C. Henderson Fic

I write unique fiction content. If you would like to gain early access to new chapters and stories, as well as finalized story PDFs for reading convenience, please consider joining me on Patreon at: www.patreon.com/chendersonfic

[chendersonfic]

Book Cover by C Henderson Via Flickr: book cover

[chendersonfic]

Inhospitable Place, Chapter 1

“I’m looking at you. But you don’t see me. That’s okay.

By the time you notice me watching you, it will be too late.”

The October rain gently tapping on the window and the roof was finally slowing to a drizzle. The rain in Connecticut was different than Pennsylvania rain—it was colder…harsher somehow. That was one of many things on my list of grievances against Hartford, and by default against Hunter, who came up with the idea to move here. It’s not that it was his fault. He thought he was doing the right thing by getting me away from everything that was familiar. He probably imagined he was giving me—us—a brand new start. But no matter how hard I tried, the bile of resentment would creep up my throat, willing me to remind him every now and then that the road to hell was paved with good intentions.  

I didn’t have a personal vendetta against the city. Had I come here under different circumstances, I probably would have appreciated the historic buildings, and bored my family and friends to death with anecdotes about Bushnell park being the oldest park in the country, and how I visited Mark Twain’s House. Instead, I came to Hartford numbed by Xanax, Prozac, and a bottle of wine. Nothing could have impressed me. Everything was a cruel reminder that the world didn’t come to a grinding halt when my mother died. It just kept going. And now I was supposed to keep going with it. 

A part of me felt sorry for Hunter. He met me two months before my mother suddenly passed away from a massive brain aneurysm. The person he met, the person he fell in love with, that person no longer existed. I was a professional ballroom dancer and a choreographer for a popular TV show. I had a life, I had friends, and a bustling career. I had a body that was sculpted by long hours of dancing and a fridge that contained celery juice and oat milk. I was full of energy and couldn't wait to see what every day had to bring. That all changed overnight. A career doesn't wait for you; there's an appropriate grieving window and then it's back to business as usual. But I couldn't bear it. As hard as I would try, I just couldn't find my footing without her. 

After a while I had no job, and my friends had given up on me. All I had left was my sister, Francesca, my dad, Randy, and my boyfriend, Hunter, who somehow stuck around through it all. When he first suggested the move to Hartford, I was opposed to it. After all, why would I move away from the only close family I had left? But everything at home was a constant reminder of what I no longer had. Her books, her comforter, her perfume—it was unbearable. So after a week of debating, I said yes and—despite the protests from my sister and father—we packed up our stuff and left for Connecticut.

The drive to our new home took 7 1/2 hours from Pittsburgh. Since I no longer had a job it was down to Hunter to find us a place to live on his loan officer salary. We moved into a 2-bedroom loft—exposed brick industrial design. One bedroom was ours, the other was my designated new studio where I was supposed to recapture my love for dancing. I told Hunter I was practicing daily. That was a lie. Nothing changed for me; nothing except my surroundings. 

I stood in the empty studio looking out of the window and watching the rain. I turned my head back when I heard Bruno waddling over. My only source of joy these days. He was a fluffy overweight Corgi whose owners had given him up to the local high kill animal shelter when they moved. One day, while I was struggling to stay sober and fighting dark thoughts of ending it once and for all, I decided to go on a walk. It was another rainy day, just like today. I almost passed by the shelter, but the howling from the inside made me suddenly stop. Something had beckoned me to go inside that day. A gut feeling. I walked from cage to cage, shivering under my wet jacket. The sad looking furry faces staring back at me shivered as well. The place was freezing, and the smell of ammonia and fear wafted through the air.

“Can I help you?” a middle age curly haired woman asked, popping her head out from behind an office door. Her name tag read Tatiana. 

“I’m just looking around,” I replied. She sighed, obviously displeased at my window-shopping approach to animals in need. I felt embarrassed. 

“I’m not supposed to tell you, but the three at the end are getting euthanized this Friday. In case you feel like saving a life,” she said in a harsh, condescending tone, then disappeared behind the door once again.

“Well no wonder you have to euthanize dogs, who’d want to get one from you,” I muttered to myself. I thought about leaving, but it felt disrespectful to not even take a look at the three death row mutts. They deserved my attention, at least. I walked down the dim lit hallway to the end of the chain link fence enclosures. The first one was a Pitbull that launched at the fence with the speed of light, making me stagger back. “I’m DANGEROUS, do not put hands near the fence!” the description tag on his door read. 

“Sorry buddy,” I said in the midst of his barking, “Hope it's better in the next life for you.” I moved to the next cage, where a big Husky mix snarled upon seeing me. His name was “Diamond”. 

“Don't worry, you'll be someone's gem in dog heaven,” I told him, then slowly moved onto the last cage. “Bruno,” the name tag read, along with, “I’m feisty, don’t put hands near the fence!” 

Bruno was the fattest Corgi I've ever seen. He laid there on the concrete slab, behind the chain link fence, looking completely devoid of life. He didn't even bother to bark at me. 

