Month: April 2022

The A to Z Challenge – Y is for – “You’re not going to believe what’s happened”

I wanted to be somewhere else, away from everything and everyone.

Work, family, decisions, and pressure, all came together at once, to such an extent that, finally, I just couldn’t find a reason to get out of bed.

I looked up at the ceiling, then around the loft, a space I had to fight for, and could, at first, barely afford.  Then, it symbolized my success, the first of many.

Now?

If I was to think long and hard about where I was right now, I wouldn’t want to think long and hard about it.

Last night lingered in my mind.  The girl I thought was the one, who broke up with me, at least not by text, but in person.  It was not me, she said, but she was not ready for a serious commitment.  Neither was I, but I think I wasn’t the one for her.

Work had taken precedence, as it always did, despite the constant advice from both friends and family that I should draw a line in the sand before it was too late, I didn’t listen.

The cell phone on the side table erupted with a song that Anne had put on there some time back, a reminder of something I’d lost.

Work.

I ignored it, suppressing the temptation to throw it against the wall in the hope that breaking it would somehow provide some relief.

Then I counted down the seconds to when it would ring again.  Arty, my business partner, and truly a man with no life other than work, was persistent.

Sixty seconds passed.

That awful song!

I picked it up and answered, “What?”

“Where are you?  Tell me you’re just running late.”  No mistaking the panic in his tone.  Nothing unusual.  He was capable of doing it himself, just chose not to.  Not today.

“Get it done, and don’t call me again until it’s settled.”

I disconnected the call and switched the phone off.

I rolled over hoping the perspective would change but it was still the same space, except for one minor detail, a painting my mother did a few years back of the house by the lake we had grown up in.

It was, and still is a sleepy little town few people visited, and the young couldn’t wait to get out of, like my brother and I.  My sister, she had no big-city dreams, married the bit next door, and lived nearby.

I hadn’t seen the house, or her, since my mother’s funeral eight months before, and was always promising to go but never found the time.

I guess now was the perfect time to go home, and try to make some changes, before it was too late.

…

There were several ways of getting to Alpenville, tucked away on a small Cove, off an estuary, not far from the border, a picturesque setting with mountains on one side and the water on the other.

The first, by ferry, buy that had timing limitations, and I had to get to the ferry berth first.  The second, by road, but it was an unnecessarily long and convoluted drive.  The third was by floatplane, where I could go to the airport and catch a plane.

I had only done that once when an old friend of my father ran the service, a long while back.  He’d obviously sold it, and the new people had turned it into a glossy tourist brochure.

It was expedient, and I knew the flight in over the water would be a sight to behold, which clinched the deal.  It would also take the least amount of time.

I turned my phone back on, and it beeped constantly with missed messages.  I ignored them and called the airline and lucky for me there was a seat available.  But I had just on an hour to get to the airport.

Of course, everything was conspiring against me, as if fate didn’t want me to leave the city, but by a quirk of fate, I walked through the terminal office door five minutes before departure.

The girl behind the counter smiled.  “Just in time,” she said, handing me a ticket and boarding pass.

She pointed to the plane, and I could see the pilot waiting.  When I was about twenty yards from the plane, I recognized the pilot, just as she recognized me.  Lucy Benn.  Granddaughter of my father’s friend, who, it seemed, followed in her grandfather, and father’s footsteps.

“As I live and breathe, Alpenville’s prodigal son.  Returning in disgrace, are we?”

Lucy had been a girlfriend, we had been engaged, I left promising to return.  Promises not honored.  That she would hate me was understandable.  We had not parted on the best of terms, and this was the first time I’d seen her since.

“It’s nice to see you too Lucy.”

She simply shook her head, took my backpack and put it in a compartment upfront, then opened the side door to let me climb in.  I would be sitting next to her the whole way, which could be uncomfortable.  She got in the other side. Sorted put the seatbelts, then handed me headphones.

“Put them on.  If there’s trouble, I’ll let you know.”

She went through the pre-flight checks and got clearance from the tower, and we were off.

It didn’t surprise.me.she was a pilot, though back before I left home, she had always said she was going to fly real planes.  At twelve she had already been proficient at flying the small plane her father owned and operated.

She had taken me up in it once and it had been both terrifying and exhilarating.

A very few had a poker face.

Hers overall suggested contempt.

“Did you ever get to fly big planes,” I asked, picking a moment when she was distracted, looking out the side window.

She turned back.  “Did you find what you were looking for in the big city?”

