Tethered

Contributor: Ali Banner

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Daggitt cursed the Company protocol that tethered him to his partner. They swam into an underwater cave, separated by only ten feet of cord that attached to each of their suits through a special harness. Eleven dives and the Company decided he still needed a guide.

“Keep your eyes peeled, Daggitt.” Roberts’s voice infiltrated his helmet. “Don’t wanna miss the tunnel.”

He swam faster and harder than the rest of the crew and his knowledge of ancient artifacts was essential to the Company’s success, but Daggitt was better known for getting lost between the pub and the motel next door. “Just do your job so I can get the hell out of here.”

Roberts smirked. Daggitt imagined the cord around his neck. Soon.

The walls closed in, jutting masses of rock that threatened to crush them as they headed for an even narrower channel. In the past, Daggitt ignored his surroundings; the formations blended in the background and made for a pretty scene but meant nothing. Now they were waypoints to guide his return. He memorized each smooth contour, each jagged edge. Even the plant life sprouting through the cave floor highlighted his escape route.

“Here we are,” said Roberts. The tunnel opened into a small grotto with a marble statue erected in the center and rough nooks carved into the surrounding walls. “The Shrine of Amondeen.”

Amondeen watched as they swam over to the hollowed spaces, the two divers peering inside each tiny cave. Most of them stood bare, no doubt looted by plunderers who had visited in the centuries since the fall of Amondeen’s palace, yet some offerings to the ancient god still remained. Daggitt turned over a bronze chalice inlaid with smooth rubies and estimated its value; years of experience hadn’t tamed his greed.

“Remember what we’re here for,” Roberts warned.

“Of course. The Company sent me to find Amondeen’s Scepter, and that’s what I’ll do.”

“It will be an invaluable addition to the Museum.”

Not if I can help it. Eleven dives with the Company and Daggitt hadn’t seen a single penny. He set the chalice back in the shelf. He would return for it later, now that he knew the way.

Roberts motioned and Daggitt followed him to a dark corner of the grotto. A flat boulder leaned against the wall, and Daggitt pressed his fingers along a ridge where the two masses collided. He pulled back, testing for motion; the boulder gave way but fell back into position as Daggitt lost his grip.

“And word in the Company is you’re the strong one.”

Idiot. “Shut up and help.”

Together they rolled the rock aside and uncovered a narrow cavern with a deep trench in the floor of the grotto. Daggitt knelt to the ground and aimed his flashlight at the bottom. “Bingo.”

Amondeen’s Scepter lay in the trench, centuries of dirt and grime encrusting the solid gold staff. Hundreds of small sapphires, amethysts, and emeralds spiraled around the rod from end to end, and a large eagle sat on top clutching a pearl. Even covered in soil its worth was immeasurable. Daggitt’s heart pounded in his ears.

“That it?”

“Yep.”

“Nice.”

Daggitt examined his guide. “You’re smaller. You should jump down and pass it up to me.”

“Afraid of getting lost, are ya?” He snickered and lowered himself into the trench. His feet scuffed the walls and landed on either side of the scepter.

As Roberts crouched down to dislodge the staff, Daggitt pulled a switchblade from his utility belt. He released the catch and flipped out the knife. His garbled reflection stared back at him.

“Man, this mother is heavy! Ya sure you’ll be able to carry it back?”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

Roberts hoisted the scepter to shoulder level and Daggitt used his free hand to drag it along the ground, pulling it out of reach. He pointed his knife at his partner. “I suggest you stay down there.”

Roberts held up his hands. “Whoa, is this because I joked about you getting lost? Lighten up, man!”

Daggitt laughed. “Did you really think I’d let the Company take one of the world’s most valuable artifacts and let it rot in a museum? Eleven times I’ve been down here. Twelve, now. And what do I have to show for it? Nothing! Well, twelve is my lucky number. It’s time for me to collect!”

“So what are you gonna do? Leave me in this ditch? You can’t find your way back.”

“Ha! I paid attention this time. I don’t need you, or the Company, or this damned tether!” He lowered the knife to the cord between them.

“Ya sure you want to do that?”

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to choke you with this.”

“Suit yourself.”

Daggitt sawed at the tether until it snapped in two, finally freeing himself. He swam toward Roberts to finish the job but halted halfway. He could feel water trickling into his helmet. “What the hell?” He locked eyes with Roberts, who wore a knowing smile.