“Bruno,” I said, trying to find the right last words. His eyes slowly moved to meet mine, then he looked back down and gently put his head on his paws. He had given up. Like he knew what was coming next. For a brief moment I wondered if that's what I looked like to people as well. A man who had given up on life. 

After I left the shelter, I cried all the way home. Life seemed so cruel and unfair. A healthy woman with two children drops dead in the middle of the day, out of nowhere and without any warning. A dog who loves snacks gets left at a strange place and locked in a small wet cage where he now awaits his death.  

Hunter was waiting for me at home.

“Where have you been?” he asked. It must have been curious to him, since I almost never left our place anymore. 

“I went on a walk,” I replied, grabbing a towel from the bathroom. I was soaked. 

“Do we not have an umbrella?” he asked, turning the heater on. 

“We do, I just wasn’t thinking,” I replied. Poor Hunter, he had to constantly worry about me.

“Did you see anything good on your walk?” I sighed, then told him my shelter story. 

“Do you think they give them like…a last meal? Like maybe his favorite snack?” I asked concerned, and he raised his eyebrow.

“Uhh, they’re dogs, not death row inmates. I doubt they get a steak for their last meal,” he replied truthfully. “But I’m sure it’s quick and painless. Better than spending the rest of their lives in a small cage. Imagine the horror of that,” he added, his face suddenly stone serious. 

“What day is it today?” I asked.

“Wednesday,” he replied, shaking himself out of his dark thoughts. “Don’t even think about it. Our building has a no-pet policy,” he said, then added, “I’ll probably be home late tomorrow, just so you know. I’m behind on a few things.”

“No worries. And I wasn’t thinking about it,” I lied, thinking of the big Corgi and how he only had one more day to live. I wondered how he’d spend it. Probably cooped up in that cold, wet cage. The thought made me sick to my stomach. 

The next morning I woke up with the sun, which was rare for me. Sleeping until the afternoon was more the norm nowadays. Hunter had already left, and I was feeling restless. I cleaned the kitchen, scrubbed the bathroom, washed the dishes. Finally, I grabbed a load of dirty clothes and went downstairs to the building’s laundry room. 

“Hello,” the warm voice from behind me said as I was pouring my detergent into the washer. I looked back and recognized my next-door neighbor. “I’m Derek,” he said, as if we never met. I suppose he had forgotten me, I rarely ever went out. 

“I know, I remember you. I’m Louis,” I replied. He was wearing grey sweatpants and a fitting blue tee. If I wasn’t in a relationship, and on the brink of suicide, I probably would have felt quite giddy to be speaking to him. 

“That’s right,” he said, putting his laundry basket down. “You guys are from out of state, right?”

“Right, Pennsylvania.”

“How are you liking Hartford?” he asked, taking over the other machine. 

“Well, it’s nice. Lots of rain,” I replied, not knowing what to say. I haven’t really stepped foot out of the apartment since we moved. I didn't have much to say about Hartford. 

“Right, right. I don't mean to sound strange, but your face is so familiar…” he trailed off.

“I was a choreographer for a TV show,” I explained, and everything clicked into place for him.

“Yes, that’s it!” he said snapping his fingers excitedly. And I laughed for the first time in months. “What happened man? You were so great at that.”

“My mother passed away,” I replied bluntly. His brown eyes looked at me with sad warmth. 

“That is tough. How are you doing?” he asked.

“Doing alright,” I lied. “Or I was. But then I saw these dogs at the shelter yesterday, and now I’m all messed up about it. It’s dumb but, there was a Corgi and they’re putting him down tomorrow. And it’s just sad,” I rambled on, then stopped, embarrassed. He raised an eyebrow. 

“The local shelter?” I nodded my head. “What's preventing you from getting him?” he asked, starting his load while I was still putting my clothes in.

“Well for one, this place doesn't allow pets,” I said.

“You know what my mother always says?” he asked.

“What’s that?”

“Rules are meant to be broken,” he replied. He grabbed his bin and gave me a smile, then disappeared just as fast as he came.

Strange. I thought about our encounter for the rest of the day. But how could I take care of a dog, when I couldn’t even look after myself anymore. It was months since I ate a vegetable. I went for days without showering. Dogs needed consistency, routine, rules. Plus, Hunter wouldn’t be happy, even if we could somehow convince the landlord to let us have a dog in the first place.

At 10:00 o'clock I popped a Xanax, followed it up with some wine, and went to sleep. I dreamt of Bruno, alone in his kennel. Cold and hungry. 

When I woke up, Hunter was already gone. I looked at the clock. 11:45. Today was his last day. What would they feed him? Would he be scared? Would he yelp in pain when the needle pierced his skin? I felt anger rise up in me. He was a perfectly healthy dog, why should he have to die in that place? Just because someone deemed him “feisty”. Why should he be nice to people when this is what they’ve done to him? The expectation was ridiculous. He had every right to be angry. Disenchanted. “Feisty”. I put on a hoodie, grabbed a bag of leftover rotisserie chicken and ran out the door. Maybe I could at least be there for him. Maybe he liked rotisserie chicken. 

