Nightmares and Body Parts Vol. I The Karma Chronicles

By Edward Owen

Edward Owen, author of “The GAME” and “The Chronicles of Alcamene” delivers horror by the half dozen, each with a lesson in cosmic justice.

The Quiet Car –When his car breaks down, Tom Roman is forced to take the train. Little does he know his rude behavior will come back to haunt him.

Obedience- Dr. Hilde is on her way to Australia. Sam is on his way to anywhere but prison. You never know when someone’s dark past poses a threat to your future.

Promises, Promises- Rebecca is a successful attorney in New York. A face to face date with her Internet boyfriend leads to a night of unimaginable terror.

Worthy of Trust and Confidence- Julia is assigned to protect the President of the United States on an international flight aboard Air Force One. How dangerous could it be?

Jimmy- Some occupations are worse than others. Jimmy finds out he should have read the job description all the way through.

Charlie and Josie- A writer interviews an inmate serving life for the murder of his young wife. The answers she finds may not be the ones she wants.

These stories tell tales of people whose actions lead to unforeseen and often dire consequences at the hands of Karma and Justice.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Edward Owen
• Release date: Dec 7, 2013
• ISBN: 9781310278365

Edward Owen

Edward Owen has been writing stories since childhood. His style ranges from horror to humor with a healthy mixture of sci-fi, paranormal thrillers and murder mysteries. His works include “Gunn Sight”, a sci-fi novel and 'The GAME', a horror novella and audio book. Nightmares and Body Parts, a collection of short stories, was released last November. Current projects include a web series called Black Rabbit and a multi-genre novel called “Equitorius”. He was a winner in the 2012 NaNoWriMo contest, completing fifty-three thousand words in the month of November. He lives in Rancho Cucamonga, CA with his wife and sons.

Book preview

NIGHTMARES AND BODY PARTS

VOL. I THE KARMA CHRONICLES

Edward Owen

Copyright © Edward Owen 2013

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

Edward Owen, author of The GAME and The Chronicles of Alcamene delivers horror by the half dozen, each with a lesson in cosmic justice.

Website:  www.edwardowenauthor.com

Smashwords: www.smashwords.com/profile/view/edwardowen

Twitter:  @EdwardOwenAuthr

Facebook:  www.facebook.com/EdwardOwenAuthor

Cover art by Dave King. Cover design and editing by Arial Burnz

Table of Contents

The Quiet Car

Obedience

Promises, Promises

Jimmy

Worthy of Trust and Confidence

Charlie and Josie

End Notes

The Quiet Car

A story inspired by my daily commute to Los Angeles. There is a Quiet Car on the train where there are no cell phone conversations or loud talking allowed. It is heaven on Earth — for most people.

Tom Roman, one of the many players in the Los Angeles real estate world, paced back and forth in front of his desk like the carpet had personally offended him. Normally, he controlled his world with an iron fist, but today, the universe was conspiring to undo his plans.

"Son of a whore! Jerry, this fucking blows. You said it would be ready by three o'clock, no problem ... What do you mean, ‘another fifteen hundred dollars’? Are you shitting me? German engineering, my ass, that car has been a fucking lemon ... It's a sports car, Jerry. It's designed to be driven that way!

Yeah, thanks. I have to be in Anaheim by four thirty, so now I have to take the fucking train. You know what it's like on the fucking train, Jerry? We're all crammed together like refugees sharing the latest virus du jour, and I’m stuck listening to all the losers bitch and moan about their miserable little lives. It blows worse than my fucking car.… I'm not really interested in your apologies; I want my God damned car fixed without being raped in the process. I'd hate to see your business suffer because everyone found out what shitty service you give your customers. If my car is not parked in front of my office by noon tomorrow, I will be on the phone calling every person I know and recommending they not take their cars to you.… Do I sound like I'm kidding?.… Good, then we understand each other perfectly. Tom slammed the phone onto the cradle to emphasize his point.

It was always the fucking train in Tom's opinion. On the rare occasions he had been forced to ride it, a few people had tried to start a conversation with him, but it wasn't long until he found himself sitting alone. That was fine by him. Just because he was forced into their company didn't mean he had to be friendly. Quite the opposite, actually. Tom Roman had taken meanness and made it into an art form. His week was not complete unless he had brought some poor customer service clerk, receptionist or sales rep to tears.

Darlene, I'm outta here, he said to his assistant. I'll be on the train, so call me right away if you hear from Ron Jensen. The contract is due tomorrow afternoon and I need his signature on it. Please tell him to get his ass moving on this deal.

