Hello everyone!
This last week was so busy, that I sadly didn't have any time to write a new short story.
College started and I've been putting together a new business, but I still wanted to put out a story and keep up (somewhat) with this blog.
So, today I have an older story that I wrote in the summer of 2017.
This is a fantasty/crime genre mash-up. I want to explore this world more, and might end up making a series of short stories that intertwine with each other.
This is probably one of my favorite short stories I've ever written. It features Decective Myka Myles and a mysterious boy pulled from the water.
I've had to revamp it a bit since it's original first writing in 2017. If you enjoy reading it, please tell me either in the comments below, or through texting me on social media (since I know most everyone reading this knows me IRL)
Without further ado,
Myka Myles and the Staff
of Triteia
June 2017
“Uncle Jim,” the girl
laughed. “What are you doing?”
“I’m hooking the bait…” Uncle Jim explained with a
smile.
“You have more bait on you than on the hook!” the little
girl protested.
“I suppose I do,” Uncle Jim laughed, his brown eyes
crinkling. He took off his red baseball cap and put it on the little girl’s
head.
“Now, Kaylee,” he started, handing her the fishing pole,
“The key is patience. You don’t pull up too fast, but don’t wait too long
either.”
“Okay, Uncle Jim!” Kaylee cried impatiently.
“And quiet. Don’t scare away the fish.”
Kaylee nodded emphatically, her mouth pressed into a firm
line. She gripped the rod tightly and kept her eyes on the water. But sure
enough, just like all seven-year olds, after about five minutes of doing
nothing, she started to fidget. Her gaze wandered, and she wondered if Uncle
Jim would possibly take her fishing pole for her. She looked over and saw that
he was attempting to nap. She had just turned back to the water, when her pole
was almost tugged from her grasp!
“Uncle Jim! Uncle Jim! I got one! I got one!!”
Uncle Jim started from where he had been sitting and rushed
to Kaylee. He wrapped his hands around hers and started reeling in the line.
“That’s good...that’s it...good girl, Kaylee...boy! this is
one big fish!”
Uncle Jim thought the line would break, but at last he
could see a blurry shape coming towards the surface of the water. His neck
tingled. Something was wrong...this wasn’t a fish…
“Uh, Kaylee darling, let Uncle Jim take over now…”
“No way! I caught it…”
“Kaylee!” Uncle Jim shouted. But it was too late. The fish
Kaylee had caught was already at the surface. Kaylee screamed and hid her face
in Uncle Jim’s giant coat, hoping the nightmare would go away. Uncle Jim just
stared in disbelief. The fish was not a fish at all. It was, in fact, a boy.
---
“Detective Myka Myles,” the woman said flashing her badge
at the policeman, who stood by the yellow tape. Her unruly black hair had been
pushed into somewhat of a bun, and she sipped her coffee as she walked over to
the crime scene. Her blue eyes scanned the surrounding and made quite the
contrast to her dark face.
“What do you got for me, Briggs?” she asked her co-worker.
Ransom Briggs had been working with her since she had started working with the
bureau.
“A man was teaching his niece how to fish. The little girl
ended up catching this…” he gestured to the young man being put in a black body
bag.
“That poor little girl…” Myka murmured.
“Yeah...but get this,” Briggs lowered his voice to a
whisper. “The little girl insists that this boy had gills and a tail. Apparently
they disappeared after he was out of the water.”
Myka raised an eyebrow.
“Well, I guess pulling a boy out of the water on a fishing
line will do things to ya. How is she now?”
“Her uncle took her
home…” Briggs trailed off and looked away. Myka knew what that meant. Briggs
had something to say but was afraid to say it.
“Spit it out.”
“Well, the odd thing is
the uncle didn’t deny the little girl’s claims. Most adults would’ve shushed
the kid right away. He didn’t…”
“He probably didn’t want
to upset the girl any further. And frankly, I’m kinda surprised that you’re
putting that much thought into it.”
