Month: September 2016


Sometimes she knew
with absolute certainty
that her life
was going to end
in chaos and destruction
and in those moments
she felt 
a certain 
to the inevitable
an unshakeable
she had lived her life
to the imbalances
of her mind
and the instability
of her soul
and whoever held on
through the tempest
did so
and being fully cognizant
of the hazards
and with that
in mind
she opened her mouth
and drank deeply
from the
dark streams
that overflowed
her heart.


The world’s
gone crazy
it seems
and all you hear
is how bad 
it is
wars and
and planet earth
in anguish
to tell the
of what
is coming
but the news
were not at
my house
when my 
five year old
did a
for the
first time
and smiled
eyes dancing
his beaming
to me.

The Dog

Sometimes it’s hard to explain just what having mental illness means. Sometimes there just aren’t the right words.
Sometimes it’s hard to know just where the illness ends and the real person begins. I have been diagnosed as Bipolar I, and as having Borderline Personality Disorder. These terms do not define me, but they do explain me.
I am not my illness, but I am responsible for keeping tabs on it, for self-monitoring, and for being aware of its place in my life.
I think of it as a dog. A feral, mastiff-type animal with a strong body and an even stronger will. If I don’t keep it in line each day, it will easily overpower me. I medicate it. And I learn how to dominate it, to keep it submissive. 
But it doesn’t like it. 
It longs to take advantage.
Sometimes I get weary of controlling it and it leaps at the opportunity to run rampant. I lose focus. I crave excitement. I act foolishly. The dog grabs me by the scruff of my neck and shakes me until my teeth rattle. 
On some level, I enjoy it. I get a thrill from being between the monster’s jaws, not knowing where it will take me or where I will wind up. 
All too soon, however, the highs end. Reality hits. And I’ve done it again. I’ve hurt those around me, those I care about, those I love dearly. They are dealing with the fallout, wondering if they can ever trust me again, wondering if I even care at all. 
I do care. 
I want to be trusted.
Medication will be adjusted. Therapies tried. The dog will be fitted for a new collar, though it will whine and scratch and struggle to get loose. 
I will never be free of the dog. It is a part of me, and I a part of it, just as my heart and lungs are a part of me. Hopefully, those who love me can see that, and can extend grace for the times that are overwhelming. If not, perhaps they are not the people who need to be in my life at all. 


There are
bruises you can’t 
remember getting
and pains
whose origins
you can’t recall
there are
rough patches
that used to be
and when 
did that happen?
where once
purity reigned
not to mention
aches in the heart
from longings
long forgotten
but sometimes
the voice in your heart
of those ages-dormant
and that spark
that is buried
blows up 
and ready to devour
and then you feel
alive again
and ravenous
for life.


Tomorrow, tomorrow,
that wonderful word!
it’s marvelous, mystical,
not the least bit absurd
to think that the things
I ignore every day
will all get resolved
in some later way
for no matter how big
insurmountable seems
it’s never so bad
in those future dreams
tomorrow, tomorrow,
you’ll always be there
unwavering and constant,
and able to bear
the brunt of indolence
and all good intentions
the I’ll-get-to-it-laters
and procrastinations
tomorrow, tomorrow,
I’ll get to it when
tomorrow arrives
and not worry til then.

The End

Oh if I were
A tiny bird
I would not think
It all absurd
To flit and fly
From stem to sky
And worry not
and never cry

And if I were
A senseless thing
I’d never think
What days might bring
I’d rest beneath
A shady leaf
and never know
the hand of grief

To be so small
Would be, to me,
Most providential
For I would stay
Out of the fray
And never care
From day to day

The goings-on
Of higher planes
Would never cause
Me any pain
I’d turn my back
And have no lack
In sunshine
Or in rain

Yet woe is me
Human I be
And as such
Cannot be so free
I seek and strive
To feel alive
And find that I
Can’t be so blithe

Yet some day now
Both large and small
Will find their end
Is all in all
the scythe will come
we’ll be undone
and fall to earth
as one 
by one

So life as dust
we’ll leave behind
we’ll shake it off
and never mind
then souls 
as winge’d things 
will soar
away from pain

The Other Girl

There is a girl I know, a girl who is closer to me than anyone else in the whole world. She talks to me all day long, in a familiar and cajoling voice.

She never fails to respond when I feel rejected or alone; she encourages me and puts her arm around my shoulder.

“You really shouldn’t be friends with that person anymore,” she whispers. “They will only hurt you again and again. Better off without them.”

“Rejection is too painful to risk,” she says. “And you’re sure to be rejected if you put yourself out there. I mean, really, look at you. You’re far too crazy to be accepted. Let’s retreat and stay safe.”

She especially likes it when I’m feeling manic. 

“Let’s have a great time!” she urges. “Forget everybody else, let loose a little and be free!”
“You only live once!” she cries. 

The thing about the Other Girl, however, is that she is always, inevitably, dead wrong. 

She got me into trouble, this Other Girl. She caused me to question people’s motives, to mistrust even the closest of friends, to push my husband far away. She tempted me to commit reckless acts that would leave a wake of devastation in my path.

In order to contain her, I found within my psyche a secret place, a sort of sewer deep within the recesses of my being, where I could shove her, along with all my disappointments and fears and worries and anguish. 

She didn’t like it in there. It was dark, and she raged to get free. I could always feel her there, pushing and straining at the manhole cover. I stood on it with all my strength to keep her contained.

One day, she overpowered me. 

She exploded out of the sewer, scattering the accumulated shit of a lifetime as she went.
She screamed at me that I was worthless, that I would never be whole, that the world would be a better place without me.

I believed her. She was so strong, and so convinced, and so angry. I could not withstand her onslaught. 

I tried to take my life. 

The Other Girl told me it was my only option, and I listened.

In the hospital later, The Other Girl told me to wait, and when we got out, we’d do it again, but properly this time, so no one could intervene.

She was so emphatic, and I was too weary to stuff her back into the sewer. I looked around and the mess we had made together, and felt utterly defeated.

Fortunately, there were people in the hospital who knew how to help me. They knew about the Other Girl, and they weren’t afraid of her. They knew how to quiet her voice, how to render her impotent. They helped me clean up the mess; they let me know that now that it was out in the open, it could be dealt with.

