Thick Black Night: Symbiont Wars Saga, #5

There is an inward state that must be achieved in order for words and actions to be effective.

–  Chin-Ning Chu

CHAPTER 1 – Preaching To The Choir

One by one, Kaitlin wiped down the covers of the books she’d been reading over the past two weeks and slipped them back into the plastic Kroger shopping bag. Last to go in was the big disappointment— Thick Face, Black Heart . Her mouth turned up at one corner as the book went into the bag with the rest.

Cool title though.

But it sure took enough pages to say, ‘You need to be ruthless and not care what others think to get what you want’.

Preachin’ to the choir on that, Reverend Chu.

It seemed most of the book was concerned with justifying that premise or softening it up, and it wasn’t anything Nicolo Machievelli hadn’t said in The Prince, four hundred years earlier.

The blurb that had connected the book to Sun Tzu’s The Art of War had convinced Kaitlin to give it a chance. She’d read the entire book, just to see if there were any nuggets to help her with her own wars.

The best one she’d found was, A knife has great utility, and, without it, life would be extremely inconvenient. Yet a knife is also a deadly weapon.

To Kaitlin’s way of thinking, the deadly weapon part was what held the greatest utility. Kaitlin checked to make sure Blondie was clear in the highest right pocket of her cargo shorts.

Yep.

She’d read enough psychology books to know that Mr. Matthews—the school psychologist who’d tried to get her to talk about what was bothering her every week —would probably consider Blondie a crime trophy. But Kaitlin preferred thinking of her as a rescued pet.

The other prisoners of her stepfather’s expensive knife collection had all gone to better homes while bringing in needed currency to help Kaitlin fund her escape.

She wished them well and continued putting the books away.

Kaitlin had stopped reading self-help books about a year ago. There had been a few helpful concepts she’d uncovered from them, but most of them seemed to have no understanding of what kept people chained in their minds.

Fear.

The ones that did, she’d read twice.

Kaitlin put her things in her backpack, sliding the tablet and Bluetooth keyboard into the foil-lined layer where she kept the books she ‘checked out’ from the libraries she visited. Without that special section in her pack, she wouldn’t be able to get the books past the scanners at the door. Then she’d never be able to read a physical book outside of library hours.

Her other reading site—for when she had to find something obscure—was good old B&N with free access for all Ebook titles within their Wi-Fi range.

Since it was almost time for the library to open, she finished her coffee and left the McDonalds, tossing the cup in the trash as she exited.

The library was a short trek across a parking lot, and she emptied the books into the after-hours bin as she passed by. As usual, she kept her hoodie pulled over her face and unruly red hair when passing the security cameras.

Her ride out of town would be leaving in an hour, so she stopped by the ATM, withdrew the $300 maximum from her account then caught the city bus to a stop close to the address the rideshare people had given her.

She spotted another ATM at the corner and decided to stock up on cash more since it was convenient—again, using the techniques she’d learned to avoid being ID’d on camera. Since she was on her way back to Dallas to file for emancipated minor status, Kaitlin really didn’t need to hide anymore, but she didn’t have a reason to stop using the habits that had kept her safe, alive and off the grid for three years.

She wasn’t worried her mother might contest her filing of it. Kaitlin was more than willing to drag her stepfather into court to show cause that the home environment was unsuitable. She still had the video recordings she’d captured on her phone of Dan’s creepy attempts to seduce her, and even had the name of a good lawyer in Dallas if it came to that. But it wouldn’t. She knew what motivated her mother, and that motivation would keep her from trying to rein Kaitlin in.

She sighed. The situation illustrated the truth that your opponent’s fear was your ally, and Kaitlin knew how strong the force of that was. She’d seen its power in her mother’s face for years.

Fear: once an enemy, now an ally.

Kaitlin pushed her long, even stride to her fastest walk on the way to the modest ranch house in the suburbs outside Atlanta.  The church network had scored the rideshare to Dallas for her—with an older couple heading west to visit their grandkids during summer vacation.

Last week, Kaitlin had an extended phone chat with the woman, Beatrice Handy, a retired science teacher. No red flags came up during the talk, and Kaitlin’s story about traveling home from visiting friends went down without comment. Beatrice was more interested in talking about what Kaitlin’s interests were than her situation and family.

