Funeral Bells

“Where am I?” I muttered, coming awake. “Man, my head hurts.” I shook it to clear my vision only to discover I was in fact in total darkness and shaking my head only made it hurt worse. 

“Am I blind?” I wondered. My eyes darted around wildly, but nothing, not one ray of light was to be found. 

“It feels like I’m moving. Why am I moving?” I have to think. I remember that I was driving home. Damn! My head hurts. Why is it so hot in here and why am I having such a hard time breathing?” 

Although I’m trying to move, my arms are crossed over my chest for some reason and it feels like there is some sort of belt over my waist preventing me from moving. “Why would someone put so many blankets on me and strap me down no less?”

“Let’s see. Think Greyson. There were bright lights in my eyes. Someone was in my lane coming right at me. I tried to swerve but they hit me anyway – hard. I must have hit the steering wheel or the windshield and blacked out. That’s all I remember. I must be in an ambulance, that’s why I’m strapped down. But, we aren’t moving that fast and the siren isn’t running; at least I don’t hear one. Why not? Maybe I burst my eardrums when I hit my head and that’s why I can’t hear it. No; my ears would hurt too, and they don’t, although my face and neck feel wet.”

“I’m struggling again, but my arms are immobile. Why would they make the straps this tight?”

“Why does it stink back here? And why is no one checking my vital signs or trying to talk to me? Don’t they talk to the patient in all the television shows? My breath is coming back at me and it’s hotter and hotter. It feels thin like there isn’t much oxygen. What the hell? They have something on my face. Is that a zipper going up my nose?” 

“Oh God! That’s not a blanket. I’m in a body bag. I’m in a freaking body bag! They think I’m dead. Am I? I can hear myself talking? Or, am I just thinking and it’s the voice in my head? Do dead people think? Of course not; I wouldn’t notice how hard it is to breathe if I was dead anyway; right?”

“Hey!” I must fight to get out of here. “Can anyone hear me back here? Let me out?” I can feel the zipper now, but it only has a pull on the other side –the outside. “I guess they aren’t used to people just unzipping and walking out of these things.”

I am using too much air. “Slow your breathing; conserve your oxygen.” 

Suddenly it occurs to me that I have a knife in my pocket, but I can’t get to it because of the damn strap. I wonder…If I wiggle just right it might fall out and I can get to it. My wife complains all the time about my change falling out of my pockets on the couch and then it gets between the frame and the cushions and gets caught in the vacuum cleaner. “Just a little more,” I remind myself. “Wiggle a little more. I can feel it inching towards the opening. Now, if I could just reach it with my other hand since they have my arms ridiculously crossed.”

“Yes! There you go man. Got it. Just pull your arms back into a praying position and you can open it. You’ve done it a million times; you don’t even have to see it to do it.”

“Now, where is that tip? Ouch; there it is. Push it through the bag. A little harder now. Man this stuff is tough; they made it to reuse- a lot.” Groan. “There. It’s through. I have some air. Glorious air!” 

Breathing deeply I saw away at the fabric until I can get a hand to the zipper. “Down you go.” Free at last, I sit up and unhook the strap holding my waist and finish the job of the zipper until my feet are free as well. No one has bothered to check on my back here. They’d probably go off the road and kill me for sure if they did. I feel my forehead and sure enough there is a lot of blood, but I can see. It is dark, but only because there are no lights on back here. I can see out the windows at the wonderful night sky. The stars are bright and the moon is shining like a beacon in spite of the street lights.

Oh, we’re here. Let’s see how they react now.

The doors to the ambulance opened to the morgue bay. A solemn attendant stood waiting, clipboard in hand to check him in. He looked up and turned pale.

“This,” Greyson said pointing to the gurney and mangled bag. “This is why they used to always put a string with a bell on it when they buried people,” he said. “I nearly suffocated in that awful thing.” 

The attendant radioed for help. “We got an actual live one here,” he yelled into the mic as the ambulance driver and the EMT stared with their mouths agape.

Vacation in Paradise

I thought I would try what is called a summer beach read. That is a short light romance one can take to the beach to read. If only life were this simple!
                                                   *********************

“Ahh,” Carly said, “The sun, the sand, no phones, no tech whatsoever, no worries.” She took the fruity run drink from the resort waiter. “I haven’t had a vacation in years; saved two years to here,” she told him.

“Yes, Ma’am,” the waiter replied. He picked up the signed bar check he had handed her first. “Enjoy.” He smiled and did a small bow before going to the next beach chair.

Carly stuck the small straw to her lips and sipped the sweet, icy beverage. She settled back in the chair and closed her eyes, her hand resting on the glass in its cup holder.

Suddenly she realized she in the shade. Opening her eyes she saw that someone had repositioned her umbrella. “What in the world?” she exclaimed, sitting up and looking around.