They taught me not to stuff my emotions into the sewer, they taught me how to deal with them in healthy ways.

The Other Girl still exists. She is a part of me and always will be. But I know the feeling of her hand on my shoulder, and I know how to escape its grip.

Perhaps you know the Other Girl too. Perhaps she is even now telling you that the world would be better off without you. 

I am here to tell you that she is a liar. Don’t let her get the best of you.


If you or someone you know needs help, visit The Mighty’s suicide prevention resources page.

If you need support right now, call the Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255. You can reach the Crisis Text Line by texting “START” to 741-741.



There is a heaviness upon me
and it is not just the ten or so pounds
that I want to lose
there is
a density filling the gaps in my brain
where the synapses are supposed to fire freely
it weighs me down
fastens me firmly to the earth
though I long to fly
I would unhinge my skull
if I could
release the accumulated detritus
from the many long years
of self-incrimination and excoriation
watch it ooze away
into the sewer grates and drains
where it belongs
wash my brain clean
in the scattered rain showers that fall
in the late summer days
and wet,
and healing
and I would dance
in the puddles
of grey matter
the edges of my head
lift my mouth
to the unburdened clouds
and know freedom.


The Grand Finale: Noah Knows, Part Three: Chapters 16-19


Hugh kept the gun pointed at Miranda for nine hours straight as they plowed their way westward through Oklahoma City, Amarillo and Tucumcari, with very little water and only two bathroom stops. When her head began to nod and she began veering off the highway in Albuquerque, they stopped.

Seedy did not begin to describe the motel, but Miranda was too exhausted to care. She staggered in and fell onto one of the small, sagging beds and Hugh came through the door with Noah, who was just beginning to come out of his drugged stupor.

He dragged him to the bathroom and Miranda could hear him ordering Noah to pee. Coming back into the room, he plopped him unceremoniously onto the other bed and immediately administered a second dose of the opiate. They watched as his eyes rolled backwards in his skull. Miranda wept at the sight of Noah so completely out of it.

“What if he throws up or something?” she pleaded with Hugh. “At least roll him on his side.”

“You worry too much,” he said, pulling out a pair of handcuffs and immediately clamping them onto her, threading his massive wrist through the other opening. “Now go to sleep. You have exactly six hours before we hit the road again.”

And in spite of herself, her mind turbulent with fear, she slept.

In the morning they headed out, Miranda driving once more. She felt dry and hollow inside, dehydrated and exhausted. Hugh gave her only a granola bar and a bottle of water before they continued their trek.

The air in New Mexico was beautifully clear and cleansing, the light full of gold, but she hardly noticed as she focused on the horizon. Crossing into Arizona by noon, she felt she had been travelling for months, that there had never been anything but the incessant sound of the motor and the ever-lengthening highway.

Hugh never dozed, never seemed to blink or let down his guard for a moment, though she didn’t know what to do if he had. Noah drowsed in the back seat, full of drugs and hardly moving. She wondered what kind of permanent brain damage such a quantity of narcotics might have on him, or what might happen if Hugh got the dosage wrong. She prayed like she never had before, to any deity that came to mind, but heard no direction from the heavens.


Julie and John stopped to rest in Albuquerque, renting a room within a quarter-mile of the very motel where Noah and Miranda slumbered. Though Julie stretched her mind until it throbbed, she could pick up no trace of him.

“I don’t know if he’s dead, or what!” she cried. “I’ve never felt him so still.”

“He wouldn’t kill him,” John said. “He’s taking them to Vegas to use Noah.” He didn’t speak what he was afraid Hugh wanted from Miranda, but Julie felt his fear and was at a loss for words, as well.

“He wants revenge. I think that is obvious,” Julie said. “We don’t have a lot of time, Dad. If he gets what he wants from Noah, what then? He’s not going to just let them go, right?”

“No, honey. He’s not,” John said grimly. “I’m not sure what we’ll do, but we’ll do something. For now, we’ve just got to get there.”

She nodded, and they tried to sleep.

Julie tossed fitfully, caught between reality and imagination, hovering in the space in her mind where her subconscious went to make sense of the day’s events. Given her spectacular subconscious, and the current agitation of her soul, however, her psychic antennae trembled and caught the flotsam and jetsam of unseen realms. From there it was transferred it into her dreams as a colossal maelstrom of images and thoughts.

She stood on the edge of a vast desert, nothing but sand dunes for miles on every side. She screamed Noah’s name, but her voice was swallowed up by the sand and she grew hoarse and desperate. Suddenly, it began to rain violently, the drops melting into the sand like hot butter on warm toast. The sky grew dark and cold, and she shuddered, unable to see five feet in front of her.

Suddenly she realized there was a strange man beside her. He was gazing straight ahead as though seeing what she could not, and she thought he might be crying, though it was hard to say in the downpour. He was almost too perfectly handsome with a strong jaw and blue eyes, and she marveled to realize he looked just like Noah himself, but some thirty years older. He turned to her, and took her hand. She felt oddly comforted.

Call Miranda, he said, though his mouth did not move. And with that, she awoke, sitting straight up in bed with a cry.

Call Miranda. This whole time, she was trying to find Noah. Trembling with hope, she stretched out her mind and called Miranda’s name with as much force as she could muster. No response. She kept trying, calling the name until suddenly her mind filled with another voice.

Julie? Is that you, Julie?

It was exhausted, fearful and confused, but it was Miranda. Miranda’s voice. Miranda’s mind, connected with hers as crisply as the best telephone connection.

She shrieked with excitement, shook her father violently and told him she had found them. They were just outside Flagstaff, they were alive, and they were headed to The Piazza, one of the most expensive hotels in Vegas.

John stared, and then leapt out of the bed, throwing things into his suitcase. Julie did the same.

“You’re an oracle, Julie. A beautiful, freaking oracle.” He hugged her and they headed for the car.

“Dad? Let’s just save the celebrating for when we actually find them.”



Vegas was a cacophony, a brilliant barrage of noise and lights that would numb Noah’s senses even without the drugs Hugh pumped into him.

