>Weathered: The Resurrection
>I’m not quite sure where this story falls in line with the other Weathered scenes chronologically, other than it is not in the beginning. I have not written more than 13,000 words in chronological order, so the story is very random at this point. I know that at some point in the future, it will all blend seamlessly together, but today, I hope you can enjoy this new addition to the Weathered series.
“Blair, you don’t understand. Not everyone can be bribed.” Bill’s voice held a hint of warning Blair once again ignored.
“Yes, Bill, they can. Everyone has a price. Everyone. Call me when it’s done.” The phone smacked decisively in its cradle as she dismissed him. Her fingers tapped on the antique desk, a new addition to the motley group of furniture decorating her office, most of which was waiting to be properly placed in other rooms as they were finished. It was an inheritance from her father’s best friend and law partner that had just passed away. He had been very active in her life as she grew up, but over the years, she spent less time with his family. She was astounded to learn that he had bequeathed her the desk. Its arrival less than 24 hours after he was pronounced dead was more surprising than the gift itself. It had been a busy week though, and she had found no time to really assess its full value.
The smoothness of its face under her drumming fingers caused her eyes to shift down and distracted her thoughts. Her eyes followed the gentle grooves that had been etched along the edges of the desktop. Flourishes of varying heights and shapes had been lovingly chiseled into the drawer faces. The delicate yellow coloring of the wood under the clear gloss belied its age. The love and care bestowed on the desk was apparent.
She opened the drawers carefully, her fingers finding comfort in the grip of the cool brass knobs. She worked silently from left to right, only stopping when she realized that both bottom drawers were locked. She wondered what secrets those drawers held. She felt underneath each unlocked drawer searching for the key. As she knelt to feel for the key on the underside, a vision of blue topaz and lush emerald filled her eyes from the pile of mail on her desk at the same moment her fingers brushed against the cold metal of the key. The sudden burst of color evicted a small sigh from her lips. Her search successful, her legs straightened as she plucked the postcard from between the white piled around it.
“I’m not dead. Meet me at Vinny’s Pizza tonight. Tell no one.”
The words were an angry dog growling at an intruder after the warm “Welcome to the Bahamas” on the front. The familiarity of the handwriting shook her to the core.
“Louis,” her mind screamed.
The postcard fluttered briefly in cadence with the tremor in her hand before it fell to the floor. Her hand clutched her heart as her knees returned to the floor, the soft shag cushioning the blow. Twenty years he had been dead. Why would he resurface now? How long had the postcard been sitting there? Was she already too late? Would he be there tonight? The questions swirled through her mind as she dropped, abruptly silenced when her head bounced from the carpet.
As always, I appreciate constructive criticism. Also, be sure to stop by Mommylebron, my fabulous writing partner, and read her take on the prompts as well.
–Stephanie, AKA The Drama Mama