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A Zimbell House Anthology

THIS BOOK IS A WORK of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. All characters appearing in this work are the product of the individual author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the written permission of the publisher.

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Zimbell House Publishing

PO Box 1172

Union Lake, Michigan 48387

mail to: info@zimbellhousepublishing.com

© 2019 Zimbell House Publishing, et al.

Published in the United States by Zimbell House Publishing

http://www.ZimbellHousePublishing.com

All Rights Reserved

Trade Paper ISBN: 978-1-64390-075-9

.mobi ISBN: 978-1-64390-076-6

ePub ISBN: 978-1-64390-077-3

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019944797

First Edition: July 2019

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Zimbell House Publishing

Union Lake

Acknowledgments

ZIMBELL HOUSE PUBLISHING would like to thank all those that contributed to this anthology. We chose to show-case seven new voices that best represented our vision for this work.

We would also like to thank our Zimbell House team for all their hard work and dedication to these projects.

A Tangled Web

Todd Salvia

"O, what a tangled web we weave

When first we practice to deceive!"

–Sir Walter Scott

Y ou sure we’ve been dating long enough for me to meet your parents? Lane Curry asked Andrea Alhazen. They drove past a sign telling them they had crossed into Connecticut.

Andrea looked over to Lane from the passenger seat and deadpanned, Yeah, I would say five years is enough. Probably would’ve appeared impulsive if we did it any sooner.

Lane knew he was being scolded again about his fear of commitment. He drove on in silence, considering a civil response that wouldn’t ruin their two-hour-long trip to Fairfield. When he finally spoke up, Lane continued looking out the windshield. I deserved that, he apologized. You’re right. Most couples would’ve made this visit years ago.

Minutes ticked by as Lane waited for Andrea’s reaction to his olive branch, but it never came. Finally, he took a deep breath.

Listen, babe. I love you very much and I definitely wanted to get to know your folks sooner. It’s just ... well, you know, I got some stuff that I’m still dealing with.

Lane suspected that the excuse of his own parents’ ugly divorce had worn pretty thin with Andrea by now. He felt himself becoming angry and defensive when she remained quiet. He turned his attention back to the road. At least give me some credit for actually going along with today’s trip, Lane said.

Andrea exhaled and rested her hand on Lane’s thigh. She firmly squeezed his leg muscle and began to gently massage it. I wanted to show you off. I’m proud to have you, she said, her voice thick with emotion.

And I’m a lucky SOB to have you, Lane said as he leaned over and kissed a salty tear from her cheek. You’re too good for me, you know, he added. Now, tell me again about your dad.

A devilish smirk appeared on Andrea’s face as it brightened. Well ... his hands are the size of a catcher’s mitt and he’s a member of the NRA. My dad was so protective of me in high school that I never went on more than one date with the same boy.

Okay! That’s it! I’m turning around right now, Lane quipped, pretending to steer toward the next highway exit.

Ah, you’ll do fine, hon, Andrea laughed, reaching at the wheel. You’re twice the man those boys ever were! Plus, Daddy’s mellowed a lot since he retired. He’s gonna make a wonderful grandfather ...

Uh-huh, Lane said, not listening as he read a highway sign in the distance.

Andrea poked Lane and pointed at her stomach and smiled.

Oh! ... Oh, boy! Lane exclaimed as he finally got the hint. He goosed the gas pedal in his excitement."Or a girl, Andrea added. Too soon to tell."

"Really?"

Really.

AFTER ALL THE BURGERS, hot dogs, and coleslaw were eaten, Jim Alhazen invited Lane to see his new flat screen television.

I might've spent too much, the man confessed as they walked down the hallway to the far end of the house. Got her mounted up on the wall like a movie screen. Takes up so much space, I had to move my twelve-point buck to another wall. Wait ‘til you hear the surround sound system. You’ll be coming down here every weekend to watch ball games!

Jim led Lane into a sparsely furnished room. On one end sat a large leather couch, almost the width of the small space. In front of the couch stood a chunky, wooden coffee table with a slab of an old pine tree on top. Across the room, on the far wall, hung Jim’s new pride and joy. Lane was impressed. At their condo, Andrea and he still owned an unwieldy, old-fashioned tube-style set.

This was Andrea’s bedroom growing up, Jim said, reaching into a MicroFridge beside the couch to grab a couple of beers. I finally converted it into my man cave now that I’ve got all this free time.

Thanks, Lane said, cracking open his drink. Every man needs a getaway. You’re giving me ideas for remodeling my little home office. He then pointed toward the TV with his can. What’s it ... like forty-eight inches?

Sixty-five, Jim said with a tinge of pride. Matches my age. Ellen and I had Andrea later in life. With a loud groan, he sat down on the couch and patted the cushion next to him. Take a load off, son, and I’ll fire her up for you. Jim cleared his throat with a short cough and reached for the remote control next to a huge rock-like centerpiece.