Hugh allowed the opiates to wear off just enough for Noah to walk into the hotel, where he gave a vacant smile to the desk clerk and nodded happily when handed a fresh, warm cookie and a glass of champagne.

Their IDs identified them as his wife Mary and his son, Joel. Joel just turned 21, and wasn’t that grand? He was here to show him the time of his life and maybe win a few dollars, you never knew, did you? No sir, you never did.

The clerk nodded and handed them the keys, assuring them they had one of the finest rooms, with a balcony right over the renowned 1,000-nozzled fountain that was choreographed to a variety of musical numbers. Hugh smiled and chuckled, shook hands with everyone, and ushered his beautiful family into the elevator.

“Well done, my dear,” he said. “Thought you might make a scene in the lobby, but lucky for you, you didn’t. My poor, schizophrenic wife. It would have been unfortunate, but here in Vegas they’ve seen everything. It would be very ugly for you later, however. I brought plenty of sedative with me.”

He slid the key card into the door and swung it open. The room was magnificent, nicer than any Miranda had seen, and the view was spectacular, opening on a sea of lights that went on endlessly in all directions. Exhausted, she sank onto the sofa and put her head in her hands. Noah sat robotically next to her, still smiling vacantly.

Miranda had concocted a plan, actually, to throw an enormous fit in the lobby of the hotel. She would scream, beg, cling to anyone passing by to listen to her until the authorities came. She would point at Hugh and name him as the villain, and, with a colossal heap of luck, the charade would be over and they would send Hugh to prison for the rest of his life.

With the appearance of Julie’s voice in her head, however, she had reconsidered.

When it first entered her mind, she thought the voice was her fevered imagination playing tricks on her, much like the mirages on the road became more pronounced as they headed deeper into the desert. As it persisted, however, she realized it was Julie, seeking her.

It took every bit of her remaining strength to keep the car on the road, to stifle her excitement and surge of hope, as she communicated with her across the miles, marveling at the reality of her dreams.

Where are you? Julie asked.

Desert, she responded. Flagstaff.

Where is he taking you?

The Piazza. Fancy casino and hotel. He’s drugged Noah and I don’t know if he’ll ever be OK again…

Don’t panic, Miranda, Julie said, her authoritative tone overriding Miranda’s desire to break down completely. You have to stay strong. We’re going to get you. Don’t worry.

So she reconsidered her plan to make a scene in the lobby and now she shuddered to think of it after his threat in the elevator. If he injected her as well, all hope of communicating with Julie would be cut off.

Julie and John were coming for them. That was all she needed to know. She sent a message through the air, hoping for encouragement.


I’m here, Miranda.

Would you tell John I love him? No matter what happens, I love your dad. I don’t want to die without him knowing…

No, Julie said calmly. I’m not telling him that. When you see him, you can tell him yourself.


Hugh dressed Noah in a beautiful Armani suit, and ran a lint brush over and over across his shoulders and down his back. Noah giggled and stared at him as Miranda felt despair stretching up and down the length of her chest.

This was not her son, this vapid stranger who wore his skin. Noah was nowhere in sight. She had no idea if he would ever return, not after what Hugh had pumped into him.

“Now, son,” Hugh said in a lecturing tone. “You stay close to me, you hear? Wouldn’t want you wandering off and getting lost, right?”

Noah nodded.

“When we get to the roulette table, you tell me what color and number looks good to you. It’s very easy, and we’ll be done before you know it.”

Noah nodded again, smiling and smiling.

“And Mary, my love,” he said, turning to Miranda. “Remember, these walls are not your average hotel room walls. No sound will be heard in the next room. You can scream all you want, but the most anyone will think is you’re having the time of your life riding whatever dick you picked up at the bar, got that?”

He zip-tied her hands behind her in a chair and the two of them left, Hugh steering Noah with one hand firmly on his shoulder, pressing up against him like a doting father. Miranda was left in the room, TV blaring on The Heart of Vegas, a hotel-operated channel that spotlighted all the reasons their fun was superior to all the other fun in the city.

Hours ticked by. Miranda stayed in almost constant contact with Julie, telling her Noah was less drugged than before; could she try again to reach him? Julie said she tried but all that came back was a blur of images and noise, a spinning wheel and cheering voices.

Hurry, Julie, Miranda begged. Hurry.

We’re here. Her voice was breathless in Miranda’s mind, and after thirty more minutes she heard voices at the door. Beloved voices; John and Julie’s voices. They were twisting the handle. She sobbed with relief.

Just have to unlock the door.

There was a momentary pause, and utter stillness as Julie concentrated on the handle. Miranda held her breath. Suddenly there was a click. The handle twisted, and Julie and John burst in.

John flew across the room and fell on his knees beside Miranda, pulling his pocketknife from his jeans and sawing at the zip ties. They fell to pieces and she fell into his arms, sobbing and hysterical.

“Miranda, are you all right? Are you hurt?”

She shook her head no, although it was a lie; she hurt everywhere and her heart would never be the same. She would have the rest of her life for it to heal, the rest of her life with this man, if she could believe for one moment that they would escape.

“How do we get Noah away from him?” she sobbed. “He’ll never let us go, never leave us alone if we get away from him; he’ll just come back, John. He’ll always come back.”

“We’re going to kill him,” John said calmly.

“Is that so?” Hugh said, stepping through the door. “That’s something I really would like to see.”



Zip-tied to their chairs, the four captives watched as Hugh paced, trying to figure out the best and most efficient way to dispose of them. John’s left cheek was a rainbow of red and blue after a short but futile struggle. He tried to give encouraging looks to Miranda but they came out more pained than uplifting.

Hugh paced, muttering and thinking. Suddenly he snapped his fingers and began to laugh.

“So beautifully simple,” he said with a leer. “Right in front of my eyes the whole damn time, too. Right there!” He pointed at Noah, who lolled slightly in his chair, eyes unfocused and unblinking from the power of the injection Hugh had just administered.

“Leave him alone,” Miranda begged. “You got what you came for. Didn’t he win enough? Can’t you just let him go? I don’t care what you do to me.”

