By David “Daveykins FoxFire” Gonterman

Epidode 1-3

“He would go out while I’m refilling his prescription,” Richard growled as he found his uncle Rudy’s car missing from the driveway he was pulling up into on his ‘mobility device;’ a scooter just a bit shy of being the wheelchair he was trying to avoid. With Rudy being 60 years his senior and being the recipient of about 75% of all the drugs he was carrying, it should be Richard who would be looking after his old Uncle and not the other way around. But then again, Richard should be in Iraq by now instead of being ‘Medically Discharged’ thanks to what happened that Friday Night under the Lights.

He marched straight into the nearest Marine recruiter on September 11, 2001, with the images of the Twin Towers falling in his mind and the cheers over it all still burning in his ears. Add the knowledge of his big brother being in those planes and the Corps found someone who was more than motivated even as he walked into Parris Island. “Hold On, Slick, Damn!” he remembers his Drill Instructor ‘saying’ to him, “It’s not that We appreciate your desire to go to the War on Terrorism as one of us, but We have got to train you first! America can’t have you going off half cocked, Jeez-sus!!” This ‘motivation’ was enough to score the top marks of his platoon; this added with getting his training in the summer of 2002 between his Junior and Senior year granted him the rank of Lance Corporal.

Richard’s desire to fight for his lost brother would remain unfulfilled thanks to the shattering of his leg. The foul mood he got from 9-11 was added by the disappointment he felt over his discharge—a regret seconded by that same D.I. who said that he had to go through Basic before he can go to war—and his new status as an handicapped person. Being reduced to hobbling through live in a hostile world he can’t do much about did not do much for his spirit. If it weren’t for the after effects of his Marine Training, LCpl. Richard Kronos would be a broken man, in a perpetual bitter sulk.

He was still considering alternatives to sulking when he saw the basket set on the steps to the guest house he now calls home. He was facing the one who set him there, but he couldn’t see Shazell thanks to the magick involved.

She knew this, which gave her an excuse to ogle him over, looking him up and down, checking out his chiseled body and short hair which was somewhere between boot camp crew cut and maximum length allowed for military service; no need to keep it shaved like a Recruit’s. A luff of hair puffed out in front to smooth out the looks.

Calling him ‘Handsome’ wasn’t too far off; especially when she imagined him in those blue parade uniforms shown at the end of those Marine commercials and on the posters. From the waist up, he would be their prefect image.

Richard poked at the basket, moving around the bread, summer sausage, wine cooler, and envelope before he picked it up and carried it inside. Shazell took care as she followed him inside; although she can’t be seen, she could still be heard if she made too much noise, and it wouldn’t do to bump into something and cause that to make noise.

The inside of the guest house was as sparse as Shazell’s cottage, even with the additional stuff like satellite television, a recliner chair, small desk with some folders, the famous ‘Eagle, Globe, and Anchor,’ and his graduation picture from Parris Island.

Indeed, Shazell wasn’t too far off in calling him ‘Handsome’.

The bathroom and bedroom was all but sanitized; again, the product of Richard’s training. The view of the bedroom included Richard’s boot locker by his bed and his dress uniform displayed on a coat tree. She thought ‘at least he c’n see that and know he at least a’complished somethin—’

She heard the rustle of paper and turned to find Richard opening up the ‘To Handsome’ and pulled out the green-foil decorated greeting card and a small blackened mirror. She looked over his shoulder to read it again as he opened it:

A friend’s eye be a good mirror. Aye like t’ be your’s if ye wish – A friend.

Richard chuckled at the card before setting it on the table next to the recliner, and then sat down to see what else was in the basket. As he took a sip from the wine cooler, he picked up what appeared to be a bunch of incense sticks tied together by string.

“What the heck am I supposed to do with this?” Richard wondered out loud before doing something that anyone unlearned in Wiccian practices would do when he or she picks up a stick of sage: Put it in his mouth and look for a lighter.

That was when Richard heard laughter. Soft, smooth, and feminine, the chuckle echoed throughout the room like a song. He didn’t know where it came from, but he could tell that it would have come from someone in this room, and it wasn’t him or Rudy.

His training kicked in, and he stood up.

He regretted it immediately.

He had also forgotten that he had removed his brace and set his crutch on the floor before setting on that chair.

All he saw was the white of pain for the next few seconds.

When awareness re-entered Richard’s mind, he found himself on the floor, holding on to his leg and gritting his teeth so he won’t make much noise. He wasn’t quite successful. Believing that ‘Pain is weakness leaving the body,’ can only get him so far when weakness is all one of his limbs has left. He attempted to roll over to his crutch so he can get up and take one of those horse pill painkillers, emphasis on the word ‘attempt...’

...that’s when his whole field of vision turned to the color of deep purple.

And a pair of silken arms wrapped around him.

He heard the voice again, the voice that made that laughter.

“Och. Me goodness. Yer in a lot o’ pain there, Handsome.”

He could hear the Irish voice in her chest—his ear was right on her silken breast--hovering above him, slipping into his ears, in a perfect match with the flowers and wine he smelled and the purple fabric he felt. His head started to spin as sh held him, but he couldn’t block out he pain enough to open his eyes, let alone draw much of a breath.

“who . . . are you . . .” was all he could say before he felt himself black out.

What she said echoed in his mind as he slipped into unconsciousness.

“A friend, Handsome, if ye wish.”

He wasn’t able then to tell her he would, and made a note to do so when he was more lucid.

---To Be Continued

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