I'm on it, Darlene replied from the front of the office.

Tom stormed out the door and hailed a cab. He hated taxis, but compared to the train, they were almost a joy. At least he was by himself and not sitting next to some foul-smelling stranger.

Union Station, he said to the driver. And don't spare the camels, Achmed, if you want any kind of tip at all.

Fifteen minutes later, Tom burst through the front doors of the white adobe entrance to LA Union Station. The moment he walked through the doors and onto the parquet floor, his senses were assaulted by the heavy atmosphere of sweat, cheap perfume and greasy fast food wafting through the air and forcing itself into his nose. His stomach churned. The petulant wailing of a child and the insistent ringing of an unanswered cell phone punctuated the din of bodies moving through the building like cattle.

Welcome to the first level of hell. Tom pushed his way through the crowd.

The lines at the ticket counter reminded Tom of a bad day at Disneyland. The self-serve kiosks were only a little better.

Are you fucking kidding me? This day just gets better and better.

A woman, distracted by her three young children, was next in line at the nearest kiosk. Tom stepped in front of her and punched the button for Anaheim.

Excuse me sir, but I believe I was next. She shifted the weight of her toddler on her hip.

Yeah, well your kids probably believe in Santa Claus, too, but that doesn't make him real. I don't have time to wait for you and the rug rats.

One of the children began to cry, clutching the woman's shirt as if Tom were going to snatch him away from her. Frowns and hard looks from the people in line gave way to Asshole! and Hey buddy, there's a line! Tom's ticket dropped into the tray and he yanked it out then turned to the woman.

You know, if you spent less time popping out babies and more time working, I wouldn't have to support people like you.

Sir, that is uncalled for. An elderly man inserted himself between Tom and the woman.

No, it's completely called for, so fucking sue me.

Tom turned his back on the crowd and rushed down the tunnel to the platform stairs, heedless of the people around him. A glance at his watch confirmed he had two minutes in which to catch his train. The next one would not leave for another twenty minutes.

Twenty minutes in this shithole? No fucking way that's going to happen.

Tom sprinted up the stairs and onto the train steps, shoving several people out of his way in the process. His briefcase slammed into the thigh of an attractive young woman in a short skirt who was assisting an older man wearing dark glasses onto the train.

Ouch! Watch where you're going. She shoved Tom's offending case out of the way.

You and your sugar daddy need to get a move-on, sweetheart. You're blocking the way of us folks who work for a living.

Listen, asshole, the girl retorted. This is my grandfather and he's blind. Someone needs to teach you some manners.

The conductor was announcing the train's departure as Tom hurried into the car, flipping the woman the middle finger as he went.

Stupid bitch needs to get a life. Tom stopped short in the entry; every seat was filled. Swearing under his breath, he took the stairs up to the mezzanine, then to the top level. There wasn't a vacant seat in sight. Each passing minute increased his frustration level. By the time he reached the end of the car, he was ready to spit nails.

Please tell me there is at least one vacant seat on this God forsaken pile of shit.

Several ladies gave Tom disapproving looks. He rolled his eyes and slammed open the door to the next car. The bottom level was full and so was the mezzanine. On the top level he found one empty seat next to a heavy-set woman wearing a tweed skirt and jacket. Her ample rear-end spread out across the seat, forcing him to squeeze in next to her. He was about to make a comment when his cell phone rang.

Roman.

For a few moments he sat listening to the person on the other end of the call. The woman in the tweed gave him a look but Tom ignored her.

Yes, tomorrow morning. I thought this was a done deal. Get Jensen on the line and tell him it's my ass hanging out in the wind.

Tom's voice got louder as the conversation progressed. Several of the passengers were staring at him, but he was too wrapped up in his call to notice. Finally, a woman in a transit uniform tapped him on the shoulder. It wasn't until her fingers gripped his shoulder and shook him that Tom interrupted his conversation.

Just what in the hell can I do for you… Tom said, turning to address the latest source of his irritation. He glanced at her name tag. Monica?

I'm sorry sir, but this is the Quiet Car. There are no cell phones allowed in here. If you would like to continue, please move to another car.

Really? Am I still in the United Fucking States or what? The shit has hit the fan in my world and unless that’s twenty million dollars tucked away in those pants instead of your oversized ass, get the hell out of my face.

"Sir, please lower your voice and watch your language. I'm simply