Up and Coming Author
Sierra Tiller
The Stories
​
Violet
​
Violet sat on the floor of a hotel shower, as boiling water sprayed over her. Her head on her knees, and holding the cross her father gave her so tightly her hand began to bleed. She wondered how everything had gone so wrong. Her parents had kept her out of sex ed. classes in school, threatening to the school for violation of religious freedom if they forced their daughter to take that abomination. She attended Ole Miss the summer after she graduated from high school, majoring in English. In college she rebelled. She darkened her clothes and dawned short dresses with graveyard trim, but she attended church every Sunday and Wednesday. Junior of college she had her first romantic relationship, which ended a year later with nothing more than kissing.
After Graduation she moved to Portland, Oregon. She spent nights alone in her studio, watching YouTube videos with her cat laying on her back. She had signed up for Meet me, Tinder, anything to meet someone in town. She had a few dates, but there wasn't any chemistry between them.
That night, after her Tinder date had lifted her dress and made a few more than derogatory comments, she was walking home. Tears and eyeliner streaming down her cheeks, she sat on the curb and kicking her creepers into the road next to her.
"I wish I never moved her," she said to herself.
She watched as a black truck slowed to a halt in front in front of her. The passenger window rolled down, revealing two men dressed in grey tweed suits. The driver had chocolate brown hair. His eyes mirrored them but they were laced with gold. His cheek bones were high and sharp, and his chin was strong.
The second man had the same chocolatey hair, but his face was softer. He had rounder cheeks, and his chin wasn't as sharp. His were eyes a painting starry night with swirls of blues, greys, and yellows.
"Hey," said the man in the driver's seat "do you need a ride?"
"Uh, I don't know it's not that much farther to my flat," Violet said, trying to wipe the streaks from her face.
"Then let us give you a ride," said the other man "Judging by this you've had a hard night. I'm Evan by the way." He gave her a sympathetic smile.
She stood slowly, slipping her shoes on and walked to the truck. Evan opened his door so she could get the backdoor open. She climbed in and pulled her door closed. She said a quick prayer, holding the little gold cross she had around her neck when she realized she couldn't escape if she needed to.
"And I'm Tyler," said the driver
"Violet," she said.
"Where to Violet," Tyler asked.
"Eighteen twenty-four south reindeer road," she said.
They drove in silence for a while.
"It's the next right" Violet said, as the turn came up.
"Is it?" Tyler asked. He continued passed the road, and the next, and the next.
"Please let me out," Violet said. Her hand began to sweat.
"I thought you wanted to play with us," said Evan "We have money."
"Play? Money? What do you mean?" asked Violet.
"Man, you put on a good act," said Tyler "but I guess you have to. The cops have been cracking down on you guys lately." He pulls into a motel parking lot.
The men got out of the truck, and pull Violet with them. They guide her into a small one bed room. The room reeked of cigarette smoke, and the walls had yellowed with the nicotine. Tyler threw her down on the unmade bed. She finally realized what was about to happen, but it was too late. All she could do is lay there as they ripped her pedals from her. She felt sap spilling from her wounds, covering her and the ground below her. The men righted themselves and prepared to leave, but Evan stopped at the door. He walked back to her and threw a stack of dollar bills on her naked body.
"We should do this again" he said, smirking. He followed Tyler out of the room.
Violet was pulled out of the memory that left her here bruised, and broken. She tried to wash it all away, scrubbing until her skin bled. Looked at the crossing her hand, and screamed as she threw it. She laid her head back on her knees, and finally let the sobs free.
Briefcase
​
The doorbell chimed. Alec jumped, throwing his bowl of popcorn over his lap. He stood, letting the snack fall to the floor and went to answer the door. He walked swiftly, wondering who would come over so late. He peaked out peephole, but saw no one. He opened the door slowly, his eyes locking in on a simply wrapped package before him. Picking it up, he carried it inside and eyeing it curiously.
"I didn't know FedEx delivered so late" Alec said. He set it on the coffee table in front of his chair, popcorn crunching under his feet. He glanced as return address, it was from New Orleans, Louisiana. He tore through the thick brown paper, revealing a thick brown briefcase bearing a large J pressed in the bottom left corner.