“I can’t shake it...the
way she said it…”
“Okay. Why don’t you get
back to base and see what you can find on the boy. And send down
Bradford.”
“Right away, Chief.”
Briggs walked away
quickly, trying to get as far away from the boat as possible. Myka stayed
longer, looking over the scene. The morning sky was gray, ocean waves crashed
in a steady beat, and the wind whipped through the dunes. The everydayness of
it all didn’t surprise Myka. It would have seven years ago, but by now Myka
knew that terrible things happened on ordinary days.
The police were doing a
good job of keeping away the bystanders. There weren’t many, as it was still
early in the morning. As Myka started to walk away, however, a figure caught
her eye. A young man in a dark red hoodie was walking toward her. He looked
like he was mid-twenties and wore an anxious look on his face. She ignored him
and walked by, but he grabbed her arm.
“I urge you to stop. You must not look into this murder. It
is too dangerous.”
“Excuse me?” Myka looked harder into the man’s face. His
strange eyes were familiar. They were slowly changing from bright green to a
dark blue. They reminded her, oddly enough, of the ocean. She blinked and
jolted herself back to reality. She gently removed the man’s hand from her arm.
“You must leave this alone. You must promise.”
“Listen, mister. I’ve dealt with worse than this, I’ll be
fine.”
“No, you don’t understand--” he broke off and looked
around. He leaned in closer, whispering fiercely.
“I am warning you. This is something you will not
understand. I will protect you as much as I can, but I must go. And one more
thing. Do not cut him--”
“Perform an autopsy? But we have-”
“Do not do this autopsy. I must take my leave, Miss Myles.”
And with that, he turned away and ran into the crowd. Myka rushed after him.
Her coffee, forgotten, fell to the ground. The red hoodie stood out pretty
well, but the man was fast and turned down an alley. By the time Myka reached
it, he had disappeared.
Well, shoot. That was weird...what does he mean he’ll
protect me? I wonder if he has any connection with the victim...well he
probably does, given how he was so intense about not investigating... I’ll talk
with the team.
---
Myka sat at her desk, arms crossed and ears open. Her
co-workers Ransom Briggs, Maggie Bradford, and Dakota Bauman had all listened
to her story about the young hooded man. They were all throwing out their ideas
and theories.
“Okay, okay. I suggest we all get back to work. Speculating
won’t get us anywhere. He said he’d be...watching out for us, so for now we
just let things rest. Bradford, what did the coroner say?”
Bradford twirled her ponytail and looked a little
squeamish. She leaned in closer to the desk, and said quietly,
“The coroner couldn’t perform the autopsy...he said...to
show you this.”
Bradford handed Myka several pictures. The first picture
showed several knives, all bent and mangled. There was even what looked like a
meat clever, though Myka couldn’t really tell as the blade had been bent back
to the handle.
“What?” Myka questioned quietly, passing the picture to
Briggs. She heard similar reactions come from him and Bauman. The next picture
was of the boy's torso. There were small white scars running up and down the
center of his body.
What the heck?
She passed the second picture on and went through two more
that were similar to the second. The last picture, however, caused Myka to
choke on her coffee. The boy in the picture looked almost exactly like the boy
in the hoodie. His black hair had been swept away from his white face, and his
whole facial structure looked delicate. His lip had a small white scar where
the hook had been.
“Guys, this is the boy...the boy I saw. I mean, the boy in
the hoodie. It looks almost exactly like him!”
“We haven’t been able to find out who this boy is at all.
As you can see, we can’t penetrate his skin, and his fingerprints don’t show up
in any database.” Bradford informed the crew. Myka looked over at Briggs, who
had his eyebrows raised.
I wonder if...oh hell, no. I am not thinking that. You
are a grown woman, Myka. That’s enough fairytales.
Bauman spoke up just then,
“What if...just hear me out, but what if the little girl
was right? What if...that boy isn’t really a boy after all…” he looked around,
hoping that someone would laugh at the idea. No one did.
