The novel ‘Echoes from the past’ started out as a short story I wrote about 30 years ago, titled ‘The birthday’.
My idea was to take a normal person out of their comfort zone and led on a short but very frightening journey to a place where a surprise birthday party had been arranged.
Thus the very large man with a scar and a red tie was created.
So was the friend with the limousine who worked as a pilot.
So were the two women, Wendy and Angelina, who were Flight Attendants that the pilot friend asked to join the conspiracy.
I was going to rework the short story, then about ten pages long, into something a little more.
And like all re-writes, especially those I have anything to do with, it turned into a novel.
There was motivation. I had told some colleagues at the place where I worked at the time that I liked writing, and they wanted a sample. I was going to give them the re-worked short story. Instead, I gave them ‘Echoes from the past’
Originally it was not set anywhere in particular.
But when considering a location, I had, at the time, recently been to New York in December, and visited Brooklyn and Queens, as well as a lot of New York itself. We were there for New Years, and it was an experience I’ll never forget.
One evening we were out late, and finished up in Brooklyn Heights, near the waterfront, and there was rain and snow, it was cold and wet, and there were apartment buildings shimmering in the street light, and I thought, this is the place where my main character will live.
It had a very spooky atmosphere, the sort where ghosts would not be unexpected. I felt more than one shiver go up and down my spine in the few minutes I was there.
I had taken notes, as I always do, of everywhere we went so I had a ready supply of locations I could use, changing the names in some cases.
Fifth Avenue near the Rockefeller center is amazing at first light, and late at night with the Seasonal decorations and lights.
The original main character was a shy and man of few friends, hence not expecting the surprise party. I enhanced that shyness into purposely lonely because of an issue from his past that leaves him always looking over his shoulder and ready to move on at the slightest hint of trouble. No friends, no relationships, just a very low profile.
Then I thought, what if he breaks the cardinal rule, and begins a relationship?
But it is also as much an exploration of a damaged soul, as it is the search for a normal life, without having any idea what normal was, and how the understanding of one person can sometimes make all the difference in what we may think or feel.
It’s a place to go and spot the movie stars, or perhaps their dogs.
It’s a place to go for long walks on idyllic spring or autumn days
It’s a place to go to look at a zoo, though I didn’t realize there was one until I made a wrong turn.
It’s a place to go for a horse and carriage ride, although it does not last that long
It’s a place to go to look at statues, fountains, architecture, and in winter, an ice skating rink
I’m sure there’s a whole lot more there that I don’t know about.
I have to say I’ve only visited in winter, and the first time there was snow, the second, none.
Both times it was cold, but this didn’t seem to deter people.
But…
We decided to go visit another part of the park, this time walking to West 67th Street before crossing Central Park West and into the park where Sheep Meadow is.
Once upon a time sheep did graze on the meadow, but these days it is designated a quiet area inspiring calm and refreshing thoughts, except for a period in the 1960s where there was more than one counter-culture protest, or love in, going on.
And, there’s the sign to say it was Sheep Meadow,
and that’s the meadow behind the sign,
Well, I don’t see any sheep, but of course, that’s not why the meadow is named or should there be any sheep on it. That greenery that can be seen, restoring for the spring, was a very expensive addition to the park.
As a matter of fact, there is nothing was on it, because signs were up to say the meadow was closed for the winter, a new and interesting variation on the ‘Don’t Walk On The Grass’ signs.
I’m sure I could climb the fence, or, maybe not. I’m a bit old to be climbing fences.
So, unable to walk on the grass, we tossed an imaginary coin, should we go towards West 110th Street, or back to West 59th Street.
West 59th Street won.
and, just in case we had any strange ideas about walking on the grass, the fence was there to deter us. Perhaps if we had more determination…
One positive aspect of the park is that you could never get lost, and the tall buildings surrounding the park are nearly always visible through the trees, more so in winter because there is no foliage, maybe less so later in the year.
There is also a lot of very large rocky type hills, or outcrops where people seem to stand on, king of the mountain style, or sit to have a picnic lunch, quickly before it freezes.
Yes, it is cold outside and seems more so in the park.
I wondered briefly if it ever got foggy, then this place would be very spooky, particularly after the sun goes down.
Stranger’s We’ve Become, a sequel to What Sets Us Apart.
The blurb:
Is she or isn’t she, that is the question!
