Fan of the Genre and Other Stories

By Laurence Clark

Fan of the Genre—Lyesha Volkov, senior at Greenfield High School, a lettered athlete, and likely valedictorian living the life of an all-American girl in Greenfield, that's if she isn't arrested for stalking Greenfield's newest deputy, "Handsome" Sean Healy. Her mother had left Russia with her as an infant to escape her father, a dangerous man with a dark and twisted past. She's fascinated by criminal psychology, and with that fascination, her interest in Sean may have uncovered his own dark secret.

Butterfly—Breen Mogin, founder of MuIon, inventor of the Neurosynth-Orb, and creator of the first successful genetic, biosynthetic 3D printing process to create a real synthetic lifeform, a butterfly. Now Breen, the genius who had worked his entire life to create a bridge to eternity, was dying. To upload or not to upload, that was the question, or was the question, what is life, and does life continue after uploading into a synthetic brain, or is uploading its own type of death?

Stories Before the Fear—Rosario Byrne was headed back home to Paiste Oileán to revisit her childhood memories, the problem was that the island had been abandoned since 1947, and she was in her mid-twenties. Were these false memories, or was there something far more sinister?

Five Meters—Only five meters and Travict would reach the top of the highest surviving structure his people had ever built, a 770-meter tower nearly 1000-years old. It was a tower built before the wars that devastated his people, a tower built in another place, many light years away. Who then are the real aliens?

Predictable Uncertainty—Vaughna Jenkins has powerful daydreams, dreams bordering on hallucinations, or nightmares, dreams of other beings, other dimensions, and other times. Her grasp of this time, this place, and this body are tenuous, held in place by, of all things, her love of food. Who is Vaughna, or maybe, what is Vaughna?

Death Bird Song—Who was this spy with over 70-years of experience, yet barely looked 20? Was she Regina Thompson the "daughter" of Svetmila and James Venn Thompson, WWII OSS operatives, or was she Svetmila herself, forever young?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Laurence Clark
• Release date: Nov 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201269579

Laurence Clark

A technical writer by day, but at night, with the sounds of neighbors barking, dogs whining, caterwauling cats…  caterwauling, airplanes at full engine take-off, I'm a guy spinning yarns on a laptop on the back porch with his dog barking at everybody to shut the heck up!

Book preview

FAN OF THE GENRE

Chapter 1

"T he cave wall covered with painted beasts, ancient stories told in pictures, stories of hunts, of travel, of famine, of feast, it seemed to weep at what the children of the cave had become, after they'd become men of the world." —Anonymous

WITH HER EYES CLOSED, a slight, warm, afternoon breeze brushed Lyesha’s cheeks as she stepped outside the Greenfield Public Library and into the thick humidity, which was almost like walking into a warm gelatinous mist. She breathed deeply, enjoying the moist warmth filling her lungs, especially the contrast from spending the afternoon in the artificially dry, bone-chilling cold of the library air conditioning. No matter how much the other students complained, she rather enjoyed it, that lovely warm, moist feeling of the humidity as almost an embrace. Light footsteps to her left, she opened her eyes, blinded by the sun’s brightness. As her pupils adjusted, she squinted to focus on the footsteps. In front of her, Handsome Sean Healy walked past the library, more of a glide than a walk, with the casual grace of a dancer, and Lyesha approved. Impulsively, she gathered her backpack and followed him discretely from what she hoped was a safe distance, not having any formal training for this adventure, just her precious books on espionage and detective work. All she really remembered was, that when tailing a suspect, to keep your distance, and have a story. After a few blocks, it was just the two of them, and after a few more, and a few turns, she was positive he had made her. If so, why hadn’t he confronted her...? She slowed as he slowed to enter the park half a block ahead of her, where he strolled casually along the path to a small pond at its center, stopping inches from the edge of the water. Lyesha had gained on him without realizing it, so when he had stopped, she quickly pulled a book from her bag and pretended to read it as she strolled past him.

Without looking at her, Sean chuckled. Your ruse would be more effective if your book wasn't upside down.

Lyesha quickly turned the book over, turning it upside down in the process, blushing when she realized that Sean hadn't even glanced in her direction. She stopped and took a breath to bolster her courage before turning towards him, dropping her shoulders, her arms crossed in front of her, the book tucked under her left arm. Hello Sean, I'm—

Lyesha. Lyesha Volkov, a senior at Greenfield High School. Probable valedictorian if she isn't arrested for stalking, lettered in track, and when not stalking Greenfield's newest deputy, she is most likely to be found in the Greenfield Community Library.

Lyesha chuckled. Who’s stalking who now? You seem to know an awful lot about some random high school girl in a small town you just moved to.

Sean nodded and smiled. In any other case I’d have said, ‘tou​ché,’ but it’s a small town, and you’ve been nosy.

Lyesha pursed her lips and scowled. Nosy?

