Cross Roads Novels & Stories

Third-Person POV Meanwhile, Xavier had his head down as he tended to Tiffany's arm after her allergy flared up. Red rashes covered the entire length of her arm, and she'd even scratched some spots to the point that they were bleeding. Xavier held up a cotton swab, his movements gentle. "Does it hurt?" "A little," she replied. "Hang on a little longer, okay? We're almost done." His phone buzzed in his pocket. He fished it out and glanced at the screen, noting the message from Serena that read, "Let's break up, Xavier."

The route shuddered as if that distinction itself burned. The route creature dragged itself forward another inch, all stolen mouths trembling with effort. “First crossing joins scent to memory,” it whispered. “Second crossing joins memory to future. Third crossing makes the pair a road.” Its grey eyes fixed on us with wet, fascinated hunger. “The old line failed because it could never force both hearts to open at once. But you…” It shivered. “You keep reaching for each other voluntarily.” “That is the least seductive sales pitch I have ever heard,” I said.

The stares in the corridor became less obvious and the furor around such an oddball couple died down and that was when spending time with Keion Hamadi became less painful for Ceanna. One day she was walking up to school from the Alcombey Infant School and a car slowed down beside her. At first she ignored it, but when the driver hooted their horn, she turned her head. Coming face to face with Keion Hamadi she sighed inwardly and waved when he did. Opening his window, he said, “Hop in.” It was ‘the tone’ that brooked all argument without being an authoritative frequency. So to avoid grief, Ceanna did as she was told, which made Keion smile from ear to ear.

"The rumor concerning CRUZ company...you didn't hear it?" "CRUZ company? I didn't hear about that, what was it about?" "CRUZ company was accused of producing fake designs and forging other companies' designs of paintings. It was all over the news, Clara." There was a hint of shock and surprise in Ella's voice.

And I shudder at the thought. The law in this county as well as the Feds have created a roadblock in and out of Waycross, where Bale slaughtered eight humans only hours before. They aren’t making our job any easier as their closure has made traffic a standstill and pretty much blocked our access to the town. Not that we need to get right to the crime scene, as Grady has kept us in the loop, but if we don’t get close enough to get our noses to the ground, we can’t pick up the rogue and the girl’s scents.

​Vivienne was gone, but Maya was everywhere in the white roses on the ridge, in the safety of the walls, and in the heartbeat of the little girl who would grow up knowing only the mountains and the love of the people who had survived the dark to bring her here. ​The Ghost had finally stopped running. And in the silence of the Adirondacks, the Bride was finally at rest. ​THE END

“You haven't—" “I have to go, Aunt Maggie. I'll get back to you with whatever he says.” He ended the call before she could say any other thing. Then he turned off the ignition and got out of the car, making sure he locked the doors since this was a strange place. “Mr Cross?" He said with a smile. “Peter." Nolan shook his extended hand and walked beside him. “Great to finally hear from you." "Well, I'm trying my best with what I have.” He turned to Nolan as they walked towards the large building, which looked disorganized, with thick smoke coming out from the side.

Only memory, rebalanced. "Three roads," he whispered. She nodded. "And others will follow." They didn't need to know where any of them went. Not today. Today, it was sufficient to know they had walked in. --- 7:11 AM — Sector R, Boundary Weave Crossing The crossing was not broad, but it was tiered: silkcord braids along tension beams, sewn with bits of flags originally flown for district designations. Those now indicated but change. Renewal. Resilience.

*Cabroń* *Blyad* Xavier and Marcus, both cursed walking back to their cars, once their trucks had crossed the border without any further inquiry. ************

Don't argue over the bridge. - Harasho, harasho. The yellow taxi drove onto the bridge. Driving over the road, the taxi driver saw a lying truck that blocked the entire roadway, bricks from an overturned trailer were scattered all over the road, several passenger cars nearby, now crumpled pieces of metal. The Arab looked at Conrod in surprise.