Month: May 2022

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to go on a treasure hunt – Episode 19

Here’s the thing…

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 instalment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.

And the perils of writing on the fly often leads to back revisions to aid moving forward, and this is one of those occasions.  A few revisions were required.

 

Short of jumping over the side, there was no way we were getting away.  And judging from the expression on Rico’s face, now very plain to see halfway along the pier, he was not happy to see us.

Boggs stepped off the deck and joined me on the pier, just as Rico made it to where we were standing, just as it started in a gentle up and down motion with the water, churned up by a passing speed boat, but it was fear rather than the pier’s motions making me feel sick.

The sound of another boat caused me to glance in the opposite direction, out towards the sandbar, where I could see another large boat coming in our direction very quickly, and by the shape of it, quite possibly a police launch or the coast guard. 

Rico had seen it too.  “What have you done?”

“I called the police,” I said, trying to act braver than I felt.  Even with the police on their way, Rico could still do something we’d all regret.

“Why?”

Movement by the fishing store caught my eye, and I saw it was two of the men who’d left the boat with Rico earlier, retreating.  They’d seen the situation and were retreating.  A police car with its siren blaring and lights flashing just stopped at the entrance to the pier and two officers were getting out, guns in hand.

Those men would getaway.  Rico had seen them too and looked relieved.  Odd for a man about to find himself in a lot of trouble.

Boggs blurted out, “There’s a dead body in the cabin.”

Rico shook his head.  “That’s not possible.  I’ve been gone for an hour and it isn’t possible he put himself there.”

He looked around to see the officers coming from the land side of the pier.  There was no escape for him, or for us, but this could still end up a sticky situation for us if Rico decided to shoot his way out.  Boggs said he owned a gun, and if it was not on him, it might be in the boat.

Rico climbed on board and then moved to the hatch.  He lifted the hatch cover and folded it back to show an opening into the cabin.  It hadn’t been locked; it just looked like it was.  Just as the officers made it to the boat, he stepped in, then down into the cabin.

A minute later, when he came up  Rico looked visibly shaken like he’d seen a ghost.

The police launch had arrived just off the stern, kicking up the water and causing the boat and pier to rock violently, two men at either end ready to secure their boat to ours.  The land-based officers also arrived, somewhat out of breath, to join Boggs and I on the pier.

I recognised the officer who appeared to be in charge, a man called Johnson, the police chief’s deputy.  He was known to shoot first and ask questions later.  What worried me the most, he had his gun drawn and ready to shoot.

He looked at me, Rico, Boggs, then back to me.  “What’s this all about?”

“There’s a body in the cabin,” Boggs said before I could say a word, still sounding very frightened, but whether it was the body in the cabin, Rico’s fury at his meddling or the fact the police were involved was hard to say.

He switched his glare to Rico.  “That true?”

Rico nodded.  “I don’t know where it came from, but it wasn’t there an hour ago.”  A last look back at the cabin, he stepped off the boat onto the pier.

The seaman aboard the police launch slipped a rope over the bollard at the rear of our boat and then jumped on board to secure it.  Another seaman did the same at the bow.  Two more jumped on board, one covering Rico and the other going into the cabin.

When he came back up on deck he was talking into his cell phone.

I think Rico had a lot of explaining to do.

 

© Charles Heath 2019

Skeletons in the closet, and doppelgangers

A story called “Mistaken Identity”

…

How many of us have skeletons in the closet that we know nothing about? The skeletons we know about generally stay there, but those we do not, well, they have a habit of coming out of left field when we least expect it.

In this case, when you see your photo on a TV screen with the accompanying text that says you are wanted by every law enforcement agency in Europe, you’re in a state of shock, only to be compounded by those same police, armed and menacing, kicking the door down.

I’d been thinking about this premise for a while after I discovered my mother had a boyfriend before she married my father, a boyfriend who was, by all accounts, the man who was the love of her life.

Then, in terms of coming up with an idea for a story, what if she had a child by him that we didn’t know about, which might mean I had a half brother or sister I knew nothing about. It’s not an uncommon occurrence from what I’ve been researching.

There are many ways of putting a spin on this story.

Then, in the back of my mind, I remembered a story an acquaintance at work was once telling us over morning tea, that a friend of a friend had a mother who had a twin sister and that each of the sisters had a son by the same father, without each knowing of the father’s actions, both growing up without the other having any knowledge of their half brother, only to meet by accident on the other side of the world.