“Just remember, you’re the one who cut the tether. Company special issue.”

Terror seized him as realization settled in, but he was too frightened to scream. The water kept coming. He searched for the tunnel but its opening evaded him. He fought and struggled until the water filled up his lungs and he could no longer breathe.

After Daggitt’s body stilled, Roberts switched the channel on his communicator. “Do you read me, Home Base? Yeah, Daggitt turned. I told you he would.” He paused for a moment to listen. “You’re welcome, Home Base. I knew my design was flawless.”


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Ali Banner is a former English teacher who spent two years teaching in Handan City, China. She is currently a Creative Writing student at Full Sail University. She lives at home in West Virginia with her roommate, Emily, and her dog, Sparky.
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Hotel 14

Contributor: Ali Banner

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Hotel 14 wasn’t the classiest of places, but they kept the rooms neat and tidy and didn’t bother you unless you requested service at the front desk. Dinah liked that about them. They also didn’t ask questions, so it was a popular place for lovers to meet in secret. Hotel 14 washed their hands of anything that went on behind closed doors. Dinah liked that, too.

At half past midnight, Dinah slipped down the east hallway hand in hand with Truman, both of their heads still swimming from the evening’s free-flowing champagne. They stopped in front of Room 108 and Dinah pulled the plastic keycard from her handbag. She handed the card to Truman, who swiped it through the scanner until the machine beeped in approval. Grinning, he took her by the hand and led her into the room.

“Hell of a party, wasn’t it?” He loosened his tie and kicked off his shoes by the door. Static sparked between his socks and the shaggy carpet as he walked over to the identical pair of full size hotel beds. Swans made from hand towels relaxed near the pillows of each bed.

Dinah peeled off her shawl, draping it across the back of a wooden chair.

“Best one of the year. Paisley never fails to impress.”

“You, my dear, were the most impressive one in the room.”

A flatterer. Figures. She walked across the room to the sliding doors that led to their private porch, picking up the swan on the bed closest to the door. She bent down, unfastened her high heels, and stepped onto the concrete.

“Come out here and join me.” She winked and crooked her finger. She turned her back to him and tilted her face up to the moonlight.

The night air was cool, but not unpleasant. The breeze tiptoed across her naked shoulders and seeped through the sheer silk of her evening dress.
She shuddered, though whether from the temperature or her excitement she could not say. Truman came up behind her and rested his hands at her waist. He bent forward to nuzzle her neck, placing light kisses on her smooth skin.

She giggled and moved to the small table off to the side. “Let’s talk a bit. I’m still a bit tipsy.” He pulled out a chair for her and waited for her to sit before taking a place for himself. At least he’s a gentleman. But then, they all are when they want something.

“So, tell me about yourself then,” he said.

She brushed her hair out of her eyes. “What would you like to know?”

“How did a beautiful woman like yourself end up at Paisley’s party without a date?”

Again with the flattery. “Oh, I had one, but he ditched me last minute. I’d already bought the dress and wanted to wear it so I came anyway.”

“You wear it well, my dear.”

Gag me. “And how about yourself?”

“I always fly solo. You can’t tie a wild horse down.” He smiled. “Well, maybe you can. . .”

“So, you’re single then?”

“For now. That might change by morning.”

“Oh? You sound pretty sure of yourself.” Arrogant ass. “You think you can handle me?”

“Positive.” His grin oozed with charm.

Dinah let him take her hand again and followed him back into the room. He shut the door and slid the curtains over the glass, blocking the moonlight and any prying eyes. The vertical stripes of the comforter crinkled up as he pushed her down onto the nearest bed and pulled off his jacket. She grabbed his tie and scooted back to the headboard, tugging him along until only inches separated the two of them. His mouth devoured hers in a hard, hungry kiss.

Dinah shuddered again, this time her excitement was clear. She felt Truman’s arm slip behind her back and lift her up as he rotated their positions until she was on top. His hands grazed her thighs as he moved to take off her dress. Up and up his hands traveled until they came to rest on the knife she had holstered to her hip. His hand froze as he realized his discovery. Before he had time to register what was happening, Dinah reached into the side drawer and grabbed two sets of handcuffs, securing him to the bedposts in seconds.

“Wh-what?”

She slapped him in the face. “Single, my ass! You might have taken the ring off, but I can still see a tan line where it sits, thin and faint as it might be. Tell me, how long was it after the honeymoon before you started cheating?”