As Jim brought up the sports channel and expounded on the technical features of his new purchase, Lane set down his beer and leaned in for a look at the curiosity. He estimated it to be eighteen inches wide and half as tall. The rock-thing was a dull black color and had a pockmarked texture that reminded Lane of cooled lava. There also appeared to be tiny shards of glass embedded throughout the surface.

With his fingers, Lane traced a rusted iron bar that protruded slightly from the surface. The bar conformed to the object’s shape, looping into the opposite side of the object. To Lane, the rock looked like a giant metallic tapeworm feasting on a burnt chunk of meat. Straight out of a science fiction movie, or a horror flick.

Andrea didn’t tell me you were an art collector, Mr. Alhazen, Lane said. He thought that only someone with a very hot kiln and blacksmith tools could have created such a strange, evocative piece.

Jim Alhazen erupted into a loud laugh that quickly evolved into a ragged coughing jag. Call me Jim, he gasped. He took a deep swig from his can. Much better. Nothing cools the throat like an ice-cold beer!

I always get sick with every change of season, Lane offered.

It’s a hell of a cold, if that’s what is, Jim said. Had it for months now. I can’t seem to shake it. Ellen’s forcing me to see my doctor on Monday. She’s convinced I need antibiotics. The man then shook his head. I think all my years of smoking have finally caught up with me. As they say, it’s time to pay the piper.

How long ago did you quit?

Oh, seven years back. After breathing all that nasty dust at Ground Zero, I finally lost the craving.

Lane frowned, not following the conversation thread anymore. Are you talking about New York on 9/11?

Damn right I am! Jim said, fighting another coughing fit. They called our firm to help clean up on that hellish day. I worked in the Big Apple my whole career as a heavy equipment operator. Sometimes, I’d spent months at a time away from home on a job site. Of course, I’d always come back on the weekends, especially when Andie was young. Jim stopped and looked sidelong at Lane. Didn’t you ever ask her what her father did for work?

Lane felt his face burning. Andrea’s biggest pet peeve about him was that he wasn’t interested in learning about her early life. Now that you mention it, I’m almost positive she said you worked construction, Lane lied.

Pleased with Lane’s answer, Jim returned to his story. "Lower Manhattan ... in the rubble. That’s where I found your piece of art ... although I call it my meteorite. Looks to me like something that would fall from outer space."

Lane couldn’t help but touch the dark lump again. What’s it made of?

Believe it or not, the compressed floors of the Twin Towers. It’s concrete, melted steel, window glass, office furnishings! Jim snapped off a charred fin poking out from the molten mass and handed it to Lane. Copier paper, he said.

Lane crushed the petrified shard between his fingers and watched it crumble into a cloud of fine dust. He felt overwhelmed with feelings of anger and sad-ness. Stronger than he had felt while watching the fateful day on a TV at the Student Union in college. The attacks and collapse of the towers didn’t seem real to him then, no matter how many times the news had replayed it. As he touched this impossible amalgam in person, Lane began to understand the utter devastation.

I hate to think about it, Jim said in an apologetic tone, but there are probably pulverized bodies in the mix too. The only human remains found at Ground Zero were no larger than the length of your fingernail. Lane shuddered at the thought as he backed away from the artifact.

Hope I don’t come off as rude, Jim, he said, "but how the hell did you come to own this ... um, souvenir? I mean, wouldn’t the government want it for evidence or DNA testing or something?"

Well, to tell you the truth, I took it! Jim declared, his eyes twinkling.

What?! Lane blurted with incredulity.

"Now, before you start judging me, let me explain. First, I wouldn’t have done it if this was the only meteorite at the site. These suckers were everywhere! This one I actually broke off from a much larger piece, about the size of this here table.

And secondly, Jim continued, I also thought preserving evidence at the biggest crime scene in American history would be a high priority for the Feds or the State of New York. But, in reality, nobody seemed to care, especially in those early hours.

Jim got up and closed the door to his modest home theater, then began speaking to Lane in a hushed tone. Late on September 11th, before the rescue dogs were called in, our task was to collect as many steel beams as we could. We had to do it as fast as possible. All night long we loaded them into a never-ending convoy of dump trucks.

Well, I’m sure that was a big help with the search and rescue effort the next day, Lane said. I doubt that examining the wreckage was anyone’s top priority, with so many people missing.

That’s what I thought at first, too. I figured they would relocate the steel to another location nearby, someplace like Fresh Kills.

"Fresh Kills?" Lane asked, bewildered.

Yeah, it’s a huge landfill on Staten Island, Jim explained. "Anyway, I started talking to one of the drivers. Told me they were unloading the iron onto barges bound for