It was an encounter that in the scheme of things might never have happened, and each would have remained oblivious of the other.

For one sister, the relationship was over before she discovered she was pregnant, and therefore had not told the man he was a father. It was no surprise the relationship foundered when she discovered he was also having a relationship with her sister, a discovery that caused her to cut all ties with both of them and never speak to either from that day.

It’s a story with more twists and turns than a country lane!

And a great idea for a story.

That story is called ‘Mistaken Identity’.

Read an extract tomorrow.

The lost city – a review

For a long time, I had a number of favorite actresses whose films I would never miss.

Meg Ryan
Sandra Bullock
Julia Stiles
Jeri Ryan

With Covid restricting everything movie-related, it has been a long, long time since anyone had been in a movie.

Meg Ryan by all accounts has disappeared, and after Riviera, I’ve patiently been waiting for the next Julia Stiles project. This is coming in June this year. Jeri Ryan has returned to star in Star Trek Picard, which has been keeping me entertained.

But with the possibility of seeing Sandra Bullock in TV series very remote, it’s been a long wait for the next feature, and after a few earlier release dates that didn’t happen, it finally made it.

And filled with enthusiasm, driven by the promo I was hoping for great things.

OK, the first few minutes are not exactly attention-grabbing, unless you’re attracted to wig-wearing book cover models acting strangely, or expect a middle-aged woman would want to wear a pink glittery jumpsuit to a serious interview.

Unless there was a reason, and I missed it.

However, that puzzlement is over once we’re introduced to the nice bad guy, a brilliantly played by Daniel Radcliffe, who certainly is no longer Harry Potter, and thank God for that.

From that point on, while definitely forgetting about pink jumpsuits or stereotyping book cover models, we join the ride.

There are a few leaps of faith, like her being almost an archaeologist in her own right, something not made very clear, but it’s forgivable because you need to have a few unexpected things coming out of left field to keep you on the edge of your seat.

I won’t say the end was like those that other famous or infamous archeologists conjured up being surrounded by Nazis and other assorted bad guys, but seeing the nice but evil Radcliff being dragged away was good enough.

As for the inevitable treasure that is expected to be found, well, there is a treasure, but what it is will surprise you.

An excerpt from “Amnesia”, a work in progress

I remembered a bang.
I remembered the car slewing sideways.
I remember another bang, and then it was lights out.
When I opened my eyes again, I saw the sky.
Or I could be under water.
Everything was blurred.
I tried to focus but I couldn’t. My eyes were full of water.
What happened?
Why was I lying down?
Where was I?
I cast my mind back, trying to remember.
It was a blank.
What, when, who, why and where, questions I should easily be able to answer. Questions any normal person could answer.
I tried to move. Bad, bad mistake.
I did not realise the scream I heard was my own. Just before my body shut down.

“My God! What happened?”
I could hear, not see. I was moving, lying down, looking up.
I was blind. Everything was black.
“Car accident, hit a tree, sent the passenger flying through the windscreen. Pity to poor bastard didn’t get the message that seat belts save lives.”
Was I that poor bastard?
“Report?” A new voice, male, authoritative.
“Multiple lacerations, broken collar bone, broken arm in three places, both legs broken below the knees, one badly. We are not sure of internal injuries, but ruptured spleen, cracked ribs and pierced right lung are fairly evident, x-rays will confirm that and anything else.”
“What isn’t broken?”
“His neck.”
“Then I would have to say we are looking at the luckiest man on the planet.”
I heard shuffling of pages.
“OR1 ready?”
“Yes. On standby since we were first advised.”
“Good. Let’s see if we can weave some magic.”

Magic.
It was the first word that popped into my head when I surfaced from the bottom of the lake. That first breath, after holding it for so long, was sublime, and, in reality, agonising.

