by Chad Pelley
Marcel, a sensitive sniper, knew his life was missing something. But he didn't know what until he set his crosshairs on it: Violet Caine. A ginger-headed lover of Thai food, wanted dead simply because her brother messed with the wrong bike gang. It's a story of redemption coming too late, and the ways happenstance can turn a warm man cold. Then warm again. Whether fate wrote his troubled life, or he wrote it himself, he wants Violet Caine to be the end of it - be it figuratively or literally.
HER HAIR WAS THE colour of sunshine hitting pennies. There was a sheen. He’d been moving in, closer and closer, and saw it in detail: how it looped five times, in lush copper curls, before resting on her collarbones. They were violent collarbones, the kind you’d see on an anorexic, poking up through her skin like they might tear it. But her hair was the striking detail, because it was different than it was in the photo he was given; in the photo, it was jet black and shorter. Watching her through his scope, he zoomed in to her freckles to confirm she was a natural ginger. The freckles were as big and wildly cast as cookie crumbs, and he imagined each had its own topography. He imagined that a lover could map a constellation of her face, and the thought felt obsessive and strange, and he wondered if that’s what love was—strange affection—or if there was something aberrant about his thoughts.
Everyone else had cooking classes or book clubs or children with their own schedules to memorize. Everyone else at least had a cat or a weird hobby that gave their lives meaning. There was one guy in Sackville who had a train set in his basement, and he’d watch the thing spin around ‘til his eyes went dizzy. Violet didn’t even knit or have a Facebook account or play Solitaire. Throughout his career, Marcel had noticed that people as lonely as Violet tended to find company at church. God’s invisible companionship had worked for one old man he’d killed in Halifax in 2007.
Seven years now, he’s been a hit man. Bang bang. Nothing to it. He puts a single bullet into the hearts of his targets, to allow their families an open-casket wake. They’re perfect strangers, these people, and they deserve that measure of respect. He lost sleep over his first few victims; he stalked their families to be sure they could carry on without their loved ones. Mostly, they could. Except for the good mothers. They loved beyond the anatomical breadth and bounds of their own big red hearts. There’d been one woman in Saskatchewan. She’d gone grey before her son’s wake. Marcel couldn’t believe it, looked twice and a third time, squinted his eyes. He hung back in the crowd, staring at her hair as she wept on her daughter’s pudgy shoulders. The woman’s hair had gone from pavement black to sidewalk grey in three days.
But he knows, first-hand, how resilient people can be in the face of lost loved ones. He was a teenager when his own mother and sister died in a subway mugging gone wrong. There was a tug on his mother’s purse, they all turned around, and there were three gunshots. They sounded like the cracks he’d hear at the batting cage downtown, except these rumbled like earthquakes in the subway, and they slowed time way down. And he swears to this day that he saw his sister’s soul leave her body. It was nothing ghostly; it was like something gaseous distorting his vision, temporarily, as if he was looking through a Ziploc bag. Then, poof. Gone. Hers was the headshot, presumably a mistake, a stray bullet. His mother took two in the chest, and her lungs fought like hell but failed. It looked like she was drowning on dry land: gasping and gurgling for air, swimming around on the pavement. Marcel remembers crying so hard that the people walking by looked like they were on the other side of a kaleidoscope. They were dropping their jaws and coffees, and gulping air and staring at this helpless, heartbroken little boy, covered in his mother’s blood. He remembers one shocked-white stranger hugging him and rocking back and forth with him on the dirty ground. Cigarette butts and worse clinging to their hands and clothes. She was getting red blood all over her white Lawton’s Pharmacy work shirt just to comfort this kid because the scene broke her heart too. That kind of human kindness haunts him whenever he points his gun at a person. He always thinks, What if the person he’s taking aim at is that nameless woman from the subway? or, What if she was going to be that woman for some other kid?
THE MAN WHO’D HIRED Marcel to shoot Violet was some kind of biker-gang guy. And the prick was pushy, impatient. He had an unkempt and asymmetrical moustache—it drooped past the lower lip on the left but not the right, like a tipped bow tie—so Marcel didn’t take him seriously.
“Do it yet?”
“I told you, twice, that talking on phones makes me paranoid. I know I did.”
“Too bad. Fifty grand is too much money to trust someone with.”
“How’d you get this number?”
“Same way I get whatever I want, like that bitch dead. I’m watching you. I’d do it myself, but we’re under police surveillance lately, twenty-four seven. All week long.”
“I have a method. I’ve got to stalk these people before I do what I do. Learn habits, scan neighbourhoods for bored little kids, nosy old neighbours—”
“You’ve got five days. The idea is you kill her before she grows old and dies of natural causes.”
about the author
CHAD PELLEY is an award-winning author, songwriter, and photographer from St. John’s. His debut novel, Away from Everywhere, was a Coles bestseller, was recognized by three awards, has been adopted by university courses, and a film adaptation is underway. His second novel, Every Little Thing, was released in March 2013. His short fiction has been published in journals, textbooks, anthologies, and recognized by several awards. Chad is the founder of Salty Ink and President of the Writers Alliance of Newfoundland & Labrador.<
from the library
by Kirsty Logan
Steve has his own comic book store, a limitless supply of comic books, and all the time in the world to collect them. That should be enough. But eventually, everyone - even Steve - gets lonely. And when his time comes, he too has to learn that (eternal) life isn’t about what you spend it on - it’s about who you spend it with.