Answering a question with a question, it was her way of evasion she used to use when she didn’t want to answer.

“No. It might please you to know that when I woke up this morning, I realized that I have no idea what I’m doing anymore.  My first thought was to come home but given your depth of feeling and the fact I can’t cry on my mother’s shoulder, I guess I made a terrible mistake.”

It was a sad story, but true.  I hadn’t thought for one moment I might not be welcome, except by my sister, Suzanne, who didn’t care what anyone else thought.

She said nothing, which was probably better she didn’t.

A few minutes passed before she said, “Yes. Had to go through hoops simply because I was a girl.  Showed them.  Got to fly A380s, slightly bigger than this, married a pilot, the basted cheated on me, so I came home and stuck to what I know, flying these planes.  They don’t let you down.”

So maybe we would not have spent the rest of our lives together like we had promised each other at graduation.

“I guess we both have our unresolved issues.”

We did.

The conversation ended there, and for the rest of the flight, there was silence, except when she checked in with the various flight controllers. I may also have nodded off for a whole venture when I was jolted away, we had just landed on the water and headed towards the pontoon.

I could see Suzanne and Cecile, her daughter, waiting on the pontoon.

As soon as I was off the plane she came over and gave me a hug.

“It’s good to see you, but you’re not going to believe what’s happened.  Dad’s just been taken to the hospital, and they don’t think he’s going to last much longer.”

© Charles Heath 2022

An excerpt from “Echoes from the Past”

Available on Amazon Kindle here:  https://amzn.to/2CYKxu4

…

With my attention elsewhere, I walked into a man who was hurrying in the opposite direction.  He was a big man with a scar running down the left side of his face from eye socket to mouth, and who was also wearing a black shirt with a red tie.

That was all I remembered as my heart almost stopped.

He apologized as he stepped to one side, the same way I stepped, as I also muttered an apology.

I kept my eyes down.  He was not the sort of man I wanted to recognize later in a lineup.  I stepped to the other side and so did he.  It was one of those situations.  Finally getting out of sync, he kept going in his direction, and I towards the bus, which was now pulling away from the curb.

Getting my breath back, I just stood riveted to the spot watching it join the traffic.  I looked back over my shoulder, but the man I’d run into had gone.  I shrugged and looked at my watch.  It would be a few minutes before the next bus arrived.

Wait, or walk?  I could also go by subway, but it was a long walk to the station.  What the hell, I needed the exercise.

At the first intersection, the ‘Walk’ sign had just flashed to ‘Don’t Walk’.  I thought I’d save a few minutes by not waiting for the next green light.  As I stepped onto the road, I heard the screeching of tires.

A yellow car stopped inches from me.

It was a high powered sports car, perhaps a Lamborghini.  I knew what they looked like because Marcus Bartleby owned one, as did every other junior executive in the city with a rich father.

Everyone stopped to look at me, then the car.  It was that sort of car.  I could see the driver through the windscreen shaking his fist, and I could see he was yelling too, but I couldn’t hear him.  I stepped back onto the sidewalk, and he drove on.  The moment had passed and everyone went back to their business.

My heart rate hadn’t come down from the last encounter.   Now it was approaching cardiac arrest, so I took a few minutes and several sets of lights to regain composure.

At the next intersection, I waited for the green light, and then a few seconds more, just to be sure.  I was no longer in a hurry.

At the next, I heard what sounded like a gunshot.  A few people looked around, worried expressions on their faces, but when it happened again, I saw it was an old car backfiring.  I also saw another yellow car, much the same as the one before, stopped on the side of the road.  I thought nothing of it, other than it was the second yellow car I’d seen.

At the next intersection, I realized I was subconsciously heading towards Harry’s new bar.   It was somewhere on 6th Avenue, so I continued walking in what I thought was the right direction.

I don’t know why I looked behind me at the next intersection, but I did.  There was another yellow car on the side of the road, not far from me.  It, too, looked the same as the original Lamborghini, and I was starting to think it was not a coincidence.

Moments after crossing the road, I heard the roar of a sports car engine and saw the yellow car accelerate past me.  As it passed by, I saw there were two people in it, and the blurry image of the passenger; a large man with a red tie.

Now my imagination was playing tricks.

It could not be the same man.  He was going in a different direction.

In the few minutes I’d been standing on the pavement, it had started to snow; early for this time of year, and marking the start of what could be a long cold winter.  I shuddered, and it was not necessarily because of the temperature.

