Round 2 Prompt:
Lucy Finch vs. Rebecca Hoth vs. Wyndi Lin Su
A body--a dead body, not yet cold—is lying on its stomach in front of you. Though you can't see the face, you recognize the form. On its back is an envelope.
You reach out and pick it up. The outside of the envelope simply reads: Added Incentive.
You open the envelope and pull out a note, on which is printed in green ink the following:
[Insert your name here]
The person on the ground? Yes, it is someone you know quite well. And yes they are very much dead. A part of me is sorry that it had to be done this way, but it is what daddy would have wanted. He always found that people work best when properly motivated.
Your exploits have been brought to my attention. The research done by you and your associates has been passed on to my experts, and it has been put to good use. Without going into too great of detail, know that my experts were able to utilize all that you and your associates discovered to develop a unique product. However, my experts inform me that they are missing a key ingredient: the golden tresses of Sif.
Do not bother moving the body. Doing so will result in immediate retribution. Know that it will be well looked after.
I assure you, there are no other methods of reviving the individual. Only the combination of the ingredients that I have acquired will do the job. If you wish this person to live again, your only hope is to follow my instructions.
There are two others who are in the same situation as you. Know also that this deal is only offered to the first one to achieve my wishes. The other ‘incentives’ will not be as lucky. If all of you refuse my offer, I guarantee that millions will perish.
Will you make a deal with your associates? Stab them in the back? Beat them to the goal? I look forward to the answer. Your choice may mean that we could be allies or enemies. Remember, your efforts are being monitored.
Round 2 Submission (4000 words)
Brown, vacant eyes stared into Lucy’s, shimmering dully like
polished stone in the flickering fluorescent overhead. Daddy. Mouth gaping. Face bloodless. Just lying on the cement
ground like a wax statue that could not be real. It can’t be real. It can’t. It can’t. Golden hair snaked around his
face, crossing over and over, biting into his lifeless skin, making it bulge
and pucker.
Lucy
sat up in the darkness with a gasp. The hotel blankets fell from her shoulders
to her waist as her chest heaved in and out. Her skin prickled as cold air hit
the sheen of sweat over her exposed skin. Attempting to calm her racing heart
and bring her mind back to the present, Lucy turned to look around the shadowy
hotel room. Her companions, alert as ever, had woken as well, and sat ramrod
straight, staring at her. Rebecca shared a bed with her, and Wyndi had insisted
on her own. They stared at her, silent and wary.
“Sorry,”
Lucy muttered, wiping sweat away from her temple with the back of her wrist.
“Sorry.”
Wyndi sighed, stowed her knife back under her
pillow, and flopped back down onto the mattress. Rebecca blinked, her mussed
hair standing at crazy angles. “You disturb my sleep.”
“I
know, I’m sorry.”
“You
aren’t the only one who lost someone.” This was said in a pained whisper.
Lucy
swallowed, nodding. They were all in the same boat. Loved ones dead. Owners of
matching envelopes with matching letters saying the same thing: Find the hair
of Sif, and their loved ones would be returned to life.
Lucy
looked at the digital clock on the bedside. 6:00. In a few hours they would go
to the Callanish Stones on Wyndi’s hunch. She should try to sleep. Lucy tossed
for a short time, and then finally from beside her Rebecca launched herself out
of bed, walking to the bathroom. “I am awake now,” she muttered bitterly.
Wyndi
sighed loudly from the other bed. “Let’s just go.”
Lucy
grimaced guiltily. “I’m really sorry guys.”
“Forget
it,” Wyndi said, rising and braiding her long, ink-black hair. This woman was
fascinating to Lucy. She looked Asian, but when they had first met, she
informed Lucy that she was, in fact, an elf, and that she had powers Lucy
couldn’t even dream of. And she talked to animals, which freaked Lucy out in a
huge way. But she had already seen magic apples; she wasn’t entirely surprised.
