It's Not Over

Trifecta: Week Eighty-Three   
and
Write at the Merge, Week 26

After my Trifextra offering, I was inspired to create a new character in my ever changing world of Anne Marie McClarren.  So I'm throwing two prompts together this week,  this image from Write on Edge..

and, from Trifecta Writing...

This week's word is:

RUSTY
1: affected by or as if by rust; especially : stiff with or as if with rust
2: inept and slow through lack of practice or old age
3a : of the color rust  

  b : dulled in color or appearance by age and use <rusty old boots>
4: outmoded
5: hoarse, grating

- See more at: http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/#sthash.31EjgJ5O.dpuf

Damp air touched his face, a soft caress awakening him.  Jean Philippe Michel L'Parre struggled to raise rusty eyelids.  As consciousness returned, so did memory.

She'd been there, in his lair under the lighthouse.  Lying in wait for his return at sunrise.  He remembered the surprise followed by the pain.  Excruciating, burning pain.  It immobilized him as she sealed the entry of his cavern.  His final memory had been of black, dry silence.

His eyes adjusted to the dark as he slowly moved his weakened extremities.  Arms lethargically drew his hands over his body.  When they reached his unmoving chest, he grasped the rotting wood of the stake driven there. 

He twisted the shaft free, the accompanying scream reverberating in the small space meant to be his tomb.  The elder memory of pain blotted out by fresh agony.

He lay still, willing strength to return.  Vengeance growing hotter as the burning wave of pain subsided.  He threw the offensive wood, its clatter echoing more softly than his cry.

Hours passed before he became aware of the sound dripping water.  Then the scuttling of tiny clawed feet.  Here was the creature that had breached the seal, inviting the wood moldering wetness.

Curiosity drove the rat closer.  L'Parre waited patiently as it sniffed and shuffled about his feet. When it moved within his reach, he snatched it with one emaciated hand.  Not bothering to bring it to his fangs, he simply twisted its head off.  He held the body over his open mouth, letting the crimson flow run down his throat.

When the blood no longer ran freely, he used both hands to wring the remaining rusty drops directly into the gaping hole in his chest.  

He tossed the empty body  the same direction as the stake.  Then closed his eyes once more, resting, to let "nature" take its course, while he dreamed of the demise of Mademoiselle McClarren.


   

A Scene from Renewal

Trifecta: Week Seventy

Congratulations to the Weekend Winners, good work!
I found a bit of one of my  Works Chaos in Progress that had the word of the week in it.  I cleaned it up a bit, cut a lot of excess.  So, here we go...


On to the weekly prompt. Pay attention to the third definition, as always. Good lucky!

LUCKY (adjective)

1: having good luck
2: happening by chance : fortuitous
3: producing or resulting in good by chance : favorable

Please remember:
Your response must be between 33 and 333 words.
You must use the 3rd definition of the given word in your post.
The word itself needs to be included in your response.
You may not use a variation of the word; it needs to be exactly as stated above.
Only one entry per writer.
If your post doesn't meet our requirements, please leave your link in the comments section, not in the linkz.
Trifecta is open to everyone. Please join us. 



Sheriff Denny Clark pulled into the farm yard.  Nate Foley was waiting for him, angry and impatient.

“Mornin', Nate.  What’s the problem?”  he asked.

“The problem, Sheriff, is somethin' killed more than half my best layin' hens.”  The old farmer led Denny to the chicken coop.  Feathers, blood and torn birds littered the yard.  “Whatever kilt 'em didn't do it for eatin'.  These animals was killed for the fun of it.”

Denny squatted to inspect the remains more closely.  Nate was right.  The birds had been torn apart, one after another.  Whatever?  He was inclined to lay bets on whoever.  The local wild life may take a chicken once in a while, and that's exactly what they did, take.  One may find a few feathers or bones, but those remains showed obvious signs of feeding.  These didn't.

“You didn’t hear anything, Nate?”



“Nope.  Take my hearin' aids out at night.”

“Dog didn’t raise hell?”

“Ain't got no dog.  Last one I had thought the chickens was his.  It were his lucky day, the grandchild was here, took 'im home." 

“Got a count on how many you lost here, Nate?”

The old man figured a minute.  “ I’d say 'bout three dozen.”

Denny nodded, “I'll grab some bags, take a few to Doc Kelsey.  See if he can come up with anything evidential.”  Denny popped the trunk of the squad, he returned with several plastic bags and latex gloves.  He brought a camera to document the scene.  He took a dozen pictures, then bagged eight birds for the Kelsey, the local veterinarian. 

“Make sure you show all that to my insurance agent.  Only about twenty left.  That won’t pay bills for long.  Kin I get rid of the mess now, Sheriff?”

“You gonna burn ‘em, Nate?”

Nate Foley nodded.  “Yep, gotta burn ‘em.  For sure.”

Needle Shy

Trifecta: Week Sixty-Nine

Congrats to this weekends winners!
This week's word is:
INFECT
1: to contaminate with a disease-producing substance or agent (as bacteria)
2a : to communicate a pathogen or a disease to
  b : of a pathogenic organism : to invade (an individual or organ) usually by penetration
  c : of a computer virus : to become transmitted and copied to (as a computer)
3a : contaminate, corrupt <the inflated writing that infects such stories>  
  b : to work upon or seize upon so as to induce sympathy, belief, or support <trying to infect their salespeople with their enthusiasm>




"You'll feel a little stick." The tech smiled as she eased the needle into the exposed vein in Ben's arm.

"Nah.  Didn't feel a thing." Ben watched the vial fill.  Bright red, and thicker than he'd thought it would be. The tech, her badge proclaimed her Mandy, changed vials twice.  

Ben frowned at the tray holding the tubes, two full, several more empty. "Why do y'all take so much?"

"Different tests, its easier to have multiples than to pass one tube all over the lab." Mandy smiled again as she swapped vials once more, "It's not so much.  You have plenty."

Ben wasn't so sure. Mandy's smiles, meant to put him at at ease, were beginning to infect him with apprehension. "I'm startin' to feel woozy.  You done yet?"

"Just a few more, hon. You don't want us to miss anything important."  She flashed her teeth again.  "There!  Last one."  She thumbed a cotton ball over the needle mark and strapped it down with tape.  "You wait here while I run these down to the lab. I can grab you a candy bar if you want."  

"No, that's okay. I need to go, got stuff to do."  Ben tried to rise, but Mandy pushed him firmly back into the chair. "You just sit there and catch your breath. 

         ********

Mandy locked the door behind her, then hustled to the lab. The one man waiting was no technician.

"Another vamp trying to pass. He was pretty depleted when I left," she said.  Laying the tray in front of him, she counted the vials.  "Oh, hell!  There's one missing, he must've nabbed one!"

Together, they ran back to the room.  The door was thrown from its frame and Ben was nowhere to be seen. 

"I'll get security, yelled the non-tech as he ran back up the hall.

He'd disappeared around the corner when the cold hand covered Mandy's no longer smiling mouth.

"You'll feel a little stick," Ben whispered in her ear.