I finally made it to the shelter and almost ran Tatiana into the ground.

“What in the hell!” she grimaced, pushing me back with her bony hands. I tried to catch my breath and realized I was completely out of shape.

“Have the…have the dogs been… been euthanized yet?” I asked. She stared at me in confusion. “The three dogs,” I tried to make her understand.

“Oh, yes, at 11:00 this morning,” she replied, raising an eyebrow at the bag of chicken in my hand.

“How…how did it happen?” I asked. She sighed.

“Well, first we took them out of the kennel on a leash. They thought they were going for a walk. They started wagging their tails. But as soon as we got close to the euthanasia room, they knew something was up. They must have sensed the smell of death in the air. So, they put up a fight,” she said, matter-of-factly, then continued. “They had to be restrained until the vet injected a lethal dose that put them out. Then, they were put into black plastic bags, and placed in the freezer, where they now wait to be picked up, like trash.” I imagined Bruno through every step of that journey, and the tears started involuntarily pouring down.

“Can I…can I maybe take him with me and bury him?” I asked. It’s not like I even had a yard to bury him in, but the thought of leaving him behind destroyed me. She sighed again. 

“You’re talking about Bruno, right, the chunky Corgi?” she asked. I nodded my head and wiped my tears. She pointed to the office door. “He said you’d come, but I didn’t believe it,” she said more to herself than to me. “Guess I owe him that $50.”

“What?” I asked, confused. She pointed to the door again, more impatiently this time. As if I was supposed to understand what she was talking about. 

         “Go, he wants to talk to you,” she said, then walked off towards the kennels, leaving me behind. I approached the door with the name plate that read, “Dr. Derek Robinson, Veterinarian.” I knocked, then opened it before getting a reply. I needed to find out what was going on.

         He was on the phone, but flashed me a bright smile upon seeing me, then raised a finger to indicate he’d be with me in a minute. I waited by the door, confused by whatever was going on. 

         “Hello neighbor,” he said, finally getting off the phone. He looked different in his work clothes, and I was pretty speechless. He checked out the bag of chicken I was holding with a confused face.

         “Lunch?”

          “I uhh, I thought I could give it to Bruno before…you know, but I’m too late. Wait, you work here?” I asked, trying to make sense of it all. He laughed from behind his desk. 

“Yes. And that’s sweet, but dogs don’t eat before euthanasia. Makes them nauseous,” he explained.

“Oh,” I said, feeling stupid. “So, did you have to do it?” I asked.

“Yes, an unfortunate part of my job,” he stated, and got up. He walked past me and opened the door. “Thankfully, only two dogs had to be put down today.” He started walking towards the kennels, and I followed him.

“Really? That’s…that’s great! How did that happen?” I tried to keep up with his long and quick strides.

“Well, I can’t in good conscience put down a dog that has a home waiting for him,” he replied as we got to the end of the kennels. He smiled at me. I looked at him, then at the chain-link fence, and realized we were standing in front of Bruno’s kennel. My heartbeat picked up and I quickly looked inside. He was laying on the concrete slab, miserable as ever, but still very much alive. I felt relief spread through me as I looked back at Derek.

“But…me?” I asked.

“Who else came in here to give an overweight death row Corgi a bag of chicken?” he asked, and I could sense a note of amusement in his tone.

“But I can’t, you know our building has a no-pet policy,” I replied.

“Good thing my brother is the owner. I already spoke to him. I’m paying a monthly pet fee on your behalf. Now say hi to your new friend,” he said. “Give him some of that through the fence first,” he pointed to my chicken bag, “he’s less snappy when he isn’t hungry.” 

         An hour later, I was frantically searching for a pet store to get Bruno a bed, food dishes, and snacks. Back home, he was wary of me at first. Only coming by when he wanted to eat. But over three months he acclimated. And with Derek’s help and guidance, we got him on a healthier diet and he was starting to look trimmer already. And while he still wasn’t a lap dog, and wanted absolutely nothing to do with Hunter, he now slept in his dog bed next to my side of the bed and woke me up by bumping his wet nose into my hand to take him on a morning walk. Bruno had become the biggest reason for my continued existence. 

         I looked at him now, as his eyes impatiently darted from my face to the door and back—a signal that it was time for an evening treat.

“We can’t keep eating like this,” I said, smacking my ever-growing belly. I walked over to the kitchen and he followed me. I reached for the dog treats, and he perked up. I slowly handed over the fragrant pepperoni stick. “Don’t tell Derek,” I said, and he grabbed it with precision, then made his way to the bedroom to enjoy it. I didn’t blame him, it’s not like I wanted to be in my own company either. 

         I poured myself a disproportionately large glass of wine and checked my phone. Three missed voicemails from my sister, Francesca. I'd have to get back to her eventually. She was the persistent type. 

         I made my way to the living room and turned on the TV. I glanced at the morning’s copy of the Hartford Times, splayed open on our living room table. It announced that the body of yet another young man had been found. That would make it 6 in total. One for every two months that we've lived here. It was now very clear: there was a serial killer on the loose.

