a huff.
The waitress weaved her way through the maze of tables with careful, practiced steps. The bottle cost more than the woman made in a day and the last thing the waitress wanted to do was drop it.
"You're driving us home," Fiona finished before the waitress arrived.
Setting her mouth in a firm line, Fiona cast her gaze about the restaurant. She was embarrassed to her core over her husband's antics and his staunch refusal to admit to any wrong-doing, even going as far as to claim he'd not meant to raise his hand at her. But meeting the eyes of disapproving or pitying strangers was better—at this moment in time—than looking at her husband.
She might lose it.
She didn't know what his problem was, didn't understand why he was choosing now, tonight, to do this to her.
Tapping her fingers in a rapid rhythm on the table, Fiona's shoulders flinched at the sudden appearance of the waitress with the champagne bottle.
"Oh, right. . . Thank you." Flustered, Fiona shifted in her seat and tried to look at ease as the bottle was prepped and opened.
A sharp breath shot out of her nostrils as she lifted her chin, imagining how she looked in the soft candlelight from the centerpiece on the table. It was a habit she'd learned in college during a seminar on how to increase self-esteem.
Somewhat eased, Fiona turned to smile at her husband, to show him she wasn't harboring a grudge, but she stilled at the sight of him. Fiona couldn't help but note the paleness of his face and the way his eyes were darting around the room while his shoulders shook ever so slightly—not at all how Garrett usually looked. Damn it all to hell, what was wrong with him?
Leaning forward, Fiona opened her mouth to comment, but wasn't able to make much more than a low hiss before the cork popped and Garrett jumped from his chair in response faster than she'd ever seen him move before.
Garrett's chair fell backward as he landed on his feet. The chair slid on its back across the tiled floor until it hit another patron, one of several who was watching Garrett with a slack-jawed expression bordering on terror.
Garrett's eyes caught the glimmer of metal and his hand reached for it in an automatic gesture that came from years of practice he'd never experienced. His long fingers wrapped around the thick, engraved end of a table knife, an implement which seemed absurdly sharp to everyone watching him lift it from the table.
"Garrett!" Fiona whined, cowering in her chair as if she could make herself smaller and disappear into the plush seat. "What the hell do you think you are doing?"
When he spoke, his voice exploded with a furious barrage of words that left her gaping. Garrett didn't have an accent, and what the hell was that language? It was like nothing she'd ever heard before.
Sirens echoed into the heavy silence hanging in the air. A sigh of relief was felt more than heard; help was on the way.
Even Fiona felt gratitude that someone had called the police. The overwhelming sense of betrayal and confusion filled her eyes with tears.
Wetness spilling over, Fiona reached a shaking hand toward her husband.
"Please, sweetness don't do this," she whispered, unsure what she was asking him not to do.
Garrett lifted his free hand and she saw the chain from which the medallion hung swinging from his punching fist. He accompanied his movements with shouting and screaming in the unfamiliar language, occasionally hitting himself in the chest like he was trying to make some point about himself he
realized no one was understanding.
Without warning, Garrett melted to the floor and the room gave a collective gasp.
"Get that damned thing out of his hand!" Hugo's booming voice echoed through the wagon and shook Trin's skull, rattling his brains in a very painful way.
Hugo knew what the medallion was and he blamed Graeme for giving it back to Trin—the old man was not unaware of what he'd done.
"Trin, Trin! Wake up!" The tearing of cloth followed the frantic pleading as the lashings were cut and the broken man hauled to his feet.
Trin protested, the pain searing through his body like raging fire. He wanted to sleep; he wanted the release. When he had the medallion in his hand Trin felt no pain—neither of body nor soul.
"You're still alive, Trin. Now wake up and come back to the living!" Hugo's voice made the command a near threat.
His daughter, Verona, held up Trin's body and shot her father a disparaging gaze as she tried to lift Trin's chin to look into his eyes.
"Please Trin, Graeme led you somewhere where you wouldn't feel the pain, but you won't be able to come back,"
she said, her heart breaking at the tears flowing down the sentry's cheeks. "Grace was like my sister. . . she wouldn't have wanted you to do this."
Hearing the sound of her name, spoken by someone who'd loved her near as much as he had, touched a part of Trin. He lifted his face, squinting at Verona through the haze of pain and tears. Trin rested his head against Verona's shoulder, sagging in her arms, finally allowing himself feel the agony of Grace's
death he had locked away inside himself.
Hugo grabbed Verona just before she collapsed under the weight of Trin's body, and the three of them sank to the floor, each crying with the loss they felt.
Outside the wagon, only Trin's animal-like wail of pain and grief could be heard.
Fiona wrapped herself in her husband's jacket, clutching her purse to her chest as she watched the stretcher being wheeled out of the building. Behind her, the manager waited with the bill for which she'd already given her credit card; she'd still be expected to sign it before she accompanied Garrett to the hospital.
Somewhere among the clutter of cutlery and dishes strewn about the floor was the medallion Fiona had
purchased for him, now long forgotten.
At the next table over, Dustin offered his date a reassuring smile while he seethed inside. Jenny or Jenna or Joanie. . . whatever her name was, she didn't look like she was having a great time. And Dustin didn't blame her. Not with Captain Crazy and his wife seated right next to them. He should have never chosen a joint like this for a first date— rich people were nuts.
"Don't worry, babe," he said with a soft laugh. "We can probably get dinner for free."
Dustin craned his neck looking for the waiter, thinking he'd ask them to throw in a complementary dessert to go as well. He still planned on getting laid that night.
Thank you so much for downloading this story. I really do hop you enjoyed it. Science Fiction and Fantasy have always been my first loves when it comes to genres of fiction and they will always be. I was a geek from the earliest ages. The Medallion is a Blyssfully Abnormal Short, part of the anthology by my publisher, and an ode to the books that have shaped me since I first learned to read.
Originally from Anchorage, Alaska, A. Maire Dinsmore lives outside Seattle. She is a wife and a mother of two children; son Christian and daughter Ashleigh. She caught the attention of Blysster Press editor after entering the writing contest at Crypticon at the urging of her husband, after years of keeping her writing a closely guarded secret. A. Maire is a obsessed football fan, finds cooking a therapeutic release and finds no better joy than family movie night. She is an annual attendee of Rustycon, Norwescon and Crypticon in the Pacific Northwest and is the High Priestess of Biohazard Party; running the show and keeping the madness in check.
Twitter: https://twitter.com/amairedinsmore
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Blog: https://amairedinsmore.com
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