I looked up and saw a neon light advertising a bar, coincidentally the one Harry had ‘found’ and, looking once in the direction of the departing yellow car, I decided to go in.  I would have a few drinks and then leave by the back door if it had one.

Just in case.

© Charles Heath 2015-2020

newechocover5rs

NaNoWriMo – April 2022 – Day 29

First Dig Two Graves, the second Zoe thriller.

…

In a day of going over old ground and making it new again, I have revisited Zoe’s residence in Paris at the time John called, and found it empty, except for some kid who was all ‘get lost or suffer the consequences.’

Who is he?  We flesh that story out, and how it relates to Zoe and those early days in the story.

Similarly, I’m not happy still with how Worthington discovers Zoe, and this is going to need some more work, and definitely a rewrite.

In fact, I might have to revisit his whole appearance in the story and make it a little less bombastic and a little more subdued seething anger.

The whole Marseilles episode is good, it’s just the end and this discovery of who is behind Zoe’s abduction that needs a little work.  This is where we sow the enigmatic sees of Romanov and his purpose for wanting Zoe if it is not revenge like it is assumed.

Similarly, that whole thing with the Russian Minister and Anton needs a lot more work because there appears to be a connection between him and Romanov, but there’s not.  This is just Olga leaning on her connections to get a result.

Then Zoe takes off to find Romanov, or is it those seeking revenge, it’s not quite clear, and leaves John to contemplate his future.  Perhaps a piece here between them that sets the tone for the relationship over the coming months would be good, and the trigger that sets John off on a quest to find her.

His excuses at the moment are wishy-washy at best.

Phew!!!  Never knew self-criticism could be so harsh!

…

Today’s writing, with Zoe languishing in a dungeon waiting for a white knight, 0 words, for a total of 8,871.

“The Devil You Don’t”, she was the girl you would not take home to your mother!

Now only $0.99 at https://amzn.to/2Xyh1ow

John Pennington’s life is in the doldrums. Looking for new opportunities, prevaricating about getting married, the only joy on the horizon was an upcoming visit to his grandmother in Sorrento, Italy.

Suddenly he is left at the check-in counter with a message on his phone telling him the marriage is off, and the relationship is over.

If only he hadn’t promised a friend he would do a favor for him in Rome.

At the first stop, Geneva, he has a chance encounter with Zoe, an intriguing woman who captures his imagination from the moment she boards the Savoire, and his life ventures into uncharted territory in more ways than one.

That ‘favor’ for his friend suddenly becomes a life-changing event, and when Zoe, the woman who he knows is too good to be true, reappears, danger and death follow.

Shot at, lied to, seduced, and drawn into a world where nothing is what it seems, John is dragged into an adrenaline-charged undertaking, where he may have been wiser to stay with the ‘devil you know’ rather than opt for the ‘devil you don’t’.

newdevilcvr6

A photograph from the inspirational bin – 39

This is what we saw driving along the Coquihalla Highway in Canada, a rather infamous stretch of road featured on the Discovery Channel, and yes, we saw a number of cars and trucks off the side of the road, and not in a good way

The road was iced over in place, and driving was difficult, but on the plus side the scenery was spectacular, and it was hard not to be distracted when driving.

But, inspiration for a story? It might go something like this:

…

Arty was adamant that he knew the best where man in the business.

That might gave been true if he was in the middle of the city where there were endless tests and turns that could be used to lost chasing police vehicles.

But that didn’t apply to the open road, and one that was think with ice and snow, even if it had recently been cleared.

But that wasn’t as bad as the fact that we had got free of the city, lost the pursuing cars, changed vehicles, and got away free.

All he had to fo was follow the road.

Except Arty had a temper, and getting stuck behind an old van going ever so slowly on the road, caused him to first blast them with horn, then start doing dangerous accelations up behind them, and then attempt to overtake on a bend in the road.

That might not have been so bad if there had not been an oncoming car, but there was.

Even that might not have been so bad if the car had not been a police vehicle.

But the real kicker: Arty lost control of the car and we went sailing off the edge of the road into a ravine, landing on soft ice which after a minute started cracking and then gave way.

The last place I wanted to be was to be sinking into a freezing cold river, but there we were, all frantically trying to get out.

Fortunately, I did, but not before I was soaking wet, and almost frozen. The rest didn’t make it.

“What Sets Us Apart”, a mystery with a twist

David is a man troubled by a past he is trying to forget.

Susan is rebelling against a life of privilege and an exasperated mother who holds a secret that will determine her daughter’s destiny.

They are two people brought together by chance. Or was it?

