This the last installment of the story of Peregrine and Becky. My apologies if this one is a little less stand-alone. However, here are the previous editions: 1. Peregrine’s Bar, 2. Clue 43, 3. Midnight Call, 4. Special Becky, 5. Freakish Becky. Obviously when you write flash-fiction, a lot of the story has to be implied. I am planning on writing a novella of the whole story of Peregrine and Becky. It should be ready in about…6 months or so, if I’m lucky. You know how it goes. However, I will let you know when it is ready, if anyone is interested.
copyright John Nixon
Peregrine knelt in the Parisian apartment and held his daughter Becky as she sobbed in his arms.
“You came for me, Dad.”
“I didn’t want to kill them.”
“I’m sorry about Mom.”
“Don’t bring that up again. It was an accident.”
“Can we go home now?”
He nodded and took her hand. “Hey, do you know when we first knew you had a special gift?”
“You were four. You whispered and made a street performer jump through his piano.”
Becky smiled and Peregrine’s heart almost melted. If he could, he would keep her smiling forever.
The continuing story of Peregrine and Becky. Here are the previous editions: 1. Peregrine’s Bar, 2. Clue 43, 3. Midnight Call, 4. Special Becky
copyright El Appleby
They see me as a freak; a mutant to be studied and used. They want my Whisper, but they fear it too.
They finally took me off the drugs, trying to determine how I worked. I used my Whisper and they decided to send a message to my father, hidden in coordinates. They suddenly decided drugs weren’t necessary anymore. I Whispered and they called my father.
All it took was one small Whisper and they happily threw themselves through a fourth-story window.
I didn’t want to do it.
I just want to be normal. Why am I such a freak?
The continuing story of Peregrine. Again though, it should be able to stand on its own (I hope). Here are the previous editions: 1. Peregrine’s Bar, 2. Clue 43, 3. Midnight Call.
Copyright Janet Webb
Peregrine was close; he felt it.
The kidnappers had first said Algeria. Then, at the payphone, a husky voice had given him the name of this Parisian building. A dress on the balcony showed the apartment.
An upper window exploded in a blossom of shards and a body hit the sidewalk with a stomach-turning crunch. Another man appeared at the broken window and stepped out—placidly, deliberately—and landed on the roof of a BMW. Glass shattered; the car alarm began to scream.
Peregrine sprinted through milling crowds to the apartment entrance. Becky was definitely inside.
Powerful, special Becky.
The third story in the Peregrine series. Hopefully it can also be a standalone story as well for those who haven’t read the first two. Still, here are the first two: Peregrine’s Bar, Clue 43.
The payphone with no mouthpiece was a neighborhood joke, which was why Albert was surprised to see a man lift the earpiece and put quarters in it.
“Hey buddy, that’s busted!” Albert took another swig of Thunderbird and staggered closer. The man listened to the earpiece a moment, then slammed it down.
“What’d you hear in there?”
The man spun around, his face contorted with rage. “You wanna know? Really?”
“I’m running around the world blind while my daughter is kidnapped somewhere. Satisfied?”
“How much they want for her?”
“Nothing. She’s special. Drink up.” The man walked away.
This is the first story I’ve done for Friday Fictioneers that is a continuation of a previous story. I took everyone’s suggestion and wrote another story about Peregrine. I’m sorry that I could not get to many people’s stories last week to read. I really enjoy reading them, but life is crazy busy sometimes.
The coordinates brought Peregrine to a deserted cemetery. The next numbers were chalked on the side of a gravestone. He looked them up: central Algeria, the bastards.
Later, in his Astana hotel, Peregrine sat with vodka and paper, drowning his despair and clutching at hope. He had chased 42 clues, like white rabbits, all over the world but still no progress, no message, no sign of life. Only more coordinates to chase.
He tried ciphers, rearranging the numbers, looking for any kind of clue. A chill went down his spine as words suddenly formed from the numbers: BECKY IS HERE.
copyright Ted Strutz
Peregrine’s Bar was open once a month, but on that one day, the place was packed for seventeen hours straight, as patrons crowded in to hear about Peregrine’s latest adventure.
“…and that’s why the Kayan chief gave me this tattoo.” The bar erupted in applause. “Give me five minutes and I’ll tell you about the panther attack I survived.”
“Hey Peregrine, where to next?”
“Kazakhstan.” The crowd oohed appreciatively.
Peregrine closed up at dawn, having made enough in one day to finance his search for another month. The kidnappers had said he would never find her. He’d prove them wrong.