Susan has returned to David, but he is having difficulty dealing with the changes. Her time in captivity has changed her markedly, so much so that David decides to give her some time and space to re-adjust back into normal life.
But doubts about whether he chose the real Susan remain.
In the meantime, David has to deal with Susan’s new security chief, the discovery of her rebuilding a palace in Russia, evidence of an affair, and several attempts on his life. And, once again, David is drawn into another of Predergast’s games, one that could ultimately prove fatal.
From being reunited with the enigmatic Alisha, a strange visit to Susan’s country estate, to Russia and back, to a rescue mission in Nigeria, David soon discovers those whom he thought he could trust each has their own agenda, one that apparently doesn’t include him.
Some people we know have come up for a holiday in what could be described as a very touristy location.
But is it for a ‘holiday’?
They have come from one state and are staying in what could be called an apartment, not a hotel. They are here for a week.
So, they have a kitchen of sorts and can cook their own meals, unlike staying in a hotel room and having to eat out or in the hotel restaurant, and the apartment has a mini laundry.
How much different is this to being at home?
Perhaps we need to have a definition of the word ‘holiday’ and its variations.
A lot of people use the term ‘vacation’. Others use the term ‘leave’. Leave’s a difficult term because it can cover a number of types such as annual, sick, and maternity.
But whatever we want to call it, is it when you’re taking some time away from work.
But is it when you go ‘away’, that is to say anywhere but home?
You say, ‘I’m going on vacation.”
We say, “Oh, where are you going?”
Some say camping. Is that any different than staying in an apartment, or even a holiday house? Still all the same chores, cooking, cleaning, washing.
Some might say they’re staying with relatives either on the other side of the country or on the other side of the world.
There are those who go camping. Just mind the bugs, wild animals, and bears.
Some stay in self serve apartments where it’s just like being at home, only somewhere a little different.
But to truly have a holiday in every sense of the word, it seems that can only be achieved by staying in a 5-star hotel, or by going on what is a more recent phenomenon, embarking on an all-inclusive cruise where you don’t have to do anything at all.
There’s something to be said for a story that starts like a James Bond movie, throwing you straight in the deep end, a perfect way of getting to know the main character, David, or is that Alistair?
A retired spy, well not so much a spy as a retired errand boy, David’s rather wry description of his talents, and a woman that most men would give their left arm for, not exactly the ideal couple, but there is a spark in a meeting that may or may not have been a set up.
But as the story progressed, the question I kept asking myself was why he’d bother.
And, page after unrelenting page, you find out.
Susan is exactly the sort of woman the pique his interest. Then, inexplicably, she disappears. That might have been the end to it, but Prendergast, that shadowy enigma, David’s ex boss who loves playing games with real people, gives him an ultimatum, find her or come back to work.
Nothing like an offer that’s a double edged sword!
A dragon for a mother, a sister he didn’t know about, Susan’s BFF who is not what she seems or a friend indeed, and Susan’s father who, up till David meets her, couldn’t be less interested, his nemesis proves to be the impossible dream, and he’s always just that one step behind.
When the rollercoaster finally came to a halt, and I could start breathing again, it was an ending that was completely unexpected.
Every time I close my eyes, I see something different.
I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox.
But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.
Once again there’s a new installment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.
The expression of Boggs’s face told me he was down here for a reason, and that assumption was proved correct when he started walking towards the middle of the first row of carpark.
He stopped at a pylon, surrounded by concrete blocks, tiles and broken bricks that looked like they’d been deliberately piled there. Light on, he went around the back and emerged with a coil of rope.
I knew then what his intention was.
“You not going down there. That’s too dangerous.”
“It was, once. Not anymore.” He tied one end to the pylon and then unraveled it as he approached me, then three the remainder over the edge.
I watched it fall, reaching the bottom, conveniently over a rock. The section that was over the side was knotted at intervals. Anti-slip knots. He had come prepared. OR had come earlier to prepare for this.
“You’ve been here before.”
“Several times. I was looking for a way to get down to below the second level carpark and would have found this wall had those overzealous security guards not come down at the wrong moment. Aside from that, I had to wait to do this with you, just in case there was a problem.”
“What sort of a problem?”
I think his definition of a problem was a lot different from mine. This whole scenario was a problem. Was he thinking we could get down, take a look at whatever he was looking for, then get back up again?
“The guards might come back while I’m down there. I might need you to pull me back up. I don’t know, anything could go wrong.”
“And yet you still intend to do it?”