Her eyes caught sight of the expensive leather men’s sandals first, and then moved up to beige linen trousers billowing lightly in the breeze. She shifted her eyes upward to the green button-down tropical patterned shirt and then the most handsome tanned face she had ever seen. The man had a bright white smile with a dimple on his left cheek, smiling black eyes and short cropped black hair with a slight wave on top. She stared at him mouth agape slightly.

“Can’t have you burning that beautiful fair skin of yours; can we?” he said in a voice that reminded her of a British monarch.

Coming back to herself she replied, “I think I should decide if want to look like a lobster.”

He laughed out loud. “As you wish,” he chuckled and moved her umbrella back to its original position putting her back in the full sun’s rays. “Charles,” he called to the waiter, “Please bring her a tube of SPF 35. She would like to get some sun, but I don’t think she really wants to burn.”

“Yes, sir; straight away,” the waiter answered him. 

“Have an enjoyable afternoon, Madam,” the man said and sauntered back to the resort.

A moment later Charles returned, slightly out of breath, with the sunscreen. “Her you are. Will there be anything else?” he asked.

“Wow, that was fast,” Carly said. “Who was that?”

“Harrison Conroy, Ma’am. He is the owner. He is always checking on the guests, making sure they are in need of nothing. This place is his life.”

Carly raised an eyebrow. “Interesting.” She said. “I’ll have to thank him later,” she said, indicating the tube of sunscreen.

Charles nodded and quietly walked away.

“I didn’t order this,” Carly told the waitress in the restaurant later. 

The woman replied, “Mr. Conroy thought you might like an appletini.”

“Oh, does he do that for all the guests too?” Carly asked her.

“Oh, no Ma’am,” she replied. “He certainly sends Champagne to honeymooning guests, but not individual drinks, no. At least I’ve never seen him do it, and I’ve been here ten years.” She gave Carly a wink. “I think he fancies you,” she added in a whisper.

Carly chuckled. “I can’t imagine I made that good an impression, but thank him for me.”

After dinner Carly wandered over the resorts dance club. The music was loud and bodies moved to the beat of the music underneath a mirrored glass ball. She ordered a glass of wine and stood near a tall table watching the couples dance and groups of friends drag one another out onto the floor to dance. “I should have brought someone along too,” she sighed. She left her glass, half-finished on the table and left the club. 

Carly grabbed a cup of coffee from a beach side coffee shop and leaned over the deck railing walking the waves gently roll to shore and back out as the full moon reflected on the water further out to sea. She breathed deeply relaxing and almost dropped her coffee.

A hand reached out and steadied the cup. Carly jumped and then saw whose hand it was. She smiled. “Mr. Conroy; you saved me once again.”

He smiled. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“It’s just so beautiful and peaceful,” she said with a shrug.

“This is my favorite time of day,” he said. “Work is done and there is the beach mostly empty of people.”

Carly nodded. “It’s better shared,” she said absently, looking at a couple seated in the sand laughing with one another.

“Yes, it is,” Harrison returned. “Please call me Harrison,” he said

.

Carly nodded. “I’m Carly,” she added just in case he hadn’t already figured out her name.

“Carly, it is so nice to meet you,” he said and gently patter her hand.

For the rest of the week Carly found herself in the company of Harrison Conroy. He would suggest an outing away from the usual tourist attractions and she would go. They had dinner together and made a round at the night club.

“Are you sure you don’t do this all the time?” Carly finally asked him on their last evening together. They were walking on the beach holding hands, their shoes in their other hands.

“I haven’t had a break from work in years either. I live in Paradise and I don’t get to enjoy it. I thought I was living the ultimate vacation,” he added. “And then you said it was better shared, and I knew you were right.”

Carly smiled and kissed his cheek. “Well, I could do this everyday day, but unfortunately, reality bites and I have a flight back to Chicago early in the morning. I still have to pack.

Harrison walked Carly to her room and kissed her passionately.

“I have wanted to do that for days,” he said. “I have to work, but my driver will pick you up. You have to be there two hours early for international flights remember,” he said changing the subject.

A tear slid down Carly’s face. She didn’t dare utter what she was dying to say so she just said quietly, “Thank you. You’ve made this the most memorable vacation I have ever had, or probably ever will have again.”

Harrison smiled as he wiped the tear away with his thumb. “Good night, Carly.”

Two weeks later…

“Girl, you came back from that island glowing and happy and well rested,” Carly’s friend Monica told her. “I know Chicago is pretty rough, especially compared to St. Thomas, but you look like crap.”

“Gee, thanks Monica,” Carly told her. “I just can’t stop thinking about Harrison.”

“The resort owner! You never did tell me much about that,” she said.

Carly pulled out her cell phone and displayed a photo she had taken of Harrison Conroy.

“Oh, he is gorgeous,” Monica said. “No wonder you’re having a hard time.” She looked through the glass panel in Carly’s office wall next to the door. “Even better in person.”

“What?” Carly hit the button closing the display screen and put her phone down. She followed Monica’s gaze. “Oh, my God,” she said quietly and slowly. Her phone buzzed and it made her jump.

