Last month, I entered a short story (<2,000 words) contest at Writing Battle, with the above prompts. This is the definition the contest provided for the genre: Ride or Die is a subgenre of Thriller. The central theme revolves around intense loyalty, commitment, and a willingness to go to extreme lengths for a cause, person, or group. It typically features characters who are bound by unbreakable bonds and are willing to face danger, engage in criminal activities, or even risk their lives to protect or support one another. The genre often includes elements of suspense and high-stakes scenarios, keeping the reader engaged and eager to see how characters navigate challenges. “Destiny” and “Defending” should be integral parts of the plot.
The story was evaluated in ten total “duels”— one on one comparisons with another submission in the same genre. I finished with a respectable six wins and four losses— the winners had anywhere from seven to ten wins in their duels. All in all, it’s a great community of writers, and a fun experience. This is lightly edited from that submission, based on feedback from the judges and my writing group.
Let me know what you think!
From my regular perch in the loft of The Sassy Witch, I regarded the smoke curling up from my cigarette, into the musty air. Then he walked in. I watched him stroll with that carefree feline grace of his right through the front door. Past the regulars sitting welded to their stools in the late afternoon light. Juan walked out of the past, into my present, and I felt something shift inside me, like a sheet of ice calving off an iceberg in warm waters.
He looked up to where I sat, nursing a whiskey. Just a faint glint in his eye, half-turned up lip, a shake of his curly locks. I forgot how striking he was, a sharp jawline I could pick out of a crowd anywhere. It hurt to look at him, a stab to my side I didn’t see coming. I stubbed the cigarette out.
The wooden steps creaked as he came up, and just like that, he stood there in front of me. His t-shirt had a cracked and faded silkscreen on the front that said Shall we play a game? How about Global Thermonuclear war?
“Hey Rita.” He smelled like a meadow on a summer day.
“Hey yourself. Wargames, huh?”
He slid into a seat across from me. “You know my weakness for Ally Sheedy.”
I waved at the bartender, Maddy—college kid working the day shift, for another round of Makers. There was a momentary pause while we had a staring contest, updating our internal models of one other.
Finally, he ran fingers through his hair, blew out a breath. “You look tired.”
I shrugged, sipping the last of the whiskey and relishing the burn slowly migrate down my throat. Maybe it would settle the flutter in my stomach, but I doubted it. “Same old Juan.”
Steps on the stairs. Maddy with our drinks. We didn’t speak until we were alone once more.
“The way you left,” I said, looked down at the bar in the afternoon light. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.” No goodbye. No note. Just gone.
Juan took a sip of the drink, wincing. “God, I hate whiskey.” He nodded lightly. “I know. I didn’t end things….well. I have to own that. But I needed to get away. I had to.”
There were so many things I wanted to say, but I went with just one. “But you need me now.”
He exhaled. “I’m in trouble, Rita. I got robbed. By a woman I thought I could trust.”
“There’s your first mistake.”
“Yeah, yeah. Evelyn Roberts. The famous professor. Always on TV, talking about this or that. Heiress to the jewelry store fortune.”
“What about her?”
“I had this book. Old book. It’s valuable. Priceless.”
“What’s in it?”
He gave me a look, the look that said I know this sounds crazy, but go with me for a minute. “It’s called the Acta Fatum. The Journal of Destiny. You can tell what’s going to happen if you read it right.”
I snorted and slugged some whiskey down. “Like a choose your own adventure?”
He considered. “Actually, that’s not a bad comparison.”
“And you need this back, why? Why not just write it off as the cost of a bad romantic decision?” My eyes flicked over to him before coming to rest on the barroom below. More of the regulars were coming in from their jobs, greeting one another with the easy intimacy that comes from years of drinking together. “It wouldn’t be your first.”
Juan grunted. “The journal belonged to my uncle. He entrusted it to me when he passed away three years ago. At first I didn’t know what it was, and by the time I’d figured it out, so had she.”
“Evelyn?”
“Yeah. It’s some ancient stuff. Back in the Renaissance type of thing. I don’t know how it works, but it does. Do you remember when she got famous?”
“No idea.” I squinted. “Wait, was it after she went on TV for the thing in Australia? Two years ago?”
Juan nodded, pleased I’d got it. “She used the book for that.”
“How?”
“It’s hard to explain without having it in front of us. I can show you when we get it.”
“You’re so sure I’m going to help you?”
He smiled at me. “Come on. It’s me. And this has you written all over it. You love a challenge.”
That part was true, at least. “Where is it?”
He pulled a manila folder from his satchel. “She lives out in the country. Alone. Well, her and her Dobermans.”
“Like Magnum P.I. style Dobermans?”