“Of course.”
He had a second rope, thinner, that I hadn’t seen till the other went over the side. He tied that around his waist, pulled on it a few times to check the strength of the knot, then looked over the side.
To me, 30 feet looked like 30 miles.
“Wish me luck.”
I simply shook my head and took the rope when he handed it to me, then, after a minute. Perhaps saying a silent prayer, he went over the side, hanging grimly onto the rope.
“Keep your phone handy. I may have to call you.”
Then he was gone. It took a minute for me to gather the courage to look over the side again, and by that time, he was almost to the rock. Two more knots, I saw his feet touch down. There was no moss on it, and it looked worn smooth from a lot of water over a long period.
He looked up at me. “It’s like a huge cave.” Phone in hand, he disappeared under the carpark floor.
A closer look at the gap he had just walked through looked like it once had a wall there, but it had been broken away, leaving only the skeleton of reinforcing steel under to floor lip. There were also traces of the reinforcement anchors drilled into the rock below. It was obvious the force of the water had built up like flooding into a dam, and if the pressure was too much, the dam wall broke.
Well, that was never meant to be a dam, just a retaining wall for filling upon which the bottom carpark was built.
I think we could now positively identify this site as one of the two rivers that had existed back when the pirates worked this part of the coast.
Boggs was gone for about half an hour, so I found a spot to sit down and wait. He signaled me by yanking on the rope.
I stood up by the edge and pulled the rope in as he came back up, then, after a few minutes, he clambered over the side.
“We have to get going,” he said. “I think we can safely say this is the first of the rivers.”
He untied the rope around his waist, pulled the knotted rope up, coiled them and put them back behind the pylon.
As we headed back up to the mall level, he said, “I took some pictures of the body in the water. It looked like someone had tossed a mannequin in there, perhaps back before they sealed off the parking area. That’s only been there for a few years, judging by the rust on the latch, and hinges.”
“And down in the cave-like area?”
“The river, now only a stream, but running water none the less. Where it goes from there to the ocean, is not necessarily a requirement to discover. I thought it fed the marina pool directly, but it doesn’t. They actually have a pump house and pumped the water into the pool which is why it had to be treated to keep it clean.”
So that was the odd smell that came from it. It had been a constant battle to keep the water clean and fresh and keep the fish in it from dying. There had also seemed like a child screaming at the sight of a dead fish floating among the water lilies.
Approaching the pond we both heard what sounded like a brick dropping on the floor, and turned to look behind us. It was like peering into the gloom of a foggy night.
Boggs shrugged. “Must be a ghost.” Then he kept on walking.
I might have agreed with him, by back at the stairs where we had just come from, I thought I saw a splash of bright yellow move very quickly out of sight. It could have been my imagination, but I also thought I saw a light for a second before it was extinguished.
Ghosts didn’t carry lights. Someone else was down here, perhaps kids exploring. Despite the hazard signs, that meant little to kids who had nothing better to do.
I waited for a minute so so, until Boggs flashed his light in my direction, and asked, “You coming?”
There was no more movement, so it had to be my overactive imagination at work again.
“Yep, coming.” I ran to catch up.
We quickly passed the pond and overgrown garden and made it back to the hole in the wall, with an hour to spare before I had to get to the warehouse and start my shift.
“Did you find what you’re looking for?”
“Yes. We’re on the right track. Next, we have to find the other river.”
We made it back to the bikes and headed back towards the town. On the way, we were overtaken by a van with Benderby Security Services on the side of it, going too fast, and nearly knocked both Boggs and me off our bikes.
In the struggle to stay on the bike, I happened to see the man on the passenger side. It was one of the two men who had been down by the pond, earlier. If there were any bodies down there, they belonged to Benderby. Good to know.
50 photographs, 50 stories, of which there is one of the 50 below.
They all start with –
A picture paints … well, as many words as you like. For instance:
And, the story:
Have you ever watched your hopes and dreams simply just fly away?
Everything I thought I wanted and needed had just left in an aeroplane, and although I said I was not going to, i came to the airport to see the plane leave. Not the person on it, that would have been far too difficult and emotional, but perhaps it was symbolic, the end of one life and the start of another.
But no matter what I thought or felt, we had both come to the right decision. She needed the opportunity to spread her wings. It was probably not the best idea for her to apply for the job without telling me, but I understood her reasons.