“I think our first priority should be to find the boy. The
hooded one, I mean. He’s the only lead we’ve got. It’s a pity I let him get
away…” Myka trailed off.
“He did say he’d be watching out. So, let’s start
investigating. Let’s go to the crime scene. He might show up there.” Briggs
suggested.
“Well, it’s the best we’ve got. Let’s head out.” Myka
grabbed her jacket, put a hand to her holster to make sure her gun was there,
and led the way out of the building.
---
Destan stood on the beach, looking out towards the ocean.
His brother had lain here. Dead. Alone. And it had been Destan’s fault. If only
he had listened to his brother, then Galfri would not have been alone. When he
had heard the news, Destan had rushed to the surface as soon as possible.
That’s when he had seen Detective Myles. He had seen her before, though she
would not remember. Humans had funny memories, always forgetting what seemed to
be impossible.
Destan sighed and turned away from the ocean. No matter
what happened, he would protect Myka Myles. He just had to make sure she stayed
away from the murderer. Who knew what he would do to her? Suddenly, Destan
looked up. His eyes were not as good on land as they were under water, but they
were far superior to any human eye. Over on the other end of the beach, four
figures were walking toward him. He saw the brown skin and curly black hair of
Myka Myles. He smiled to himself. She was looking for him. He started to walk
over to them, careful to go as slow as he could. He had forgotten that his
speed increased on land. He raised a hand in greeting and saw Detective Myles
raise hers. He was almost to them.
“Hello, My-Detective Myles,” he greeted, nodding his head.
“Hi,” she replied. “These are my colleagues, Briggs,
Bradford, and Bauman.”
“Hello, detectives. I believe you have questions for me?”
Myka looked a little surprised but nodded.
“Yes, in fact. Could you tell us who this boy is?” she
asked. Briggs handed him a picture. Destan felt tears come into his eyes. The
boy, of course, was his brother. He was laid out on a metal table, as pale as
the white starfish that hung on his door at home. He swallowed once, and
replied in as steady a voice as he could muster,
“This is...Galfri. My brother.”
The ginger detective, Bradford, gaped. Bauman and Briggs
lowered their eyes. The only one who did not look surprised was Myka. He looked
at her eyes and saw tears.
“And, you are?”
“I am Destan. I am looking for my brother’s murderer.”
“So are we Destan. Can you tell us anything? Anything at
all?”
Destan bit his lip and looked away. He wasn’t sure if he
should tell them everything. He knew he could trust Myka. He had before, but he
wasn’t sure about the others. He turned toward the ocean again, breathing in
the salty air. He looked back again at Detective Myles.
“Do you trust them?”
“Trust who? My team? Yes. I trust them with my life.”
Destan gave a small smile.
“Just as I trust you with mine...I will tell you. But I
cannot tell you here. Do you know of a place where we can talk in private?”
Myka looked a little astounded at his declaration of trust
but nodded all the same.
“Yes, if you will come with us,” she turned to her
companions and they started walking away. Destan followed and walked alongside
Myka.
“I...I know you do not remember me, Myka, but I remember
you. And you once saved my life. Therefore, I trust you with it. And I hope, in
time, you will remember how you once trusted me.” He fell quiet, and pulled
ahead with the detective called Bauman, leaving Myka speechless behind him.
---
“And I hope you will remember how you once trusted me…”
The words ran around and around in Myka’s head, twirling in
and through her other thoughts. She shook her head and focused on the road. She
was driving the team to her house. Briggs sat shotgun, and the other three were
in the back. She could hear them talking about something that had to do with
the sea, but before she could fully understand what they were speaking of,
Briggs whispered to her.
“Are you sure this is a good idea? For all we know, he could
be the murderer.”
“I know he isn’t. Don’t ask me, I just know. And... I have
a feeling we have met before.”
“What?”
“He said so himself. Said I wouldn’t remember him, but that
he remembers me. According to him, I saved his life.”
