zero plus nothing equals - 31. revenge

by jeremy witherington

part thirty-one of 31

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jesse woke up. it was still dark. the rain had stopped. or at least stopped beating on the window. he sat up. and reached under the bed. his boots were still there. or were they? and so was betsy. or was she? wait a doggone minute, he thought. where am i this time? and who am i supposed to be? and then it hit him. slow as first, then fast, like the sun coming up over the desert. the desert that was just outside. if it would ever stop raining. but it had stopped raining. finally. jesse knew what he had to do. it was time. he put his boots on. he stuck betsy in his belt. he opened the door and went back down the stairs. down in the street the rain had indeed stopped. and the fog was lifting. someone was walking down the street, coming towards him. who could it be? but that dirty little coward bob ford. jesse smiled. bob came closer. wearing a hat two sizes too big for him. bob was shaking. as well he might be. hello, bob, jesse addressed him civilly. hello, jesse, bob replied in a somewhat surprisingly confident voice. but the time for talk had passed. jesse took betsy out of his belt. and pointed her at bob. and smiled. and felt a bullet rip through his back. the end

zero plus nothing equals - 30. bend in the river

by jeremy witherington

part thirty of 31

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cecily walked along the river. the hot sun beat down on her blonde curls. she wished she had not thrown her hat in the river. but how else was she to convince lady desdemona and the others that she had jumped into it? surely, she reminded herself, it was a small price to pay for meeting william and running away with him to arcadia. a slight breeze sprung up. cecily reached the bend in the river where the old yew tree spread its melancholy shade over weary wanderers. but william was not there. where could he be? cecily did not doubt for one minute that he would keep their rendezvous. how william would laugh when cecily told him of her spirited performance expressing outrage at poor emily. poor innocent emily who would surely never know the flaming passion cecily and william shared for each other. suddenly cecily felt very tired. she had had a long day and the walk in the hot sun had fatigued her more than she had expected. she lay down under the old yew tree and fell asleep. she dreamed that she turned into a turtle dove and william turned into a raven. they flew across a vast nameless ocean. there was a single cloud in the sky. no matter how long the flew they never seemed to get closer to it. the cloud was white, then turned pink, then gold, but they never got closer to it. or saw any land, even the smallest island. or saw a ship. the sun turned red. and fell over the horizon. william cried out ——— next

zero plus nothing equals - 29. queen of spades

by jeremy witherington

part twenty-nine of 31

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blackbeard the pirate woke up. something was wrong. the fire was out! the darkness of the jungle loomed above him. the atlantic waves rolled smoothly behind him. it could only mean one thing - mutiny! the rascals had deserted him. but why had they let him live? his trusty cutlass, bess, lay beneath him - the dogs had not been so foolish as to try to dislodge it. his pistols were still on his belt. and a flak of whiskey in his pocket. the waves continued on to the sand. the ship was gone from the moonlit waters. but he was alive. what cowards the scoundrels were. they would pay for their cowardice. and doubly for their treachery. he was edward teach - blackbeard the pirate. with a whole deck of aces up his sleeve. and as much as he loved gold, he loved vengeance more. where to begin? he knew where to begin. with the queen of spades. he knew she was still in there. in the depths of the island. and she owed him. blackbeard took a swig of his precious whiskey. and without looking back at the ocean, strode into the jungle with faithful bess at the ready... next

zero plus nothing equals - 28. nowhere

by jeremy witherington

part twenty-eight of 31

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billy came to a sudden decision. he would get out of town. he did not give a good gosh darn what happened to him, he would just get up and get out of town. he picked up his boots and his canteen half full of water and left the room and crept down the stairs. pop’s room was at the bottom of the stairs. the door to pop’s room was a little crooked and billy knew he could get into it while pop was sleeping. and he knew pop had some ham and cheese and bread and maybe even some mustard in his pack and he, billy, coud steal some. but what if frank or jesse woke up.and caught him? billy would be violating the code of the outlaw and frank or jesse would not take kindly to it. and then it hit him like a thunderbolt coming around the bend. pop was not behind the door. billy was not in tombstone any more or even in dodge. he was in this nowhere town in the middle of nowhere. and the only way out of it was out. he went outside and looked around. there was only one road and he did not know where it went, either east or west. he decided to head west. he sat down on the stony ground and started to put his boots on. there was no sand in them, like there had been in the dream, but there was a nail in the left one. what the heck, what was a nail in one boot? he put the boots on and started walking. he heard thunder behind him, and looked back. it was not thunder at all, but a tank. and someone was driving the tank. someone who looked familiar. the tank kept coming on and billy saw that the driver was - next

zero plus nothing equals - 27. the highway

by jeremy witherington

part twenty-seven of 31

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eddie sat in the back seat of mabel’s car, staring out the window at the emptiness on both sides of the dark highway. he began having second thoughts about teaming up with mabel . the city of gas stations had been left far behind. and now eddie could see no cities or human life of any kind. mabel was in the front seat, filling it up. are we almost there? eddie finally got the nerve to ask. maybe, mabel replied shortly. eddie did not continue the conversation. he shifted his position and the little pistol mabel had given him poked his hip. how did he get here? why had he been born? these were not easy questions to answer. suddenly a light appeared up ahead. what is that? eddie asked queroulusly. we will find out. the car slowed down and stopped. in all his years of delivering pizza eddie had never seen a live police officer or a police car with a natural born inhabitant in ot. two police officers who looked like they were natural born - but what did he know? - approached the little car. they had pistols in holsters on their hips and their white gloved hands hovered over them. mabel did not appear overly concerned. may we see some i d please, the larger of the two officers asked. mabel produced a small card from her left shirt pocket. this was the moment eddie had been dreading all his life, maybe this is all a dream, he thought desperately. the shorter of the two officers shone a flashlight in eddie’s face. well if it ain’t my old friend eddie brown, the short officer announced heartily. the other officer and mabel both laughed. eddie wished he were back in — next

