The Wind was a Finalist, Special Honorable Mention, in the 2003 New Century Writer Short Story Contest. The tragedy of 9/11 profoundly affected my sons. This story is for them and for all the heroes - whose stories we may never know...
The Wind
A soft west wind flowed through the open French doors. Elizabeth closed her eyes, tilted her delicate chin toward the moon, and the breeze streamed through her waist length, jet-black hair. There was something almost magical about the way the air brushed her face, her neck, her shoulders. The breeze danced about the room, fluttering the papers on her writing desk and tinkling the jewelry hanging nearby. Elizabeth held a diamond adorned hand to her chest, took a long, lingering breath and looked out over the estate. Three stories below, the taillights from the last guests glowed dimly on the winding road. Fading, fading, gone.
Using her toes, Elizabeth slipped out of her black satin heels and sighed. She glided from the balcony to her writing desk and the breeze seemed to follow her. Tilting her head, she removed one glimmering earring, then the other. In the mirror, she glimpsed a movement behind her, and then felt a warm kiss upon her neck.
"What a success," William said.
"The suckers were generous?" Elizabeth asked.
William removed his Roman collar and tossed it on the bed. He reached into his cassock, withdrew two large green stacks and placed them on the writing desk. "You know it, darlin. They fall for the orphan scam every time."
"With that white hair and pink face," she said, "you play a great priest."
William folded his hands in a mockery of prayer, "Anything for the cause."
"Today's haul should finance several cells," Elizabeth replied.
William bent low and kissed her. Elizabeth placed her hands on his chest and pushed him away. "There's time for that later," she said. William frowned. Elizabeth plucked the greenbacks from the desk. She glided past the French doors and the breeze swirled about her. "Doesn't it feel glorious," she said as she opened the wall safe.
#
Two hours later, the air rustled and one of the French doors creaked. Elizabeth awoke. She pushed William's sleep laden arm off her hips and slid to the edge of the bed. She rubbed her face, ran her fingers through sleep tangled hair and groped for her cigarettes. There. She struck a match. Half in shadow, half in crimson glow, Elizabeth again heard the room rustle. Her hand wavered. "Who's there," she whispered. William grumbled and rolled over. Elizabeth took the cigarette from her mouth. Hesitantly, she rose from the bed. It must be the wind, she said to herself. No one can get in here. In the dim, pre-dawn light, she moved to the wall safe. Her right hand found the door. Open. Elizabeth reached inside. Empty. A breeze swirled through the room and swept Elizabeth's anger into the night.
#
Dawn, miles away, the wind rattled the kitchen window of a small house. Inside, a woman with dark, tired eyes ignored the sound and moved a checkbook closer to her face.
"Oh God, Claire," she said to herself. "Those poor kids. I'm going to lose the Center."
She sighed and dropped the checkbook on the table. It landed on edge, tilted and fell to the floor. She shook her head and closed her eyes. The window rattled again. Then a sound, like dry rain. Claire frowned. It was too early for those kids from next door to play pranks. She tugged open the window and a warm west breeze swirled into the room. A green leaf drifted in. And another, and another. Claire reached out and one fluttered into her palm. Wait...It wasn't a green leaf, it was, it was...
The wind surged and hundreds of green leaves spurted into Claire's kitchen. She raised her arms high above her head and slowly sank to her knees, awash in a flood of tens and twenties.
#
Near the University, a faltering morning breeze stirred the curtains in a small apartment. Seconds later, a thin, dark haired man slumped into bed. Home, he thought. Through half-closed eyes, he saw a shapely figure silhouetted in the doorframe.
"Josh, you've got to stop. How far this time?"
"Don't know, Lynda." Josh answered. "It's hard to say."
"You were gone all night."
"You don't know what its like. The rush, the freedom."
Lynda stepped into the room. She wrapped her arms around herself.
"Josh, please stop. You're exhausted. You're addicted. Each time it's longer. Each time it's further away. Each time, you seem further away."
Josh sat up. "There are things only I can do. Things that can help people."
"You don't have to help everyone. You can't."
"What do you want me to do with an ability like this?" Josh asked. He hesitated. A smile spread across his face. "I guess I could blow up women's dresses?"