He breathed in the smell of the faded brown leather case, reveling in memories of his grandfather's leather shop. Alec use to help his grandfather with the craft. He knew this was a piece made by him and grandfather by the deep crimson thread that held the case together. He had begged his grandfather to use this thread because it was the color of Alec's mother's hair and he loved it. His grandfather happily got to work, switching the normal light brown thread for Alec's red thread.
Alec was pulled back to reality. For a moment, he ran his hand over the bronze clasps holding it closed, feeling the cold metal under his fingertips. He popped the case open. Stacks and stacks of paper where scattered around, but a sealed manila envelope caught his eye. He pulled it out, and opened it. Began to read the papers within.
​
Alec Jenkins,
We regret to inform you that you grandfather, Sebastian Jenkins, has passed away. Enclosed in this envelope is a copy of his living will. We ask that you return to New Orleans to ensure his final wishes are carried out. We are sorry for your loss.
Best wishes,
P.J. Morgan Insurance Companies.
​
Alec felt his legs give out under him, dropping the letter on the floor. He fell back into his chair, almost tipping it back. Tears began to pool in his eyes. He sat there for a long moment, waiting for the reality of what he read to sink in. He didn't want to believe what he had read, and he knew that looking at the will would make it all too real.
Slowly he reached for the briefcase, pulling it on to his lap. He began to sort through the papers stacked within. Medical records, a few Shakespeare plays, faded family photos, and finally a sealed envelope buried under it all. He looked at the calligraphy he knew all too well on the front of the envelope. Grandpa. He lifted the seal, regretting that he had to destroy something his grandfather had given to him. He stared at the page reading it over and over.
​
Alec,
My dear boy, I have missed you. It has been years since I have been able to see your face, and shake your hand. I know this is my doing, I should have told you I have been ill. Cancer is a beast that I thought I could control, but I learned to late I could not. I have asked for this letter be sent to you in our briefcase, I do hope you getting that way. I could never bring myself to part with it. I know it has been worn out, but it has been loved. I hope you keep it, and are able to pass it on to your son, and later your grandson.
I know I am jumping rambling, perhaps it doesn't make much sense, but neither does my mind as of right now. I know this is my last night upon this mortal coil, but I wanted to spend them writing to you. Perhaps calling would have been better, conversations are not able to be held on to, the written word is. I am sorry I had not warned you this was coming, but I thought it easier to have the shock than the agonizing anticipation.
I love you my dear boy,
Your Grandpa, Sebastian
​
He stood, still clutching the paper. He pulled out his cellphone. He somberly waiting for an answer.
"I need a pickup as soon as you have space," he said as the ringing ended.
"Sure kid, where to?" A man replied in a thick New York accent.
"New Orleans," he stated.
Saving Reins
(This is just the first chapter with many more to come, check back often for new updates)
​
I shivered violently, shoving my hands deep into my sweatshirt pockets; I leaned back against the cold, grey brick wall. I tried to focus on getting a few hours of sleep, but the chattering of my teeth and the bitter cold of September paired with the constant city noise made any chance of real rest impossible. I stood slowly, realizing my attempts were pointless. I walked along the ally I had come to know as home, deep in the heart of New York, trying to warm myself how ever possible. My light sweatshirt and now tattered jeans did little to shield me from the cold and my ratted old converse were useless to stop the iced over snow from numbing my feet as I moved about. I felt my stomach clawing its way out of my body, I stopped and held my abdomen for a few moments trying to sooth away malnourished pains. I knew I would have to find some way to get some food, I couldn't go anymore than the week I had with nothing to eat. I started moving again, this time with a goal.
I paused at the entrance of a 7/11, debating if I could manage to steal something to control my raging hunger. There was only one person working the counter, reading some magazine, and a few customers wondering the store. I decided it was my best opposition. Slipping in quickly, trying not to draw attention to myself, I wandered the isles as if I was looking for something specific. I picked up a bag of chips and looked to see if anyone was looking my way, when I noticed no one was I slipped it into my hoodie pocket and continued looking around the merchandise. I knew I shouldn't push my luck by getting anything else but I was so hungry I didn't care. I pulled a cup-o-noodles from the shelf and shoved it into my pocket as well and started for the door.