“You’ve completely missed the point, haven’t you?” Hugh asked, shaking his head. “You never were very bright, that’s for certain. Just a simple whore, that’s all you are.”

“Bastard!” John spat, turning red. “You’ll never get away with this, not as long as I’m here.”

“There’s no need to get all noble.” Hugh laughed, patting John on the head. “You feel very brave, don’t you? You’d do anything for her, wouldn’t you? You’d like to die a brave death for her, right? Well you’re not going to get the chance, John. You’re going to die wetting yourself and begging for your life. It’s going to be so wonderfully humiliating. We’ll save Miranda for last so she can see it.”

Miranda was trembling violently from fear, hunger, dehydration, and fatigue. Julie tried to calm her.

Miranda, she said sternly. Listen to me. We have to work together. Let’s try to wake Noah up, together. We need his help.

“Never fear, though,” Hugh said. “I don’t intend to kill any of you. I’m going to be innocent, you see? The poor, unbalanced youth who shot his mother and friends to death in Vegas. No one will ever forget it.”

Julie lost her focus for a moment and stared at Hugh, stunned.

“You can’t do that,” she breathed, aghast.

“Oh, I can’t, little lady?” He turned to her with a sneer. “I just talked him into winning me a quarter of a million dollars.” He gestured to a huge plastic cup of $1,000 chips spilling onto the counter. “You don’t think I can get him to pull a trigger a few times? You’ll go second, just so you can see I’m right. And then poor Noah…”

He turned to the limp form in the chair and took his face in his hand, wiping the saliva off his chin. “Poor Noah, racked with guilt, turns the gun on himself. Bang!” he shouted, causing everyone but Noah to jump. “All done.”

The captives stared, unable to speak, absorbing the full weight of his plan.

Noah! Julie shouted. Wake up. Noah. Wake up!

Miranda joined in the chant, closing her eyes to concentrate harder. Noah jerked.


It was so faint, so uncertain, it sounded as though it came from a great distance away instead of directly beside her.

Noah, can you hear me? Please Noah. We need your help.

Julie. His eyes rolled back into his head. I’m so tired…

Julie started to sob. Hugh picked up the pistol and opened the cylinder, filling each chamber as they watched in horror. He took a clean white cloth from his duffle bag and carefully polished the entire gun with it, then laid it on the table.

“Miranda, don’t give up,” John said to her, softly. “Don’t give up. We’re going to be all right.”

She nodded, although she felt no conviction behind his words.

“Miranda,” he whispered again, urgently. “I want you to know, whatever happens, that I love you. I have for some time now. I love you, with all my heart.”

Hugh went to lift Noah from his chair but John stuck one foot out as he passed by, sending the big man sprawling onto the floor with a crash that shook the room. Rising up, he roared in outrage and punched John in the head with a meaty fist, sending him sprawling across the floor and out of his chair, zip ties failing from the force of the impact.

John scrambled up and drove head first into Hugh, attempting to bring him to the floor again but he was outweighed by at least forty pounds. Miranda screamed as Hugh wrapped both hands around John’s neck and began to lift him from the floor.

“This is not the way it will happen!” he shouted, as John turned purple. He hurled him to the floor and shook himself, taking several deep breaths. “You want to be the hero, do you?” He seized John again, righted the chair and slammed him back into it. He took the handcuffs and clamped them onto John’s wrists behind him, zip tying the cuffs to the chair in two places.

“There,” he said, somewhat breathlessly. “Can’t have a pesky fly spoiling things at the last minute now, can we?”

He straightened up. “Now, where was I?” He strode towards Noah again but a strange confusion seemed to fall upon him and he halted, turning a slow circle in front of them. “What the fuck?” he said. Miranda stared at Julie and tuned in to her mind to hear her chanting




Her eyes were turned on Hugh like dark lasers, wide and focused, and he stared at his feet as though not sure who they belonged to. As though fighting against a strong current, he stepped towards Noah and seemed to break the spell. Miranda heard Julie cry aloud, a soft despairing sound.

Noah, she heard her say. Noah, I need your help. Miranda, help me…

Miranda focused on Hugh also, chanting balcony, balcony, balcony but he hesitated only the slightest fraction of a second before continuing.

It’s no use, Julie, she thought. I don’t have your kind of power.

Suddenly, Noah was there. His head was still down, his eyes shut, but he was there, in their minds, joining with Julie. A flurry of images flashed through Miranda’s head; he and Julie watching a bully on the playground, he and Julie dispelling a dark fog above Jenny, he and Julie lying on their backs at the park, passing time manipulating clouds in the sky…and as she saw these, she also saw Hugh turn slowly again in a circle, as though in a dream state, before heading past her son like a doll on strings and straight towards the sliding glass door that opened out onto the spectacular view.

“What the fuck is happening here?” he roared, feet moving in spite of his will. “What th–?“ and then his mouth clapped shut and his eyes grew wide with disbelief and a steadily growing terror.

“Shut up,” said Julie.

Balcony, thought Noah.




Hugh slid the glass aside and stepped out, a rush of hot, dry desert wind flowing into the room after him.

Both Noah and Julie had their heads down now, eyes tightly shut, sweat beading on their foreheads, as Miranda and John watched Hugh step one leg, and then the other, onto the opposite side of the railing, leaning far over into space, gripping the iron bars with both hands. Suddenly, Miranda’s zip tie popped off and she brought her hands up, rubbing her wrists and staring into Hugh’s horrified face as he hung fourteen floors above the Piazza’s musical fountain.

Slowly, she rose and walked towards him, steel in her eyes. Molested, threatened, terrorized, her fear and grief reached their breaking point and as they dissolved, fury rose to take their place. Here was the man of her nightmares, abusing her, using her, using Noah, plotting their deaths and gloating over all of it. Here was the man—man?—here was the monster who was going to kill them and let the blame fall on her own beloved boy.

She reached out and took one of the fingers clinging to the cold iron railing and plucked it upwards. It released easily. She popped the next one off, and the next one. With a heavy jolt, he hung by one hand, feet still planted on the balcony’s edge. He began shaking his head frantically, face ashen, muffled noises coming from his mouth as he vainly pled for his life. She pulled on the last hand, all four fingers coming up at once, and Hugh’s arms pin-wheeled in the air.