Magic, because it seemed like I’d spent a long time under water.
Or somewhere.
I tried to speak, but couldn’t. The words were just in my head.
Was it night or was it day?
Was it hot, or was it cold?
Where was I?
Around me it felt cool.
It was very quiet. No noise except for the hissing of air through an air-conditioning vent. Or perhaps that was the sound of pure silence. And with it the revelation that silence was not silent. It was noisy.
I didn’t try to move.
Instinctively, somehow I knew not to.
A previous bad experience?
I heard what sounded like a door opening, and very quiet footsteps slowly come into the room. They stopped. I could hear breathing, slightly laboured, a sound I’d heard before.
My grandfather.
He had smoked all his life, until he was diagnosed with lung cancer. But for years before that he had emphysema. The person in the room was on their way, down the same path. I could smell the smoke.
I wanted to tell whoever it was the hazards of smoking.
I couldn’t.
I heard a metallic clanging sound from the end of the bed. A moment later the clicking of a pen, then writing.
“You are in a hospital.” A female voice suddenly said. “You’ve been in a very bad accident. You cannot talk, or move, all you can do, for the moment, is listen to me. I am a nurse. You have been here for 45 days, and just come out of a medically induced coma. There is nothing to be afraid of.”
She had a very soothing voice.
I felt her fingers stroke the back of my hand.
“Everything is fine.”
Define fine, I thought. I wanted to ask her what ‘fine’ meant.
“Just count backwards from 10.”
Why?
I didn’t reach seven.

Over the next ten days, that voice became my lifeline to sanity. Every morning I longed to hear it, if only for the few moments she was in the room, those few waking moments when I believed she, and someone else who never spoke, were doing tests. I knew it had to be someone else because I could smell the essence of lavender. My grandmother had worn a similar scent.
It rose above the disinfectant.
I also believed she was another doctor, not the one who had been there the day I arrived. Not the one who had used some ‘magic’ and kept me alive.
It was then, in those moments before she put me under again, that I thought, what if I was paralysed? It would explain a lot. A chill went through me.

The next morning she was back.
“My name is Winifred. We don’t know what your name is, not yet. In a few days, you will be better, and you will be able to ask us questions. You were in an accident, and you were very badly injured, but I can assure you there will be no lasting damage.”
More tests, and then, when I expected the lights to go out, they didn’t. Not for a few minutes more. Perhaps this was how I would be integrated back into the world. A little bit at a time.
The next morning, she came later than usual, and I’d been awake for a few minutes. “You have bandages over your eyes and face. You had bad lacerations to your face, and glass in your eyes. We will know more when the bandages come off in a few days. Your face will take longer to heal. It was necessary to do some plastic surgery.”
Lacerations, glass in my eyes, car accident, plastic surgery. By logical deduction, I knew I was the poor bastard thrown through the windscreen. It was a fleeting memory from the day I was admitted.
How could that happen?
That was the first of many startling revelations. The second was the fact I could not remember the crash. Equally shocking, in that same moment was the fact I could not remember before the crash either, and only vague memories after.
But the most shattering of all these revelations was the one where I realised I could not remember my name.
I tried to calm down, sensing a rising panic.
I was just disoriented, I told myself. After 45 days in an induced coma, it had messed with my mind, and it was only a temporary lapse. Yes, that’s what it was, a temporary lapse. I would remember tomorrow. Or the next day.
Sleep was a blessed relief.

The next day I didn’t wake feeling nauseous. Perhaps they’d lowered the pain medication. I’d heard that morphine could have that effect. Then, how could I know that, but not who I am?
I knew now Winifred the nurse was preparing me for something very bad. She was upbeat, and soothing, giving me a new piece of information each morning. This morning, “You do not need to be afraid. Everything is going to be fine. The doctor tells me you are going to recover with very little scarring. You will need some physiotherapy to recover from your physical injuries, but that’s in the future. We need to let you mend a little bit more before then.”
So, I was not going to be able to leap out of bed, and walk out of the hospital any time soon. I don’t suppose I’d ever leapt out of bed, except as a young boy. I suspect I’d sustained a few broken bones. I guess learning to walk again was the least of my problems.
But, there was something else. I picked it up in the timbre of her voice, a hesitation, or reluctance. It sent another chill through me.
This time I was left awake for an hour before she returned.
This time sleep was restless.
There were scenes playing in my mind, nothing I recognised, and nothing lasting longer than a glimpse. Me. Others, people I didn’t know. Or perhaps I knew them and couldn’t remember them.
Until they disappeared, slowly like the glowing dot in the centre of the computer screen, before finally fading to black.