[chendersonfic]

The vampire universe differs from the human world, but one thing remains the same: the pain of navigating high school. Dani is a Special—a vampire created in a laboratory with the purpose of harnessing a unique power. When he turns 18, he is sworn to use his particular gift in order to protect the delicate harmony of the vampire world and ensuring it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands like it has in the past, when a vicious monarchy, the Carandini family, ruled all the vampire clans and rained chaos upon the human world. But when his mentor, the wise Vinicius, is found dead, Dani is forced to transfer to a new school where he struggles to fit in. That is until he meets a mysterious dark-haired boy named Vincent, who also appears to be an outcast. An unlikely bond forms, but it’s quickly tested when Vincent’s heritage is revealed, putting Dani in an extremely difficult predicament of having to choose between his future mission and the desires of his non-beating heart.

[chendersonfic]

Fall River Street

The yellow cab exhaled as it rolled to a slow stop in front of the quaint four-bedroom house nestled at the end of Fall River Street. The house reminded Addison of a mausoleum, untouched by the passing of time and preserving everything on the inside without any discernment. The golden red fall leaves swept along the front yard like a royal cape. This picture was exactly why local real estate agents would favor fall as the best time for their listings, the foliage added a type of natural magic that you simply couldn’t conjure up or recreate with photoshop.

He stepped out of the cab and closed the door behind him, gazing at the house with childish apprehension. His father was dead, and this was going to be a long week. He was here to help his mother prepare the house for sale. She didn’t need four bedrooms all to herself, and she had long forgotten her past dreams of having grandchildren that would run through the hallways and bring the house alive with their noisy laughter. She was ready to downgrade to a one-bedroom apartment close to him and planned on spending the rest of her time volunteering and knitting scarves for the homeless.

But first they had to tackle a lifetime worth of accumulated garbage. If hoarding was a woman, his mother was her cousin. Nowhere near as bad as ceiling-tall piles of useless trash, but prone to collecting tchotchkes, broken kitchenware, and sentimental rubbish. Now they had a week to sort through it all before the realtor would come back with a photographer and list the empty house for sale.

“There you are honey,” said the tiny silver-haired woman who came out to greet him on the stoop. His mother looked so small, much smaller than he remembered her. Then again, it had been years.

He walked up the stairs which still had a print of his boyish hands embedded in the concrete. 

“Hey ma,” he said, and gave her a long overdue hug, then followed her inside back into his past.

Everything was just as he remembered it, down to the creaky floorboards in the hallway and the janky seashell vintage living room lamp that would provide erratic light bursts in capricious intervals.

“I made you lunch,” his mother said, making her way into the kitchen. 

“I’m not that hungry,” he called back from the living room, still looking around at all the familiar yet long-forgotten details that painted the picture of his childhood.

“You have to eat,” she replied, walking back in with a tray of soup and sandwiches. If anyone really had to eat, it was her, but he decided to skip that conversation for now. This wasn't the time to stress her out about her food intake.

He grabbed the tray from her, and they ate in the living room, surrounded by silence. If there was one thing he appreciated, it was the fact that his mother knew better than to cry in front of him. He wasn’t good at handling people’s emotions anymore, he only had room enough for his own. 

“The house is in good shape,” Addison stated, taking a sip of the chicken soup. His mother nodded.

“You know, Tom Hadley comes by to help with it,” she replied casually. He felt the soup suddenly stuck in his throat. 

“He does?”

“Yes, he’s been a big help. He came by the other week and fixed the refrigerator. Are you boys still in touch?” Addison tried to swallow, but the lump remained. He shook his head no, not being able to utter a word. 

There was a time, so long ago it felt like another lifetime altogether, when it wouldn’t have crossed his mind to leave his town and move away. He had no grandeur plans of making it out, or the need to test the waters anywhere else. He would have been content staying right where he was, close to his best friend Tom.

“Oh, before I forget. You wouldn’t mind going to check on Mrs. Beckett next door, would you? I try to look in on her at least once a day, but I think seeing your face might be good for her.” When Addison appeared confused, she added. “She has dementia now, her memory fluctuates. I think it started with Mark’s suicide you know,” she added with sadness. “I think it just permanently broke her.” The boy’s face flashed in Addison’s memory with vivid cruelty. His green eyes, his brown curly hair, and the smile that seemed almost a permanent feature of his mouth.

“Mark Beckett killed himself?” He wanted to make sure he didn’t mishear her.

“Hung himself right there in the bedroom,” she said, shaking her head. “He was a good friend of yours, wasn’t he?” Good friend was a stretch, Addison thought to himself. Mark was universally beloved at Fall River High, and if he was ever in Addison’s vicinity, it was because he was good friends with Tom. Really if he thought about it, all of his friends were Tom’s friends. He had a natural knack for it, getting people to like him. Addison was the opposite. His nose had been mostly buried in books growing up, apart from the occasional hoop session with Tom, or riding his bike through the neighborhood. His friendship with Tom started out mostly due to convenience, as the boys lived down the street from each other. But it had quickly developed into a strong bond. 