Yes, as in, a certain nosy school ‘reporter’, he said with an exaggerated raised eyebrow, one fitting your description from the Greenfield High Gazette, who interviewed Sally, Sheriff Johnson’s secretary—more of an interrogation, really—and nosy as in a phone call to my former employer in Racine. He looked away for a moment with a slight wry smile before stepping slightly forward to look down into her eyes. Sheriff Myers said you were very persistent. Moving subtly closer, smiling as her cheeks flushed an almost deep crimson, contrasting sharply with her pale skin, he continued. I’m curious. What’s your fascination with some random deputy in a small town he just moved to?

Hearing her words used against her, she laughed. Touché. She glanced at a few ducks swimming nearby and paused, thinking, before she continued, looking around, avoiding his gaze. Nothing happens in Greenfield. Or hardly ever. The worst that usually happens, she shrugged and nodded, oh, I don’t know, maybe when some drunken fools run their truck into a ditch on a Friday night after a football game, she looked back at up at him, mimicking his earlier sardonic raised eyebrow, win or lose. They don’t need much of an excuse. She sighed and took a deep breath, then continued a bit effusively, somewhat to hide her embarrassment. I’m fascinated by crime. I want to be a criminal psychologist.

A criminal psychologist? He pinched his lips with a campy frown. Well, that certainly begs the question, so again, why your fascination with some random deputy in a small town he just moved to?

Well..., Lyesha smiled sheepishly before squaring her shoulders and glaring up at him defiantly, When I was being a ‘nosy reporter’ and learned you were from Racine, I did a little digging.

Sean raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. Oh? And what did you find out, Miss Nosy Reporter?

Racine is really quiet, like Greenfield. Quiet, except for a few missing person cases.

Sean laughed. A few missing person cases? I’ve news for you, Miss Nosy Reporter, most small towns have missing persons for a reason. You said it, ‘Nothing happens’, boredom leads to drugs, alcohol, or maybe family secrets, so most are runaways, can’t wait to leave.

Her cheeks flushed a bit redder. Yes, I know. Still, despite ‘nothing happens’, she bit her lips slightly, but that’s the thing, statistically, with nine active missing persons cases in the Town of Racine, with a population of around thirty thousand people, there are more missing persons in Racine, and even Racine County than normal. The state itself averages only six per one hundred thousand. She gazed intently into his eyes for a moment, then looked away. I was curious—

Curious? For a moment, his expression was almost blank, his eyes hard, and his voice careful and modulated, before angling his head slightly and smiling, speaking slowly, almost softly. What were you curious about?

I..., Lyesha shrugged, still looking away, not noticing his brief change of demeaner. I don’t know. I was hoping maybe, she looked back up at him, you could tell me if there was ever an investigation?

Sean nodded slightly and frowned. That may be a good career for you, a criminal psychologist. I don’t know how you.... He angled his head a bit more, then nodded again. I also thought our number of runaways was too high. Didn’t make sense. When I started asking questions, I was, he paused and shook his head, It’s a long story. The short version, Sheriff Myers is a stand-up guy, but the mayor and the town council eventually pressured him to ‘persuade’ me to resign, and if I went quietly, I’d get a bonus and a nice letter of recommendation.

Oh?

He folded his arms and stepped back slightly. No, criminal psychologist wouldn’t suit you. I’m thinking more—one of those manipulative, nosy-parker journalists. You’re a natural. I was ready to just— He smirked as he turned to face the pond.

You were ‘ready to just’ what? And what’s a ‘nosy-parker’?

He glanced back at her. A nosy-parker’s a busybody journalist. As far as the other? It’s about family secrets. Maybe later I’ll tell you. Let’s just say, for now, I’m here, and leave it at that.

Lyesha sidled next to him, and chuckled softly as she said, "for now, I’m here, and leave it at that.

He looked down at her with an odd expression before smirking again and snuffling a short laugh. Very funny.

LYESHA RETRIEVED HER housekey on its ball-chain necklace from under her shirt, and awkwardly holding it as she shifted her backpack, slipped it into the security screen deadbolt, and turned the lock with a solid click. She swung the door open, then unlocked the heavy faux wood security door, pushing it in, pulled the security screen closed behind her, and locked it, leaving the security door open to allow a breeze to cool the house. She slipped the key and necklace back into her shirt, shaking her head in ritualized resignation, sighing as she muttered the same phrase she’d said hundreds of times before, The only latch-key kid in town. This ritual never failed to contrast with the crime-free reputation of a small town, where people often left their doors unlocked, and friends and family entered without knocking. She chuckled with melancholy as she always did, thinking about her mother’s Russian paranoia.