When she’d learned Kaitlin was a writer who was actually paid for what she published, Beatrice vowed to go online and buy some of her books so they would have something else to chat about on the drive.

If she wanted to... Beatrice had said.

Kaitlin had warned Beatrice that though her latest series of books was for young adults, they weren’t kid’s books and included some rough-edged material and language. But Beatrice had just chuckled. I may be old, but I’m not made of glass. Honestly, Kaitlin, in every generation, young people think they invented sex, swearing and violence.

When Kaitlin rang the doorbell, a tall, older man answered, looking down at her with eyes framed by white, bushy eyebrows that hovered only a few inches below the top of the doorway.

Mr. Handy? Kaitlin said.

Good morning, and yes I am, he said.

I’m Kaitlin. I spoke with Beatrice on the phone last week about the rideshare.

Of course, of course. Come in, he said. "I’m sorry. After reading your book, I was expecting someone older. Beatrice told me I just had to read it, and I’m glad I did."

He opened the door and stepped aside. You certainly led your characters on a harrowing ride in that one. He chuckled, turning to face down the hall. Beatrice, our young author has arrived.

Well bring her in for breakfast, Bernard. Footsteps sounded in the hall then a bustle of Beatrice came around the corner.

So that’s what ‘spry’ looks like.

Kaitlin made some mental notes. Most of her characters were younger. There weren’t many older people in her life to draw on for inspiration.

Welcome, Kaitlin, Bernice said, reaching out with both hands to clasp Kaitlin’s in a firm welcome. I made a batch of Welsh tea cakes, and they just came out of the oven. We can bring the rest with us for snacks on the way. How do you like your tea, dear?

Kaitlin, sensed the right answer wasn’t ‘sweet and iced’—even though that was the only way anyone drank it where she’d grown up.

She smiled. In a cup with good company, she said, using a phrase she usually applied to coffee.

Oh, I can see you don’t save all your good words for your stories. Come in and sit down for a few minutes. Bernard has the bus all ready to go, but let’s see how my teacakes turned out. They should be cool enough to eat by now.

Kaitlin pulled her arms out of her backpack straps and set it by the door.

I hope you aren’t allergic to eggs, wheat or currants? Beatrice said.

No ma’am, said Kaitlin, taking a chance on the currants, which she didn’t remember ever eating. It smells wonderful.

She followed Beatrice into the dining room. The table was set with fine china and much more than just tea and cakes.

Beatrice bustled some more around the table. Since we are traveling I thought we’d just have a continental breakfast and bring along all the leftovers, she said. Would you like some granola? I can’t drink dairy milk, but we have some they make from cashews now, if you care for any.

Kaitlin sensed the right thing to do was to let Bernice feed her.  The couple seemed harmless, and Kaitlin was good at spotting people who were trouble.

Still, she made sure to select plates and utensils that weren’t the first available and only ate what she’d seen Bernard and Beatrice eat first. It didn’t stop her from enjoying the teacakes with the hot tea. She could see how someone might think tea was an acceptable alternative to coffee, provided you could have these incredible cakes at the same time.

As the tea and cakes continued to disappear, and their conversation branched out, Kaitlin noted that Bernice was treating her with unusual deference. After thinking about it, Kaitlin figured her series of Young Adult novels—the ones that paid for food and clothes while she traveled under the radar—represented something besides a portable job in Bernice’s mind.

To Bernice, Kaitlin was a celebrity.

Kaitlin had been writing since she was thirteen. She wrote what she liked to read—gritty stories about teens struggling with their problems. Even after she’d abandoned hope of staying with her mother—choosing the life of a runaway instead of suffering Dan’s attempts to corner her—she would find a coffee house somewhere and pound out stories on her cheap Android tablet and Bluetooth keyboard.

That was how she’d met Brian.

CHAPTER 2 – Rent

Kaitlin had been on her way south, but had holed up in a little downtown coffee shop in a town in the middle of Virginia, trapped by an early snowstorm and a cold snap. The group she was travelling with—catching rides in boxcars—had decided to stay in a traveler community nearby. Kaitlin had felt unsure of her safety there, and had decided to move on. But she’d waited too long. Now she wasn’t sure which way to jump.

Traveling with cold or frozen water falling on your head sucked.

