yesterday was hot
but today the fog came
prowling
over the dunes, slipping
off the rooftops and
around corners
softening everything
we left doors and windows open
until
even the stuffy corners held the promise
of Fall
Image by Robin Anderson
He tried to be a good neighbor but the guy next door was a challenge. His own yard was pristine, weed free, bark dusted. But at the fence a blackberry intruded, snaking its prickly way into his suburban paradise. He cut it back, it returned. Again and again. Finally, hoe in hand, he walked next door requesting access to remove the briar at its source. Permission granted, smirkingly. A ten minute search at the property line yielded a leafless thread of vine. The full glory of the pest only manifested itself on his side of the fence.
Image by Molly Francis via Unsplash.com
Take a walk they said, you’ll like it they said, something different, a new point of view they said. So I’m walkin’ here, I’m walkin’ there. Always late, missin’ out on the best food, the best views. But ya know what, I like it. Givin’ the wings a rest. Takin’ my time.
Thing is, I’ve forgotten how to fly.
Image by Gio Diani via Unsplash
She wants
to walk through the silver rain
into one of his pictures
and live there instead of here.
Without his light
her own life seems sadly
underexposed.
Image by Chris Anderson courtesy of the Estate of Chris Anderson
No blustery wind
To stir up achievements past
Man’s footprint remains
“How was your walk?” he asked.
“Dumb and boring,” she muttered.
“Your mood?”
“Sad.”
“Your attitude?”
“Unreasonable and self-indulgent.”
“I’ll leave you alone, then.” He turned to go.
“No. Wait.”
Image by Alex Ronsdorf via Unsplash.com
I had forgotten its fullness had arrived until I came upon its reflected shimmer in a rain puddle on the street. Colors not evidenced in its original glow swirled in the eddies remaining after the violent intrusion of car wheels.
Image by Safal Karki via Unsplash
HAPPY ANNIVERSARY TO THE NIGHT MAIL
The Night Mail launched on May 12, 2017 and we are happy to celebrate our first anniversary by republishing two of our stories with new illustrations PLUS a brand new short screenplay. Hannah Fulop, our website designer, created the delightful graphic art for these three works.
EXT., HALLWAY/OUTSIDE SMALL BUILDING, DAY
Detective Andrew Tassel, young, new on job, squares his shoulders before entering outer room of the Morgue. Gives himself a little pep-talk.
ANDREW
Okay, Drew, you can do this. Yes, it’s your first murder, yes, you’re new on the job.
Sign on the wall instructs him to put on “sterile suit” hanging on wall and gloves. Also tells him to leave all phones and electronic devices in basket on counter. He does this while continuing the pep talk.
ANDREW (CONT’D)
But this is a frickin’ one horse town. And you have a degree, a degree in Criminology. Use your head. You probably know more forensics than this podunk doctor. Let’s just get this over quickly.
He opens the door and enters main room of Morgue.
INT., MORGUE, DAY
Body of KATHERINE FEATHER on slab, we see her bare feet and head. The rest of the body is draped. Medical Examiner ISAIAH CRANE examines the feet as Andrew enters. CRANE is a tall, thin, slightly morose man, given to folding his hands in front of his chest while speaking. His speech is cryptic, punctuated by the occasional inappropriate smile.
ANDREW
Hi. You are . . .?
CRANE
Isaiah Crane, M.D., J.D., Ph.D.
(turning)
Your M.E. You can call me Dr. Crane.
ANDREW
Hello. Hi. I’m Andrew Tassel. Detective Andrew Tassel.
CRANE
Welcome to King Gulch. How can I help you?
Andrew glances at the body as CRANE continues to examine lower extremities. He retches slightly.
CRANE (CONT’D)
What? Did you say something?
ANDREW
No, nothing. So, Dr. Crane can you give me any information about Ms. Feather’s death?
CRANE
Yes. . .
ANDREW
(impatient)
Well . . . Your report?
CRANE
. . . isn’t complete yet.
ANDREW
What? What am I doing here? You called me, said I should come over.
CRANE
I thought we should meet.
