Skye Sparkler, Chapter 1

This is the first chapter of my published novel, Skye Sparkler.  Published in 2001, and worked on for much of the 1990s, Skye Sparkler was a labor of love.  I will tell you right now that, as I’ve planned things out, the first four chapters will be posted in my gallery.  HOWEVER – the fourth chapter will end with a link to a listing for the book on Amazon.com.  Yes, displaying these four chapters is nothing but an effort to get you to buy the book.  If you think that’s a shoddy trick, read no further.  But I’m positive many people, by the end of the fourth chapter, will WANT to read the rest of the book.

Thank you for your time,
Kim Metzger

The day was determined to turn bad, Marcy thought as she started to drive out of Martinsville.  She had first seen it during lunch and could do nothing but try to survive it.

At lunch, Amy had worried that it was taking too long for them to be seated.  The waitress was then told “no preference” for seating, and they ended up behind someone smoking a cigar apparently made of recycled toilet paper.    Marcy had to wait another five minutes for her salad when she was served cole slaw by mistake.  To top things off, she knocked over a glass when reaching for sweetener and cooled her fries to sub-zero temperatures.

After Marcy clocked back in to work, she was cornered by Fred Bergman, her supervisor.  Tom Grainger had been fired.  Bergman was asking people to work over the weekend to catch up on what tom had left unfinished.  Marcy had screamed in her head, yelling good-bye to the Superman double-feature at the I.U. Student Union Saturday night.  She needed the bonus she’d get for overtime.  Bergman, walking scum that he was, knew she needed it.  She had to say yes.

The thought of the coming evening was the one thing that had kept Marcy going through it all.  That evening was the game.  She would get home, change from blouse and skirt to jeans and sweatshirt, and head for the game.  The last adventure had ended with the heroes saving College Mall.  The mayor had announced that the city would honor them with a special ceremony.  Marcy had used the past two weeks to carefully consider how Skye might act at the ceremony.  She had rehearsed some great lines while showering, while at work, or while driving home.  She couldn’t wait to find out if Skye could use any of them.

Her imagination began to soar after she dropped Amy off in Martinsville.  Marcy buzzed through a restaurant drive-thru and was ready to fly the 15 miles from Martinsville to Bloomington as she pulled on to the highway.

And the rain started.

It had been cloudy since Marcy left work.  Thunder had rumbled for ten minutes.  But Marcy still wasn’t prepared for the monsoon that poured from the sky.  Visibility was so poor, she had to set her windshield wipers at high speed and turn on her headlights.  Her head throbbed as she turned on a local radio station to listen for severe weather warnings.  It wasn’t long before she heard the EMS signal droning.

“The National Weather Service in Indianapolis has issued a severe thunderstorm warning for Southern Indiana,” said the announcer.

“No kidding,” Marcy muttered with a laugh.

The announcement continued, giving a list of counties affected by the warning.  “Come on, where’s Morgan and Monroe?” urged Marcy.  No sooner had she said it, than both of those counties were read frm the list.

Marcy’s plans for the game and Skye Sparkler faded from her mind.  She had to concentrate on the road.  This was important, since the large hills of South Central Indiana forced all roads to snake around them.  A reasonably even stretch of highway could suddenly turn into a curve that required diminished speed normally.  Due to the slick conditions caused by the downpour, a tense Marcy found herself adding healthy dollops of prayer to the trip for good measure.

Ten miles from Bloomington, she saw the couple by the car.  They were elderly, maybe in their 70s.  The old man, black and slightly overweight, tried to carry a spare tire from the trunk to the front right wheel while his wife endeavored to keep him covered with two umbrellas.  From what Marcy could see, not only were the umbrellas not doing a very good job, they threatened to carry the woman away.

Marcy had to take pity on anyone who had to change a tire in a storm like this.  There were intersections for side roads both ahead of and behind Marcy.  She made two u-turns at the intersections, and pulled up behind the couple.  Marcy left her car and “swam” up to them.

“Can I help you?” Marcy shouted over the rain.

“Tha’d be ever so nice,” said the woman.  Close up, Marcy could see the woman was very pale-skinned.  An albino? she wondered.  This woman spoke in a thick accent Marcy placed somewhere in the British Isles.  “I can’t do it ‘cause o’ my arthritis.  He’s just gettin’ over a cold and ought not be out at all.”

“Mercy went over to the man, who was trying to assemble the jack.  “I can do that,” said Marcy.  “Why don’t you both get in my car where it’s dry?”

“Are you sure?” said the man in the deepest, richest voice Marcy had ever heard.  “I don’t want to be any bother.  You’re dressed up so nicely.”

Marcy looked at herself and smiled.  “I’m soaked all ready.  I’ve got a blanket in the back seat of my car.  You two go ahead and use it to keep warm.”

They both thanked Marcy and got in her car.  Though Marcy quickly changed the tire, she was chilled to the bone by the time she finished.

As she put the flat back in the trunk, the rain began to let up.  “Marcy, this just isn’t your day,” she said to herself, laughing.  By the time she went back to her car, the storm was over.

“Look at you!  Soaked t’ the skin, you are!” said the woman.  Marcy noticed that, while the woman’s accent still had a British origin, it seemed to have relocated to someplace else in the Isles.  “You’‘l catch your death o’ cold!”

“I’ll be all right.  I live in the next town.  I can change into something dry there.  And I’ve got hot coffee her in the car.”

“Well, we appreciate it,” said the man, getting out on the other side of the car.  “It’s important for us to get where we’re going right away.  I’d still be jacking the car up if you hadn’t come along.”

“I’m glad I could help.  There’s a gas station a few miles down the road where you can put more air in your tire.  You should be set, then.”

Marcy was about to get back in her car when the man said “Wait!  Before you go, I want you to have this.”

He reached into his coat pocket, and pulled out a small, rough, flat rock – a flagstone, Marcy thought.  The man held it out to her.  She didn’t say anything, but stared at the rock, wondering what was so special about it.

“It’s a magic rock,” said the man.  “If you hold it during a full moon and make a wish, your wish will be granted.  But just one wish!”

“A rock!?” cried the woman.  The accent had changed again.  “Another blest rock!  Why keep given’ ‘em t’ people.”

“A rock’s as good as anything else.  They’re easier to carry around than magic lamps.”

“Thank you,” said Marcy, trying no to show her doubts about the old man’s sanity.  “But it isn’t necessary.  I was glad to help.”

“There aren’t many people around who are willing to help anymore.  Please, take the rock,” he said in a voice that could deliver lines from Shakespeare.

As Marcy hesitated, the old woman spoke, this time with a brogue.  “Take it, dearie.  I know, he’s crazy, but ‘t’ll make ‘im happy.”

Marcy forced a smile and accepted the rock.  “Thank you,” she said.  “She started to walk toward her car, hoping her body language wasn’t
betraying sudden insecurity about the man.

“Remember,” said the old man.  “You only get one wish.  Make it a good one!”

Marcy got into her car.  She pulled her purse from under the front seat.  Taking a napkin she got at the drive-thru, she wiped off the rock and put it in her purse.  Then, she started her car.

The old couple had gotten into their vehicle.  As the man started the car, the woman looked back and waved at Marcy.  Marcy waved back and, satisfied that their car was all right, pulled out onto the highway.  She waved one last time as she passed them, then took a deep breath of relief.  After glancing in the rear-view mirror to see their car pull onto the road, Marcy returned her attention to her own driving.

She wasn’t looking in the mirror when the other car vanished from the road.