“Can I sleep in the guest room?” He asked, finishing his soup.

“Sorry honey, it’s packed with stuff. You’ll have to sleep in your old bedroom until we clear it out tomorrow.” He nodded in defeat, and after cleaning the dishes, he slowly made his way upstairs, back to his childhood bedroom. It was a museum, with everything preserved just as he had left it. The blue bed sheets, the wooden desk with carved words and scribbled phrases, and the deflated basketball abandoned in the corner. 

He put down his bag and sat down on the small twin bed. He had spent countless hours in this room, and many of them had included Tom. But he left it all behind the second that he turned 18. He first kept afloat with a restaurant job while going to a community college in the evening. And now he made his living as a video editor, making just enough to be comfortable. His small apartment housed two plants as his only company. 

He got up and walked over to the desk and opened the drawer. It contained two old textbooks, four pens, a yo-yo, and an old notebook. He opened the notebook and flipped through the pages, until he found it. A list of names scribbled over and over again, like a mantra or a spell. The ink was dark, and it looked as if he had stabbed the pages with the pen that wrote it.

Steven Hades Michael Dornes Sean Trevley Mark Beckett

The list of names went on for a countless number of pages, in that same exact order. Until he got to the last page, where a new name appeared.

Steven Hades Michael Dornes Sean Trevley Mark Beckett Tom Hadley

He closed the notebook with force, then shut the drawer in a hurry. He would get rid of it tomorrow, burn it or throw it out with the rest of the garbage. Bury it forever, never to be found again. He turned off the light and tossed and turned on the small bed for the rest on the night. 

In the morning, feeling sleep-deprived and emotionally empty, he turned on the coffee pot, hoping the brown liquid would keep him awake enough to tackle the boxes he needed to sort through in the garage. It wasn’t an easy task, and he spent the next hours rummaging through countless cords and cables, old tv remotes, Christmas decorations, pictures, and even managed to find parts of his old bicycle. 

On his lunch break, he took a beer from the fridge and sat on the front porch, watching the street. He noticed a group of people walking down the sidewalk on the other side of the street. He spotted Tom’s distinct shuffle right away. He raised the beer to his lips and tried to remain calm. He wasn’t going to run back into the house like a coward. The group got closer, and he recognized Tom’s wife and his childhood friend, Jodie, walking next to him, along with her parents. In his arms there was a small toddler.

The group decided to stop right across from him—because God possessed a dark sense of humor—as Jodie bent down to tie her shoelace. That’s when Tom’s gaze drifted in his direction and froze. The two men made eye contact, and it wasn’t until Jodie pulled Tom by the hand a minute later, that he finally looked away and continued walking. 

Addison took a few shaky breaths. He tried to focus on something, anything, to take his mind off of what had happened. He looked at his small handprints in the pavement. His father wasn’t thrilled when he saw what Addison did to the brand-new stairs. In fact, if he remembered correctly, he caught a few belt lashes for the stunt. 

He brought his right hand and placed it over the handprint. “Nothing happened. Nothing happened. NOTHING HAPPENED!” He heard the chant in his ears and dropped the bottle of beer, letting it crash on the pavement. The yellow liquid slowly seeped into the cervices of his childhood fingers. He looked at the broken glass for a long moment, then slowly began to clean it.

The next day of cleaning was no better than the first. He finally got through the garage, then made his way into the office, while his mother still worked on the guest room. Later in the day they had lunch together, after which his mother asked him to go check in on Mrs. Beckett. 

He walked over to the house next door and knocked. There was no answer. He knocked again. Still nothing. Just as he was about to leave, the window curtain fluttered. He stopped in his tracks.

“Mrs. Beckett? It’s Addison, your neighbor,” he called out, hoping he hadn’t scared her. A moment later the door opened, and a small older woman in a silk vintage robe and hair rollers appeared, scrunching her eyes at him, as if she were trying to place his face.

“Remember me?” He asked.

“Well of course, of course my dear. Come on in,” she replied, smiling. He felt strange about accepting her invitation, still unsure if she really remembered him, but he decided to walk into the warm living room anyway. 

“Sit down, please. I’ll make us some tea,” she motioned towards the couch, and Addison listened obediently. A few minutes later she came back, a tray with tea rattling in her shaky hands. He quickly took it from her and put it down on the table. 

“Here, your favorite,” she said, handing him a small plate with toasted bread, butter, and honey. Addison stared for a moment, trying to remember if he ever ate that food combination before in his life, but he decided not to comment. 

“So, how are you?” She asked excitedly while adding sugar to her tea.

“I’m good Mrs. Beckett. I’m here helping my mom with the house. I’m sure she’s already told you that she’s selling it,” he replied, trying to make polite conversation. She chuckled.

“My silly boy. Always with the jokes. How is school going?” She asked, and Addison was starting to get the feeling that something was not quite right.

