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Everything had worked out, but she still had nothing. Even Thomas, her heart and soul, was determined to deny her. Worse, he had seen how small she really was. He wasn’t from here, he wasn’t one to be attached to such a mundane place. She’d always had this place and the stories. It was the foundation of her life, and her life might fade, she believed the place would remain tangible and whole. She’d dedicated her life to elevating the settlers of Chatham County, who wrapped the land around them like a quilt, the best bits bound together—farms and fences, families and friendships—each patch filled with the hues and textures of homes and fields and businesses. Yes, some pieces were covered with new bits of cloth—oil and energy, chemical industries. Some lines had changed, but she appreciated the layers and handled them skilfully with her curatorial gloves.

The Bones: Fulfillment, Chapter 14 by Laura Wythe (available on Amazon)

She carried a tray with tea to the front porch, tapping on the door of the good parlour to let TinTin know it was ready. To call him out from the wired madness and to have another human being sit with her before the great void. Clem stared out at what she knew was a landscape only because a horizon line hovered in the distance. It had not been visible in earlier in the day, blotted by a mist rolling off the river, and just recently withdrawn. The horizon line, she noticed, might be fat or thin, far or close, depending on how dense the air was, how the sunlight struck through this veil between heaven and earth. Without the horizon, there was no landscape, only a void to be filled by the imagination. There was nothing to draw upon but sadness or fear. Her fingers gripped the tray for a moment longer, then she set it on the table.

The Bones: Fulfullment, Chapter 5 by Laura Wythe (available on Amazon)

The clouds over the shore were rent apart like a cloth, and the west-tracking sun burned through. A goddamned rainbow sprung from the gully to the south of him. It arced out over the lake as though painted with a sponge. The colours were brilliant. He shivered, wondering if it was a cruel harbinger of destruction, like the rainbows two weeks ago. But what if it was portent of incredible good fortune? Thomas patted his pockets and found a camera. Leticia’s. He could delete the photo later if things didn’t work out. Quickly, he snapped the photo as dark clouds from the west closed in on the rainbow. He almost teared up. The sunlight still shone through the cracks with the strength of a god’s finger. Brilliant, angelic light.

The Bones: Crossing, Chapter 12 by Laura Wythe (available on Amazon)

Passing through the white fog gave the impression that the canoe stood still. There was no receding shoreline for Leticia to judge the speed or distance. Her shoulder and neck ached from the tension of holding the compass out for Rebecca to navigate. She couldn’t imagine how badly Rebecca and Miles would hurt by the time they reached the Canadian shore. The needle swung as they hit incoming swells and crossed the shore currents. Once out in the cooler deep water, the fog finally lifted. Wraiths of mist swirled around them.

The Bones: Crossing, Chapter 10 by Laura Wythe (available on Amazon)

“The GPS says the phone is here. That Pi should be here.”

“This is weird, even for Pi.” Clem looked at the GPS location, then around the area. She dialed Pi’s phone to hear the ring. It came from above, from the branches of the great tree. TinTin boosted her up to get it. It was still ringing, and he reached out for it, hung up on his call. 

“We don’t want to know how it got there, do we?”

“In the name of science we do, so let’s see what he’s done.” TinTin scrolled through the functions, found the most recent date stamps. “He was recording, so he wouldn’t have paid attention to our texts.”

They looked at each other. “Better play it.”

Crackles, pops. It’s ozone man, coming from the ground. It stinks like a bad connection on an electric streetcar. Violent pops. The unmistakable sizzle of electricity. One, two, three explosions, like artillery. Four, five, six. Seven. A hit, no warning whistle to proceed it.

TinTin felt ill.

The Bones: Crossing, Chapter 7 by Laura Wythe (available on Amazon)