Czaritan Book One of the Crimson Tribune Saga: Crimson Tribune, #1

By Christina Fanelli

The Crimson Tribune is owned by Russell "Rush" Ripley. Rush keeps tabs on every single story published in the Tribune but isn't able to keep Tracy within his conservative restrictions.

 

Tracy takes a nature assignment just to keep Rush happy, but while deep in the woods, capturing nature, Tracy encounters a cute, little girl, dirty and all alone, dressed in a burlap bag. She follows the singing beauty, as the little girl chases a butterfly around a boulder and disappears.

 

Tracy's interest is piqued, and she keeps coming back to the woods until she finally meets the little girl who takes Tracy to her home in the underground city of Jancrest.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christina Fanelli
• Release date: Jul 5, 2023
• ISBN: 9798224919550

Book preview

CHAPTER 1 – MATTIE

He shovels the last of the hash browns in his mouth, and after finishing them up, he stares at the empty spot on the plate. Chewing with his mouth open, pieces of hash brown fly around sporadically landing among the remaining specks of the other food already consumed from his plate. He lifts the white ceramic plate from its spot and tosses it on the glass table hard enough that a jagged crack mars the smooth surface.

Rubbing his large belly, he leans forward and grabs the bowl of grits, stirring them with his shiny spoon. Shaking his head, he grunts and leans back, the large wooden chair moans as he places the bowl on his large belly like a TV tray.

The room is dark and dismal, just the way he likes it. The sounds from any activity outside are blocked out just like daylight. He loads his large spoon with grits and slurps it loudly enough to echo throughout the sparsely furnished room. Alone time with food is his favorite part, the most active part of his day.

His dark brown eyes look up from the grits as a knock lands on the door.

What! he hollers in his deep voice, irritated.

The doorknob rattles, and a sliver of bright light grows as the door is pushed in with a tiny, thin body making a long, narrow shadow across the dark wood floor.

A thin smiling face approaches, so he stops shoveling grits into his mouth and holds the spoon midair, waiting impatiently; his foot tapping on the floor.

What? He growls loudly at the petite straggler dressed in a dirty burlap bag, with her hair hanging in greasy locks around her face and by her ears.

Still proudly displaying a large smile that shows her yellow teeth, she nods her head. With wicked breath, she asks, Would you like another serving of the steak, eggs, toast, and pancakes, sir?

No, take those plates away and get my brother, he replies, waving her off; the small action causing his dark bowl-cut hair to sway slightly.

Her smile remains as she climbs the steps to the far end of his table. A twinkle appears in her eye as she approaches him, and she sees the steak fat still on the plate and a couple pieces of crust. She stacks the plates and walks past him, around the table, looking at the floor with the hope that he has dropped some food, like he usually does.

He watches her as she nears. Mattie... You are also allowed a shower, he says, waving a hand in front of his nose and breathing out his mouth.

With a slight nod and a curtsy, she takes another empty plate. Thank you, sir, I am honored, she says as she bends to the floor for the pieces of steak and pancakes she spotted.

Be on your way.

Her stomach growls as she watches with envy as the grits run down his chin into a puddle on his chest. Thank you, Czaritan. She piles all the food she found on one corner of a plate and picks up her pace toward the large door with excitement.

He stares at the door shaking his head with disgust, but without missing a beat, shoveling the grits in loudly.

CHAPTER 2 – ASSIGNMENT

Tracy Ripley hits the stop recording button on her cell phone and looks at her Fitbit watch to see what time it is. She must stop recording and pull her long dark hair into a bun on top of her head because it is falling in her face. When she’s deep in concentration, either writing or on her treadmill, she doesn’t notice notifications, but the hair in her face will bother her enough that she can’t focus. Once her hair is fixed, she taps her watch to see if anyone tried to call or text her or if she received any email notifications.

She decides she has enough information at this point to write the article about the middle school math teacher, Mr. James Clark, that got up and walked out of the school without telling anyone and then came up missing. Originally, it was thought that Mr. Clark was going to lunch, but when he didn’t return for his next class and didn’t call to state he wouldn’t be back, the administration was pretty upset. They had to scramble to find a substitute. However, when he didn’t report the next day either, they became more concerned than angry. The local police were contacted after calls to Mr. Clark’s home and his cell phone were not answered nor returned.

It had been twenty-four hours, so he was reported missing, but that was it because his car was not found, and his home didn’t appear to have been tampered with.

Tracy got wind of this teacher and was interested. She always liked the ones that made you go hmmm?! If it made you think about it for a while without coming up with a solution, result, or logical conclusion, it got her attention. Her favorite cartoon when she was young was Inspector Gadget. He always had a way of solving crimes in the most interesting ways. That was her goal when she was young, but she later took an interest in writing. Now she gets to do both.

When Tracy started investigating the teacher, her first thought was that Mr. Clark had a whim to do something different and just skipped town, but the police reported that his car was gone and his wallet was left in his coat at the school, which included all of his credit cards and his driver’s license. There hadn’t been any activity on his cell phone either, so Tracy wanted in.