zero plus nothing equals - 26. tornado

by jeremy witherington

part twenty-six of 31

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sally jane woke up. she looked out the window. the sky was gray, with a threat of rain or a tornado. sally jane could hear mom down in the kitchen. something was sizzling on the stove. sally jane got dressed and went downstairs. she went into the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee. good morrning, sally. good morning, mom. looks like it might rain, or be a tornado. looks that way, sally jane agreed half heartedly. breakfast will be ready in a minute. i think i will go outside and look down the lonesome road, sally asserted. mailman will not be here yet. i know, i just want to look down the lonesome road. suit yourself. it might be the last time i do so, before the tornado blows us all away. there you go, thinking negative thoughts again. i can not help it, it is just my way. breakfast will be ready in forty-five seconds. all right, i will wait for it, and look down the road later. by that time, the mailman might come by. but probably not. what is that sizzling on the stove? sally jane enquired languidly. a little something i whipped up myself. you will like it. i hope so, as it might be the last thing i ever eat. excuse me? oh, you mean about the tornado. what did you think i meant? it is hard to know what you mean sometimes. sally did not reply, but took another sip of her coffee. the forty-five seconds passed, and breakfast was ready. next

zero plus nothing equals - 25. a smooth ride

by jeremy witherington

part twenty-five of 31

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the ride between oklahoma city and santa fe was as smooth as the glass table top at madame rose’s in pocatello idaho on a summer night. frank got off at the last stop after indian territory. there were a million stars in the sky over pop’s store. frank pushed open the door. pop was alone behind the counter, looking like he was falling asleep. the way he always looked. but you couldn’t get anything past him. there was no sign of glenda. frank almost bumped into the cracker barrel. you should move that barrel farther away from the door, he told pop. then it would not be close enough to the stove, pop replied in his sleepy voice. you could move the stove too, frank answered promptly. what can i get you, frank, pop asked, abruptly terminating the conversation about the cracker barrel and the stove. some ham and cheese and two slices of sourdough bread. and some mustard if you got it. no mustard. the dutchman hasn’t been around lately. i am sorry to her that. i hope nothing happened to him. i did not hear that he was hanged. other than that, i can not say. i do not see glenda around either. she went back where she came from. and where might that have been? it was a different place every day, pop replied wearily. and with that, pop shuffled away from the counter to get frank his ham and cheese and two slices of sourdough bread. leaving frank alone with his thoughts. suddenly frank woke up. or maybe he went back to sleep. either way - you never can tell. old number 9 used to come around the bend right about now - next

zero plus nothing equals - 24. rhubarb

by jeremy witherington

part twenty-four of 31

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zoroaster - that is a strange name. my mom gave it to me. she must have been a strange person. she was. did she bake apple pies? no - rhubarb pies. wow! i do not even know rhubarb is. it is some knd of plant. you can cut it up and put it in a pie. what did it taste like? hard to say. i bet. it is hard to say what anything tastes like, when you stop and think about it. you just have to know. did you have any brothers and sisters? did they have strange names too? i had a brother named gilgamesh and another named tilgath. you do not say. what about sisters? i had a sister named betty and another named billie. that adds up to a lot of kids. were you in a circus or somrething? no, but we lived on the outskirts of own. i bet you did. did you hear lonesome train whistles blow? every night. all right. let us get down to business. that is what i am here for. there is this guy in my office i think is a snitch. nobody likes a snitch. especially me. in all times and places and cultures snitches are universally despised. his name is jerry. that sounds like a snitch name, all right. first, i want to make sure he is a snitch. that is right, you can not be too careful. next

zero plus nothing equals - 23. human interest

by jeremy witherington

part twenty-three of 31

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dawn was breaking over the city. bunky stood on the corner looking sadly at the side of the building which no longer showed the message “bunky is smiling”. bunky was crestfallen. after all the years of being forgotten by his old friend warren hastings, who, since they had last been together, had gone on to become the third richets man in the world, he had thought for one brief shining moment that they might be pals again. but apparently it was not to be. why so sad, brad? someone said behind hum. bunky turned and beheld the aspiring journalist and photographer debbie willis johnson, wearing her trademark ratty fur coat that she had inherited from her grandmother on her mother’s side. i am sad because life is sad, bunky replied. that is a good answer. thank you. i use it all the time. if you do not my asking, debbie continued, was there something about the building you seemed to be gazing so soulfully at, that particulary attracted your attention? why do you wish to know? are you some kind of nosey parker? nosey parker. that is not an expression you hear much nowadays. i do not keep up with the latest expressions. be that as it may, in response to your inquiry, i am an aspiring journalist and photographer, and i am always on the lookout for snippets, or even whole multigenerational sagas, oh human interest. bunky considered debbie’s straightforward assertion . his whole life flashed before his eyes. will you buy me a cup of coffee? bunky asked. yes, i will. i will buy you a donut too, or a danish pastry or a croissant. thank you. that is very kind of you, bunky replied gallabtly. just at that moment, harrison walker, mr warren hastings’s personal assistant, arrived at the building. he was early, as he had been summoned by gorgeous george mathews, mr hasting’s chief of staff, on what george described as a matter of the utmost urgency. although highly skeptical of george's description, harrison had dutifully arrived on time. he dismissed the limo driver and headed for the entrance to the building, taking no notice whatsoever of bunky and debbie. next