His mouth sprang open and with a desperate shriek he fell backwards, kicking and flailing as he plummeted fourteen stories, crashing with a violent splash into the estimable fountain, skewered with a sickening crunch by at least ten of the thousand jets. My Heart Will Go On played through the loudspeakers as the water arced and danced around him, a red stain spreading slowly from the lifeless, demolished body.

Miranda turned from the balcony, face white and terrible, and walked back to the others. She sat down and put her hands behind her back. The zip tie climbed, inch-worm like, up the leg of her chair and secured itself around her wrists. Together, they waited for the authorities to arrive.



The story in the paper was bizarre. Not that it was strange for a man to jump from the upper floors of the Piazza into the fountain; suicides were a fact of life in Las Vegas. That the jumper kidnapped four people with the intention of using their perceived psychic talents to help him win money and planned to kill them when he was done; that was weird.

That he decided to throw himself off the balcony while they were all zip-tied to chairs instead, well–that was bizarre. Happily, just a month later, a local magician had his tigers stolen by a woman who wanted to have sex with them and give birth to a human/tiger hybrid, and the story was all but forgotten.

Julie, John, Miranda, and Noah stayed for two more days, residing in the penthouse of the Piazza, where they lay on round, spinning beds and ordered room service for every meal, tipping generously using Hugh’s cup of chips. When they decided to head home, the rest were cashed out for $224,350, to be placed in Noah and Julie’s savings accounts.

Noah gradually revealed himself to be relatively undamaged by the drugs except for a ravenous hunger that took three weeks to wear off. He did most of the driving home, feeling wide awake after his long slumber, as Julie rode shotgun and Miranda lay in the back seat, asleep with her head in John’s lap. She woke up long enough to kiss his lips and drink enormous quantities of water. It was a slow trip, with many bathroom stops.



Another moving day. This time there was no truck, only the bustling activity of the many volunteers carting Miranda and Noah’s things across the street to the newly wedded Griffith-Miller household. Most of her furniture had been dispersed to various members of the extended family, but there seemed a fairly unending parade of book and wardrobe boxes that filed across the street in the tireless arms.

Somewhere around noon they took a break to eat, spreading blankets on the front lawn to have a picnic of pizza and champagne and enjoy what was a truly spectacular late spring day. It was May, and the sun shone down brightly but benignly on the group of friends and family.

“I would like to make a toast.” John said, lifting his glass in the air as the buzz of voices died down and all eyes turned to him. He knelt on the patchwork quilt and held Miranda’s hand. “To my beautiful bride. May she always find me more attractive than I am.”

Laughter broke out, and some applause.

“And to all of you, for coming and making this day part of the ongoing celebration of our love.”

More applause.

“And to myself, for managing to hook the best fish in the sea.”

More laughter, as Hannah and Nancy cheered and pumped their fists in the air. Miranda pulled him down beside her, kissing him to shut him up.

“My husband has had a wee bit more champagne than he realizes,” she said, shrieking as he buried his face in her neck.

Wow. Julie smiled at Noah. Just wow.

Yeah. How long are they going to be like this?

No idea. Thank God for graduation next month so we can split.

Yeah, thank God. They were both still smiling but neither was fooling the other. Suddenly Julie’s eyes filled with tears.

“How am I going to get along without you, Noah?” she asked, wiping her eyes hastily.

“What are you talking about? I’ll always be here.”

“I know, but not here-here. Just…here.” She tapped on her head. “I’m going to miss you so much.”

“Now who’s being sentimental? Julie, I didn’t think you had it in you.” He gave her a friendly shove. She punched his arm.

“I’m not kidding,” she sniffed. “We’ve talked around it, but not about it. How will I stand it? The Art Institute is so far away, halfway across the country.”

“You’re going to do great,” he asserted. “You’re going to love it. You won’t think about any of us for longer than two seconds once you get there. Your life is going to be so full of awesome stuff. You’re never going to want to come back to this squatty little town.”

“Yeah, right.” She tried to frown at him but couldn’t. “I mean, I am excited.”

“There you go; of course you are. Don’t worry, Julie. It’s a whole new beginning.”

“What if I like this new beginning better?”

“Then you can come back. You can always come back. And you can be a proper starving artist and sell your canvases on street corners downtown and be crazy and homeless and unwashed.”

Now she was giggling at the image he had of her in his head, and they both laughed out loud. They stretched out next to one another on the blanket, gazing up at the blue sky.

“Hey, let’s play the cloud game.” She pointed upwards at the largest billowy mass of vapor.

“OK. What do you want to make?”

“How about an elephant?” Together they concentrated on the cloud, watching it boil and shift as they did, crafting a rope of a nose and the subsequent lumpish body.

“Awesome,” Julie said when they were done. Sudden shadows fell over them as Miranda and John appeared, looking at them and then up at the sky, curious.

“Did you guys?” Miranda pointed. They nodded, smiling.

“I’ll be damned,” John said. “Thing really looks like a turkey, doesn’t it?”

“Turkey!” Julie was indignant. “Dad, the only turkey here is you.”

“Is that so, young lady?” he bent to tickle her and she flailed at him, screaming. Miranda lay down beside Noah and kissed his cheek as the rest of the picnickers rose and began cleaning up.

“Gonna miss you so much, son,” she said with a sigh.

“Only going to be an hour away, Mama.”

“Still. Not having my baby right here with me…”

“Maybe we should have another one,” John said, suddenly. Miranda, Noah, and Julie stared at him.

“No,” Julie said, looking incredulous.

“You wouldn’t, really? Would you?” Noah asked.

“Hey, you’re not the boss of us,” Miranda said, sticking her tongue out at the teens. “We’re not that old and dried up, you know.”

“Let’s go practice right now,” John said. Julie and Noah groaned and clapped their hands over their ears.

“Newlyweds!” Julie exclaimed.

“Yeah, you guys really ought to get a room,” Noah said.

“That’s what I just said,” John explained, with exaggerated patience.

“Will you guys do a cloud for me and John?”