“Carly, there is someone out here to see you,” the receptionist said.

“I’ll be right there,” Carly replied. She quickly ran her fingers through her hair and straightened her skirt as she stood.

Monica laughed. “He’s seen you without makeup, in a bathing suit no less. Don’t worry about it; just go.”

Carly blushed and smiled. She tried to look confident as she entered the outer office, but gave up the closer she got to the desk and just ran the last fifteen feet with her arms outstretched. 

Harrison caught her and kissed her. “Did you mean what you said about being able to work on the island every day?”

Carly smiled and nodded. 

“Then I need your help desperately. I can’t eat, or sleep, or think. You are all I see. I love you," he said.

Carly smiled. She turned to her co-workers who were beaming at them. “Tell the boss I quit. Sorry about the short notice. Send my stuff to my apartment, but do it quick. I won’t be there long.”

BOLO

Ken sat behind the wheel of his old Sportage tapping his fingers intermittently with wiping sweat off his forehead. He stared at his watch willing it to change. As the minutes dragged on, he finally ran a hand over his sparse hair and then lit a cheap generic cigarette. The smoke drifted from his mouth, nose, and the end of the lit tobacco. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. The sound from his wrist watch grew louder in his ears until it was replaced by an intense ringing of the alarm bell as his friends ran from the bank. Each dove into the back seat floorboard, pulling the doors shut and removing their masks. 

“Get the hell out of here!” one shouted. “You waiting for an engraved invitation?”

Ken sped away and drove fast for two blocks. He turned a corner and slowed down to the posted speed limit.

“What are you doing knuckle head?” the man asked.

“Shut up, Clarence. If I speed past a traffic cam it will take our picture. We don’t that,” Ken added slowly.

“Yeah, Clarence,” Ralph, the other man said. “We need to be all nice and normal; just three guys out for a spin.” 

Ken closed the garage door behind the vehicle. He looked out a window on the door and scanned the neighborhood. The street was quiet.

“Ken, get in here!” Clarence yelled from inside the house.

“What?” Ken said irritated. He yanked the refrigerator open and pulled out a can of beer.

“They’ve got a BOLO on you man. How’d they get a look at you?”

“They have a drawing that sort of looks like me; no name,” Ken replied, pointing at the television as they re-ran the story on the bank robbery. “What was I supposed to do? Sit there with a mask on my head? Nothing says ‘call the cops’ like a man in a mask sitting outside a bank behind the wheel with the engine running.”

“Just lay low. We’ll dump the car,” Clarence said. “You remember where the money will be?”

“Yes. It’s going to be in locker forty at the bus station,” Ken replied.

“Your share,” Clarence corrected. “Me and Ralph will take ours and split up.”

“What?”

“It was your plan,” Ralph said. “You’re the one who is behind on your mortgage.”

“I’m also the one they have the drawing of,” Ken said. 

“Just lay low. I’ll remove the VIN tags so they won’t ID you as the owner if they find it. Wipe it down too; the whole works,” Clarence said. He tapped Ralph on the shoulder and motioned to the door with his head. 

Ken sat starring at the television as the other two left with his vehicle and the money, which had added up to only twenty grand; divided up three ways was not enough to save his home. They had used funs so it would land him fifteen years if he was caught. 

The next morning Ken carefully opened his door, barely stepping outside long enough to grab his newspaper from the porch. He closed the door and locked it. 

Unfolding the morning edition, he scanned the front page for the story on the robbery. In a paragraph subtitled Update he found that a source close to the police had told the reported a vehicle matching the description of the one involved in the robbery was found with a body murdered inside. No further information was available.

“Which one?” Ken screamed, and knocked over his coffee. He hung his head as the hot beverage ran off the table onto the floor. “The money is gone,” he wailed. He shook his head as a thought came to him: Two men went into the bank wearing masks. Someone saw him speeding away and one man was dead in the get-away car. Somebody is getting away with the money and murder.

He looked up when he heard the sirens. He nodded his head as he spoke to no one. “He left the VIN plates intact too. Had to be Clarence; he’s the only one mean enough to make sure he got pinned with the whole thing.”

Ken opened the door and sat on the porch with his hands behind his head. 

Officers, guns drawn, approached Ken, identified him and read him his rights.

“You are under arrest for felony bank robbery and the murder of Clarence Menlow,” one said.

Ken looked up wide eyed. “It was Clarence; not Ralph?’

“What do you mean? You sound surprised,” the arresting officer said.

 “I didn’t think he had it in him. Ralph didn’t even take a loaded gun into the bank,” Ken said.

“You understand you have just incriminated yourself in the bank robbery?” the officer asked.

“It doesn’t matter. I’ve lost everything anyway,” Ken replied.

…In a bar in Mexico, Ralph laughed with a beautiful, black-haired young woman as he ordered two more bottles of beer.