When Susan discovers her mother’s secret, she goes in search of the truth that has been hidden from her since the day she was born.

When David realizes her absence is more than the usual cooling off after another heated argument, he finds himself being slowly drawn back into his former world of deceit and lies.

Then, back with his former employers, David quickly discovers nothing is what it seems as he embarks on a dangerous mission to find Susan before he loses her forever.

http://amzn.to/2Eryfth

whatsetscover

In a word: Toe

A toe is one of five at the end of your foot, and from time to time you wriggle.  It’s also one of the first things to go when you get frostbite.

And when was the last time you stubbed your toe?  It hurts!

It can also mean something at the tip or point, such as the toe of a country like Italy, or England.

What does it mean when someone treads on your toes?   You upset or annoy them.

What if you go toe to toe with someone?  Two people having a ‘robust discussion’.

What about that boss that keeps you on your toes, especially when he’s looking over your shoulder!

And what about a toe-poke, a hard kick of the football with your toe?

Of course, it’s not to be confused with the word tow, which basically means to pull something behind you.

Like a tow truck, pulling a broken down, or smashed up, vehicle.

But, do you toe the line, or tow the line?  Or both at different times?

It seems that to toe the line means to do as you are told, or conform to a standard.

Sadly, that doesn’t describe me!

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to write a war story – Episode 2

This is a story inspired by a visit to an old castle in Italy.  It was, of course, written while traveling on a plane, though I’m not sure if it was from Calgary to Toronto, or New York to Vancouver.

But, there’s more to come.  Those were long flights…

And sadly when I read what I’d written, off the plane and in the cold hard light of dawn, there were problems, which now in the second draft, should provide the proper start.

 

I calculated the odds.  Thirty to one.  I wasn’t going to add Jack to the team, because he could never understand what was going on.  I was finding it hard myself.  

The man who sent me on this mission, the man whom I had given a detailed report on what I thought was happening at the castle, gleaned from soldiers passing through and the local resistance, had taken me aside in London, told me the mission he was sending me on was top secret and I could tell no one.

Only now did I realize the import of those words.  Someone I had trusted with my life, for a very long time, was not the person I thought they were.

That was in the second the message I’d received, read, and immediately destroyed.  I hadn’t believed it.  Not at first.  But it had one other piece of information as proof, one when I thought about, made sense of everything that had been happening.  The word coincidence had become overused in the last week.

But I didn’t have time to think about it now, I had to try and get away if only as far as the resistance, to get help and report on what had just happened.

But I couldn’t understand what the enemy would gain from retaking the castle.  Behind enemy lines, it would only be a matter of time before they were caught, or killed.

Enough.  I could hear the footsteps approaching.

Jack had found the passage when he and I had been doing some reconnaissance of the old castle.  I thought it odd that no one knew of any secret passages when all of these old places usually had at least a few.  The lord of the manor would want to be able to move about secretly, visiting mistresses, escaping from enemies, or just sneaking about checking up on staff and family

We’d found one that ran from the guard tower to the grand hall.  A lot of cobwebs, a musty odor, and signs it hadn’t been used for a long time, it was perfect for my soon to be unannounced arrival.

The passage ended at a large wooden cabinet which had a compartment that opened out into the hall.  From within, it was possible to hear conversations and see a veiled view of any activity.

Johansson and that man I’d been warned about, that man I had trusted, Lieutenant General Wallace.  I could only assume he had arrived with the stormtroopers, so for a moment, I was confused as to whether they were ours or the enemy.

I could see Wallace was angry. “I thought I told you I wanted Atherton neutralized before I got here.  Where is he?”

Just then Jackerby came in and looked flustered.  “He’s gone.”

“What the hell do you mean, he’s gone.  Gone where, for God’s sake.  There’s nowhere to go.”

I wondered what neutralized meant.  It didn’t sound very pleasant.  Jack was nudging my leg.  What was he trying to tell me?

“He was in the south tower with that mangy dog of his, where he usually hangs out.”

“Then he can’t be far.  Find him and bring him, to me.  Pity that bomb didn’t kill him or we wouldn’t be in this situation.”

Why did it have to be Wallace?  I actually liked the man.  Until now.  I kneeled down, “Well, Jack,” I whispered.  “It looks like we are both in serious trouble.  What’s say we get out of here?”

A lick on the side of my face told me all I needed to know.

 

© Charles Heath 2019

Bloody hell… – a short story

The cell phone’s insistent and shrill ring dragged my mind away from the crossword, and after a fairly mild curse, I picked it up.