For years her mother had refused to talk about her childhood, or Russia, always saying something about, the past is the past, and being in America now. She had eventually given up trying, but the curiosity remained, and stronger than—

She tapped her thigh and shook her head to clear her thoughts. Sean, he was much different than she had expected. She approved. Entering the kitchen through the dining room, Lyesha dropped her backpack on the counter and opened the refrigerator, staring inside without looking at anything, her eyes unfocused as her attention wandered back to her encounter. His voice was smooth and rich, like an old timey radio guy. He smelled so good, like moss, and wood, and aftershave. She could still see his chiseled chin and muscular neck as it coiled and contracted while he spoke. His breathing had been slow, relaxed, and confident. His intense blue eyes, and he had a nice butt. Her cheeks and neck flushed, and she felt a tingling in her stomach, the same tingling she used to get from Coach Joe. Not anymore, not after he had politely but firmly rebuffed her clumsy advances. At the time, she had felt humiliated, but it also led to the only time Mother ever mentioned her father. Trying to comfort her, her mother had said that it was common for girls who grew up without a father to seek that type of relationship. Mom tried to be everything. With some compunction, she closed her eyes and shook her head slightly, tensing her jaw to clear her thoughts. Milk and cookies. She removed the milk and set it on the counter, then opened the pantry for chocolate chip cookies. Where did Mom hide them? She sniffed. They weren’t there. She sniffed again. A faint aroma. They weren’t in the house. That’s weird. She unlocked and opened the kitchen door and stepped outside. The empty bag was in the trash. Almost mumbling, she said, Mom’s not here—how? Shaking her head, she re-entered the house and locked the door.

She glanced at the microwave clock. 6:42pm. She took down the steel saucepan from its rack in the pantry, and retrieved a bag of rice, then placed them on the counter next to the stove. A few minutes later, with the rice cooking, she set a cast iron skillet on the left burner, sliced up a couple of bell peppers, and an onion, and was busy slicing raw sirloin steak into strips when her cell-phone chimed.

She grinned when she looked at the screen. At the park, she had named his contact, Handsome Sean after he had shared his number.

.

Lyesha studied it for a few moments before she set it down and finished seasoning and preparing the meat. With the meat set aside on the cutting board, she lit the left burner, drizzled some olive oil in the skillet, and when it was sufficiently hot, smoking slightly, poured in the sliced peppers and onions, thinking about Sean, absently stirring them until the onions were slightly caramelized. Oh my God, stop, Lyesha. She shook her head again to clear her thoughts, removed the onions and peppers and set them aside, then slid the strips of seasoned steak from the cutting board into the skillet with a lovely satisfying sizzle. She sniffed deeply, its aroma triggering her hunger pangs. A few moments later, when the meat was sufficiently browned, she added the sliced peppers and onions, stirred in a whisked slurry of Worcestershire sauce, brown sugar, and cornstarch, and covered the skillet with its glass lid, turning the burner down to let it simmer. She glanced at her phone over her shoulder as she washed her hands. That excited feeling in her stomach returned, temporarily replacing the hunger. She picked her phone up and typed.<Lyesha: Okay, Saturday, as long as you play a Hardy boy. Frank or Joe, your pick.> She held her breath, trying to calm her growing excitement, then exhaled when her phone chimed with his reply.

<Handsome Sean: Frank. Joe’s too impulsive. 10am?>

Lyesha squeezed the phone and bounced slightly after she had sent, Then seeing her mistype, she bit her lip slightly as she quickly thumb-tapped a correction, . She waited.

Lyesha’s giddiness lasted until a moment later when she remembered what had happened with Coach Joe. Mimicking her mother’s voice, but speaking so softly that her words were almost a mouthed thought, she said, You need to temper your expectations, Lyesha. She pushed the memory aside and pulled the pan with the rice off the burner, removed the lid, and stirred its sticky contents. Too mushy. Damn.

AN HOUR LATER, THEIR plates empty, Lyesha pushed her plate forward. Mom? I know you don’t like to talk about him, but—

There’s nothing to say. Tanya Volkov regarded at her daughter. He’s why we left Russia. He’s dead to me. We’re here. End of story.

Lyesha sighed. That’s all you’ve ever said about him. I’m not a little girl anymore. I’m seventeen, and going to university soon. People will ask me, and I want to know.

No. He was a bad man. That’s all you need to know. Seeing her daughter’s earnest expression, she softened her voice. I promise, I’ll tell you someday, but now is not the time. I’m tired. It’s tax season. Mister Penrose’s books are a mess.

I met the new deputy today. He’s devastatingly handsome.

Remembering the incident with Coach Joe, Tanya said, You need to manage your expectations, Lyesha. She sighed and stood slowly, pushing her chair back carefully. Let’s clean up. You can tell me all about him.

The two of them gathered the dishes and started their dish washing ritual before Lyesha said, He agreed to an interview on Saturday. I’m writing about him in the school paper. From the corner of her eye, she watched her mother’s expression change several times, and her skin was almost pale and ghostlike.

With the practiced ease of routine, they mechanically rinsed the dishes, filled the dishwasher, and washed the saucepan before Tanya stopped and turned to face her daughter. I was your age when I met your father. She sighed. Okay, I’ll only tell you about that time. Nothing else.

Lyesha’s expression flashed from mild curiosity to an edge-of-the-seat eagerness, but stayed somewhat composed. Okay, the time you met.

"He wasn’t a bad man, not when I met him. Maybe he was, but I was naïve. You said your deputy is handsome. So, I think of your father. Russian men are always serious, but not your father. When I met him at university, he was wild and beautiful, full of vigor. I was