The morning the bandages were to come off she came in bright and early and woken me. I had another restless night, the images becoming clearer, but nothing recognisable.
“This morning the doctor will be removing the bandages over your eyes. Don’t expect an immediate effect. Your sight may come back quickly or it may come back slowly, but we believe it will come back.”
I wanted to believe I was not expecting anything, but I was. It was probably human nature. I did not want to be blind as well as paralysed. I had to have at least one reason to live.
I dozed again until I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder. I could smell the lavender, the other doctor was back. And I knew the hand on my shoulder was Winifred’s. She told me not to be frightened.
I was amazed to realise in that moment, I wasn’t.
I heard the scissors cutting the bandages.
I felt the bandage being removed, and the pressure coming off my eyes. I could feel the pads covering both eyes.
Then a moment where nothing happened.
Then the pads being gently lift and removed.
Nothing.
I blinked my eyes, once, twice. Nothing.
“Just hold on a moment,” Winifred said. A few seconds later I could feel a cool towel wiping my face, and then gently wiping my eyes. Perhaps there was ointment, or something else in them.
Then a flash. Well, not a flash, but like when a light is turned on and off. A moment later, it was brighter, not the inky blackness of before, but a shade of grey.
She wiped my eyes again.
I blinked a few more times, and then the light returned, and it was like looking through water, at distorted and blurry objects in the distance.
I blinked again, and she wiped my eyes again.
Blurry objects took shape. A face looking down on me, an elderly lady with a kindly face, surely Winifred, who was smiling. And on the opposite side of the bed, the doctor, a Chinese woman of indescribable beauty.
I nodded.
“You can see?”
I nodded again.
“Clearly?”
I nodded.
“Very good. We will just draw the curtains now. We don’t want to overdo it. Tomorrow we will be taking off the bandages on your face. Then, it will be the next milestone. Talking.”
I couldn’t wait.

When morning came, I found myself afraid. Winifred had mentioned scarring, there were bandages on my face. I knew, but wasn’t quite sure how I knew, I wasn’t the handsomest of men before the accident, so this might be an improvement.
I was not sure why I didn’t think it would be the case.
They came at mid morning, the nurse, Winifred, and the doctor, the exquisite Chinese. Perhaps she was the distraction, taking my mind of the reality of what I was about to see.
Another doctor came into the room, before the bandages were removed, and he was introduced as the plastic surgeon that had ‘repaired’ the ravages of the accident. It had been no easy job, but, with a degree of egotism, he did say he was one of the best in the world.
I found it hard to believe, if he was, that he would be at a small country hospital.
“Now just remember, what you might see now is not how you will look in a few months time.”
Warning enough.
The Chinese doctor started removing the bandages. She did it slowly, and made sure it did not hurt. My skin was very tender, and I suspect still bruised, either from the accident or the surgery, I didn’t know.
Then it was done.
The plastic surgeon gave his work a thorough examination and seemed pleased with his work. “Coming along nicely,” he said to the other doctor. He issued some instructions on how to manage the skin, nodded to me, and I thanked him before he left.
I noticed Winifred had a mirror in her hand, and was somewhat reticent in using it. “As I said,” she said noticing me looking at the mirror, “what you see now will not be the final result. The doctor said it was going to heal with very little scarring. You have been very fortunate he was available. Are you ready?”
I nodded.
She showed me.
I tried not to be reviled at the red and purple mess that used to be my face. At a guess I would have to say he had to put it all back together again, but, not knowing what I looked like before, I had no benchmark. All I had was a snippet of memory that told me I was not the tall, dark, and handsome type.
And I still could not talk. There was a reason, he had worked on that area too. Just breathing hurt. I think I would save up anything I had to say for another day. I could not even smile. Or frown. Or grimace.
“We’ll leave you for a while. Everyone needs a little time to get used to the change. I suspect you are not sure if there has been an improvement on last year’s model. Well, time will tell.”
A new face?
I could not remember the old one.
My memory still hadn’t returned.

Searching for Locations: Venice, Italy

Venice is definitely a city to explore.  It has an incredible number of canals and walkways, and each time we would start our exploration at St Marks square when it’s not underwater

Everyone I have spoken to about exploring Venice has told me how easy it is to get lost.  It has not happened to me, but with the infinite number of ways you can go, I guess it is possible.

