Thomas Sniegoski - A Hundred Words for Hate

Miles rolled onto his side, letting his head hang over the cushion. One of his paws dangled off the chair and he started to swat at the handle of a grocery bag that she’d brought into the room for some reason or another.

It had something to do with apples , she inexplicably remembered.

Fernita was drawn toward the bag, the chair, and her cat.

She leaned forward, peering inside the open bag to see that it was filled with the peelings and core of an apple she’d had for a snack. When, she could not recall, but it couldn’t have been that long ago.

It was probably a good idea that she put the bag, and its peelings, in the trash before it started to stink up the place, she told herself as she reached for the handles.

Miles swatted at her outstretched hand, nicking the top of one of her dark knuckles with the hook of his claw.

“Ouch!” Fernita squawked, pulling back her hand, one of her fingers catching the handle of the plastic bag.

The loud rustling of the shopping bag startled Miles, and he bounded from the chair, his panic to flee setting off a kind of chain reaction that began with the boxes he’d been rubbing his scent on earlier.

The boxes tipped toward the seat, spilling magazines and coverless paperback books onto her chair and the floor beneath.

“Guess I was right,” Fernita muttered as she dove forward to stem the avalanche. “Should’ve got a dog when I had the chance.”

And then it came to her: a memory seemingly sunk to the bottom of the lake that was her recollection.

She was eating an apple right before she’d called Remy Chandler.

The bag of apple droppings still hanging from her wrist, Fernita stepped back from her chair to take in the big picture and found what she was looking for.

She had placed the old rotary phone on the floor while she had cut her apple, and it must’ve been pushed out of sight by her comings and goings.

“Found it,” she said happily, holding on to the arm of her chair as she bent down to retrieve the phone. She brought it up from the floor, careful not to get the cord caught on anything else that could tip or topple.

She dropped the bag from her wrist and placed the phone on a stack of Better Homes and Gardens by her chair.

Strangely enough, she never had a problem remembering where she kept the private eye’s phone number, and removed the old business card from inside her apron along with some old tissues. Letting the Kleenex fall to the floor, she studied the number on the card and slowly began to dial.

As she waited for her call to be answered, her eyes drifted to the other side of the room, where something odd had been uncovered after her dreams that night.

She had no idea where it had come from—multiple vertical lines of peculiar writing, obviously some foreign language, written in black on the lower half of her walls. Long hidden by her things, it seemed to shift in and out of focus.

She heard Remy’s voice, and immediately prepared to speak, before realizing it was just his answering machine. Fernita waited for it to finish, waiting for her chance to let the nice man know she had something for him.

Though she wasn’t sure exactly what it was, she knew it was a clue to what she had lost.

Remy gazed out the window of the private jet at the thin, wispy clouds floating past, and experienced the sudden pangs of longing. His shoulder blades had started to ache where his wings would be if he allowed them to unfurl.

To beat the air in glorious flight.

He squirmed, tightening his seat belt before turning his eyes to the clouds again. Suppressing the urge to fly, he found his mind start to wander, thinking not of the unusual client who had sent a private plane for him, but of breakfast that morning and with whom he’d had it—Linda Somerset.

They were supposed to have had lunch, but the urgency of the Sons’ request had convinced Remy to make the trip to see Adam as soon as possible. The Sons had said that they would call him with the information about the flight sometime later that morning, which had given him an idea. He would call Linda and see if she could do breakfast instead.

It was unusual, in retrospect, Remy thought, continuing to stare out the window. Here was his opportunity to step back from the discomfort he was feeling about the whole dating thing, but he hadn’t. He didn’t cancel, and had immediately thought of a backup plan.

It was clear that he really wasn’t in his right mind at the moment. Thoughts of Adam, the first father, and a missing key to the Garden—and what this all meant—were using up valuable space inside his skull. That had to be the answer; why else was his thinking so scattered?

Linda had answered the phone sleepily. He didn’t even think to check the time that he was calling. It was only a little bit before seven a.m., and he’d woken her up.

Just another example of his brain not functioning at top form. What’s wrong with me? he wondered. That had been bad enough, but it didn’t stop there.

After he apologized profusely, she had accepted his offer, telling him that she needed to be in the city early for some school stuff anyway, and that she would love to have breakfast.

Remy saw in his reflection on the circular plastic windowpane that he was smiling, and didn’t quite know how to feel about that.

They had met at a small deli near Coolidge Corner, and it was then that he’d realized the next thing that had completely escaped him: Not really knowing how long he was going to be with Adam, he needed somebody to take care of Marlowe for him. Nothing big, mind you, just walking, feeding, playing, and stuff.

Remy had apologized for being rude, telling her that he needed to make an important phone call. He called Ashley and spoke with her mother, and was reminded— again —that Ash was heading to Killington for some skiing with friends.

As he hung up, Linda must have seen the look on his face, and she asked what the problem was. He explained that the person who normally looked after Marlowe when he was away was not around.

Remy remembered the look on Linda’s face as if she were still there, sitting in front of him. And then he remembered her words.

“I’d love to watch Marlowe for you.”

Remy had actually hesitated, not knowing exactly how he was feeling about Linda’s offer, but she seemed genuinely eager to do it, and something just felt really right about the situation, so he’d agreed.

Not that he wasn’t a little anxious.

He might’ve been nervous, but Marlowe was ecstatic, excited as all get-out about going to the pretty female’s house. As he’d handed over Marlowe’s leash to her, the Labrador had told him that Linda smelled good.

Remy hadn’t responded to the dog’s statement, but he had to agree.

She told Remy not to worry, that the two of them were going to have an excellent time. And Remy knew that they would, and honestly had felt a little bit jealous of his four-legged best friend.

The Sons of Adam had sent a car for him, which had brought him to T. F. Green Airport in Rhode Island, where he’d boarded a private jet, and here he was.

He glanced at his watch to see that they’d already been in the air a little over two hours. It wouldn’t be much longer.

And as if on cue, he felt the plane begin its descent. He leaned his forehead against the cool plastic of the window.

Adam, and his Sons, were living in a secluded place that Jon had lovingly referred to as the Garden. He hadn’t given Remy much more than that, which was why Remy searched the gradually approaching land below.

He was somewhere over the Arizona desert, the brownish red landscape below starkly beautiful in the rays of the afternoon sun.