"Hey!" the woman at the register yelled, I froze in my spot, "you have to pay for those sweetheart." she finished calmly. I looked at her, completely stunned, I didn't know she had looked away from her reading. I felt like a deer in the head lights, not being able to do anything. Once I fought my fear for control over my body I turned and darted from the store and ran, not stopping.
I heard someone yelling behind me, his voice was thunderous and it drew closer. I stole a glance behind me, a, an in a security uniform was less than a hundred yards behind me. Sprinting as fast as I could I manage. I knew I had to loose him if I wanted to keep my bounty. I dodged every ounce of light I saw, trying to disappear into the shadow's, out of his view. It wasn't working well enough, finally in a last despite attempt to loose him, I cut though a thin ally way and shot like a bullet though it, and the next one I found, and the next one. I couldn't hear anyone following anymore. I stopped and fell to my knees in the snow covered ground holding my chest. I felt like my heart was going to beat right out of my chest, while trying to get my breathing under control I pulled out what I managed to get out with. I opened the cup-o-noodle and filled it with the untouched snow against the edge of the building and shoved it into the cup. Breathing heavily into the cup trying to melt the snow for a moment before placing it between my legs and started to scarf down my bag of chips.
I glanced around and mentally kicked myself. I had no clue where I had ended up, not that it truly mattered. I had no home to go back to, but I knew less danger hung around in my ally than anywhere else. I ping of fear shot through me as I thought of what I might come across. I heard a foot steps from my left and the feeling of complete danger overwhelmed my thoughts. Jumping to my feet, and started walking away from the sounds. I tried not to let my fear show though my body language, I didn't want to seem weak if I was caught. I held my head up high and look straight ahead as I walked at a quick pace. I saw a man round the corner ahead of me. After a quick moment of hesitation I stuck firm to my direction, heading straight towards the large man. As I drew closer I saw the tattoos the covered his arms and up to his neck and he lowered his head slightly and sneered at me. every muscle in body tensed and was ready to take off at any moment that it was needed
"Hey baby," he spoke quietly, but in that moment it seemed the world had fallen into complete silence. His voice seem thunderous in comparison.
He's voice made the hair on my neck stand on end, I knew I had made the wrong decision. without thinking I turned and took flight down the road. I didn't get three steps before he was in front of me yet again and pulling me into his chest. I tried to scream but his hand was over my mouth before I could get a sound out.
"shh shh shh," he whispered, his lips in my ear, "I wouldn't do that sweetheart, if you want to live though the night." His voice was cold and laced with a tone that made me shutter.
I fought against his hold, kicking, struggling and shaking my head, it only made his hold on me tighter. He dragged me along with him though the shadows. 'no, not now' I thought to myself 'he's going to kill me.. or... or..' I wouldn't let myself finish that thought. I wouldn't go down without a fight. with the the force I could manage and bite down on his hand, trying to pull a chunk of skin from his hand. He ripped his hand away from me and I reeled my foot back and planted it in his groin. His grip loosed enough for me to pull away and book it away from him. A hand coils itself in my hair and yanks me back against his hard body yet again.
"That is by far the worse thing you could have done, bitch." He growls into my ear. Throwing me into a the stone wall by my hair, the man stokes up and clenches my throat with crushing force and slams me into the wall again, and again, and again before he released me and I crumpled to the ground in a heap. I stare up at him with a dazed look while black spots dance across my vision, as they slowly engulfing my view I willing let myself fall into the numb feeling of the darkness' embrace. I welcomed the feeling of the sleep and the escape from the agonizing pain engulfing my body.
Lost in Time
Coming soon.
