Short Story titled "Mints"

This is one of my favorite short stories that I wrote many years ago. The premise began as a joke between a couple of my sci-fi friends and myself. I've read it publicly with a great response.

I always hoped a publisher would pick it up to publish it, but that hasn't happened. Thus, I've decided I'm just going to post "Mints" here and share this tale with all my readers.

Mints

by

Heather Hobson

            "You didn't," Serina giggled.  She snatched the perfectly wrapped present from Adam's outstretched hands.

            Adam beamed as Serina yanked off the silver ribbon, then the white paper.  His brown eyes looked on, mesmerized, as her carefully painted fingers tore the last bit of paper away.  He licked his lips. 

            "You know me so well," she laughed, reading the words "Bespin Han Solo" across the top of the package.  She grinned at him, knowing their passion for Star Wars was one of their common bonds.

            "I know he's your favorite," Adam teased, his eyes focused on the packaged action figure.  He read over the bright colored words again.  He licked his lips.

            "He sure is," Serina replied.  She leaned forward to kiss Adam.

            "Be careful," Adam scolded not knowing how harsh he sounded.  "You don't want to damage the package.  One crease and the value drops."

            "You know I don't care about that," Serina stated.  Her eyes twinkled with mirth.  She positioned her fingers as if she would rip the card board backing from the plastic cover.

            Frowning, Adam took the action figure from her as if she were a small child.  He rose from the bed and carefully placed it on the hotel dresser.  He stood looking at it for a long time.  At last he said, "Oh, did I tell you?  I bought something else too."  His voice had softened a bit.  He still stood, peering down at the figure as he continued to speak.  "It's the new Boba Fett Replica by Don Post Studios.  It's actually full-size."

            Serina gave a half laugh.  "Where are we going to put it?  We have yet to move all my stuff into the house?"

            "I was planning on the living room," Adam stated with all seriousness.

            Serina shook her head.  At last she called out, "Adam?"

            "What?" he questioned, wondering if he should tell her about the life-size Stormtrooper now or later.

            Not wanting to talk anymore, Serina said, "Adam, you know this is our wedding night."

            "I know," he answered, turning to see Serina stretched out across the bed, her white teddy clinging tightly to her.

*                                                                      *                                                                      *

            Shelves, from floor to ceiling, covered two whole walls of the spare bedroom.  Serina's eyes roamed over them as she stood in the doorway.  She hardly dared breathe.  Her arms hung limp at her sides, her fingers itched.  She read the labels of each box:  "Star Wars Return of the Jedi Rebel Soldier"; "Official Ben Kenobi Light Saber"; "Star Wars Princess Leia Organa Pre-painted 12" Vinyl Kit."  Serina bit her lower lip.  She took one step into Adam's sterile sanctuary.

            Reaching out, she ran a single finger across the shrink wrapped box reading "New Star Wars Electronic Power F/X 22" X-Wing with Luke."  Not a single blemish of dust clung to her sweaty finger.  She made another tentative step.  Her eyes ogled the "Official Han Solo Laser Gun."  Heart pounding, she moved to pick up the box.

            Just as her fingers made contact she heard, "Serina?" She leapt back as if the box had turned into a Jaba the Hut.  Stumbling out of the room, her trembling hands slid the door shut.

            "I'm here," she replied, running down the carpeted stairs.

*                                                                      *                                                                      *

            "How much?" Serina asked, her fingers clutching a shot glass.  Her heart thundered.  Her head spun. 

            "Ten."

            "Okay," she whispered.  She forced the glass to her lips.  The liquid burned her throat.  She found herself thinking of the cantina on Tatooine.  The man opposite her, leaning back as casually as Han Solo had when Ben Kenobi had approached him.

            "Five before and five after."

            Serina nodded.  The man rose up from the table.  She wondered how he could see anything in the darkened room through his wraparound sunglasses.  Nervously, she played with the scarf knot under her chin.  She hoped no one would recognize her.

            "Tomorrow.  Here.  Bring the money," he added before departing.

*                                                                      *                                                                      *

            Serina paced by the phone.  Her hands tapped occasionally against her thighs.  She half expected to hear the click of the lock, instead of the phone.  She wondered where Adam was.  Her mind raced over the possibilities.

            A quick ring interrupted her thoughts.  Shaking, Serina stared at the phone.  Four rings faded before she picked up the receiver.  "Yes?" she hoarsely whispered.

            "It's done."

            Whatever reply Serina had been formulating disintegrated as the buzz off the door bell radiated through the house.  Dropping the phone handle, a wave of nausea assailed her.  The buzz blasted again.

            Slowly Serina walked to the front door, passing the full-size Boba Fett which she had been forbidden to touch. He seemed to glare at her through his helmet, his gun pointed upward, ready to shift at the slightest need. As she turned the dead bolt, Serina felt certain she would faint.

            "Mrs. Sinclair?" The police officer asked before the door was halfway open.

            Serina leaned against the two-inch door jam.  Her eyes stared at the silver badge plastered against neatly pressed navy blue.

            "Mrs. Sinclair?"

            Serina nodded.

            "May I come in?"

            Serina neither moved nor replied.

            "May I come in?" the officer asked again.  When Serina still failed to respond, the officer shuffled his feet for a moment.  Then he said, "Mrs. Sinclair, I regret to inform you, but your husband was shot and killed."

            A red haze clouded Serina's vision.  She wavered on her feet.  She did not notice the policeman's arm reach out to catch her.

*                                                                      *                                                                      *

            "What is this world coming to?" Aunt Rose complained angrily.  Her fingers clutched her purse ferociously.  "They better catch that fiend.  Death penalty for sure.  You can't even drive your car without being shot."

            Serina said nothing.  Her fingers tugged on the hem of her black sleeve.  Her breaths were quick.  She felt suffocated, as though shoved in a box.  There appeared to be a ceaseless flow of mourners.  Her head ached for quiet and releases.  Looking up, she focused on the Boba Fett.  She felt certain he would lower his laser gun and shot her at any moment.

            "Do they have any leads?" Aunt Rose pressed.

            Serina shook her head, still staring at Boba Fett.

*                                                                      *                                                                      *

            A faint smile cracked Serina's lips as she locked and bolted the front door behind her parents.  With renewed energy, she ran to the kitchen.  Yanking out an entire drawer, she spilled the contents over the island.  Her fingers knocked rubber bands and candles and unidentifiable keys onto the floor before they locked on a package of matches.

            Darting from the kitchen, she ran into the living room.  Without slowing she brushed her hand across the fiberglass armor of Boba Fett.  Then she bounded up the stairs, two at a time.  The spare bedroom door banged against the wall.  The shelves rattled.  Serina grabbed the garbage can out from under the desk.

            Laughing she seized the "Bespin Han Solo."  With squeals of delight she ferociously ripped apart the packaging.  Tossing the action figure on the desk, she lit a match.  Her eyes danced with sadistic mirth as she held the cardboard backing over the garbage.  She waited until the flames leapt at her finger tips.  Serina then dropped it into the waste basket.

            Her hand snatched up another perfectly mint box.  She would not be satisfied until ever last toy was freed and marred with her finger prints.