Juan nodded. “It’s a weird hobby of hers. And look at this.” He pointed to an overhead picture in the folder. Taken by a helicopter, no doubt. “Huge maze in the back. I chatted up a couple a few days ago that had gone to a summer party she hosted. The maze is actually a way into the property, past the fencing.” Juan slid a finger along the fence line on the picture. “Provided you know the way, of course. Did I mention she’ll be out of town in two days?”
I lit another cigarette, staring down at the faded barstools and the dirty mirror below. Someone had put on a song in the jukebox. Seger’s “Against the Wind.” I closed my eyes. I hated him for leaving. And I hated myself for how happy I was that he sat in front of me now.
Juan slid a hand over one of mine, lightly stroking it. Soft hands. “You know if you asked me, I’d be there for you. No matter what. So, are you in? Will you help me?”
I opened them. Exhaled. I gave the faintest of nods.
He smiled, like a sunrise. “Alright. I want to run a few ideas by you, see what that Sherlock Holmes brain of yours makes of them.”
Ideas ran, thoughts spiraled, whiskey flowed. Well, wine flowed for him.
Two days passed like a whirlwind, and then we were sprinting through a mansion hallway as an alarm blared from a speaker in the distance. The phone line we cut ensured the system wouldn’t contact the authorities, but the nearest neighbor might hear it.
My mind was still processing what the journal revealed to me in the moments before. While Juan looked on, I had thought of two three-digit numbers. I used the date we met—October 9th, and my debate team record from high school, 11-3. A strange table of numbers on a page so thin it was translucent gave me a page to flip to and a paragraph. The journal had a particular odor—a bitter burned almonds scent I’d always associated with cyanide. I thumbed the pages with shaking hands and slid a finger down to the directed paragraph. I read the words and I couldn’t breathe.
And then were running. But as we did, another noise intruded on the distant klaxon. A scrabble of claws on the wooden steps behind. Juan tripped and fell. A Doberman crested the rise of the stairs and regarded us for a moment in a coiled pose. Then it sprinted down the hall. We’d used up all the tranquilizer-filled steaks we’d brought to deal with other dogs already. Before Juan could get to his feet, wicked fangs latched onto his pant leg.
I’m not proud, but I thought about leaving for a second. A long second. I stared down the other set of stairs. There, lay freedom. I could head down and be gone with the book. I could cobble together a new life. I’d be unstoppable. The moment held, poised in the tumult of sound and violent thrashing. The cries of pain from Juan.
Then I moved. I darted forward to defend Juan and smacked the book into the dog’s snout, knocked its grip on his leg loose. The Doberman snarled and leaped for my face. I blocked it with the journal, and the hound’s jaws latched onto it instead of me. The animal ripped it from my hands and gnawed with a ferocious zeal, using paws to rip and rend the journal.
“What have you done!” Juan cried, staring forlornly at the growing pile of paper shavings on the carpet.
“Saved your ass,” I replied, pulling him to his feet. “Let’s go.” We ran down the stairs before the dog could notice. Retraced our steps through the maze, cutting through the woods back to Juan’s AMC Eagle. Silence filled the car as we drove back to the city, past police cruisers heading towards the place. The neighbors must have called.
“How’s your leg?” I asked finally, as we slowed to a stop at a red light.
He looked over at me, then ahead again, towards the cars sweeping by on the cross-street. “It’s fine.” The light turned green, and he started driving. “Thanks for saving me back there.”
“Don’t mention it.” I fiddled with my pocket. “Sorry about feeding your destiny journal to that bloodthirsty animal.”
He glanced at me with a touch of mirth in his eyes. I felt the calving feeling again.
“Can’t really use the journal if I’m dead, can I?”
“So,” I said, lifting a hand, revealing what I’d had in my pocket. “The night wasn’t a total loss.”
Juan looked over. In the sweep of passing cars, the princess style necklace glinted and flashed as headlights fell on the various stones and finely wrought white gold.
“Is that—”
“It was hanging in a display case in the library. Grabbed it while you were tracking down the journal.”
“Who hangs jewelry in their library?”
I shrugged. “Jewelry store heiresses, apparently.” We pulled to a stop at my place. “Judging by the gems, I figure this will get us high six figures. Maybe seven with the right buyer.”
He entwined his fingers into mine. They felt warm. “Us, huh?”
“You don’t want a share?”
Juan laughed. “What did the journal say?”
“I’ll tell you inside. Come on.” The one with you at this moment is your partner for life, was what I’d read on the chosen page and paragraph of the journal. I didn’t know if I was going to tell him the truth or not. Better to just let things unfold as they would.
Really enjoyed this!
Intrigued!