“But how is that possible?” Briggs asked incredulously as
Myka pulled into her driveway.
“I don’t know…” she said slowly. “We’re here, guys,” she
added louder, getting out of the car.
Once everyone had piled into her house, Myka locked the
door. She led them into the dining room. It was the only room not next to any
windows. Everyone sat at the table, and she gestured to Destan to begin his
story. He had his hood back, and his dark brown hair kept falling in his face.
His peculiar eyes never left hers as he told her his story.
“I am Destan. I am one hundred and twenty-nine years old,
and I am not human. I am...similar to what you humans call merpeople. My father
is the king of Pacificaolneaus, what you call the Pacific Ocean. Galfri and I
are--were his heirs. We are twins and according to our customs, we would share
rule. A couple weeks ago, my father announced that he would be retiring, so to
speak, and the crown would pass to my brother and I--”
“Wait a second! You expect us to believe that you’re a hundred
and something year old merman, who is about to become king of the Pacific
Ocean?” Bauman asked skeptically.
“Well, yes,” Destan calmly replied. “There was some
opposition to my father’s announcement. Mainly from my uncle, who was my
father’s chief counselor. He has hated my brother and I for something that
happened several years prior. He has long desired the throne and thinks that we
do not deserve to rule. He…” Destan trailed off, and the room was silent. “He
and my father had a huge argument, which ended in my uncle storming away from
the castle. I thought nothing of it, but Galfri felt responsible somehow. He
went after my uncle and came back later, saying that our uncle had invited us
to his house for dinner. I did not want to go, but my brother Galfri did. I
refused, but...Galfri went anyways. Perhaps, if I had gone Galfri would still
be alive.”
“So, your uncle killed him?” Maggie Bradford asked.
“Yes.”
“How do you know? What if it was someone else?” Briggs
countered.
“I saw it happen.” Destan said stoically. “I felt guilty
that I had not gone, so I followed my brother. I was just outside the house,
when I happened to glance through the window, where I saw my uncle strike my
brother down with his staff. I assume that he had poisoned him also, as there
is no way my uncle could have overpowered Galfri. When I heard that his body
had been discovered on the surface, I came as quickly as possible. My uncle
would not hesitate to kill anyone who tried to investigate this murder.”
“But what about your father? Doesn’t everyone else know
about your brother?”
Destan looked down, ashamed. When he looked back at Myka,
she saw his eyes were brim full of tears.
“I was a coward and ran away. My father does not know. My
uncle has probably thought of some convincing story, relaying his innocence in
mine and my brother’s disappearance. I must ask--”
Destan was interrupted by a crash and the sound of breaking
glass. Myka, Bradford, Briggs, and Bauman all started up from their seats. Myka
crept quietly to the door of the dining room, gesturing to the others to stay
quiet. She drew her gun and noticed the others do the same. She saw Destan
shove his hand into his hoodie’s pocket and pull out a long staff.
His pockets are obviously bigger on the inside… Myka
thought, almost smirking.
Myka went to open the door when there was a loud
knock.
“Hello, sorry about the damage, but the house was locked,
and I got an alert that you were in danger?”
Myka made a face at Briggs.
What the heck is this guy talking about?
Briggs made a similar
face back.
I don’t know…
Destan shook his head at Myka, his face pale. He touched
the tip of his staff, and blue runes and designs started to glow all over the
staff.
“Excuse me, Detective Myles? You may remember me. Mordre?”
No one moved. No one dared to speak. Briggs slowly went to
the other side of the door and gestured to Myka. She nodded. She moved to open
the door, but Destan rushed over and placed his hand on the door, keeping it
shut.
No! he mouthed. It is my uncle.
Myka thought quickly. There was one exit, through her
garage. The only con was that the garage door was closed, and the sound would
definitely alert Mordre to their presence.
