“A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects.” —Robert A. Heinlein, Time Enough For Love
Welcome to the Renaissance Humans Newsletter, where I focus on sense-making and story-telling in the turbulent twenties. The Renaissance (“rebirth,” in French) spanned from the 14th to the 17th century and marked a period of cultural, artistic, and intellectual renewal in Europe. A Renaissance Human fosters curiosity, critical thinking, and character in a journey of never-ending learning. They cultivate Mind, Body, and Spirit, in service of Community, and oriented to the Transcendentals.
This is a NYC Midnight entry for Flash Fiction, which they’re calling 1000 words. As always, it’s amazing what a 48 hour deadline can do for you— it’s the creative equivalent of what we call a “Time Sensitive Target” or TST, in the Special Operations community. The genre is Suspense, location is Drive-In, and object is Mugshot. This placed 4th in a group of 36 entries. The points for this story, and the one I’m writing for round 2 this weekend will be combined to see if I advance to the next level. Thanks for all of the early readers that helped sharpen this one. Let me know what you think!
Terry idled the Party Palace to a stop at the edge of the drive-in lot. He tamped down the anticipation coursing through his body. His beefy red Ford Transit van accommodated nine passengers comfortably. Plenty of room for just two. The acne-pockmarked ticket puncher at the gate gave him an outside spot because the van would block the cars behind it. Good location, out of the way from the other patrons. Tonight, tonight. He’d get what was owed tonight.
“Have you seen this movie?” the girl asked. She lounged in the seat next to him, bare legs perched invitingly on the dash.
He knew her name but didn’t care. Wouldn’t matter much, one way or the other. But he played the game. Painted on a smile. “Long time ago.”
He found her on Bumble. Or, she found him, since that’s the way the moronic algorithm worked. Flirted for a few weeks and finally got her to agree to a date yesterday. His Aqua Bergamot body spray colonized the air between them, worked its magic.
A sign in the overgrown weeds to their right heralded the evening’s entertainment. Double Feature— Kill Bill, Volume One and Two.
"Been to many of these? It's my first one," she bleated. The drive-in was sparsely attended for a Friday night. Perhaps the looming rain from the slate clouds kept people away.
“From time to time.” Terry gave her that grin again. Guaranteed to stop ‘em in their tracks. He worked on it. Practiced in the mirror. Something about his smile just hypnotized, dazzled. Until it was too late. He always savored the looks. First puzzled, then uncertain, fear growing to terror, and finally, finally, the sweet benediction of acceptance. When they accepted their fate—that was what he ultimately lived for. Fed on it. The final submission to his mastery.
The girl shifted in her seat. “I haven’t seen this in forever. What it’s about?”
Talk about forgettable. Plain brown hair and eyes. Blah. But she would do. “The Bride wants revenge. to get her daughter back. She has to go through a bunch of her old coworkers to get there, though.” He gave her a decent dose of the old Mexican Valium in the margarita on the drive over. No way she could taste it, amidst all that sugar and sour. Terry was sure it was just starting to course through her system.
The girl slid a hand across the dash. “Nice van, though.”
Terry grinned. “Got everything you need in the back—drinks, snacks, and seating to get nice and cozy.”
The girl smiled back.
At least she had good teeth. He’d savor her protests, in just a few short minutes. What a sheep. Almost righteous, what he did. No, it was righteous. A public service he could never take credit for. “I need to visit the facilities. Back soon.”
“Don’t be long,” the girl said suggestively. So anxious to meet her fate.
He gave her another patented smile and crept out. By the time he returned from the bathroom, the girl would be out of it. Then they could find somewhere secluded and get properly acquainted.
On the screen, The Bride was recovering from her four-year coma. Terry eyed the cars around them. Lots of girl-girl couples out tonight. Must be ladies night. The women didn’t look his way—all focused on the screen. He’d never tried a pair of women before. Maybe he would someday. Terry liked a challenge.
By the time he returned, the girl was doing the wobble. Eyes blinking, slowly nodding off. In one hand, she held the mugshot he’d left on the dash. It was stupid thing to do, he knew that. But Terry liked to inject a little bit of danger and uncertainty into the air. Made the thrill just a little bit sweeter at the end.
“You… you were in jail?” Her other hand was in the folds of her jacket, clutching her stomach protectively. Her eyes rolled upward, then returned.
Terry sighed and gave a rueful smile. “It was all a big mix-up. False accusation. Sorority girl. Judge found me not guilty, of course. Because I didn’t do anything. It was consensual, you see.”
“What…. was her name?” She said it thickly. A spinning top close to falling for the final time.
He shrugged. “Who cares. She was a liar.” On the screen, The Bride faced off against the Crazy 88. Swords flashed amidst shadows. Blood spurted. “Hey, why don’t you have a rest in the back. You can lay down, nice and cozy.”
The girl went still. “Her name,” her hand came out of her jacket, holding something. “Was Rachel Sorenson.”
His smile froze on his lips, and he opened his mouth to speak. But no words came. A sharp snap. Something bit him on the chest. Terry’s world contracted, and every muscle in his body fired. Over the chaos, a dry staccato sound. Couldn’t move. Then the sound again. And again. He cried out. Each wave an explosion of agony.
“That’ll gentle you down some,” the girl said. Dimly he registered the woman using her watch to send a text message. She didn’t seem to be intoxicated any more. The doors opened on both sides. Girls. He pawed at them weakly, but each time he did the sound came again, and the white-hot incandescence. Prick on his arm, given by a grim-faced blonde. Girls everywhere. Too many to count.
They dragged him into the back. An Asian, hair tightly coiled, got behind the wheel of the Party Palace, glared his way in the rear view mirror. “Warehouse is ready to receive,” he heard her say.
The beginnings of unease coiled in his guts, slithered its way upward. All of his work, and it came to this.
The girl, his date, leaned over, gave him a wintry smile. “Rachel was our Sister, Terry.”
He was losing it, drifting. Tried to speak. Couldn’t. Vision dimmed. Terry heard one last sentence before it went dark.
“You don’t fuck with Chi Omega.”
Hands down, your best story. I almost stopped reading because it skeezed me out, but the twist brought it together perfectly. Awesome job.
well done, was getting a bit creeped out, but all's well that ends well.