On her way back from the bathroom—in between cups of coffee—she’d noticed a book lying on the table where a guy was working by himself at a laptop. He’d been there all afternoon, attacking his keyboard.

She wasn’t sure what made her stop, but she’d just read that same book the day before at the library where she’d been haunting the Young Adult section.

Hey, I just read that book at the library yesterday, she said. Maybe she’d grown too used to being around people from traveling in a group. Normally, she wouldn’t have taken a chance on talking to a stranger, but she’d been watching him, off and on, for hours and hadn’t gotten a bad vibe from him.

He looked up and met her eyes. Oh? Was it any good?

Kaitlin pursed her lips, tapping her finger on her wrist. I liked it that the author didn’t talk down to the reader, even though it was written for a younger audience, Kaitlin said.

The man nodded. Yeah, I hate it when they do that.

Kaitlin spent a second sizing him up further. He didn’t dress in a business suit or business-casual the way most of the early-weekday-traffic people did in this coffee house. Instead, he wore jeans. A tie-died tee shirt peeked out from the collar of his black hoodie. She’d seen him here before too. He seemed too old to be a student at any of the nearby colleges

Why is it on your table though? she said. It’s written for teens and you aren’t reading it. The binding on it hasn’t even been opened.

The man grinned, white teeth splitting his sun-browned face. Busted! he said. I’ll tell you why, but you have to promise to keep it quiet.

She grinned in reply and nodded.

With his foot, he pushed out a chair for her to sit down. The evangelical college in town has some sort of witnessing class as part of their curriculum, he said. They send students around to coffee houses in the area to sell religion. They don’t usually believe me when I say I have enough already. Even though I pretty much believe what they do. It seems I still have to pass a quiz. I tried pointing out that their methods were alienating people rather than converting them, but that didn’t work either. It got to where it was keeping me from working. So now, when they ask if they can sit down, I change the subject from religion to books and sell them one of mine. They either buy or leave. I have no idea how many of them read the books, but I invite them to come back and discuss it when they’ve finished. A few actually did come back to talk, but only one had given up on trying to get me to come to their church."

Kaitlin laughed then paused. Wait, she said. You wrote that book?

Yeah, and I donated two copies to the library. My name’s Brian, by the way.

That’s not the name on the cover.

I use a pen name. I promote my books, not my personal identity.

Kaitlin pursed her lips. My name’s Kaitlin, she said, surprising herself by using her real name instead of her street name.

It’s only a first name.

It wouldn’t help anyone track her down, and this guy seemed okay.

Pleased to meet you, Kaitlin, Brian said. I’ve seen you here before, right? What are you working on?

Um, Kaitlin said, summoning her courage. I write stories.

Cool! What are you doing with them after you write them?

Kaitlin shrugged. I’m not sure. I guess I’m saving them for now.

Brian nodded. Do you mind if I read a few pages? There aren’t many writers in this town.

Kaitlin bit her lip then nodded. She had a handful of burner emails; she could use one of those. Plus, she’d liked his book. Can you write down your email?

Brian pulled a business card from his pocket and handed it to her.

The pen name was on the card along with some blurbs about his books and his email.

Kaitlin walked back to her tablet, selected a short story she’d finished two days ago and fired it off to the email addy on the card with a note.  

Let me know if you want to talk about it when you’re done.

Brian held up his thumb.

Kaitlin looked out the window, watching the snow plummeting from the darkening gray sky and piling up on the street. She frowned. Getting back to her tent in the woods by the river would be easy enough, but she’d leave tracks that would show until the snow covered them. She didn’t like leaving a trail for predators to follow. For six months, she’d been mostly on her own, but she was running low on cash and needed to get further south fast. No way was she going to hop freights by herself.

She used her browser to check the price of Amtrak tickets to Atlanta. Maybe from there she could get back to Tucson, swinging wide to avoid Dallas of course. She called the station with her tablet connection to confirm the price, but found she was nine dollars short unless she broke into her emergency cushion. Moreover, the train didn’t leave until 6 AM. Her stomach sank a little.

Her tablet pinged.

Brian had sent back an email.

Let’s talk!

Kaitlin picked up her tablet and keyboard and carried them with her. She sat, feeling oddly vulnerable.

I liked this, Brian said. Do you stick to short stories, or do you have longer stuff too?