While
Rebecca used the bathroom first, Lucy sat on the edge of her bed, watching
Wyndi pack her backpack in the semi-darkness. “You said there are things in
this world I don’t know about. How do you know them?”
“I grew
up knowing them,” She said, unzipping a pocket and stuffing weapons into it. “I
live in a different world than you do.”
Lucy
chewed on the inside of her cheek, looking down at her plaid pajama pants. “So
these Callanish Stones have a face on them, and you think the face is Thor’s
talking head Mimir.”
“No, I
know it is. Why?” She stopped staring at Lucy with raised brows. “Do you think
I would lie?”
“No,
it’s not that. It’s just…”
“Improbable?”
The young woman cast her eyes at the ceiling, somewhat amused. “Trust me. Mimir
was renowned for his knowledge in helping Thor. After being beheaded, Thor
preserved him here. He will know where Sif’s hair is.”
“Does
he know…everything?”
“He
knows everything to do with Thor and his history. Sif had a daughter with
Thor—he was angry when Loki took her hair.” Wyndi zipped up the backpack and
threw it onto the bed. “If anyone knows what Loki did with the hair, it would
be Mimir.”
Rebecca
emerged from the bathroom, her face clean and clothes changed into cargo pants
and, for once, sneakers. She put a hoodie over her navy blue tank top. She
pulled a knife out from the compartment the hotel stored a tissue box in.
Rolling
her eyes again, Wyndi headed for the bathroom. “Let’s be quick.”
Lucy
had insisted on a shower, which annoyed Rebecca, but even if she had become a
puppet to a band of psychopaths, she still need to smell decent. End of
discussion. They grabbed breakfast in the lobby of the small, quaint hotel, and
piled into the black, rented SUV. Wyndi drove, and Lucy rode in the front, with
Rebecca silent as usual, staring at the window as they headed out of the small
town of Callanish, which was on the Isle of Lewis. They drove into the Outer
Hebrides, the landscape green and lush, and the air soft with the magic of the
island.
“When
we get there, I will cast a spell to keep outsiders from visiting,” Wyndi said.
The morning sun bronzed her high cheekbones and she stared at the road. “But we
will only have a few minutes before it wears off.”
Lucy
swallowed hard, tugging the sleeves of her brown jacket down and fisting the
material in her palms. She was way out of her league here. Why did these people
even need her?
When
they reached the site, they parked the car on the road that ran parallel to the
grouping of ancient stones. Because it was early, there didn’t seem to be any
tourists yet, but the first thing Wyndi did when exiting the car was to crouch
down to the ground, and placed the fingertips of her right hand in the grass.
Closing her eyes, she furrowed her brow and seemed to concentrate. She stayed
that way for maybe thirty seconds, and then rose. “Okay, I’ve bought us time if
anyone else comes to visit.”
Lucy’s
boots whispered through the lush grass as they reverently threaded through the garden
of stones. They were all different heights, but all about the thickness of tree
trunks, and placed randomly like haphazard tombstones. Around them, the
Scottish countryside spread out in a glorious array of glittering ponds,
swaying grass, and charming cottages that seemed like another time entirely.
Lucy
examined one of the rocks and Wyndi headed for her target. The rocks really did
look like trees, with swirling patterns unlike anything she had seen before.
Reluctantly, she left the tallest stone and caught up to Wyndi. The elf now
stood in front of one of the more medium sized stones, which still stretched up
probably twenty feet. Wyndi looked at the base of the stone. “He’s here.”
Lucy
cocked her head, peering at it. “Where?”
Wyndi
motioned to the rock, “You don’t see it? There’s a face right there.”
Lucy
leaned forward, straining her eyes to see it. It was like trying to find an
image in an inkblot test. And then she saw it. It was subtle, but surely there.
The curves and angles at the base of the stone did, indeed, form the oblong
profile of a man. “I see him now.”
Wyndi
had her hands in her jacket pockets. “Mimir,” she said. “Come forth.”
