Gladd found the trapdoor that led into the tunnel and held it open for his comrades. When everyone had gone down, he followed and closed the hatch.
Nicholas Jordan’s eyes closed.
The harsh sound of the rainstorm outside of his room at the McLeary Rest Home threatened to make its presence known inside of the building by its wild slashing of the wind through the branches of an old oak tree. The noise of the thunder did nothing to arouse Nicholas Jordan from his bout with unconsciousness. The darkness behind his eyelids was occasionally disturbed by the electric flashing of his synaptic nerves. The only things that mattered at that moment to Mr. Jordan were the images which played on the screen of his resting brain.
It was Oliver Haynes’ first day at his new job in the make-up department at AFC Studios. He was suppose to report to Janice Watts, who was his supervisor at nine o’clock that morning. When he finally found her in Studio C, she took him in hand and showed him around.
“Now, today they will be filming a new television special for the Christmas holidays. You and I will be working on the make-up for the back-up dancers.”
As Gladd got out of bed and opened the curtains, he noticed that the skies were covered by a marine layer. Since it was the weekend and Gladd was started to feel the carbs from last night’s pizza, he decided that he should get some running done. Ever though Gladd had a desk job, he figured that it doesn’t hurt to try to keep fit. You never know when you’ll be chasing a bad guy on foot. On the way back from his run, Gladd picked up a newspaper and stopped into a Starbucks. He ordered a latte with light foam, an apple danish, and found a seat. Gladd scanned the front page but did not read anything of particular interest. He then checked the obituaries (its a habit he picked up at the police academy) in the Extra section. At first, he didn’t notice it because he’s a skimmer, but then something told him to back up. There, near the bottom of the page, was the obituary for Eric Posner. Gladd got out his cell phone and called the station. After three rings, Gladd finally got through. The sergeant at the desk then connected him through to the person in charge of the investigation of Eric Posner’s death. Fortunately, Gladd was on good terms with her.
The gray dust of the building slowly crept within the crack of the elevator door. The air was starting to become heavy and the four people who were trapped in the elevator were feeling various emotions. One slightly heavy-set woman was in a corner on her bended knees silently praying; a man, who looked like an investor, leaned calmly against a panel and, occasionally pushed a button, hoping that this would solve the problem; another
Angela Marsden was ten years old in the year of our Lord, 1896. She came from a very wealthy family from Richmond, Virginia. She was an only child whose parents were very liberal with her as far as discipline was concerned. Angela was raised by a nanny, Bridget, who had emigrated to the United States from Ireland twenty years ago, when she had been a young girl of fourteen. Bridget had been charged with their daughter’s education as far as manners were concerned and, therefore, Angela grew up to be well-mannered and caring, despite her parent’s doting on her. 1896 would also prove to be a pivotal year in Angela’s life, one which would change her forever.
What none of the men had seemed to notice was a blue Camry sitting across the street from the hotel with a certain off duty officer in it. Sergeant Ray Henson was doing his shift of keeping a eye out on the Anduiza Hotel. He had noticed the security guard, who was still in his company uniform, getting into his car. He knew that the man had made a call from outside of the hotel, then went in. He had also seen two suspicious men enter the
(Fear of time moving forward)
The clouds in the night sky were slowly sailing along, occasionally cutting across the diminished face of the full moon. It had rained the night before and, due to the cool daytime temperatures, there were still puddles of muddy water on the ground and beaded drops on the blades of grass. In a corner of the south wall of Sharpsville Prison, a black widow spider was beginning to spin a fresh net of silk for potential prey.
“In the name of the holy mother Inanna and her consort Erishkegal, I pray for blessing on you all. The purpose of the Religion Committee is to make sure that through various media outlets, we are able to influence people’s thinking while keeping them oblivious to other matters which the chair people of the other committees will be involved in. Our committee is already proud to announce that we have formed an organization with other religious
The stars shined brightly through the canopy of the jungle. The occasional growl of a jaguar sounded along the breeze which came up after the late afternoon rain shower. One Flower’s father and the other men of the small tribe had returned from their long day of hunting, bringing with them a deer and a wild pig. There was enough meat to feed the village for at least a full day, and the bones and hides would be welcome additions to the villagers small trading wealth. The village lies about a full day’s journey south of the Great Capital of Tikal. Once a month, some of the men and women from the tribe would go to the market place of Tikal and trade their hides for things that had been brought from all of the other tribes of the Empire. A special treat for these villagers was the variety of fish brought in by the coastal tribes. The last time that One Flower’s father had returned from Tikal, he had brought her a special present, a beautiful piece of jade which the village craftsman had carved into the face of an owl for her to wear as a necklace and which had been strung on a thin strip of deer hide.