It’s the only way… she thought. Immediately, she
gestured to Briggs and Destan to back away. She motioned to Bauman and Bradford
to follow her. Walking backwards, gun trained on the door, she led the way out
of the kitchen. Once they were out, they ran as quietly as possible to the garage.
When they all were in the garage, Myka locked the door behind them. She
listened for a second and heard another explosion.
“Okay, guys. As soon as you can crawl out of the door you
race to the car. Bradford, you first, here are my keys. Ready?” She made to
press the button, but Destan walked to the door, and held his staff against it.
He made an upward curving motion, and Myka saw a red-hot line following the
line made by his staff. Destan waited a couple seconds then, pushing at the
top, he bent the metal of her garage door, and pulled away a doorway. The whole
group rushed toward the car, when a bolt of bright green light struck the car.
Myka watched in dismay as her car burst into flames. Bradford, who had been the
closest, was thrown into the air. Bauman rushed to her side.
“GO, GO, GO!” Myka yelled at her team. Briggs
grabbed Bauman and together they lifted Bradford up and rushed away. Destan,
however, did not move. He positioned himself in front of Myka and took up a
defensive stance.
“Destan, you need to go,
I’ll take care of this!” Myka begged. Through the smoke coming from her
doorway, Myka saw a tall, slim form coming towards them. She tugged on Destan’s
arm, but he was immovable. She pulled out her gun and fired off four shots. The
figure still advanced, unafraid.
“No, Myka. This is my
problem, you must go,” he replied calmly. He looked at Myka, and suddenly he
looked much older. “You saved my life once. Please...let me return the favor”
“Heck no, your
Royalness! He attacked me. My friends. This isn’t just about your world
anymore. It’s about us too.”
Destan smiled widely.
Suddenly, another bolt of lightning struck, this time nearly hitting Myka. A
deep laugh cut through the noise.
“Destan! I see you have
found your pet. Myka Myles, is it? Yes...I remember you. I really was distressed
about having to wipe your memory, but you would’ve spoiled my plan, and then,
why, we wouldn’t be here today!” And then, Mordre fully emerged, leaning on a
tall staff covered in green runes. His skin was a pale blue, his eyes yellow.
The only similarity between Destan and him was the hair. It was coal black and
slicked back. He also had an ugly forked goatee.
“What? You mean, you
purposefully erased her memories! Of me and Galfri? Of…” Destan’s skin turned
to a metal gray, and his eyes flashed a deep blue. His staff crackled with
energy. “You...you have had this planned for a while...have you not? In fact,
you had planned to kill us all those years ago…Mordre! Prepare yourself for
death,” and with that, Destan swung his staff out. A pure blue whip of light
cut through the smoke and flames. The whip caught on Mordre’s foot and pulled
him off his feet. Destan leaped forward, and lunged with his staff, catching
his uncle in the stomach. Mordre flew against the side of Myka’s house.
Myka was sure Mordre was
finished, but as Destan advanced closer, Mordre held out his hand, and his
staff appeared. A green bolt of lightning flew out and struck Destan. Destan
fell to the ground but encased his body in a blue electric field before he hit.
Mordre stood up and flung more bolts at Destan, but they were all blocked. He
ran up to Destan and tried to kick him, but that too was useless. Finally, he
leaned in close and laughed. Destan was not moving.
“Very clever, nephew.
So, I cannot kill you...but…” he trailed off, looking up. His eyes found
Myka’s, and a sneer crept over his face. He stepped over Destan’s body and
walked slowly over to Myka. “I can kill your friend.”
Myka backed up and held
out her gun. She fired once, twice. Every bullet hit her mark, but they didn’t
even dent Mordre’s skin.
Oh dear God...help me…
Finally, Myka ran out of
bullets. In a last-ditch attempt, she threw the gun at Mordre. It hit him in
the head but didn’t make a difference. Mordre laughed again, smirking at her
efforts. Myka glanced around the front yard. The only items that littered the
lawn was her water hose and—Destan’s staff. She started to inch her way closer
to it.
