As the Moon Climbs

Josh wasn’t supposed to replace Jane, he was only supposed to cover her work while she was out of town. Some of the data entry was tedious, but he made a few upgrades to her spreadsheets so he could search and sort faster, and by Tuesday afternoon he had finished tasks that usually took her all week. Unfortunately for her, his boss noticed and started to poke around her computer. He found a bunch of personal pictures, which led to checking her Facebook page, and next thing Josh knew she was getting canned.

Some of the other folks at the office wanted to have a going away party, and it didn’t occur to him that he wouldn’t be invited. It wasn’t really his fault, after all. He showed up at the bar after work to see everyone else having a grand time, including… his girlfriend Petra, sitting in the stool next to Jane.

“Petra, what are you doing here?” Josh asked, just loud enough to be heard above the music.

“What are YOU doing here?” she asked back. Jane turned around and shot him a look that would have wilted flowers, and then frosted them over.

“I came to…” He wasn’t sure. Why had he thought this would be a good idea?

Jane smiled. “As you can see,” she said, slipping an arm around Petra’s waist, “you’ve been replaced. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

* * * * *

Written for Five Minute Fiction Challenge 8/31/10

Confused? This is for the Inter-blog Choose Your Own Adventure! The story begins here. The previous branch of the story is here. Enjoy!

1) Listen to Bach to get directions.

* * * * *

The man quickly retrieved the Bach album and, hands trembling, set it to play backwards. It started with a scratching and cacophony of instruments that made Michael’s ears hurt, but soon the weird burbly noise receded into the background and was replaced by a soft male voice.

“To combat the alien menace: Begin at the corner of Madison Lane and head south. Turn right on Lake Reynard Drive. Turn left on Kingsbridge Street. Look for the building made of red bricks with the sign that reads ‘AADLTF’ and knock three times, then once, then four times. Good luck.”

The message was repeated twice more and then there was only the backwards music.

“I know those streets,” Latoya said. “Those are in our town!”

The man nodded. “I thought it was incredible myself, but I was so scared that I never dared investigate.”

Michael rehearsed the directions in his head so he would remember them. It made sense that this would be meant for their town; after all, with the number of pickle silos cropping up, they may very well be at the center of the invasion. “We have to do what it says,” he said. “We have to find this place!”

Latoya shook her head. “What if it’s a trap?”

“None of the other recordings have been traps,” Michael replied. “This is our only hope to stop the aliens.” He turned to the man, who was watching them nervously. “Would you like to come with us?”

“Oh my goodness!” The man shook like a leaf in the wind. “I’ve been too afraid to go outside. What if the aliens find us?”

“I’m scared, too,” Michael said. “But we may be the only ones who have these directions. If we don’t do something, who will?”

“You’re right.” The man stopped shivering and stood up straight. “Okay. I’ll go with you.”

“Awesome!” Michael exclaimed. “What’s your name, mister?”

“Toby Brown,” the man said. “Let me get my stuff.”

Toby disappeared into the back of the store, where he’d been hiding before. He came back with a messenger bag bulging with stuff.

“These are the other albums that I think might help us,” Toby explained. “And a player so we can listen to them.”

Latoya tapped her foot impatiently. “Are we ready now?”

Toby shook his head. “It might be a good idea to stop at the grocery store to get more supplies. I hear that tinfoil can stop aliens from reading your mind!”

“No way!” Latoya said. She looked at Michael. “We need to go straight to this place as fast as we can so the aliens don’t catch us.”

Michael thought about it. “Supplies might be good, but you have a point about getting there quickly. I think we should…”

1) Go to the grocery store for supplies.

2) Head right for the mysterious red brick building.

“Good morning, Mr. Poole.” Nola Shields stood in the living room of her employer’s downtown penthouse, her black suit neatly pressed, her shoes shined.

“Good morning, Ms. Shields.” Roy Poole examined the clothes she had laid out for him. “Red tie today? Government work?”

“Yes, sir. You have an appointment with the senator for brunch, after a meeting with the board.”

Poole dressed while Ms. Shields apprised him of his schedule for the day, then briefed him on pertinent news and financial indicators. By the time she finished knotting his tie, he was ready to work.

“How are your ribs feeling, by the way?” he asked. “And your eye? I don’t see a bruise.”

“Makeup, Mr. Poole. I’m a little sore but the painkillers manage that.”

He put a hand on her shoulder and felt her muscles stiffen. “You sure you’re in fighting form? If more of Delgado’s thugs come after me—”

“I’ll kill them, too,” she replied coolly. “Sir.”

With a laugh, Poole patted her arm. “You’re a hard woman, Ms. Shields. Keep it up.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Bless me, father, for I have sinned. It’s been four days since my last confession.”

“Only four days, my child?”

“Yes, father.”

“Well, confess your sins to the Lord.”

“I have… lusted, father.”

“That is a cardinal sin, but in the Lord you will find forgiveness.”

“But father, I lusted after a young boy. In this Church.”

“You have not acted on this feeling?”

“I… I have, father. Can I be forgiven?”

“T-tell me what happened.”

“He’s one of the altar boys. He arrived early for mass one day and I cornered him in the dressing room while he was putting on his robes. I made him… do things. I told him if he told anyone, God would punish him.”

“Y-you… who are you? How did you—”

“I’m sorry, father, did that story sound familiar? Perhaps you’re the one who should be confessing.”

“Get out of here before I—”

“Before you what? Call for help? We’re alone. How far do you think you can get before I strike you down where you stand?”

“But I… you…”

“I am the Lord’s messenger, and his message is death.”

“I love St. Patrick’s Day!” the cute, drunk brunette told Dave. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Behind them, the band played a treacly version of Danny Boy, with the crowd in the bar singing along to the few bits that people knew.

“My name’s Tina,” she said, leaning close. “Is that Guinness? I love Guinness!”

“It’s Murphy’s,” he muttered. “Guinness isn’t the only Irish stout, ye know.”

“Oh my gawd!” she squealed. “You’re Irish! Say something in Irish.”

“Sorry, I only speak English. And I’m not—”

Tina turned and shouted, “Hey, Mandy, this guy is Irish!”

Another drunk girl stumbled over. “I love Irish guys!” Her breath was worse than her friend’s, but she was also better looking so it evened out.

“Ah, bollocks,” Dave said, shrugging mentally. He smiled broadly and wrapped an arm around each girl. “Why don’t I buy you ladies a drink and tell you all about Ireland?”

They squealed and snuggled into him happily as he ordered the round. Now, he wasn’t about to tell them that he was really Scottish.