We started our exploration of Venice in St Marks square, where, on one side there was the Museo di Palazzo Ducale and, next door, the Basilica di San Marco.  Early morning and/or at high tide, water can be seen bubbling up from under the square, partially flooding it.  I have seen this happen several times.  Each morning as we walked from the hotel (the time we stayed in the Savoia and Jolanda) we passed the Bridge of Sighs.

Around the other three sides of the square are archways and shops.  We have bought both confectionary and souvenirs from some of these stores, albeit relatively expensive.  Prices are cheaper in stores that are away from the square and we found some of these when we walked from St Marks square to the Railway station, through many walkways, and crossing many bridges, and passing through a number of small piazzas.

That day, after the trek, we caught the waterbus back to San Marco, and then went on the tour of the Museo di Palazzo Du which included the dungeons and the Bridge of Sighs from the inside.  It took a few hours, longer than I’d anticipated because there was so much to see.

The next day, we caught the waterbus from San Marco to the Ponte di Rialto bridge.  Just upstream from the wharf there was a very large passenger ship, and I noticed there were a number of passengers from the ship on the waterbus, one of whom spoke to us about visiting Venice.  I didn’t realize we looked like professional tourists who knew where we were going.

After a pleasant conversation, and taking in the views up and down the Grand Canal, we disembarked and headed for the bridge, looking at the shops, mostly selling upmarket and expensive gifts, and eventually crossing to the other side where there was a lot of small market type stalls selling souvenirs as well as clothes, and most importantly, it being a hot day, cold Limonata.  This was my first taste of Limonata and I was hooked.

Continuing on from there was a wide street at the end and a number of restaurants where we had lunch.  We had a map of Venice and I was going to plot a course back to the hotel, taking what would be a large circular route that would come out at the Accademia Bridge, and further on to the Terminal Fusina Venezia where there was another church to explore, the Santa Maria del Rosario.

This is a photo of the Hilton Hotel from the other side of the canal.

It was useful knowledge for the second time we visited Venice because the waterbus from the Hilton hotel made its first stop, before San Marco, there.  We also discovered on that second visit a number of restaurants on the way from the terminal and church to the Accademia Bridge.

This is looking back towards San Marco from the Accademia Bridge:

And this, looking towards the docks:

Items to note:

Restaurants off the beaten track were much cheaper and the food a lot different to that in the middle of the tourist areas.

There are a lot of churches, big and small, tucked away in interesting spots where there are small piazza’s.  You can look in all of them, though some asked for a small fee.

Souvenirs, coffee, and confectionary are very expensive in St Marks square.

The story behind the story – Echoes from the Past

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.

And, of course, I wanted a happy ending.

Except for the bad guys.

newechocover5rs

 

The cinema of my dreams – It’s a treasure hunt – Episode 71

Here’s the thing…

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.

…

In a cave, Nadia is a surprise

…

Now the helicopter had gone, the sounds of the sea had returned, along with the muffled sound of the wind which had picked up, along with swirling clouds that looked like they would be bringing rain.  I’d heard how the weather could change suddenly, and dangerously along this coastline.

I saw the lightning, and a minute or so later, the cracking of thunder.  We were about to get very wet.

‘Look for the big A’.  It had been there, heavily underscored in Ormiston’s notebooks. It had also been on the cliff face, crudely, but there.

“We need to go,” I heard Nadia say, over the ambient noise all around us.

Her words were being swept away by the wind, and I could barely hear her.

Another glance up at the cliff to confirm what I’d seen, and, yes, it was a big A, I went over to her.

“We can’t outrun it.  And it will be treacherous on those rocks in a downpour.”

“We also have the tide to contend with.”

I could see the high-water line, and it didn’t leave much to the imagination.  We needed higher ground.  It was one of those situations where we might get caught by the tide.  It was a pity there wasn’t room for two of us on the helicopter.

Back the way we’d come I remembered seeing an outcrop that looked like it might provide shelter from the rain.  “We should go, there’s a spot a way back that might save us from getting too wet.”

It was about a hundred yards, not far from where the shore rocks started and would require climbing back up.  At the very least, we could stay there until the tide dropped.  We collected the metal detectors and made it to the base of the rocky outcrop just as the first drops of rain fell.

The overhang I’d seen turned out to be a shallow cave, going back into the rockface about 10 yards or so, carved out by the sea over a very long period.

Then the rain came, so heavy, we could not see through it.  Every few minutes a gust of wind blew water into the cave, but standing back from the entrance basically kept us dry.