“You knew?” It was an accusation, not a question.

“Of course I knew. Do you really think a sleazeball like you could land someone like me? Hilarious.”

“But then—”

“Your wife found me. Came to me, brokenhearted. Told me about your infidelities. Said it felt like her heart was being cut into a million tiny pieces. I offered to help you understand her feelings.” She pulled the knife from her holster and admired its blade.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Just someone who believes in something.” Dinah leaned over and picked up the swan decoration from the spare bed, petting its head as she talked. “Did you know that swans mate for life? Their loyalty is so well known that the image of two swans with their necks wrapped around each other in the shape of a heart has become a symbol of love in many different cultures around the world. But, I wouldn’t really expect you to know anything about that.”

“You’re a fucking psycho. Let me go!” He pulled at the handcuffs and tried to throw her off by bucking his hips.

“No, Truman. Men like you need to learn how it feels to be cut into pieces.”

His eyes widened as she stuffed the swan in his mouth to muffle his screams. Hotel 14 didn’t notice as she carved into him.


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Ali Banner is a former English teacher who spent two years teaching in Handan City, China. She is currently a Creative Writing student at Full Sail University. She lives at home in West Virginia with her roommate, Emily, and her dog, Sparky.
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Stitch

Contributor: Ali Banner

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Flying always made her nervous. It wasn’t so much the soaring through the clouds thousands of miles above the surface of the planet as it was the rough takeoffs and even rougher landings, especially with the ever-looming possibility of crashing into desolation, miles away from help or hope. Either way, she preferred to travel on land despite death-by-automobile being statistically more likely than a nosedive into a remote mountainside with nothing but the airplane tail jutting from rocks in a cloud of billowing smoke. Her lacework was the only thing that soothed her nerves and took her mind off what was sure to be certain doom.

This flight was more nerve-wracking than usual. Not only was the weather deteriorating by the minute, a dense cloud that threatened snow hanging thicker and thicker, but she was traveling to meet him, her Achilles’ heel, the one man who had all the power to weaken her resolve and lead her to her demise. It had been years since they’d seen or spoken to each other. Now she sat in a plane guiding her tatting shuttle around strands of black thread, lacing knots to keep her mind occupied. She should have refused his invitation. Said no when he offered to transport her, all expenses paid, three hundred miles from northeastern Iowa to northwestern Minnesota. Kept her feet on the ground when she felt it quaking beneath her. It had all happened so fast. That phone call, that invitation, that velvety voice she could never refuse.

“Hello, Baby.” It echoed in her mind, over and over. “You know what I like.”

The plane hit a violent patch of turbulence moments after gaining altitude and leveling off. A pair of pretty stewardesses, lips painted red and blonde hair in bobs, braced themselves near the service station as the seatbelt light switched on. Over and under, under and over, the worn ivory shuttle passed between twin strands of thread, two anxious hands gripping and guiding the knots into place, thirty thousand feet high in the air.

“This is your captain speaking...”

Over and under, under and over. Transfer the stitches, then turn and repeat. Drops of sweat beaded her forehead and the cabin jerked back and forth, but her practiced hands never faltered, completing every knot with compulsory ease. The plane began to plummet, unsecured baggage and carry-on luggage following suit. Screams filled the cabin and the stewardesses begged for order. All around her chaos struck, but her hands never broke rhythm.

The pressure dipped and oxygen masks dropped from their compartments above. Bound thread unraveled from her fingers with each double stitch, each intricate loop. She felt two hands slick with sweat pulling a mask down her face to secure it over her nose and mouth. She inhaled the sweet oxygen. Over and under, under and over. The pattern she’d started was almost complete.

Down and down, the plane hurtled toward an abandoned cornfield, once arid farmland now forgotten and barren. The pilots battled the elements and the passengers prayed to every deity they thought to invoke.

Over and under, under and over. “Hello, Baby. You know what I like.”

She closed the last stitch and examined her handiwork, running the black mourning veil over her hands before placing it on her head and covering her tear-stricken face. Her final thought was the sound of his voice tugging at her will as the plane crashed into the empty field.


- - -
Ali Banner is a former English teacher who spent two years teaching in Handan City, China. She is currently a Creative Writing student at Full Sail University. She lives at home in West Virginia with her roommate, Emily, and her dog, Sparky.
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