“Every time I read something by Kirsty, I think, ‘Damn her, I wish I’d written that.’ She is the kind of writer that you can’t help but read with teeth-crunching envy, broken-hearted admiration, and a realization that your own work is not half as good as you’d hoped it might be. Be forewarned writers and readers: you will never be the same.”
— Shanna Germain, finalist for the 2010 John Preston Short Fiction Award and nominee for the 2008 Pushcart Prize
If You Waited Here, You Would
See Almost Everything
by Danny Goodman
After Ray collapses on the sidewalk outside a New York coffee shop, the bittersweet vagaries of his long marriage come into focus, one heartbeat at a time. From his new vantage point, flat on his back, all their conflicts are laid out against a canvas of sky, contrasting miscommunications and infidelities against something slower, steadier, and ultimately much vaster than he ever realized.
by Don McLellan
Father Michael, in his final assignment, has been asked by his Order to help facilitate recovery of an Asian country blighted by war. On the long odyssey into the interior, his driver and translator Trang tells him a story set in a once-famed traveller’s refuge known as the Inn of Tender Embraces. What starts as a simple tale of ill-fated lovers becomes, for Father Michael, a familiar beacon that guides him through the mists of an exotic landscape.
“Don McLellan is the kind of wise, well-travelled writer we don’t see much of these days. With Angels Passing he earns the right to be included in the exotic tradition of Hemingway, Maugham, and Graham Greene. Like all memorable writing, his story takes us to another world and holds us there. As spare and subtle as it is powerful, Angels Passing will linger in your mind long after the last page.”
— John Lekich, Governor General’s Award Finalist for The Losers’ Club
by Cynthia Flood
New wife and mother Julie is a woman struggling to find her place. Her dilemmas, while modest, feel harsh, and reflect the ways in which women were once denied control over their own bodies. Her first steps toward independence bring great pain—and not only to herself. With sparing, incisive prose, Cynthia Flood unravels what it meant to be a married woman in post-war era Vancouver, creating an evocative and even unsettling experience for the reader.
“With a precision of language that startles and delights, Cynthia Flood offers glimpses of those moments in which the essence of an entire life is revealed.”
— Nancy Richler, author of The Imposter Bride
“What a great story! Told in terse, restrained sentences, yet opening to a lush and radiant heart, Addresses captures the anguish of a marriage gone off the rails, and the moments of redemption that arrive from unexpected places. Flood’s use of language is uniquely her own–staccato, clean as a knife, and brilliant. Cynthia Flood has done it again.”
— Shaena Lambert, author of Radiance
“The abruptness of the title tells so much about this exquisitely drawn story by Cynthia Flood. ‘Tell the truth but tell it slant,’ Emily Dickinson advised, and that’s always been the approach Flood has preferred for her bone-china fictions, edging into them sideways. Once escorted into the story’s arrhythmic heart, we readers have no choice but to immerse ourselves in a world long gone but still very much with us, to emerge both shaken and stirred.”
— Dave Margoshes, author of A Book of Great Worth
At the Bar
by Rebecca Rosenblum
Health care workers on a night out unwind, allowing the anxieties and passions they've had to suppress on the job finally uncoil, like tendrils creeping out into the world - and into each other. Written with empathy and panache, this story is a portrait of briefly flaring humanity - of people granted a temporary reprieve from professionalism, and not quite knowing what to do with it.
“At the Bar is Rosenblum at her best - exploring the complicated nature of work and relationships with her trademark perceptiveness, humour, and compassion, and creating characters that will stay with you long after the story is over.”
— Amy Jones, author of What Boys Like and Other Stories
Deep Breaths Underwater
by Meghan Rose Allen
June's mother is getting married and there's nothing June can do about it. Counting down the days to the wedding while trapped with a sort-of friend and unwanted family-to-be at their lakeside cottage in the Kawarthas, June searches desperately for a way to make the world - and her life - stand still.
Hansel, Gretel and Katie
by Seyward Goodhand
The depredations of a corrupt local government and the ravages of a harsh prairie winter force an ostracized but self-sufficient widow to open her home to innocents with nowhere else to turn. Journey Prize finalist Seyward Goodhand's effortless storytelling allows the humanity to shine through in this grim take on a classic tale.
by Kelsey Robbins Lauder
A small-time internet scammer is shaken from her somewhat safe new life when an investigator arrives with questions to do with her erstwhile "period of moral decline" — specifically, the whereabouts of a young woman whose brief, bright friendship nearly steered her from the stability she now craves.