ANDREW
Really? Like I don’t have enough to do? Okay, as long as I’m here, how about a preview?
CRANE
I don’t do previews . . . But I’ll humor you since you’re new. Death occurred at approximately 11pm. Cause of death was asphyxia. But the blood work isn’t complete. The discoloration and edema of the feet and ankles I can’t figure out yet.
ANDREW
Great. How can give me a time of death when you don’t even know what she died of? You’re wasting MY time.
CRANE
I’m wasting your time? Listen, sonny, I’m not only the ME in this county, I’m the only doctor, too. You were the one who wanted me to get this autopsy done. I’d rather be delivering a baby somewhere.
ANDREW
Hey! Out here there have to be more deaths than births.
CRANE
Natural deaths, but not . . . Murder!
SC1 INTERIOR. DAY. APARTMENT
Thirtysomething couple, the Andres, are fighting. Man, Van, is short, pudgy and balding. Woman, Adrianne, is tall, slim and fit.
Apartment is modern and upscale. The only things out of place are the cowboy boots on the floor next to a coffee table holding a cowboy hat and a Slim Pickens album.
VAN
We’ve been over this a zillion times. It never changes.
ADRIANNE
And since when are you so damn perfect.
Voices escalate.
VAN
I’m not perfect, but marriage is a compromise and when one person really hates–
ADRIANNE
And how much do I hate about you? Let’s start with pot belly and balding head?
VAN
Every argument it goes back to that. It’s my genetics.
Both are pacing, clenching fists. Adrianne picks up a piece of heavy cut glass.
ADRIANNE
Your mom and dad are both smart, so where do you get your stupidity?
VAN
If I’m stupid then you’re a slug.
ADRIANNE
God, you can’t even argue right!
VAN
And you have no taste.
ADRIANNE
Taste! You dare talk about taste!
VAN
You drive me crazy!
ADRIANNE
You drive me crazy!
SC2 INTERIOR. DAY. APARTMENT
Apartment is quiet, seems empty. A hand sticks out from behind the coffee table. There is blood on it from several cuts. The cowboy boots are lying down, sprinkled with blood.
SC3 INTERIOR. DAY. SURGERY/ ME EXAM ROOM
Small sparse surgery. Little equipment beyond a steel table, a light and a second table holding a tray. Tall, thin, dour man, Dr. Crane, bends over body on a steel table. The body is draped from head to torso and from feet to hips. The torso area is covered with blood. Dr. Crane mumbles to himself as he touches the blood.
CRANE
I wonder if there was a lot at the crime scene?
He pulls up the lower sheet to reveal cowboy boots and smiles.
CRANE
Nice boots. Think the blood will come out?
SC4 INTERIOR. DAY. SURGERY
Detective Abe Kates bursts into surgery. He is short, muscular and intense and carries a large black evidence bag.
KATES
Dr. Crane? Detective Kates.
Crane extends a gloved, bloody hand. Kates ignores it.
KATES
Got my COD?
CRANE
I’m working on it. I’ll have the report tomorrow or the next day. After I open the chest and see the pictures from the scene.
KATES
I got family breathing down my neck.
CRANE
The body was just delivered today.
KATES
And how long does it take?
CRANE
Long enough to do it right.
Kates sucks in a ragged breath.
KATES
Anything I can do to help?
CRANE
Are you a doctor?
Kates backs from the table and paces and Crane pulls off the boots and socks. He pokes around at the feet.
KATES
What’d the feet tell you?
Crane hands Kates the boots. Kates quickly puts on gloves, before taking and bagging them.
CRANE
I’d like them back when you’re done with them?
KATES
What? The boots? They’ll go to the family.
CRANE
Too bad.
Kates does an exaggerated eye roll. It’s lost on Crane, who is digging around in the cuts on the torso. Crane’s face lifts as he pulls out a bloody black chip. He rubs off the blood with a cloth as Kates, more excited than usual, opens the original evidence bag.
Crane brandishes a thin uneven triangle as Kates pulls out a bloody vinyl LP album with a chip missing.
Crane slips his chip into divot. It fits.