Julie and Noah looked at one another for a half second, and back into the sky. Slowly the elephant began to change shape and the four watched as it stretched and gathered itself into a heart, wings sprouting from each side.

“Aw, that’s nice,” John said. “A squirrel.”

They laughed and groaned and Miranda stood, pulling Noah to his feet as John did the same to Julie and they gathered them into a solid group hug.

“You guys, you’re the best,” Julie said in a muffled voice near the center. She sniffled loudly.

“You’re not crying, oh hard-boiled egg, are you?” John asked, pressing her to himself as she wiped her nose on her sleeve and tried to stop.

“I can’t help it! You’re my hero, Dad.”

He reddened with pleasure. “It seems to me that I am the least superhero-ish of this bunch.”

“Certainly not,” Miranda protested. “You’re my hero too.”

“Then let’s have another toast,” he said, lifting his nearly-empty glass. “To us. The motliest group of somewhat superheroic stalwart bodies to ever roam the planet. To happily ever after.”

“Happily ever after.” They repeated, in unison.

I guess you’re my sister now, Noah thought.

And you’re my brother, she thought back. Nevermind. I still intend to kiss you good, one of these days.

Above them, the cloud heart melted into the clear blue sky and the numbers in Noah’s head were all happy ones; birthdays and weddings and celebrations and successes. He knew there were no givens in life, not a single one, but together they would dance on the precipice of hope and love and joy and life, while they had it. Together they would count the blessings falling down on them, all around them like a gentle rain.


Noah Knows, Part Three, Chapters 12-15



Ensconced in a booth at their favorite burger joint, John, Miranda, Noah and Julie were both reminiscing and talking about plans for the future. Julie was going to art school in California, determined to be the next Georgia O’Keefe. To Noah, she already was. Her paintings evoked strong emotions, and she had a lengthy client list to prove it.

“You need to get a lot worse if you want to be a real starving artist.” Noah teased her. “Or give it all away. You’re going to be financially independent before I can get my own apartment.”

“There’s tons I need to learn,” she said. “There are all kinds of media I haven’t tried and tools I have yet to use. Anyway, my paintings are not that great.”

“Not that great?” John protested. “Are you kidding me? That portrait you did of your sister took my breath away.”

“And the tree you painted for me in my hallway,” Miranda said, nodding. “I can’t tell you how many compliments I get on it. I think it’s sent a client or two your way.”

Julie muttered, but Noah could tell she was pleased.

“What about you, Noah?” John asked. “Are you going to be the next Rockefeller? Or John von Neumann?”

“I’m thinking of waiting tables the rest of my life,” Noah replied.

“You will not,” Miranda said, strenuously. “I didn’t go through fourteen hours of labor in the middle of a hurricane for you to be a waiter your whole life.”

Noah laughed. “I’ll go to college and try to be successful. I thought I’d write my memoirs. They’d be an instant bestseller.”

“How can you be through with your memoirs?” Julie asked. “You can’t possibly write them until you’re, like, 90.”

“If you want to write, why not look into a journalism degree?” John interjected. “I could probably get you an internship at the Tulsa World next summer.”

Noah nodded. He liked the sound of that.

They went to a movie and headed back to the Miller’s for a game of poker. John and Julie had taught Miranda and Noah to play, and they enjoyed the cutthroat gambling, even if it was only Monopoly money they played with.

“Are you ready to lose, suckers?” Noah asked as they sat down at the kitchen table.

Julie punched him in the arm. “We’ll see who gets suckered, sucker.”

“I’m feeling pret-ty lucky tonight,” Miranda said. “Don’t count your chickens, my son.”

“Listen to your mother, Noah,” John said. “She’s as smart as she is beautiful.”

Miranda blushed.

What are we going to do with them? Noah said to Julie in the space above their heads.

It’s pretty bad, isn’t it?

He loves her. And she feels the same about him, I’m sure of it.

How can we get them together? Break into a song like in a Disney movie?

The evening wore on, and Miranda won nearly every hand. She raked in the toy money, full of glee.

“Maybe I ought to head to Vegas, I’m so good,” she crowed.

“Do you have a sixth sense, or what?” Noah asked, beginning to wish he hadn’t put his powers on a mental shelf at the beginning of the game.

“Are you surprised?” she asked with a wink. “You got it from somewhere. I just have one thing to say; you have pretty good cards, but you have a tell—a little sign you send out whenever you have great cards.”

“I what?” he said, incredulously. “I do not!”

“Oh, but you do.” She said, one eyebrow raised.

“What is it?”

“I’m not going to tell you your tell. You and Julie both have one, actually, and that’s the only way I win.”

“What about me?” John said. “What’s my problem?”

“Your cards just suck.”

Noah yawned and stretched. “If you’re through kicking my tail, Mama, do you mind if I head home? Pearl wants me to show up early to do some inventory with her.”

“Sure, honey, that’s no problem,” she pushed back her chair. “This was so, so much fun. I’m glad we got to do it.”

“Me, too,” Julie said. “Remember when we used to stay up together watching old monster movies?”

“How could I forget?” Laughed John. “I had to get Julie to sing me to sleep after half of them.”

“I’m going to go to bed, too,” Julie said. “I’m painting a poodle’s portrait tomorrow. Wish me luck; that thing is a monster. Nearly ate my hand last time I was there.”

“It’s been nice knowing you,” Noah said, soberly, giving her a hug before shutting the door behind him.

John invited Miranda to stay for a while, and they sat on the couch, talking deep into the night in the blue glow of the television. Miranda yawned hugely and leaned against John’s shoulder.

“Guess I better go, too.”

“You don’t have to,” he said, readjusting his position to make her more comfortable.

“That’s nice,” she said. She snuggled against him and he put his arm around her. He flipped the channels until he found reruns of CSI and she murmured sleepily. She fell asleep within moments, and her last sensation was the feel of his hand stroking her hair.

How I love this man, she thought. If only I could tell him.


For the past two weeks, from his vantage point a few houses down, Hugh mapped out Miranda and Noah’s schedules. Miranda left for work each day at approximately 7:30. Noah left around 10. Seeing them again after so many years caused his whole body to churn with adrenaline. His hands twitched with urgency, wanting to wrap themselves around Miranda’s neck and watch her squirm.