She was in a rut. Though her job was a very good one, it was not as demanding as she had expected, particularly after the last promotion, but with it came resentment from others on her level, that she, the youngest of the group would get the position.
It was something that had been weighing down of her for the last three months, and if noticed it, the late nights, the moodiness, sometimes a flash of temper. I knew she had one, no one could have such red hair and not, but she had always kept it in check.
And, then there was us, together, and after seven years, it felt like we were going nowhere. Perhaps that was down to my lack of ambition, and though she never said it, lack of sophistication. It hadn’t been an issue, well, not until her last promotion, and the fact she had to entertain more, and frankly I felt like an embarrassment to her.
So, there it was, three days ago, the beginning of the weekend, and we had planned to go away for a few days and take stock. We both acknowledged we needed to talk, but it never seemed the right time.
It was then she said she had quit her job and found a new one. Starting the following Monday.
Ok, that took me by surprise, not so much that it something I sort of guessed might happen, but that she would just blurt it out.
I think that right then, at that moment, I could feel her frustration with everything around her.
What surprised her was my reaction. None.
I simply asked where who, and when.
A world-class newspaper, in New York, and she had to be there in a week.
A week.
It was all the time I had left with her.
I remember I just shrugged and asked if the planned weekend away was off.
She stood on the other side of the kitchen counter, hands around a cup of coffee she had just poured, and that one thing I remembered was the lone tear that ran down her cheek.
Is that all you want to know?
I did, yes, but we had lost that intimacy we used to have when she would have told me what was happening, and we would have brainstormed solutions. I might be a cabinet maker but I still had a brain, was what I overheard her tell a friend once.
There’s not much to ask, I said. You’ve been desperately unhappy and haven’t been able to hide it all that well, you have been under a lot of pressure trying to deal with a group of troglodytes, and you’ve been leaning on Bentley’s shoulder instead of mine, and I get it, he’s got more experience in that place, and the politics that go with it, and is still an ally.
Her immediate superior and instrumental in her getting the position, but unlike some men in his position he had not taken advantage of a situation like some men would. And even if she had made a move, which I doubted, that was not the sort of woman she was, he would have politely declined.
One of the very few happily married men in that organisation, so I heard.
So, she said, you’re not just a pretty face.
Par for the course for a cabinet maker whose university degree is in psychology. It doesn’t take rocket science to see what was happening to you. I just didn’t think it was my place to jump in unless you asked me, and when you didn’t, well, that told me everything I needed to know.
Yes, our relationship had a use by date, and it was in the next few days.
I was thinking, she said, that you might come with me, you can make cabinets anywhere.
I could, but I think the real problem wasn’t just the job. It was everything around her and going with her, that would just be a constant reminder of what had been holding her back. I didn’t want that for her and said so.
Then the only question left was, what do we do now?
Go shopping for suitcases. Bags to pack, and places to go.
Getting on the roller coaster is easy. On the beginning, it’s a slow easy ride, followed by the slow climb to the top. It’s much like some relationships, they start out easy, they require a little work to get to the next level, follows by the adrenaline rush when it all comes together.
What most people forget is that what comes down must go back up, and life is pretty much a roller coaster with highs and lows.
Our roller coaster had just come or of the final turn and we were braking so that it stops at the station.
There was no question of going with her to New York. Yes, I promised I’d come over and visit her, but that was a promise with crossed fingers behind my back. After a few months in t the new job the last thing shed want was a reminder of what she left behind. New friends new life.
We packed her bags, three out everything she didn’t want, a free trips to the op shop with stiff she knew others would like to have, and basically, by the time she was ready to go, there was nothing left of her in the apartment, or anywhere.
Her friends would be seeing her off at the airport, and that’s when I told her I was not coming, that moment the taxi arrived to take her away forever. I remember standing there, watching the taxi go. It was going to be, and was, as hard as it was to watch the plane leave.
So, there I was, finally staring at the blank sky, around me a dozen other plane spotters, a rather motley crew of plane enthusiasts.
Already that morning there’s been 6 different types of plane depart, and I could hear another winding up its engines for take-off.
People coming, people going.
Maybe I would go to New York in a couple of months, not to see her, but just see what the attraction was. Or maybe I would drop in, just to see how she was.
As one of my friends told me when I gave him the news, the future is never written in stone, and it’s about time you broadened your horizons.
The most common use of the word, giving birth to a child, is perhaps one of the more miraculous and inspiring events ever to be witnessed.