Lynda aimed an index finger at him. "Charm won't work anymore Josh," she said. "Can't we lead a normal life? Just teach and lecture together?"
Josh sighed. He pushed himself off the bed and clasped Lynda's hands. "Listen," he said. "Last night, there were these papers on a desk, and these plans. I was focused on something else, but I got this sense that something terrible is about to happen."
Lynda freed her hands from Josh's grasp. "No Josh," she said. "Stop. Stay out of it. If you don't, something terrible IS going to happen. To US." Lynda turned. Her heels clicked sharply on the tile floor. The front door slammed.
Josh sat on the edge of his bed and covered his face with his hands.
#
The next day, Josh watched as the cord twisted around one hand, then the other. A nervous habit Lynda had when talking on the phone.
"Thanks Claire," Lynda said. "I knew I could count on you. Have the kids there an hour early. And, Claire, I'm so happy for everyone at the Center that some money blew into your life."
Lynda's eyes swiveled in Josh's direction. He ducked behind a book. Lynda hung up the phone. She placed two elegantly tapered fingers on the top edge of Josh's reading material and firmly pushed down until blue eyes met brown.
"Claire tells me she came into some money unexpectedly. You wouldn't know anything about that would you?" she asked, her eyebrows arched.
Josh opened his mouth to answer. Lynda placed a finger on his lips.
"It was a wonderful thing for you to do," she said. "A last, grand gesture?"
Josh stood up. "Let's talk," he said. He placed his hand under Lynda's chin and lightly brushed her lips with his.
"Tonight," Lynda replied. "After my speech. I have to go. Still a million things to do. See you on the Commons."
Josh watched through the front window until Lynda was out of sight. She's right, he thought. She usually is. I can't keep this up. I'm exhausted. Just one last thing. Then I'll stop.
Josh stepped into the bedroom. Finding a pen, he scribbled a note to Lynda and slid it under her pillow. Something bad was planned. He had to go back to the estate.
Now.
Josh tugged open the bedroom window. For a moment, the room was completely still. Then, Josh's hair ruffled. Each ebon strand elongated and flowed. His body and clothes wavered and streamed. Black, tan and navy faded to gray, ivory and pale, pale blue. The streams swirled and ran, fading watercolors in a brewing storm. The colors dissipated, the curtains billowed and invisibly, Josh joined the air, the clouds, the sky.
#
Later that day, Josh wafted into the bedroom on the estate. The ceiling fan wobbled, then compensated. On the bed below, William tapped a fistful of envelopes against his thigh.
"Right," he said into his cell phone. "The letters are ready. This time tomorrow, America will know the price of occupying our land." William listened. "No, no more foul ups. The money disappearing was our one and only mistake. Elizabeth's taking care of this one herself - said the time and place were perfect. Got guts, that one."
William shivered. He placed the envelopes on his nightstand, shuffled to the wall switch and clicked off the ceiling fan. Cradling his phone between shoulder and cheek, he stretched both arms wide and closed the French doors. Behind him, he didn't see the faltering breeze tip one envelope off the nightstand. It drifted to the floor and tumbled, end-over-end, under the bed. William bolted the doors. The air did not completely still.
"Yeah, by the time it's done, I'll be far away," William said into the phone. "and Elizabeth - she'll be beyond anyone's grasp."
William grabbed the remaining envelopes and shoved them into his pocket. Behind him, the air near the nightstand wavered and shimmered. William stepped into the hallway and started down the stairs.
In the bedroom, the air thickened. Tiny flecks of color appeared, multiplied, merged. Gray, ivory and pale, pale blue splotches formed, swirled, blended. The colors darkened to black, tan and navy. Shapes appeared. Hair, body, clothes.
Josh.
Eyelids flickering, chest heaving, Josh dropped to fingertips and knee. His body quivered. "Flow?" it pleaded. "Fly," it cried. Josh shook his head, trying to clear his mind and quiet his spirit.
A stair creaked.
Josh’s senses sprang to full alert. Diving to the side of the bed opposite the door, he flattened himself against the floor. From the ground, he spied the envelope. A small part of it protruded beyond the edge of the bed. He saw William’s shoes return to the room. The shoes stepped within an inch of the envelope. Josh held his breath. William swore. Josh prepared to morph. Then, a drawer slid and keys jingled. The shoes retreated. Slowly, slowly, Josh exhaled.