Not yet, though. Not yet. He had to be careful. They had quite a bit of interaction with their neighbors across the street. The man was obviously Miranda’s lover. Small guy, gentle manners, a real pussy. Hugh snorted. He would be easy enough. Still, he didn’t want any complications. This was going to be nice and clean.

Miranda got home every weekday at 5:15. Noah was later; usually not until well after dark, and he often left again with the girl across the street. It might be tricky to get them both together, but he wasn’t worried. When the time was right, the universe would open up and it would all go smoothly.

Perhaps even today. He had a good feeling about today. He saw Miranda leave the neighbor’s house at 8 a.m., hair disheveled and eyes bleary. She was still a slut, obviously. She walked across the street and entered her house. Noah left soon after. Hugh decided to return to his motel room and take some time to think.

Back in his room, he checked his supplies and mentally ran through his plan. Excitement made his heart beat fast, and he knew with even greater certainty that today was the day. He practiced his affirmations and did some guided visualizations to calm down. He pictured Miranda and Noah at the end of his gun as they travelled unhindered across the country to reap the rewards he was so long due.

He carefully placed the zip ties, syringes, tranquilizers, fake ID’s, money and gun carefully back into the duffle and headed out once more. Back at the fourplex, he circled once to check that Miranda’s car was still there, and pulled slowly into the back parking lot, taking Noah’s spot. He cut the engine, took several deep breaths, slipped the pistol into his pocket, and got out.

He peered through the back window and saw no one in the kitchen. Jimmying the door open wasn’t a problem at all, the cheap lock practically falling open at his touch, and he slipped silently into the house.

He could hear a shower from somewhere upstairs. He smiled, straightened, and strode through the rooms, giving them cursory checks to make sure no one else was home. He climbed the stairs to the landing. Noah’s room was to the left; he glanced in and saw that it was empty. To the right was Miranda’s. The shower was louder. He slid into her room, took out the pistol, sat in her rocking chair and waited.




Something was wrong. Noah knew it. As he counted cans of peaches and tubs of mayonnaise, the growing sense of alarm was scrambling his ability to focus, and he realized that he was sweating. He sat heavily in a chair in the kitchen and wiped his forehead. Pearl looked at him with some concern.

“What’s the matter, kid? You sick?”

“I don’t know, Pearl. I just…I feel really bad.”

“What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” he repeated. “Heart’s pounding. Sweaty.”

“I think you better get yourself home, pronto. Don’t worry about this; I’ll call Roy in to help me. Are you all right to drive?”

“I think so. Thanks, Pearl.”

He walked to his car, trying to sort out his feelings. He turned his thoughts to home but there seemed to be a wall in the way; he got nothing but static on his internal radar; something was blocking him. This strengthened his anxiety and he turned the key in the ignition with a shaking hand.

Julie was there, suddenly. What’s up, Noah? You’re sending out scary vibes. Are you all right?

I don’t know, he answered. Something is wrong. I don’t know what. I’ve got to get home.

I hope it’s OK. Maybe you’re just getting sick. Let me know as soon as possible?


Miranda wrapped a towel around her head, humming aimlessly. She wrapped a second towel around her body and threw the bathroom door open to let the steam out. She went to the dresser, pulled clothes out and turned to place them on the bed.

Hugh rose from the rocker, pistol pointed at her midsection.

“Hello, Miranda,” he said with a cruel smile. “You’re looking well.”

She took a breath to scream but he crossed the room in two strides and pressed the gun into her side, clapping his other hand over her mouth.

“One sound, Miranda. One sound and your son will find you in a puddle all over the floor, got it?” She nodded, eyes wide with terror. He released her and relaxed.

“That’s better. Now we can talk rationally. It’s really good to see you.”

She whimpered, pulling the towel tighter around herself.

“Don’t do that. I need you to get dressed. We’re going on a little trip, you and me and your bastard son, and you need something on besides that towel, understand?” He yanked the towel hard, snapping it from her body with a laugh that was more like a growl, then stepped back to look at her as she tried to cover herself with her hands.

“Beautiful. Just as I remember. I wonder if everything else is, too?” He tapped her arm, which she had crossed over her breasts, with the cold barrel of the gun. “Down, please.” She dropped it, trembling. He reached forward to stroke the side of her breast, lingering over her nipple as she squeezed her eyes shut, tears slipping from the edges.

He pushed her onto the bed, and laughed.


Noah careened down the highway, doing 70, then 80, then 90. His heart did flip-flops and the voice in his head chanted faster faster faster as he swerved around other cars. He pulled onto his exit ramp and shot through the stop sign, turning right. Thirty seconds later, lights lit up his rear view mirror. Cursing and pounding the steering wheel, he slowed and pulled over.

“Morning,” the cop said, brightly, taking his ID and registration. “What’s got you in such a hurry today, son?”

“I don’t know,” Noah said, trying to stifle the urge to lay on the gas and leave him standing there. “Just not paying attention, I guess.”

“You didn’t even slow down for that stop sign back there.”

“I’m guess I didn’t see it.”

“I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere,” he said, and returned to the cop car.

Noah ran his hands through his hair, making it stand straight on end, and groaned. Why now? Why? He still felt nothing when he stretched his thoughts towards home, and that left him standing on the edge of panic. He gripped the steering wheel and tapped his foot nervously on the floor mat. The officer returned and handed him the cards and a sheet of paper.

“I’ll let you go with a warning today, son. Try to pay more attention from now on, all right?”

“All right, sir. Thank you, sir,” he said, nodding fervently.

He rolled up his window, started the car and pulled away slowly. Forcing himself to keep the speedometer pegged on the speed limit, he continued through the neighborhood to home.

He parked at the curb in front of the house, took the front stairs two at a time and tried to put his key in the lock. His hands were trembling so violently he dropped the keychain on the porch. Swearing, he scooped it up and managed to get the door open.

He ran into the living room and started shouting for his mother.

Nothing. He ran through the kitchen and looked out the back door. Her car was sitting in her spot.


