mammoth penis in the air three times. Harder each time. “I can’t get it to work.” She looked at Katie in disbelief.
Katie chewed on the inside of her cheek, desperately trying not to lose it. “Don’t!” She held up a finger in warning to Mallory then pointed to the door.
Mallory’s eyes danced as she scrunched up her face.
The snorting hysteria followed.
The sharp click of the lock sobered them in an instant. Plastic penises flew through the air as they scrambled to find a hiding place finally cramming into the pantry.
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
The hum of the vibrating Goliath dildo still reverberated through the apartment.
“What the fuck?” Tommy’s voice boomed.
Katie scrunched her eyes closed. They were so getting busted. She could smell the stale, musty jail cell now.
“Is this some kind of joke Tommy? Or do you have some kind of fetish?” Daisy’s soft southern belle voice floated through the apartment.
“No. NO! I-I don’t know what this is. I swear.” Tommy said.
“Cause, you know, I don’t mind.” Daisy said all breathy.
Katie and Mallory side-eyed each other.
“I think it’s sexy,”
“You…uh…you do?” Shock evident in Tommy’s voice.
“Mmhm… like this one. Ooo, it’s already turned on for me.” Daisy giggled.
Katie pulled back bumping into the shelves behind her. She looked to Mallory. “If they go at it right here and I have to listen to it, I’m killing you.” She half mouthed- half whispered as low as possible.
Mallory gave an outrageous eye roll then mouthed “whatever.”
“Well.” Tommy cleared his throat. “I guess we should put this to good use then… in the bedroom?”
“You read my mind, you dirty, dirty boy.” Daisy giggled again. “Oh, grab that bottle of lube too.”
Mallory gave Katie a broad smile and two thumbs up. “Told you, swapping out the lube with unscented Bengay was going to be epic.”
Katie glared at Mallory. “I hate you. I’m never letting you talk me into shit like this ever again.”
Mallory laughed. “Sure you will. Now, move it before we get caught.” Her eyes glittered in the dark, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. “Think he’ll get fired?”
“Oh yeah.” Katie grinned back.
I’m Alyssa Henderson. Like all things in my life, I came a little late to the writing party. I’ve been a professional dreamer all my life, but it wasn’t until my early thirties my stories refused to be squashed. I 
began writing and I haven’t stopped since. Creating the perfect plot twist for my story is seriously one of the best things EVER. I am a book junkie with a coffee habit and no desire to stop either. I love practicing yoga, enjoying good food with my family and friends – with wine, of course (got to balance out the caffeine) and walking my dogs if the weather is nice. When I’m not writing and juggling daily life, I love traveling and using my experiences to enrich my stories and characters and meeting up with other writers. The writing community is truly amazing.
Oct 20 2017, 6:09 am in Flash Fiction, Florida Writer, Mystery
Bitter
The woman thrashed across the bed. Sheets and covers tangled her legs. She clawed at her throat, fighting to breathe. Specks of light floated before her eyes as she strained to see through the darkness.
Familiar male laughter rumbled over the ringing in her ears.
Jane Harris gasped awake. Her heart pounded as she struggled upright and flipped on a lamp, focused on her surroundings. She scanned her small Manhattan bedroom. Empty. The scent of sour sweat sickened her as she raked trembling fingers through her hair.
She hadn’t heard the last of her ex-boyfriend.
Slipping out of bed, she checked the window latch before heading to the kitchen. Lights flicked on as she went.
See? He’s not here. No one’s here. He can’t hurt me again. Her hand tightened into a fist. He won’t.
She inspected the apartment, then entered the bathroom. Stared in the mirror as she filled a cup with water. The woman reflected looked alien: hollow blue eyes and snarled hair framed an ashen face. A quick swallow, then she faced her bedroom again. And thoughts of Tom Ridley, her ex of two months past.
Memories chased away sleep. The first bruising grab after she teased his football team’s loss. The belittling of her choice of Miles Davis over his AC/DC. The time his punch cracked her ribs because he claimed she’d flirted with another man.
As if I’d ever do that. I can’t even think of other men. Another slow breath. But at least I finally ditched him.
Spring blossomed the next week. The dream didn’t return, and Jane enjoyed the mundaneness of spring cleaning, errand-running, and doctor visits that marked her personal season change. Routine brought a gratifying calm.