She went to the police department in Grants Pass, Oregon, and started digging for information. With some help from the investigators, searching Mr. James Clark’s home herself, and her own style of investigating, Tracy had the information that the Grants Pass Police Department needed to find Mr. Clark, and because she helped them find Mr. Clark, they agreed to let her ride along to get him and bring him back for questioning.

Mr. James Clark was found in Portland, Oregon, but his vehicle had been abandoned at a rest stop along the way. The plates had been removed, but the keys were still in the ignition. All the fingerprints in the vehicle belonged to Mr. Clark, but that was all that was in the vehicle, no garbage, luggage, or anything.

It took a couple of days to locate Mr. Clark directly in Portland. It was determined that when he left the rest stop, he apparently hitchhiked to Portland and found a job quickly, and had been staying in a motel around the corner from his new employer.

What made it more difficult and take longer than usual to find Mr. Clark was that he went into the rest stop before registering at the motel and he left as Jenny Clark. She then got a job as a waitress at a local bar and was making good money. In her short time there, she made top waitress and was the best eye candy in the bar so she was the last one anyone there would have guessed was James Clark.

Tracy had to admit, in some ways, she was jealous of how nice Jenny Clark looked. Jenny is taller than Tracy—but Tracy is only 5’2" so just about everyone is taller than her—but she also has beautiful eyes. If I had not been told, I would have thought Jenny Clark was a woman long before I would have guessed she had ever been a man. Even the walk and talk were convincing. Tracy was almost envious until she saw the handcuffs.

It’s late by the time the police apprehend Mr. James Clark in high heels, so they decide to stay in Portland overnight and head out in the morning. Tracy goes to the nearest vacant motel and orders her dinner before hopping into the shower. The streams of hot water feel good, and the tension leaves her small frame and goes down the drain with the water. As she enjoys the tension relief, she replays the events and decides to call Rush when she’s done and tell him how it went.

Steam had engulfed the entire mirror that hung above the gray sink with two separate faucets and a rubber plug chained to the hot water tap. She grabs the hand towel from the small pile of towels left by housekeeping, wipes the steam off the mirror as best she can, and looks at her reflection. You’re average, Tracy. You’re not pretty, and you’re not cute, but you’re definitely not ugly. You’re average looking and short! She grabs the large, wide tooth comb and starts untangling her hair, knowing it will take her as long as it takes her to eat her dinner to comb it out. If it wasn’t such an inconvenience to get it cut and keep it cut, it would have been long gone.

She hears a knock on her motel room door and sees a piece of paper appear under it. She picks up the paper. It is just the bill for her dinner. She throws on her pajamas and opens the door to find a plastic bag with Styrofoam containers, soda, and plastic silverware.

She sets up her food, grabs her comb, opens her laptop, and starts a Zoom request to see Rush and give him the update. She takes a couple of bites from her dinner as the smell of deep-fried, beer batter fish fills the room. She grabs her cell phone and calls Rush. While waiting for Rush to pick up, she puts the call on speaker, finds a comfortable sitting position on the bed, and starts combing her hair, taking bites of the fish fry.

A very deep voice comes over the line. Hello, baby.

Hey, Rush, I have a Zoom meeting request started; I texted you the information. Let me know when you’re ready. Tracy shovels some more of the fish fry in her mouth with the hopes of it being swallowed by the time he sees her on Zoom.

That’s even better, Rush replies. You look tired, baby. His handsome face and brown hair, slowly going gray in the perfect places, appear on Tracy’s screen. The top button of his light pink oxford shirt is open, showing strands of brown and gray in his hairy chest, but that is nothing compared to the number of grays in his mustache and goatee. Are you still working on the teacher’s story?

Ignoring his question, she says, My sexy husband in pink, I love it. She smiles at him just before she shoves a couple of fries from her dinner in her mouth.

I have always said that I am all for equality, Rush replies, slightly shaking his head. How is my superior doing?

Tracy wipes her mouth and puts down the food that smells better than it tastes. I am tired. It has been a rough couple of days, but this story is worth it, she says, still smiling. I am about done here and will have the story written up tonight or early in the morning if I can’t stay awake. Do you have any other assignments for me?

I am glad to say no because I would like to see you, Rush says in a sincere voice. After a couple of days with me, if nothing is sent for you and you don’t find anything, I’ll help you find an assignment or get someone to help you find something. Now go eat and relax, baby. He wipes his hand gently down his mustache and goatee, with his fingers coming to a close at his chin to make sure the hair is in place.

You’re sweet, Rush. I saw the twinkle in those blue eyes when you said ‘no,’ so I won’t bother looking for anything before I leave for the trip home, Tracy replies, then widens her smile as she ends the Zoom meeting. Good night.

Good night, baby, Rush replies with a big smile aimed at the blank screen.