He bounded up the stairs, turned into her bedroom and came to an abrupt stop in the doorway. There was an enormous man there, pistol pressed to Mama’s temple. Tears were pouring down her race and her naked body shook with sobs.

“Noah, run,” she said softly.

“Do nothing of the sort, Noah. Move one muscle or make one sound and your darling mother’s brains will decorate the wall, you understand?” Hugh—Noah knew it was—tightened his bulging forearm around Mama’s neck.

He nodded, scarcely able to breathe. Fury mixed with fear and he shook with the force of them both.

“Excellent,” Hugh said, smiling the ugliest smile Noah had ever seen. “Come on. Help your poor mother get dressed. She’s shaking with cold.”

Noah helped. Mama nearly collapsed and he helped her to her feet, whispering words of encouragement. They would get out of this, he said. They would be all right. Hugh laughed.

“He’s right, Miranda. Listen to your son. You’ll be just fine, so long as you do exactly as I say. We’re going on vacation so your boy here can get back what you stole from me so many years ago. So throw a few clothes in a bag, and we’ll be on our way.”

Miranda’s bag was packed, and Noah’s after that. Hugh made Noah hang the towels up and make the bed before they went downstairs, where he placed a piece of paper on the table and handed a pen to Miranda.

“A note, please. A happy and excited note saying you and your son decided to rent a car and take a long overdue vacation to New Orleans. You will be back in one week.”

“Where…where are we really going?” Miranda said, faintly.

“Vegas.” He grinned.




Vegas and Hugh were the last words Julie heard before a deafening, reverberating, terrifying silence descended over the easy communication that she and Noah always shared. After making a hasty excuse and leaving Mrs. Frith’s poodle portrait half-done, she drove home, consumed with anxiety.

Pulling into her driveway, she saw Noah’s car parked in front of the fourplex. She bolted across the street to pound on the door and call his name. She tried the rear entrance but it, too, was locked tightly. Miranda’s car was in her spot, so they had to be home. She flew across the street to her house.

“She called for her father, who emerged from his office, alarmed at the urgency in her voice.

“It’s Noah, Dad. Something’s wrong. His car is out front but nobody answers when I knock. Where’s the key?”

“In the drawer I think. Do you think we should just barge in?”

“Yes, Dad. If ever there was a time to barge, it’s now.”

She grabbed the key and raced across the street. John followed, coming up behind her just as she got the door unlocked and threw it open.

She ran through the house, calling for Noah.

John called for Miranda, less urgently but no less concerned. Julie was not one to fly into irrational flights of fancy, and he believed that she had reason to be alarmed. He wasn’t in the habit of questioning her uncanny intuition.

“He’s not here,” she called from upstairs. “Nobody’s here!” She was near tears.

“Let’s think,” John said. He tried to remain calm, but her urgency was rattling him. “Maybe they took a walk. Let me give her a call.”

“No, Dad, they didn’t,” Julie said. “The last thing Noah said to me was Vegas, just Vegas, and the name Hugh.”

John paused, his finger poised over the call button on his phone, and stared at her, his face turning white.

“When did he say this to you? What else did he say?”

“It was kind of jumbled. He was really scared, though, I know he was. And angry. It was scary how angry he was. He said Hugh, and Vegas, and then—nothing. Just nothing.”

John cancelled Miranda’s number and hit 911.


Miranda kept waiting to wake up from the nightmare. She kept waiting for the moment of clarity, the beautiful eye-opening moment when all returned to normal and the familiar homey items of her bedroom swam into focus. It never came. She blinked hard, again and again, but she remained in Hugh’s car, driving west on the turnpike, with Hugh in the passenger seat, his pistol pointed at her.

Noah was in the back seat, passed out from whatever Hugh injected him with. She knew he wasn’t dead; she could feel he was alive, but he was peacefully oblivious to the horror transpiring as the wheels turned inexorably onward.

She contemplated careening into the median, or turning the wheel hard to the right and running into the ditch, but Noah wasn’t buckled in and she was terrified of killing him. Panic rose in her throat but she choked it back, refusing to allow Hugh the satisfaction.

John, she thought. When would John realize something happened? When would Julie discover Noah was missing? They shared such a bond; they were closer than two people could be and they had a connection. Surely, Julie would realize something was wrong. Surely, she would talk to her father. Surely they would call the police and…

And what? The police wouldn’t do a thing. There was nothing suspicious about a woman and her son taking a trip.

Miranda despaired. That Hugh intended to kill them was certain. He would use them up and spit them out, skin and hair and bones, somewhere in the Nevada desert where coyotes and buzzards would finish the work of hiding them forever. If Noah didn’t wake up and let Julie know—somehow—what was happening, she knew they were doomed.


The police were very nice. So nice, and patient, and painfully condescending. Calmly, step by step, they told Julie and John why there was nothing to be alarmed about.

First, the note, in Miranda’s handwriting. Sure, it was a little wobbly, but she was excited about her trip and they were in a hurry. Second, there was no sign of a struggle. If they were abducted by a strange ex-husband, there almost certainly would be a violent struggle. It was difficult enough to abduct one person, much less two.

John and Julie were not convinced, and protested that something was terribly wrong—their friends would never take a vacation without telling them, they weren’t answering their phones and the house was far too clean for a normal Saturday. Julie broke down in tears, but protocol was protocol. The cops didn’t chase down vacationers who neglected to inform their neighbors.

“Don’t you worry,” the senior officer said, all but patting Julie on the top of the head. “I’m sure they’ll come back safe and sound in a week, just like the note says, and you can give your boyfriend the what-for then.”

Julie suppressed the urge to set his hair on fire, a talent she didn’t have but was almost certain she could summon at that moment.

“She’s not answering her phone, officer,” John said again. “Neither of them are. It just goes to voicemail.”

“Well, they’re driving, you know? It’s not safe to talk on the phone. They’ll call you back real soon, I’m sure of it.”

“And if they don’t? What if they don’t return in a week? Will you do something then?”

“You give us a call back then,” he said, nodding. “We’ll alert the cavalry.”

They left, and John and Julie looked at one another in grief and distress.

“Get some things together.” John said, grimly. “We’ve got to help ourselves now.”

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