Lucy
took an involuntary step back as the stone crackled and shifted. Dust puffed
out from the face as it rumbled to life, jaw flexing and gaping wide, but eyes
frozen forward. “Elf,” he grated. His voice was toneless, and jarred her ears
like it had been made by stones rubbed together.
“Where
did Loki put Sif’s hair?”
“Sif,”
the stone face intoned. “Sif.”
“It has
been a long while, but I know you remember,” Wyndi said, her delicate features
impassive. “Tell me where he hid her hair.”
“Do you
think,” Mimir said, “you are the first to ask?”
“Likely
not. But I need to know—tell me how to earn your trust.”
“Trust
is earned in seeking, not asking.” Mimir said in his toneless voice. “You may
try.”
“Where,
then?” Wyndi prompted.
“When
Loki took the locks of Sif, he flew them from the highest cliff. But chaos
followed Loki’s glee, and so they cast them in the sea.”
Lucy
rubbed her forehead. “A riddle, really?”
“Thank
you, Mimir.”
“Beware
the seeking,” he grated. And then his face settled, once more the ambiguous
carving of angles in stone.
Rebecca,
crouched some feet behind them, plucked at a blade of grass. “There is a lot of
sea.”
Wyndi
nodded, turning to face her companions. “I’m sure there is a way to find out
where. Let’s go back and do some research. My usual source is…unavailable.”
Lucy
turned over the words of the riddle in her mind. It was only two lines, and it
seemed straightforward. Loki brandished the hair from a cliff to mock Sif and
Thor. But the hair wasn’t on the cliff anymore. It was cast into the sea. But
where? Near the cliff?
As they
drove back, Lucy went over all the words. Highest cliff—literal or not? Like
Kilimanjaro? Chaos. She chewed on that one. Chaos followed the locks. There
were lots of chaotic places—Pompeii with the volcanic eruption, Japan with its
earthquakes and tsunamis, tropical islands with hurricanes. But those came and
went. If chaos followed the locks, and the locks were in the sea, then it had
to be stagnant. Constant. Constant chaos.
“Whoa.”
Lucy sat forward in her seat, swiveling to stare at Wyndi. “Seriously, I have
it.”
Wyndi
spared her a sidewise glance. “What do you have?”
“I know
where it is. Loki was the mischievous God, right? What kind of constant chaos
would survive for this long without being overly obvious?”
Rebecca
and Wyndi stared, silent. Okay, I guess
they aren’t into guessing games, Lucy thought wryly. Best to get right to
it. “The Bermuda Triangle.”
Wyndi
didn’t answer right away, and Rebecca brought her knees up, staring sideways in
thought. Finally, Wyndi said, “That actually does make sense.”
“I
know, right?” Lucy grinned. “It’s the only place that has been weird and crazy
like that since the beginning of history.”
Wyndi
nodded. “I agree. I’ll book our tickets.”
They
didn’t waste any time. From Edinburgh they booked tickets to New York, and then
to Miami, Florida. The universal credit card of dubious nature could only go so
far—they had to find someone willing to take them into the center of the
triangle with no apparent cause. Not surprisingly, there weren’t any takers.
Finally they got a hold of a small fishing excursion service who said they
might be willing to negotiate.
When
they rolled up to the place, they found a small, shack-like building with a
painted sign that read “Greg’s Fishing” on it. Behind the small, two-room
construction, a decently-sized boat clunked and splooshed against a pier. It
looked like an older boat, and Lucy eyed it suspiciously.
They
walked up the steps and through the creaky screen door, the afternoon air muggy
and hot although it was still spring. The man, who on the phone said he was
Fred, not Greg, stood behind a wooden counter, hands braced on the surface. He
was a middle-aged man with a dark tan, blond hair, and a beer belly that curved
out from his white, cotton button-down shirt. He nodded as they shuffled into
the small space. “You the ones with the coordinate request?”