But it can be used similarly in giving birth to an idea. More generally it could be said that it is the coming into existence of something, animate or inanimate.
It can be used to state lineage or descent, i.e. he was Italian by birth, or he was a Duke by birth, but a politician by trade.
You could use birth pain in other expressions like trying to get a club or team together, those initial stages where everything goes wrong.
And that old favourite, wanted by every man and his dog, what is your date of birth?
…
On the other hand, a berth is a place where a ship or boat ties up after a long or short voyage.
It’s also a bed on a ship, not necessarily in a stateroom, but could be in one of those shared cabins below the waterline that do not cost a lot, and only a place to sleep, or for some, to recuperate. It doesn’t necessarily have to be on a ship, it could be on a train.
It could be the distance between two ships or the shore.
You could also use it to describe your job or position in the company.
Then, you could say you gave the enemy’s camp a wide berth, or just a group of people we don’t want to pass in the street.
Tara Benson was not my idea of a typical nuclear physist, but then I always had been a bad judge of matching occupations to personnel.
I had read her biography and service record, mainly the one paragraph summary, and it said she was one of the best in the world.
Criteria indeed for anyone on this ship apparently, though I didn’t regard myself as fitting into the category, but someone must have thought I had the potential.
On the way down I had a few moments to contemplate her ordeal, not only being taken prisoner, but of being transported back in the manner we had used, when it was a means I would not willingly use on myself.
It was why the first thought I had when I saw her was to apologise.
She was sitting in one of the special chairs that could analyse everything about you, what ailed you, what diseases you had, the state of your body.
When I had my first medical examination, the put me in an earlier model of that chair and it picked up the missing anatomical parts, the fact I once had several broken bones, that I was slightly anaemic, and the reason why I sometimes had bouts of indigestion.
They fixed all that, and a slight imperfection in my eyesight which I didn’t know about.
The doctor was looking at the monitor when I arrived.
“How is she?”
“Better than we expected. Other than being exposed to radiation for longer than prescribed, and which we can fix, she is in perfect health.”
“Mentally?”
“You can ask her yourself. I’m about to sign off on her going back to work, after a good night’s sleep.”
He spoke to her for a minute or so, then helped her up out of the chair.
“I assume you are the new captain,” she said when she saw me.
“Not by choice, but for the time being, yes.”
“I have a few questions, if I may?”
“Now?”
“If it’s possible”
There was a consultation room free, so I escorted her inside, and closed the door. It was odd, I thought, that she sat behind the desk.
I also felt like she was making a mental assessment of me, perhaps thinking that I was not what she might have considered Captain material. To a certain extent I may have once agreed with her, because everyone expected a captain to be much older and therefore wiser.
It was an analogy I’d heard before.
“Whose idea was it to transport me across to this vessel?”
I had expected that the means might be questionable, but in the moment, and considered along with the course of action I’d taken, it was the right decision.
“Mine. After discussion, of course, with the relevent experts. The risk was acceptable, proven by the fact you’re here now, and relatively unharmed.”
“It was a surprise, I’ll grant you that, and a first. From what I managed to overhear, the plutonium was sent down to their bunker to provide power to the facility, under the surface of the moon, and only accessible by transporter. Given the risks, it also surprised me they were so committed to using it.”
“Since most of that crew were escaped convicts from the Mars mining prison, any means would be acceptable.”
“Prisoners, not aliens?”
“Yes. The ship’s were old personnel transports, and the big ship, where you were being held, an old freighter.”
“The Orion.”
I knew it well, and surprised that I’d not recognised it. They had managed to disguise it well.
“A ship, I’m sure, you might be familiar with,” she added.
Perhaps my captains bland expression was not so bland.
“Ancient history,” I said, “from a time that I would rather leave in the past.”
There was a story, and not a pretty one, of a voyage not so long after commissioning, where systems failed and crew members died, all part of the experience in those early years in space. The quest for profits had outweighed the necessity for proper testing, and we had borne the brunt of the ‘test as you go’ mentality that had reigned before Space Command had taken over.
“You must tell me, one day.”
Her expression was one of curiosity, and not one to be mistaken for anything else.
“Is there anything else?”
“If you are considering retrieving the plutonium, let me know and I’ll be happy to help. I suspect the people on Venus would like to see it sooner rather than later.”
“You know where this base is?”
“Of course.”
“Good. I’ll let you know after I’ve spoken to the security people.”
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 