Nadia sat down and looked despondent.  I’d never seen her like this, she was normally more cheerful.

I took a few minutes to explore inside using the torchlight on my phone.  I could see the layers of sandstone compressed over the years, and if I had remembered more from the geology part of science at school I might have been able to make sense of it.  Was I hoping for fossils, like from long-extinct dinosaurs?

Or perhaps I could imagine this was the entrance to Aladdin’s cave, also reputed to have hidden treasures, and briefly wondered if I’d found a lantern with a genie, what my three wishes might be?

“They’re only walls, Sam.”  Nadia had come silently up behind me, and was just behind my left shoulder, the sound of her voice so near startling me.

Also noted, when my potential heart attack passed, she called me Sam, not Smidge.  I was not going to write anything into it, she didn’t seem herself.

“You never know.  If I say open sesame, or whatever the password is…”

It sounded lame.

I could hear rather than see her shake her head.

“What do you think Boggs was doing climbing up or down that particular rockface, and for that matter, poking around The Grove?”

I turned around to look at her.  If I didn’t know her better, I might have said there was at that moment an angelic quality about her.  It only reinforced the notion that she was very much out of my league, and whatever we seemed to have going, it was more in my head than hers.

“I think you can make as educated a guess as I can.”

“He thinks the treasure is here?”

“Somewhere in The Grove, yes.  His approach might have been different from ours, but the conclusion is the same.”

“We didn’t find anything.”

“That doesn’t mean it didn’t come ashore somewhere near here, or somewhere along the coast despite the reefs because they might have once been navigable in an abnormally high tide.  And those coins found near the old marina tells me that they landed somewhere there, but it was not the final resting place.”

I was going to say anything was possible.

“I can assure you my father and his cronies spent years turning over this whole property, one way or another, and found nothing.”

I believed her.  Had he not won the bidding war for the property, sold by the remaining Ormiston’s to settle the debts racked up by successive treasure hunts, Benderby, or anyone else for that matter, would have done the same.  Everyone was aware of the obsession, and the possibility of making a fortune.

But, my money was on the fact it was in The Grove, somewhere.  The question was, would I be completely honest with her?

When I didn’t say anything, she added, “you think it’s still here, don’t you?”

I shrugged.  “Why else would Boggs be here?  I’m sure his deductions from the resources he has, and I’m sure he hadn’t told me everything for obvious reasons, told him when all else has been eliminated, the last possibility however improbable must be true.”

“Occam’s razor?”

“Ish.  When we can get back to the cabin, I’ll go and see him, see what he has to say.  If he wants to see me, that is.”

I could see her processing what I just said, and thought perhaps I could have said it better.

“He doesn’t trust you because of me?”

Again I shrugged.  “I got that impression when I last spoke to him.  I don’t think he quite understands the nature of our friendship.  I’m assuming that’s what it is because I’m hardly the sort of boy your parents would consider suitable for you.”

“My parents have no idea what I want or care about.  It’s why I left.”

“Why did you come back then?”

“My mother said she had cancer and wasn’t expected to live.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.  It was a lie.  Their whole life is a lie.  I’ve always known about the family, I just chose to ignore it, even bask in some of the glory of it, until it got a friend of mine killed.  Vince did it, I know he did, but they all lied.  It’s just one of many reasons I wanted to getaway.  I was going to go back to Italy until you popped up.  I always liked you, you know.”

I didn’t.  I thought I was just another pawn in a game of terror and ridicule she played on all of us boys.

“You had a funny way of showing it.”

“I was stupid back then, but that was no excuse.  If it’s any consolation I’m sorry, but words never seem to be enough, and besides that, no one I’ve apologized to really believes me, and I get it.  My name is a curse.  That’s why when I go back I’m going to disappear, a whole change of identity.  That’s how much I trust you, Sam, you’re the only one I’ve told.”

“You shouldn’t tell me anything.  I’m sure if you disappear, I’ll be the first one your family will come after.”

I didn’t need to know, I certainly didn’t want to know.  If she did disappear, I’m sure my doorstep would be the Cossatino’s first stop, and I’d easily fold under pressure.

“Maybe you could come with me, then you wouldn’t have to worry about them.” 