“Uhh, I graduated many years ago, Mrs. Beckett,” he replied, but she cut him off, slightly flustered.

“Will you stop calling me Mrs. Beckett? It’s not funny anymore.” Addison stared in confusion.

“Who…who do you think I am?” He asked, and she rolled her eyes.

“Well you’re my son, of course. You’re Mark,” she replied, smiling at him with fondness. “Eat up,” she said, watching the toast in his hand. Addison took a bite, unsure of how to proceed.

“I’m not Mark, Mrs. Beckett, I’m Addison. We went to the same high school. I lived in the house next door. Don’t you remember?” He asked, and something flickered in her eyes.

“Oh, don’t. No, please don’t. Don’t talk about him, Mark, you know it makes me sad,” she said, her voice quieter now. 

“Why does it make you sad?” He asked.

“What those boys did to him…it’s terrible Mark, truly awful,” she said.

“What those boys did to who, Mrs. Beckett?” He pressed on, already knowing the answer. 

“Addie, of course,” she replied, and his childhood nickname caused a sudden sharp pain in his chest.

“More tea?” She asked, smiling all of a sudden. 

“Who told you about that?”

“Who told me about what?”

“About what they did to…Addison,” he said, his name feeling clunky coming out of his own mouth. 

“I don’t know what you mean honey,” she replied confused, then brought the delicate china up to her lips and took a sip, forgetting she had said anything. He left shortly after, with Mrs. Beckett still thinking he was Mark. He didn’t have the heart to tell her twice.

He came back home and continued to work until it got dark. After dinner, he went to his bedroom and looked out the window, onto the back yard. Him and Tom would lay on that same grass and look for their constellations in the sky. They would spend hours, shoulder to shoulder, diligently making their way through the stars. They could always spot Addison’s large Pisces constellation with ease, but no matter how hard they tried, they could never find Antares—the star that marked the Scorpion’s heart.

On the fifth morning he found that the coffee machine which allowed him to get any work done while running on no sleep, broke. And despite the fact that his mother had every other unnecessary extra kitchen appliance, she did not have another coffee machine, so Addison walked over to the local breakfast spot in order to get one. He sat sipping on the hot coffee and waiting for the waffles his mom had requested, happy that her appetite seemed to be returning, when the door opened and Tom walked in, carrying his son. There was no time to hide, he saw Addison right away, and walked straight on over to him.

Tom hadn’t changed all that much, except for the beard and the few wrinkles that now surrounded his tired blue eyes. 

“Still pulling on those fingers eh?” He said by way of greeting after 17 years. Addison quickly untangled his hands, embarrassed by his nervous tick. The curly blonde child in Tom’s arms clung to him like a baby koala. 

“He’s got Jodie’s hair, but he has your eyes, nose, and lips,” Addison replied, studying the beautiful boy. Tom smiled.

“Jude,” he said, then to clear up Addison’s confusion added, “That’s his name. Jude.”

“Ah, the patron of lost causes,” Addison said. 

“Let’s just say he came to me at the right time,” Tom replied, and Addison finally met his gaze.

“He’s a beautiful child.”

“How long are you in town for?”

“Just until Sunday.” Tom nodded. 

“I’m sorry about you father,” he said, and now it was Addison’s turn to nod.

“Selling the house?”

“Yeah, my mom’s downsizing, and moving closer to me.”

“You on your own?” He asked, and both men felt the strangeness of the question.

“Yep, just me and my books and my work,” Addison replied.

“Sounds like a good life,” Tom replied. 

“I heard about Michael…Beckett.” He didn’t know what made him say it. Tom looked embarrassed. 

“Yeah,” was all he could come back with. “Dornes is doing 20 in prison for distributing drugs. And Trevley was hit by a drunk driver. Died on the spot,” he added.

“And Steven?” Addison asked, barely able to get the name through his mouth.

“He’s still around. Drinking his way to the grave,” he replied. Another name hung between them in the uncomfortable silence, but neither one of them said it.

“Here you go,” the waitress appeared and handed him the bag of food. 

“Thank you,” he replied, getting up to leave.

“Listen, why don’t you and I go out for a drink?” Tom suggested. Addison thought about it for a moment, then slowly shook his head.

“I have too much work to finish up at the house. Some other time,” he lied. He opened the door and walked out, but Tom followed him.

“Hey,” he called out and Addison stopped. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I was a coward.”

“Don’t,” Addison pleaded, but Tom continued.

“I should have stopped it. I don’t know why, I don’t know why I froze,” but Addison couldn’t listen anymore. He walked briskly, until the voice behind him faded. 

On his way back he tried to block out the swarming memories of his childhood best friend that were now viciously attacking his mind. He couldn’t allow himself to remember. Not now, not when he had a whole day of work still ahead of him. For the next eight hours he tirelessly threw out boxes of trash, then sorted through more boxes in the attic, until his hands were black from the dust and dirt. He was so tired that he felt like he would finally be able to get some sleep. Only two more days, and he would be out of here for good. But while he could control his thoughts and memories in the daytime, he couldn’t control his dreams. 