“Yeah,
I spoke with you on the phone.” Lucy said.
Fred
tapped his fingers, studying them. Lucy looked down at the fingers, and then
jumped when she saw a gun at his right. Fred’s eyes slid to the gun. When they
returned to her, he raised his brows, “What?”
Lucy
shook her head, feigning ignorance.
Wyndi
lifted her chin in Fred’s direction. “What will you charge to charter your
boat?”
“You
ladies aren’t fishing,” Fred said, his bushy, bleached eyebrows twitching up.
“Right?”
Rebecca’s
eyes hadn’t stopped traveling around the office, but the finally rested on
Fred. “We have money.”
“Yeah,
that’s what worries me. Why do you need to go out there?”
Lucy
rubbed the back of her neck.
Wyndi
shrugged, “Nothing illegal. What do you care? Do you need the money or not?”
He
sighed loudly, “I don’t know. You girls are freaking me out.”
“We’re
in the government,” Lucy blurted out.
Everyone
turned to stare at her. Wyndi’s eyes promised vengeance.
“I’m
serious. We can’t tell you why, but we need to get out there. Immediately.”
Lucy straightened, trying to look more important than her five feet of petit
blond cuteness.
Fred
snorted. “Government. Do you have a gun?”
“No…”
“You
looked at mine like it was a rattlesnake.” Fred gestured to the door. “Find
another boat.”
“I am,”
Lucy insisted. “I…we’re under cover so I don’t have my badge. I can prove it,
though.”
Fred
blinked, clearly bored. “Out.”
Lucy
swiveled around, alighting on an idea. The shack was backed up against the ocean,
but on the other side a few clusters of mossy trees swayed in the breeze. A
birdhouse, 200 yards away, rocked to and fro from a branch. Lucy pointed it to
it, “I’ll hit that.”
Fred
squinted his eyes at her finger, “What?”
Lucy
crossed the room, opened the door, and pointed across the stretch of meadow.
“That birdhouse out there. I will hit it. With a gun.”
Fred
guffawed, rolling his eyes. “You want me to give you a gun?”
“And if
I hit it, you take us out. We’ll still compensate you.”
“There’s
no way you hit that.”
Lucy
shrugged, “Then what do you lose?”
The man
shook his head, seeming to be equal parts amused and annoyed.
“It’s a
nearly impossible shot,” Wyndi said. “Only someone very well-trained could hit
that. Let us prove it to you.”
Fred blew
air out from his lips, buzzing them together. “What the heck. Go for it.”
Lucy
went to the counter and took the gun in her hand. It felt heavy and unfamiliar.
She had no idea how guns worked, but she had to fake it. She had watched enough
movies, right? The safety said off. Pointing the muzzle down, she took hold of
the barrel and cocked it. It was hard, but it clicked satisfyingly. Point and
shoot, right?
Lucy
went to the doorway, and everyone shuffled behind her to watch. She held the
gun up, bracing it with both hands, and took aim. She prayed her target-hitting
skills extended to guns. It had to, right?
Bang.
The
kickback was more violent than she expected, and her right arm popped back in
its socket, but the gun fired. The birdhouse spun crazily from across the yard.
“No
way,” Fred pushed past her and ran out across the grass. Lucy rubbed her
shoulder as she watched him advance to the birdhouse.
Lucy held out the gun between two
fingers, muzzle down. Wyndi took it and replaced it on the counter.
When Fred returned, he wiped sweat
from his brow with the back of his arm. Dumbfounded he nodded, “You hit it.”
“I know,” Lucy smiled. “Now about
that boat.”
With favorable weather, Fred said they would reach their
destination in four or five days. The boat was small, but although cramped,
they had cots below deck, and during the day spent time on deck as Fred
navigated them through the Atlantic. Lucy tried to keep her thoughts away from
her family. From her dad. The nightmares wouldn’t stop, and the images of her
cold father, of his lifeless, staring eyes haunted her day and night. She had
brought a few books, but they held little interest to her.