If I can just...get it…
“It’s almost adorable,
how you try to fight. I can understand why Destan likes you...but,” Mordre
leapt forward and reached out. “I must kill you anyway...it is a pity…” He made
for her throat, but Myka ducked under his hand and rammed her shoulder into his
gut. It was something her dad had taught her. Caught by surprise, Mordre
groaned and clutched his stomach, giving Myka enough time to grab Destan’s
staff. She held it out and pointed it at Mordre.
“Alright, mister. I
suggest you back off,” she said forcefully. “You have no idea how to use that…”
Mordre insisted, but his smile fell.
“Really? How do you
know? You think I’d forgotten everything?” Myka bluffed. She didn’t remember
diddly squat about what had happened between her and Destan, but Mordre didn’t
know that. “Destan taught me how to use this,” she continued. “Galfri said I
was quite good,” she added as an afterthought. An image of Galfri standing
before her and laughing flashed through her mind. She blinked.
What…
“You are lying! No human
can wield an Atlantean staff...especially not the Staff of Tritea!”
“Really?” she asked. And
then, as if her body remembered what her mind did not, she lifted up the staff
and sliced it through the air. An ocean blue streak of light burst from the
staff and came down in arc upon Mordre. He lifted his staff and countered just
in time. Myka twirled the staff in a complex pattern and advanced toward
Mordre. He swept his staff under her feet, but she jumped just in time, and
brought her staff down toward Mordre’s head. Reacting quicker than Myka could
see, Mordre brought his staff up and it connected with hers. Two bolts of lightning
came from each staff and struck each other. The explosion blew the two apart.
Mordre leapt up and ran
at Myka, snarling. Panicking, Myka glanced to her side, grabbing the water
hose. She aimed it at Mordre’s face and pulled the trigger, shooting a massive
spurt of water in his face. Mordre pulled back, spluttering from the massive
force of water. The distraction gave Myka enough time to run and grab Destan’s
staff. She turned, but Mordre kicked out and knocked her to the ground. He
swung his staff down, but Myka brought hers up, blocking it. He pushed down,
and Myka grunted in exertion. Water dripped down from Mordre’s face into Myka’s
eyes. Another image, this time of Destan, flashed through her mind. He was
speaking.
“If an enemy has you
pinned down, kick out with your legs and summon lightning. It’ll push the enemy
away, giving you time to escape.”
Summoning the rest of
her energy, Myka kicked out at Mordre and summoned lightning from within the
staff. The lighting struck Mordre’s staff and flung him away. Myka stood up
slowly and walked over to where Mordre lay and knew instantly that he was dead.
His head had cracked against a sharp point of what had once been her car.
The water must have returned
his physiology back to normal…he wasn’t invulnerable anymore…
His charred staff lay
next to him. It had been split open, exposing glowing green veins of some type
of seaweed. She bent over to pick it up. The moment her finger touched the staff,
there was a flash of light and memories flooded into Myka. It was as if a dam
in her mind had been knocked down, allowing the torrent of memories in. She
staggered away from the car.
“I remember! Destan! I
remember!” She ran to where he lay, his blue force field now gone. She knelt
down beside him. “Destan! Wake up! I remember!” She shook his body, but there
was no movement. Suddenly, Myka felt a surge of anger. “Destan Klingri, wake
UP!” And she slapped him. She felt sure that her hand stung more than his
cheek, but it did it’s intended purpose. Destan shot up, almost knocking Myka
down.
“Myka! You know it takes
more than a couple seconds to wake up after being knocked out...wait...you
what?”
“I remember! I remember
everything!” Myka said happily.
Destan grinned and
wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in tight. She hugged him back,
laughing. She was so happy, but then realization dawned on her.
“Destan...Galfri...Galfri
died. And I didn’t know it…” she whispered, the smile falling from her face.
Still hugging each other, they both wept for the brother and friend they had
lost.