Perhaps she could read my mind.  Even so, it was an interesting thought, not that I could just up and leave my mother, or worry the Cossatino’s would come after her if I went missing.

“I don’t speak Italian.”  Lame excuse.

“I could teach you.  We could work in the vineyard, and live a simple life.”

It was hard to tell if she was serious or not.  I had to think she wasn’t.  I don’t think I could handle someone like her, that anyone could.

…

© Charles Heath 2020-2022

Coming soon – “Strangers We’ve Become”, the sequel to “What Sets Us Apart”

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.

The Cover:

strangerscover9

Coming soon

 

In a word: Hail

Yes, you know what it is, and it can be very unpleasant when it hits – hail.

Hailstones as big as golf balls, hailstones that make small or large dents in your car, smash windows, wreck trees, and, sometimes, give the appearance that snow has just fallen.

And hail with snow equals sleet, and it’s not very pleasant to be caught in it.

Of course, there’s a different sort of hail, one that you might also not want to be subject to, that from someone across the street trying to get your attention.

Or a hail that you do want someone or something to stop; a taxi, or cab

Or a ship across the water… though I’m not sure why you, personally would want to hail a ship

Perhaps you could be praised in some way, like, he hailed from London – no, not yelled so loudly he could be heard in New York

And no, we do not go around saying, Hail Minister, or Hail Friend!  Not unless we’ve used a time machine and gone back to ancient Roman days

This is not to be confused with the word hale

Yes, it can be something you eat, and I hear it’s very good for you

Or that man is hale and hearty, which means in good health – and I have to say I’m envious because I’m anything but hale

 

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to write a war story – Episode 10

For a story that was conceived during those long boring hours flying in a steel cocoon, striving to keep away the thoughts that the plane and everyone in it could just simply disappear as planes have in the past, it has come a long way.

Whilst I have always had a fascination in what happened during the second world war, not the battles or fighting, but in the more obscure events that took place, I decided to pen my own little sidebar to what was a long and bitter war.

And, so, it continues…

 

We walked slowly towards the end of the passage, each time I passed a cell I had a look in, and noted if it had a prisoner or not.  By the end of the passage, I counted six prisoners, and one was a woman.’

She just looked at me sullenly, and I guess if it was light enough, that look would be with pleading eyes.  Sadly, I couldn’t save her, or the other five.

At the end of the corridor, we retraced our steps towards the hall, along the passage where I counted another three prisoners, then up the stairs to the ground level.  We came out into a better-lit alcove with arches leading in three directions.

Straight ahead was the hall.

We turned to the left.  Along another passage that seemed to run the length of the wall, what I thought was the stone battlement that made up one side of the castle, looking out over fields, with a village in the distance.

What I thought was the opposite side to the guard tower I’d been in earlier.

I tried to figure out if that’s where we were, and if my memory served me correctly, we were heading towards the wall that was built into the mountainside, in which case we’d go up another set of stairs, at the top of which would be an exit, or turning right, to a room that once served as the guards quarters, now used for kitchen supplies.

What else was here?  My mind was blank.

Up the steps, so far I was right, ahead of a thick wooden door, locked, so we turned right and passed a small room.  I’d forgotten it, but it was the radio room, wires leading out a small arrow slit window to the aerial.   The man in front stumbled, then regained his gait.

I could hear the man behind me shaking his head.

“Halt,” the man behind me barked. 

The man in front stopped dead, and I crashed into him.  I felt rather than saw the fist come towards me; it was not for me, but the other guard, who, preoccupied with not falling, never saw it coming.

He went down like the proverbial ask of potatoes, no idea what happened.

My turn?

A hand landed on my shoulder, thrusting me towards the door to the storeroom.  “Go, now.  The door on the other side is open, head down to the creek and follow it.  Someone will meet you.”

I half turned, “Who…”

“No time.  Go.  And shut the door behind you.”  I felt him thrust a gun in my hand.  “Hit me.”

I hesitated.

“Do it, or I’ll be shot.”

I shrugged and hit him.  He slowly slid to the floor.  A second glance, no, I didn’t know who he was, the headed for the back of the storeroom.  The door was open.  A cautious look before stepping out, I  saw no one but heard breathing.  Jack.  How did the dog know I’d be here?

I closed the door behind me and heard the lock engage, then after a pat on Jack’s head, he led the way.

 

© Charles Heath 2019