*****

Tracy wakes up in the middle of the night with the fish fry next to her and her laptop still open, but with a blank screen. She moves the mouse, and the screen wakes up with her. She hadn’t finished the second paragraph or her dinner when she fell asleep. She gets up and walks across the creaky, dark red carpet to the bathroom door and the small, scratched-up wooden table next to it. She sets the laptop on the table and grimaces at how the small motel room now smells like fried fish. Neither the dinner nor the laptop would be touched again tonight, and only one of them would be finished in the morning.

She decides to look at her email after visiting the bathroom. She sees there’s a notification from Rush’s website editor that one of her articles is on the website. She goes to the page and is relieved to see that, on an average-sized monitor, her last story made it to publication and that the title of it is on the bottom front page or home page even though to read the body you have to scroll quite a way. Rush makes sure that there isn’t any special treatment of her articles.

Not bothering to read the article, she closes the Crimson Tribune site. She has never had an issue with the editor, who has been there since the Tribune was solely paper media. She goes back to her email, but the subject lines of the rest of the email don’t attract her attention, so she closes the laptop.

She crawls back in bed, curls up in a ball, and pulls the thin, cheap motel covers to her chin hoping to warm up quickly. Rush tells her she can stay at the top motels, but she doesn’t see the sense in paying extra to sleep. If she’s going to be staying at a location for a few days and needs to work in the motel, then she’ll look for a better motel, but just to sleep? She can still see Rush shaking his head with his graying eyebrows raised, but not saying anything based on the last discussion they had about motels. She smiles at the image as she falls back to sleep.

CHAPTER 3 – NATURE

Tracy walks through the woods admiring the different trees. She stops to take pictures of the different branch styles, the shapes of their leaves, and the bark along their body. She enjoys the solitude and the beauty, and she happens to get some great pictures of these trees’ mates, squirrels, chipmunks, and birds. The empty Nature section instigated this trip to Kalispell, Montana. It is the only assignment that Rush could find open for the Crimson Tribune. All the other sections of the news website are already assigned for the next couple of weeks, but the Nature section is there and is rarely filled by employee choice.

Tracy took it simply to keep busy. She was ready to get back to work after that vacation with Rush. She loves Rush, but she loves her job too, and sometimes, the job is easier.

They knew they were meant for each other when they met at a social gathering for media entrepreneurs. They caught each other’s eye long before they met.

Rush was there to represent the Crimson Tribune, The Right Paper as the entrepreneur in media informing the public of all the news while scouting the other members. Tracy Marinetti was there as a recent journalism graduate. She had been doing a lot of freelance work and was looking for more stable employment.

Tracy was introduced to Rush by a college professor as a potential employment solution for both. Tracy’s first question to Rush was if the Right Way meant the Republican standpoint.

With a smirky smile, he said, How about you let me take you out to dinner and then you can ask me any question you need to make your own conclusion.

I take that as a yes, Tracy replied, returning his smirk.

Rush slyly rolled his eyes. Then I’ll take that as a yes for dinner. I’ll pick you up tomorrow night at six. Where are you staying?

*****

Tracy didn’t give him her motel room number right off the bat, but by the end of that night, she did give him the name of the motel, and by noon the next day, they had a dinner reservation at the best restaurant in town.

Tracy dressed in her best interview outfit, even though it wasn’t much on her starting income, but she also planned that dinner as an interview for a job. Yes, to Rush it was an interview, but he interviewed her to see if she was as good a fit to be his wife as he felt like she was.

The dinner went well, and Tracy didn’t learn much about journalism employment, but she learned that Rush is Russell Dennis Ripley. He received the nickname from his mother at the time of delivery, because he beat his father driving to the hospital.

A first responder cut my cord on the side of the interstate, right in the ambulance, he said proudly in between bites of his T-bone steak. I have always been quick to success. Just like being one of the first to transition my family newspaper to an internet newspaper. Smiling proudly, a sexy glint appeared in his eye. I am a wealthy entrepreneur because of that and because I know when to take my time with details.

Let’s interview for the job, Tracy responded to change the subject.

Rush wiped his mouth. I already researched your current writing. You’re hired.

But you don’t know anything about me.

Rush wiped the other side of his mouth and sat back. Okay, Miss Marinetti, what got you interested in journalism?

A large smile crossed Tracy’s face. One morning in July, when I was ten years old, I was out in front of a neighbor’s house playing hopscotch with some of my friends, and I witnessed the brother of one my friends get hit on his bike by a drunk driver.

Oh, that’s horrible. Rush leaned forward with sincerity in his eyes.

Yes, it was. However, that night on the news, they didn’t report the alcohol because the driver was a US Post Office employee and stated it was the kid’s fault.

Shaking his head, Rush reached for Tracy’s hand.

She jerked at first but saw the concern on his face.

"The next day, the newspaper said the same thing. I was livid. I called the news channel and the newspaper but was ignored because of my age, so I wrote them and