Sidney, my brother.  Odd he was calling me at this hour of the night.

“What,” I barked into the microphone.

“That’s no way to speak to your baby brother.”  His smooth tones rarely reached a screaming point, which was often the reason why mine did.

And who called the younger brother ‘baby’ brother these days?

“What do you want?”

A hesitation.  He was in trouble again, I could feel it.

“Can you come down to the bar?  I seem to have left my wallet at home.”  Sheepish, and just enough to stop me from yelling at him.  It was not the first time, nor would it be the last.

“I told you the last time was the last time.”

“Just this once, please?”

I shook my head.  That was probably my biggest fault, giving in to him.  After our mother had died, and our father had to work, it was left to me to bring him up.  He was going to be the death of me yet.  “Where?”

“The usual place.”

I was surprised because the last I’d heard they’d banned him from going in there.  It was only a twenty-minute walk from my apartment, but, late at night, and in winter, there was snow in the air.  And the odd snowflake falling, a prelude to much worse.

About a hundred yards from the bar I had a shiver go down my spine.  I’d not had that for a long time, not since school, and the trouble with Wiley, the school bully.  Wiley had graduated to the local thug, done a few stints in jail, and last I heard he had been sent down for a few years for an assault.

I stopped and took a moment.  Perhaps karma was trying to tell me something.

I shrugged.  Just in my imagination.  I reached the door, took a moment then went in.  He was standing by the bat looking a little apprehensive.  He was in more trouble than just not paying his bar bill.

Close up I could see the fear in his expression.  “Bloody hell, Sid, what have you done now?”

“A problem that he insists his older brother would be happy to pay for.”

I knew that voice and felt instant dread.

Wiley.

In the flesh, and not looking very happy at all.

…

© Charles Heath 2020-2021

The first attempt is exactly that, a first draft

That’s what it feels like after you’ve put words on paper.

The story is there waiting to be written, I know where it’s coming from, I know where I want it to go, but the words are not working.

I read it once, yuk, I read it twice, it’s begging me to press the delete button.

Now!

This is how it looks:

My life was going nowhere.  If I took a step back and took a good, long, hard look at it, what could I say was the one defining moment?

There was no defining moment.

I’d bounced around schools till the day I decided I was not cut out to learn anything more, or perhaps the teachers had given up trying to impart knowledge.  Whatever the reason, I dropped out of college and drifted.  Seasonal laborer, farmhand, factory worker, night watchman.

At least now I had a uniform and looked like I’d made something of myself.

Until I went home.

My parents were distinctly disappointed I was not married with children.

My overachieving brother always said I was a loser, and would never make anything of myself.

My ultra successful sister, married into a very wealthy family, had the regulation 2.4 children and lived in the lap of luxury, mostly pretended I didn’t exist, didn’t invite me to the wedding, and I had yet to meet the husband and children.  I guess she was ashamed of me.

This year I was avoiding going home.

This year I volunteered to work the holidays.

Yep, time to walk away and do something entirely different, like wrapping Christmas presents, my second favorite job to mowing the lawn.  Maybe if I contrive an accident with the lawnmower …

Back in front of the page, some hours later, an idea pops into my head.  The story continues:

It was 3 a.m. and it was like standing on the exact epicenter of the South Pole.  I’d just stepped from the warehouse into the car park.

The car was covered in snow.  The weather was clear now, but more snow was coming.

A white Christmas?  That’s all I needed.  I hoped I remembered to put the antifreeze in my radiator this time.

As I approached my car, the light went on in an SUV parked next to my car.  The door opened and what looked to be a woman was getting out of the car.

“Graham?”

It was a voice I was familiar with, though I hadn’t heard it for a long time.

My ultra successful sister, Penelope.  She was leaning against her car door, and from what I could see, she didn’t look too well.

“What do you want?”

“Help.”

My help, I was the last person to help her or anyone for that matter.  But curiosity got the better of me.  “Why?”

“Because my husband is trying to kill me.”

With that said, she slid down the side of the car, and I could see, in the arc lamps lighting the car park, a trail of blood.

To be honest, it needs some more thought.  IT’s got the makings of a story, but the MC shouldn’t come across as a hopeless case, he just needs to be, in part, a victim of circumstances, some of which he has to own.

But, as they say, anything on paper is better than nothing on paper.  Tomorrow, or the next day, I will edit and rewrite and see what happens.

Stay tuned.

© Charles Heath 2020