Changing Hands
​
The faint glow of a cigarette was the only indication that someone stood just inside the tree line. Michael Wood and Derek Wiseman slowed the abused station wagon to a crawl. It bore no plates. The headlights fell on a man, cigarette in hand, who was stepped out of the wood line. The man’s hand shook slightly as he flicked the ashes, somehow avoiding his starched maroon shirt. He wore tailor made slacks that fit his slightly pudgy body perfectly. His shoes shined in the headlight, and as he walked they seemed to left no discernible tracks. His silver blond hair was slicked back, revealing his round, slightly wrinkled face. He took a final drag before stepping it out.
“Gentle?” Derek asked through the slightly cracked passenger window.
“Gentile, idiot,” Michael said.
“Yes, it’s me.” The man replied, leaning against the car. “Would you boys care for a cigarette? Tobacco’s handpicked in Columbia.” He pulled a small silver case from his pocket, and flipped it open to show the men.
“I’d like one,” said Derek.
“No thanks, we’re good,” Michael said. “Can we please talk about this deal, it’s stupid to have the paintings out like this. Life in jail don’t sound too nice to me.”
“Come now, Wood. What’s the point of your little heist if you don’t get to enjoy a lavish reward?” said Gentile, pulling a fag from the case and holding it in his lips. “Besides, I don’t talk business in such a rude manner.”
“We will take our business elsewhere then,” Michael replied.
“Who else you going to sell them too? There is a fifty-million-dollar reward on your heads” Gentile said, striking a match and lighting his cigarette.
Michael paused for moment before slamming his hand on the wheel. “Derek, out,” he said. He stepped out of the car towards Gentile.
“That’s more like it,” said Gentile as he took a long drag. He handed a case and a match book to each man. “A gift of good faith.”
“All right, where is the money?” asked Michael.
Gentile stepped back into the trees like and retrieved a worn, leather briefcase. “There we are, an even twenty-mill is in that case.”
“The agreement was fifty.” Derek said through a fit of coughs.
“That was for mint condition works. You boys dropped the value when you cut them from the frames. Honestly, with all the time you had you could have at least removed them properly.” Gentile said.
“This isn’t an auction,” Michael said. “Fifty or we walk.”
“Pipe down, do you want all Pennsylvania to know we’re here? I could arrange that if you don’t like this deal,” Gentile replied, sneering.
“You bast-” Michael said, dropping the case.
“All right, all right,” Derek said. “We will take it.”
Michael opened his mouth to speak, but Derek grabbed his shoulder. The two walked a few feet from the other man.
“We agreed on fifty. Not twenty. We worked too hard for these.” Michael said, his fist clenching as he spoke.
“I know, but we both know this isn’t a guy we should cross. I would like to spend the money, and not be six feet under over your temper.”
Michael sighed, his white knuckles relaxing.
“You’re right. Let’s just get this over with,” Michael said. “I don’t like having these out in the open like this.”
The pair returned to Gentile, who leisurely retrieved the case from the ground.
“Well, you boys make your decision?” Gentile asked.
“We’ll take the twenty. Let’s just get these this done.”
“With pleasure.” Gentile said.
Gentile pulled out a large handgun, promptly putting a bullet between Michael’s eyes. Derek looked from his friend to the armed man in horror. Gentile turned the gun to him.
“Just tying up some loose ends, you understand, right?” Gentile said, his lips pulling up into a sadistic smile. “It’s just our business.”
Derek whipped his head around to find a means to escape.
“Hey kid, don’t run. I hate shooting someone in the back. It’s not good sportsmanship,” said Gentile.
Derek bolted up the road, weaving back and forth. Gentile sighed, firing one round down the road and piecing Derek’s back. Gentile shoved his gun back into his waistline and walked over to Derek, who was clinging to life. He crouched beside him, and patted his cheek.
“I told you not to run, kid, would have been easier on ya.” Gentile said. “I would put you out of your misery, but since I’m already a bad sport I might as well keep it up. Go big or go home, right?”
He took the cigarette from his mouth, dropped it on the ground and stomped it out. He walked back to Michael, and kicking his body over, he pulled the keys from Michaels pocket. He pulled a phone from his pocket. He dialed and held the phone to his ear.
“Hey, Mikey. I have them. Get the truck and the guys over here. We have some clean-up to do.” He dropped the phone to ground, and crushed it.
Five Years Later
Coming soon.