On the
fifth day, Lucy dressed in black leggings, black shorts, and a fitted black top
and went to the deck to join her Wyndi and Rebecca. They were already standing
side-by-side, quietly watching the endless expanse of gray-blue streak by as
the boat churned through relatively calm waters. With the cabin at the bow, and
Fred inside it, Lucy joined the other two near the stern at the handrail.
Standing
between them, Lucy looked from Wyndi to Rebecca. They were both dressed in
black, and stared stolidly out ahead of them. Lucy chuckled suddenly. “We’re
like Charlie’s Angels.”
Rebecca
gave her a confused stare. Wyndi looked equally baffled. “Who?”
“You
know, like you’re Alex Munday, I’m the blonde so I’d be…” Lucy trailed off at
Wyndi continued to stare in confusion. “Nevermind,” Lucy muttered. “Sorry.”
Wyndi
sighed. “It’s fine. I’m just tense.”
“I know.”
Truthfully, Lucy never instigated conversation, but even for her, she found her
companions to be a little…ponderous. As long as they found the hair, she didn’t
care. She didn’t actually think these people could make something that would
bring back the dead, but she couldn’t risk anyone else—
Lucy
shook her head. Don’t think about it. Put it away. Face it
later.
“Storm
ahead!” Fred shouted from the cabin. Lucy looked up at the sky, and sure
enough, the clouds swirled around them ominously. They had encountered one
before, and Lucy knew it was better to just read below deck rather than bit her
nails watching the weather all day.
She sat
on the L-shaped, vinyl sofa that doubled as a table nook, switched on a table
lamp in the darkness, and opened her Dean Koontz thriller. With the rocking of
the boat increasing as they entered choppier waters, Lucy’s head nodded
forward, and she drifted off to sleep.
“Lucy!”
Lucy
bolted upright, blinking away the heaviness of sleep. Someone had called her
name, hadn’t they? For once she had been enjoying a dreamless sleep.
“Lucy!”
The voice called out again, above deck. Rebecca.
Lucy
jumped from her seat, and pounding up the stairs tumbled onto the deck. “What?
What is it?”
Rebecca
and Wyndi stood in the center of the deck, necks craned back and gaping at the
sky. Lucy came to stand next to them. Slowly, she tilted her head back to look
up. Her breath caught in her throat.
The
clouds circled around slowly, a vortex of angry black all swirling around one
tiny patch of blue sky. Lucy had heard about the eye of a storm, but this was
so surreal. Almost impossible. The circle of blue was right above them. She
looked at the sea, and this time gasped audibly. Probably a mile out, the
waters chugged and sloshed, roiling with giant waves that would have toppled
their boat easily. Turning in a circle, Lucy realized that the waters all
around them, in the one mile radius, bubbled in an angry boil. But their little
circle, in the eye of the storm, remained calm.
Running
to the handrail, Lucy looked over the side of the boat. The water underneath
them was eerily calm. Instead of floating in the ocean, it was like they sat in
the middle of a stagnant pond. No wind. No waves. No sound. “What the,” Lucy
swallowed convulsively.
Wyndi
looked around, calculating. “This is supernatural. We should prepare
ourselves.”
Lucy
nervously flipped a knife from her belt. “Prepare for what?”
Fred
pounded down the stairs from the cabin. “Radio is out,” he said nervously.
“Stay
below deck,” Wyndi said, eyes still on the sea. Fred looked like he might
argue, but she pierced him with a glare. “Just do it.”
He knew
something was off. Without another word, the captain went below.
Rebecca
inhaled deeply through her nose, long lashes kissing her cheeks as she closed
her eyes. “Something is here.”
Wyndi
nodded, “I sense a presence, too.”
Lucy
flipped her knife in and out, in and out, nervously pacing the deck. What could
she do, but wait?