One evening, an eerie sensation crawled over her as she left the dentist. Dusk crept into the streets. Lights winked on but didn’t dispel sidewalk shadows. She glanced around. Nothing unusual. Still, tingling iced her spine. Entering a boutique on her block, she ducked behind a display, and turned to look outside.
Tom Ridley pinioned her with his stare.
Minutes ticked by.
He didn’t move. She couldn’t.
A clerk approached. The distraction startled Jane, and she bumped into the rack, dislodging items. She stammered an apology, then looked toward the window.
Tom had vanished.
Oh, God, where is he?
Fumbling fingers dialed her friend Helen. Voicemail. She hesitated, then slipped out. Phone and keys in hand, she peered around and hurried home. The deadbolt slammed behind her.
Over the next week, Jane’s life deteriorated. The standoff with Tom left her jittery, fearful of other surprises. Her nights became restless, nightmare-plagued. She suffered through long days with an achy head and an acid stomach.
“Maybe visit your dad for a couple days,” Helen suggested. “Get your mind off things.”
“I’d hate to worry him. He and Tom never got along, and hearing this would upset him.” She shook her head. “I’ll just hope that was the end of it.”
That night, Jane writhed across the bed. Rough hands choked her again. This time, though, she awoke gagging. She stumbled to her bathroom, spat out the mouth guard she slept with. She’d cracked off a piece and swallowed it.
What a joke! This is supposed to help?
Her dentist instructed her to sleep with the guard because stress had her grinding her teeth. She returned to bed, but nausea and sleeplessness overwhelmed her.
Her boss frowned when he saw her the next morning, noting her sunken cheeks and bloodshot eyes. “You look like death with a side of fries. You need a doctor.” He patted her shoulder. “Go on, get outta here.”
Great, I’m freaking him out, too. I guess the doctor isn’t a bad idea.
She’d tried over-the-counter remedies. Nothing helped. Still queasy, she felt more drained every day. The negative pregnancy test result brought relief, but even one less major stressor didn’t alleviate her symptoms.
Something else was wrong.
“Don’t worry, Ms. Harris,” said the doctor. “We’ll have your results in a few days. The office will call to follow up. In the meantime, try to get a good night’s rest.” Her hand twitched, wanting to smack him.
She headed to the dentist next, to replace her mouth guard. The entrance flung open, and Jane jumped as a man dashed out, nearly sideswiping her.
Tom.
She stumbled backward. Her uneasy gaze scanned the area for help before she noticed his lab coat and supply bag. She’d forgotten he was a technician for one of her dentist’s suppliers, though they’d met during his rounds.
His gaze pierced her. “You feeling okay, Jane? You look like hell.”
She ignored him, hurried inside, feeling daggers in her back.
The dentist took Jane’s guard to return to the supplier. Because Tom had left, the lab dispatched another tech for the pickup.
Now we wait and see….
Three nights of solid sleep helped, but a call from her dentist disquieted Jane. The tech examined her mouth guard and found it wasn’t made of the usual material. Molded to last for years, it shouldn’t have broken. The tech was running tests to determine its chemical composition.
The phone rang again. What now? Her doctor’s words chilled her. Her bloodwork showed unusual inclusions; she was to return to the office immediately.
Jane listened to the doctor as a steady buzz intensified in her head.
Traces of arsenic.
“What? Poison?” She hugged herself tight.
“Exposure occurs in numerous ways. From the volume we detected, it was small but prolonged. Let’s go through any changes in your routine over the past two months to see if we can isolate anything unusual.”
Jane’s horror escalated as they dissected her life. She described her recent improvement and the conversation with her dentist. She shook her head. But she couldn’t ignore her mouth guard as the likely conduit.
And Tom Ridley the only suspect.
The arresting officers found his apartment abandoned. Fear, fury streaked through Jane when she heard. Soon after, she began to plot her revenge.
Carolyn Greeley is the award-winning author of Emerald Obsession.
Equal parts city slicker and beach bum, she concocts mystery-adventures, combining elements of both locales. Contemporary action and historic exploits infuse her stories, creating an engaging escape. A former Manhattanite, she now lives in St. Augustine, Florida, where things like cellphone photography, wine-and-cheese adoration, dictionary reading, and investigating everything are perfectly acceptable pastimes. Visit her at carolyngreeley.com. Follow her on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, GoodReads, and Pinterest.