I didn’t think you had time to read my longer stuff.

Brian grinned. Maybe not today, but, judging by this, your writing could make you some money, if you had a good editor, a cover artist and a marketing strategy.

Nope. All I have is me, said Kaitlin, frowning.

Well, can you show me your portfolio of stories and describe them? We can go from there.

We may have to do that another time, Kaitlin said. I need to go before the snow gets too deep.

Brian looked up and smiled as the entrance bell to the coffee shop tinkled.  Hang on just a second, he said.

Hey, Dad, said someone behind her.

Kaitlin turned to see a twentyish girl with snow sticking to her long eyelashes, melting on her wavy, blonde hair and dripping onto her black, knee-high Doc Martens.

So, Papa, what is so important that you dragged me out in this weather, and who is your friend?

Brian pulled a chair back for the girl. Kaitlin, this is my daughter Marlee. Marlee, this is Kaitlin, a potential collaborator. She’s been riding with the travelers, but she’s decided to go out on her own and was about to head for warmer weather. I was hoping you could convince her to stick around.

What are you? A modern Sherlock Holmes? said Kaitlin.           .

Pshaw!  That was an easy one, not even elementary, Brian said. You don’t get rid of boxcar grime without some serious laundry and scrubbing, and with this weather, if you were planning on staying with the travelers, you’d be wherever they’re camping these days. Plus I heard you calling Amtrak

Brian turned to Marlee. Kaitlin needs a place to stay, and you need a paying roommate. With her advance on her stories, Kaitlin can split your rent, and she’ll need your graphic arts skills when her work is ready to publish.

Kaitlin studied Brian, eyes narrowed, then looked at Marlee.

Umm. Hi, Kaitlin, Marlee said. I’m a good roommate. The common area needs to stay clean and neat, but you can keep your room how you like it. It’s a basement apartment, but it’s dry and warm. No overnight guests allowed. It’s just too complicated. Your share would be ninety-five dollars a month which includes utilities.

Kaitlin rubbed her hands on her face. This was too weird. But it was snowing and cold, and a month’s rent with Marlee was less than a trip to Atlanta. You know, you are the ones taking a chance here, she said. You don’t know I’m not some psycho-klepto horror story.

Brian snorted. People say the eyes are the window to the soul, but eyes don’t compare to writing. He pointed to his computer screen. No one writes a story like this unless they have the heart of a hero."

That night—warm, clean and well fed—Kaitlin looked out the window of her new room and watched the snow piling up in drifts under the moonlight. Somehow—just then—it looked beautiful.

CHAPTER 3 – Go Westy

The green Vanagon microbus was starting to sag a little on its springs as loading neared completion. Though with everything the Handys had packed in it, Kaitlin would have expected it to bottom out by now. She handed her backpack to Bernard—though letting go of it felt a little like diving off a high cliff. But Bernard just gave her a sympathetic smile, waiting patiently until she let go, and the pack ended up next to where she would be sitting.

Bernard had rigged safety straps to the seatbelt mounts on the bench seat in the back, so Kaitlin and Bernice could take turns lying down and still be strapped in. But Bernice had asked Kaitlin’s permission to sit with her in the back so they could talk.

Lying down would have to come later.

When the loading was complete, Kaitlin climbed in and sat next to her pack. Bernard helped Bernice with the step, and Kaitlin hurried to assist, grasping Bernice’s bird-thin fingers gently.

Bernice sank onto the seat with a chuckle and fastened her belt. Thank you, Kaitlin. I fear time has caught up to this old body. Don’t waste your youth on things that don’t matter. That’s my advice. But you hardly seem to need it from what I’ve seen. You help others with your writing, giving them glimpses of what courage means. I commend you.

Kaitlin kept herself from shaking her head: she didn’t want Bernice to think she disagreed. I’m just trying to figure that out myself, ma’am, she said, her lips quirking.

Bernice smiled and patted Kaitlin’s arm.  "That is a life-long and changing discovery. Every day we find new challenges for our courage.  Keep it up. You’re doing fine. This world needs to hear that courage still matters."

Thank you, said Kaitlin. She sat back and closed her eyes. Most of the time, she didn’t read the reviews on her books. Brian usually gave her a summary of those on her marketing reports, but Bernice’s remark didn’t register as a book review.