Waiting until he heard the faint sound of a car starting, Josh retrieved the envelope. He ripped it open and scanned the letter.
"Oh my God," he whispered. "Lynda."
Furiously, the Wind rushed to meet the sky. Glass from the French doors shattered outward, crackling to the pavement below.
#
Slashing headwinds ripped at Josh. He had been fighting them for hours, yet he still had miles to go. Even if he returned in time, he would have little energy for what awaited him. Howling in frustration, Josh angled toward the ground, hoping to find a path, a way. To his left and below, a black ribbon unfurled toward the horizon. Pinpoints of moving lights dotted its surface. Josh howled again, this time in triumph. Mustering his strength, Josh reached the highway and glided above a metal and rubber leviathan. Dropping behind the speeding truck, he drafted home in its wake.
#
Energy partially restored, Josh murmured a thanks and departed from his ride a few blocks from the university. He blew into the Commons moments before the tribute began. Starting his search at the back of the crowd, he flitted from blanket to blanket, person to person, family to family. He had to find her quickly. There were so many people, so many children, so many lives at stake.
Where was she? Where? Where?
The loudspeakers crackled, the microphone squealed. Thousands acted as one, thousands lit candles, thousands held flames aloft.
Josh searched, bending the light of each candle he flowed past.
Where?
On stage, Lynda stepped to the podium. To her right, Claire and the children from the Center held dozens of glowing red, white and blue balloons. To her left, dignitaries and speakers joined in the memorial, their faces shadowed by flickering candlelight. Lynda adjusted the microphone. The crowd hushed and Lynda's voice filled the Commons.
"This evening," she began, "on the anniversary of 9/11, we celebrate courage."
Josh sped through the crowd. Where?
"We celebrate the indomitable American Spirit."
Josh spread toward the stage. Where?
"We celebrate freedom!"
The children on the stage released the luminescent orbs. The crowd thundered. Like tiny, colored moons, the balloons rose in the evening sky. Josh rose with them, above the stage, drifting, scanning, hoping.
There!
On the stage, seated with the dignitaries - long jet-black hair!
From his vantage point, Josh saw Elizabeth step toward the podium and reach inside her jacket. As she did, Josh marshaled the remainder of his strength and rocketed toward her. The rush of air ahead of him wrenched candles from hands and flapped Elizabeth's blazer away from her body - exposing a small black box strapped to her chest.
"For Freedom!" Elizabeth shouted. "Leave my land!"
Her words shrilled through the nearby microphone and reverberated in the Commons. Her hand reached toward the black box. As her fingers found the box, a gale born of desperation enveloped her. Lifting her with half-materialized arms, Josh spiraled upward, carrying Elizabeth - and the blast - away from the crowd, away from the children, away from Lynda.
Lifeless - Elizabeth plummeted to the ground.
Formless - sparkling flecks of gray, ivory and pale, pale blue dissipated into the sky.
Lynda covered her mouth with her hand. "Josh," she whispered.
#
Days later, Lynda sat on the Commons. The treetops swayed in the cool September air and the wind carried the scent of new mown grass. The crowds, the stage - and Josh - were gone. Three kids played Frisbee on the lawn. Lynda watched their plastic saucer float and soar - back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Finally, tired of their game, the kids faded from view.
Alone, Lynda's hand shook as she reached into the pocket of her sweater. For the thousandth time, she read the note Josh had slipped under her pillow days before:
Lynda,
I don't know how I got my special abilities, but I know there must be a reason. Please don't be angry with me, but I have to find out. There's one last thing I need to do - and I have the feeling that it may help me find the answer. No matter what, know that I will be at the tribute tonight - and that I love you.
Forever yours
Josh
Lynda blinked rapidly and tilted her eyes toward the sky. The letter slipped from unfeeling fingers. Before it alighted, a gust of wind caught it. The letter spiraled upward and floated softly back into Lynda's palm. Lynda's eyes widened in surprise. There was something magical, something masculine in the way the breeze caressed her face, her neck, her shoulders.