The grass felt cool underneath his body, making him break out in goosebumps. Tom was right next to him, staring at the sky yet again.

“Still can’t find it Addie,” he complained frustrated, as his constellation continued to evade him. He had just changed the brand of his deodorant, and Addison inhaled the pleasant citrus scent. The soft white cotton shirt that clung to Tom’s rapidly growing teenage body was illuminated by the moonlight. Addison turned towards him, laying on his side. Tom turned his head. He would usually make a stupid joke, but not that night. He studied the other boy’s face carefully, then slowly leaned in. The first kiss was as soft as a feather. But when their lips touched and the world didn’t end right then and there, Tom went in again, this time more forcefully. His mouth tasted like the orange popsicle he ate on their way home from school.

Addison woke up with a start, his shirt soaked in sweat. He never thought anything could be worse than the nightmares he’d had on and off for years. But he was wrong. This was far worse. This memory that he had so carefully locked away years ago, felt like hell on earth. 

He took off his drenched shirt and changed into a dry one. It was still dark outside, but he turned on the light and began to pack his room. He needed to finish everything as quicky as possible, before he’d end up like Michael Beckett, hanging from the ceiling, waiting for his poor mother to find him.

On the 6th day Addison and his mom finished cleaning the kitchen. All that was left was the living room. They met a couple buyers who picked up some of the furniture, although his mother had insisted on keeping the unreliable vintage lamp. They were eating lunch, when the house phone started ringing. It was another neighbor. There had been a tragedy out on the lake. 

“Tom Hadley? No, not possible,” he heard his mother say, and his heart felt still. Suddenly, he remembered it as clear as day. Waiting outside of the building for Tom, who was taking longer than usual. Deciding to walk in and meet him in the locker room, where he would shower and change after hockey practice. But Tom was still talking to the coach. It was Steven Hades and Sean Trevley that he bumped into that day. 

“What the fuck are you doing in here, weirdo?” Steven spat out, his voice venom in Addison’s ear. 

“Where’s Tom?” Addison asked, uncomfortable but not yet afraid.

“Where’s Tom?” Steven mimicked him in a girlish voice. “Tom, Tom, Tom. Why do you follow him around like a creep?” He asked, approaching him. Addison felt his throat tighten. Michael Dornes walked in, and he hoped the stupid encounter would be over, but Steven continued.

“Answer me, weirdo!”

“He’s my friend,” Addison replied, his voice shaky now. Dornes ignored the scene and started changing out of his uniform. Addison prayed for Tom to come, but instead he saw Mark Beckett enter the locker room next. His famous smile still in place.

“You wanna know what I think?” Steven said, ignoring everyone else in the room and zoning in on Addison. He was inches away now. “I think you’re a fag.” Addison saw Michael’s smile vanish from his face.

“Come on Steve, leave him alone,” he said. Steven’s head snapped back to him. 

“Why are you defending him, are you a fag?” He asked. Michael laughed nervously.

“No man, come on,” he replied, then went silent.

Steven turned around and walked towards his locker, and for an incredibly naive moment Addison thought he was leaving him alone. Until he saw him grab the hockey stick.

What followed next was a blur. He was on the floor, Steven’s massive form pressing into his back with his knee. He couldn’t breathe. He heard Steven shouting for Michael to hold down his legs, which he didn’t realize were flailing around, trying to kick off the larger boy. And then he felt his pants and underwear being roughly pulled down, and everything went white as the piercing pain tore him in half. At some point he looked up, and saw the blue eyes staring back at him in frozen horror from the locker room’s entrance. They were Tom’s.

He was discovered by the coach, about 10 minutes later, who ushered him to the nurse. When they asked him about what happened, all he could reply was, “Nothing happened. Nothing happened. Nothing happened!” If he said it enough times, it would surely come true.

“There was an accident,” his mother said, sitting down across from him and waking him up from his memories.

“What happened?” She wasn’t sure yet, but the neighbor said it involved a dead body and Tom Hadley. It was later that night that the woman would call back with the full story. 

In the early hours of October 4th, a small fishing boat containing two men left the local harbor. Only one man returned: Tom Hadley. Steven Hades’ body was fished out by divers a few hours later. Tom Hadley was let go almost instantly, without any suspicion of foul play. He told the sheriff that they had been drinking, and he fell asleep. When he woke up, a drunk Steven had gone overboard. The sheriff had no reason to doubt the story. Steve was a notorious drunk.

The next day was his last day in town. The house was almost empty, apart from a few more pieces of furniture. His mother was going to stay with her sister for a week, and then come down to her new apartment. 

Later that day, without even really knowing why, he found himself at Tom Hadley’s house. He stood at the front door for a moment, but just as he had decided to leave, the door opened, and a curly haired blonde woman popped out.

“Addie!” She chirped. “I didn’t know you were in town!” He smiled.

“I’m leaving tomorrow morning just thought I’d pop in and say goodbye.”