Suddenly
a wave rocked the boat. Lucy stumbled as it rolled under them, and she took
hold of the handrail. Another one, bigger, splashed up against the side of the
boat. And then another. Finally, the wave splashed over the deck, and water
bubbled and hissed over the floor.
Lucy
watched in disbelief as the water frothed, spreading out across the stern in a
line, and then grew into three separate shapes. When the water fell away, three
humanoid beings stood before them. They looked like men, bare to their waists.
From hip to foot, their legs were covered in shimmering scales, glinting a
rainbow of blues, purples, greens, and yellows. They looked identical, each of
them hairless with scales that crept up their necks and over their heads.
Slanted, large yellow eyes blinked at them. With arms folded, the sea creatures
watched the girls.
Lucy
held her knife out before her, tensed. The creatures stood with arms folded,
silently watching as the unnatural calm weighed down on them like an increase
in gravity. Then they moved. Lucy almost missed it as one of the creatures came
at her in a flash. She didn’t even see his legs move. Not thinking, just
reacting, she threw her dagger, aiming for the heart. It hit true, lodging in
the man’s chest, halting him just a foot from her. He bent forward with a
grunt, and she got a view of the scales that trailed from his head down his
back. Then he dissipated into frothy sea foam. But her moment of relief was
short-lived.
The
foam congealed, and then suddenly smacked into her, enveloping her in a gooey
wrap and slamming her against the side of the boat, pinning her in place. She
struggled against the white substance, but she was stuck fast with the stuff
clinging to her neck all the way to her hips.
She
looked up, and only just caught Wyndi using a spell, something that looked like
an attempt to trap the creature. The man melted just as Lucy’s attacker had,
and in an instant had Wyndi pinned to the deck floor, face-down.
“Wyndi!”
Lucy cried out. She struggled, searching for Rebecca. When she found the girl,
she stilled, eyes wide.
Rebecca
stood nose-to-nose with the sea-man. They just stood there, staring at each
other. Rebecca was tall and lithe, tense, but calm with blinking eyes staring
into the enormous yellow orbs of the remaining attacker. Swallowing visibly,
Rebecca kept her hands at her sides. “I greet you honestly.”
The sea
creature blinked for the first time, his lids languidly closing over his yellow
eyes. Rebecca seemed to hold her breath. With a nod, the man dissolved into the
frothy water, and just as quickly as the beings had appeared, the water
slithered off the deck, splashing off the side and into the ocean.
Lucy’s
restraint melted into water, soaking her through, but suddenly harmless. Lucy
stood gingerly, wringing out her shirt. Going to Rebecca she made a silent
gesture of awe and confusion. Rebecca smiled, impish features relieved. “My
instincts told me to be open and friendly.”
Wyndi
wiped water from her eyes. “The storm is dying.”
Lucy
looked around, and sure enough the waters around the eye of the storm began to
calm. The clouds lightened. A splash behind them made all three girls run to
the handrail, and a wooden chest floated innocently in the water several yards
from their boat. Rebecca exhaled slowly. “Mimir said the trial was in the
seeking. I think we passed the test.”
They
grabbed a fishing net, and together were able to cast it out and catch the
chest, dragging over the side of the boat and to the deck, where it clunked
heavily to the floor. It was a flat rectangle box, dotted with a hard, white coral,
but somehow entirely intact even despite the many eons that had passed since
its creation.
Wyndi
placed her hand over the lock, closing her eyes and muttering as she cast a
spell. The chest popped open with a click.
Lucy
got an eyeful of shimmering, golden hair, unbraided and spilling over the
interior of the chest before a loud click sounded behind her. Lucy spun around,
and found Fred with a gun leveled in their direction. He gave a mirthless
smirk. “Just like they said you would.”
Lucy’s
mouth popped open. “What…what?”
Behind
her, Rebecca and Wyndi stood slowly, eyes captivated on Fred. He motioned to
the box. “Assignment over.”
Bang.
Results: Passed round 2! And my story was canon once again.
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