“No! If I knew you were here earlier, I’d have invited you over for dinner. You’re catching me at a bad time now, I’m getting ready to fly out for a conference in a couple hours. But please, come on in. We can catch up while I pack!” He wanted nothing less than to catch up with Jodie, but he didn’t want to be rude, so he followed her inside.  

He sat on the edge of the bed as she stuffed her suitcase with clothes. 

“Is Tom here?”

“No, he took Jude for a ride. That little sweet monster is teething and being a complete nightmare. He only calms down in the car for some reason.”

“The joys of parenthood,” Addison replied, not knowing what to say. The good thing about Jodie was that you didn’t have to say much, she usually had the conversation covered from all angles on her own. 

“Tell me about it. I thought I was going to be the good parent. Turns out I’m the one that can’t get away fast enough,” she laughed, stuffing another blouse into the already overloaded suitcase. “Don’t tell anyone this, but Tom didn’t want him when he found I was pregnant. He asked me to get an abortion. I told him no way was I killing a baby. You know what his stupid answer was? That murder was justified in that case, because he was going to be a shitty father.” She shook her head in disbelief. “But he’s way better at it than me now. He has a lot more patience,” she mused, and Addison nodded. “Frankly, I wish he’d agree to move out of this damn place and it’s nonstop rain. I want to go somewhere tropical, like Florida. Can you imagine the three of us in Florida, with a beach house that has an outdoor shower? But I can’t even see Tom anywhere else. This town’s gloom has almost become a permanent part of him, you know?” 

“What happened with Steven Hades by the way?” Addison asked, changing the subject.

“Oh gosh, what a freak accident, right? I mean we all know Steven and the bottle were best friends, but I didn’t realize how damn bad it was. But you know the strange thing?” She asked, scrunching her nose is deep thought. “Not many people knew this because he was embarrassed about it, but he was deathly afraid of water. Couldn’t swim. Not sure how Tom even got him to agree to go fishing to be honest,” she replied, then went back to talking about Florida. 

As he was leaving, Jodie promised she would tell Tom that he visited. 

On his last night Addison walked out onto the back porch and popped a bottle of beer. Four miles away, Tom wrangled with his son, who wouldn’t stop crying. His wife had already left, and it was too late to get his parents to help. The little boy continued to wail for no particular reason.

“What is it, Jude?” He asked, but got no reply expect for the continued screams. He was slowly losing his mind. The stress of the week catching up with him finally. And now his son wouldn’t stop crying.

He brought him outside into the back yard, into the cold air, hoping it would calm him down. But the crying continued. It was the most helpless feeling, not knowing what to do, and not being able to ease his pain. “Please, please Jude,” he begged the little boy, bouncing him in his arms. “I don’t know what you want. I don’t know,” he stammered. Then finally he broke down in a long sob, startling the boy into silence. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled through the tears, “I’m sorry.” His legs felt shaky, so he sat down on the grass, holding onto Jude tightly, and looked up at the sky.

Four miles away, and halfway through his beer, Addison’s eyes also drifted to the sky. They both saw it at the same time. The large star shining as bright as the sun. It was Antares, the Scorpion’s heart. 

The beautiful sight made Addison breathless for a long moment. He smiled and felt shivers run down his arms and back. Tom held onto his boy, suddenly feeling the weight of the world release from his shoulders. “It’s okay now,” he said. “Daddy’s got you.” After a long while, they both went back inside. Addison to his childhood bedroom, and Tom to the living room couch.

The next morning, Addison woke up early and gave his mother a kiss goodbye. He took the box with the vintage lamp, then grabbed his bag and walked outside shivering in the brisk morning air, passing his handprints on the front steps, and getting into the waiting yellow cab. The low hum of the idling engine was the only sign of life on Fall River Street.

[chendersonfic]

When 17-year-old Noelle Miller is discovered dead at her private boarding school, the student body and faculty spin into chaos trying to figure out what happened. Suspicion is quickly directed at one of the teachers, as well as a group of five students who all had run-ins with Noelle prior to her death. One student in particular seems to be behaving more strangely than usual. Everyone is hiding secrets, but who is the real killer?

[chendersonfic]

Cole Gordon is living his dream life at 25. He has the perfect man by his side, and together they're moving into a stunning New York City penthouse. Everything is perfect...until it isn't. First it's the silent anonymous phone calls. Then someone starts following him. Who is the woman lurking in the shadows, and what does she want? Finding out the answer might cost him his life.

[chendersonfic]

After the death of his mother, professional dancer and choreographer Louis loses his job and falls into a deep depression. When his partner, Hunter, proposes a change in scenery to help Louis heal from the loss, he reluctantly agrees to move to Hartford, Connecticut.

But soon after the move a serial killer dubbed “The Hartford Menace” starts targeting men throughout the city. Numb from his grief, Louis doesn’t pay the news too much attention. That is, until his sister Francesca points out a terrifying fact: all the victims bear an uncanny resemblance to him.

“I’m looking at you. But you don’t see me. That’s okay. By the time you really notice me watching you, it will be too late.”