Month: April 2023

The A to Z Challenge – 2023 — W is for “Wild Horse Mountain”

…

“And tell me again,” Will said, “just why are we out here at two in the morning?”

It was not lost on him that a minute or so before they had passed a sign proclaiming they had crossed into Wild Horse Mountain territory, and moments later, a sign with a horse on it.

It explained the empty horse box they’d brought along, and the earlier statement by his friend Chad, that he was planning to catch a brumby and break it.

Chad was full of good ideas like that, especially after a dozen drinks.

“We’re on an adventure, Billy boy.  Just roll with it.”

Last adventure I’d just rolled with saw us explaining to Sherriff Daley why we shouldn’t be locked up and the key thrown away.

“I’m trying, but seriously, you brought Charlene?”

Charlene was Chad’s latest girlfriend and the one, he said.  So were Fergie, and Donna, and, well, I forgot the last one; she had lasted almost a week.  But this one had lasted longer than the others, and I detected that same devil-may-care attitude in her.  I put that down to the fact she was the daughter of the town preacher.

“She wanted to see what we get up to.  The girl’s got an adventurous streak.  What can I say?”

No, for starters.  I doubt her family would be happily bailing her out of jail.  Maybe with her along he might show a bit more common sense.

He slowed, then turning at the slip road, stopped in front of a locked gate where there was a road leading into the forest, and a sign saying that only authorised personnel could pass.

“Is this private land?” I asked.

“Forest service.  Government land.  The sign’s there to keep the fools out.”  He held up a key.  “My uncle knows a man who knows a ranger who says so long as we don’t kill anything it’s fine.”

“And you’re thinking catching a wild horse is going to be easy?  I assume that’s what we’re here for?”

“I thought I explained that earlier.  How hard can it be?  I watched a video on YouTube and it’s easy.  We’ve both been on a cattle drive and passed with flying colours.  Just think of it as catching a bull, only a little larger, but no horns.”

I think trying to do that at night and in the dark might be slightly more complicated than he’s considered, and, as for having the skills necessary, back then there were a half dozen experienced cowboys there to back us up.

I shrugged; there was no changing his mind once it was made up.  “What’s the worst that could happen?” I muttered under my breath.

“Exactly.”  He handed me the key and I got out.

I looked back and could see Charlene acting a lot more animated than before, so maybe she was on board with this crazy scheme.

I unlocked the gate, opened it, waited until he drove through, and then closed and locked it behind me.

The discussion between Charlene and Chad was still going on when I got back in.  From the part I heard it seems she thought he was taking her to a secret lookout, not go brumby hunting, and him saying they could do both.  I got the impression she was not keen on catching a horse.

Whatever happened, it was going to be an interesting few hours.

Chad was the sort of person who when everything was going great and everyone was on board with his scheme, it was fine.  When the hiccups in the master plan started to happen, that’s when things start to fall apart.

After an hour’s slow crawl through the forest over a track that gave the pickup and following trailer a good workout, Charlene was losing interest.

So was I, but I’d learned not to express my sentiments.

“So,” she said, “where are these horses?”

“Here.  They’re everywhere, they’re always running all over the place.”

Except they were not.  Not tonight anyway.  And just then I remembered reading that the county administration had decided it was time to move the horses on so they could carve out a chunk of land for camping, hunting and fishing.  The conservationists were up in arms, the hunters were rubbing their hands in glee, and the campers were saying fools with guns were an accident waiting to happen.

A loud bank and what sounded like a gunshot hitting the side of the horse float was enough for Chad to stop, douse the lights and kill the engine.  I disabled the lights that went on when the doors opened.

Suddenly it was dead silent.  I was sure I could hear my heart beating.

Then, the silence was broken by another shot, so loud we all jumped.

I was first out of the pickup, just in case they were shooting at us.  That prompted, in the next breath, who was shooting at us, and why?

Chad and Charlene came around to join me.

“What the hell just happened?”  Chad asked.

“Gunshots.  Perhaps the hunters have decided not to wait until they got county approval.  We’ll have to tell the sheriff, get on his good side.  We just need to find out who they are.”

No need.  A minute or so later there was yelling carried on the night air.

“What the hell are you doing.  The boss said no advertising our presence.”

“I saw a car.”

“It’s the main track and there’s going to be cars.  Get back to the camp, and you want to hope whoever you shot at doesn’t call the sheriff.”

I looked at Chad.  “We’ll wait a few minutes then get moving again.”

“What’s going on?”  A visibly shaken Charlene wasn’t too happy about what had just happened. 

I could have told her that a night out with Chad provided enough excitement for a week.  Things always seemed to happen around him.

“Hunting season started early,” Chad said.

“We’re not going to get shot are we?”

“No.”  Chad sounded positive, but there was no way we could know what those people were doing.

I got up and checked the horse float for bullet holes and instead saw a scrape along the side made by an overhanging branch.  There was no sign of a bullet hole, but it didn’t explain the loud bang we all heard.

When I came back, I said, “Let’s get out of here.”

Another half hour passed in silence until we came out of the forest into a clearing that was visible in the twilight, a cloudless sky and full moon giving the whole area a strange eerie feeling.

Chad drove on the track that skirted the open area and stopped by a dilapidated hut.  Lights off and engine off, once out of the car the silence was rather strange to a person who lived in the city where there was constant noise.

Chad had a rough hand-drawn map he got from a friend of a friend, that looked a lot like the clearing with a hut exactly where we had stopped.  It was as much of it as I remembered until she spread it out over the bonnet of the car.

He then switched on the light of his phone.

We gathered around like conspirators.

“We’re here.”  He pointed to the X that marked the hut.  His finger then followed the track around further to a point where a lake bordered the clearing, with another X.  “A watering hole for the wildlife, and quite often where the horses come.  This whole clearing is where they gather.”

Gather they might, but not tonight.  It was light enough to see the edges of the clearing, the forest beyond, and the shimmering surface of the lake in the distance.  It was enough to see nothing was stirring.

“Perhaps,” Charlene said, “they knew we were coming.”  There was no mistaking the sardonic tone. 

Maybe she had already been on one of his wild goose chases.  This wasn’t my first rodeo.

The silence was broken by the sound of a horse, coming from the direction of the lake.

“Maybe not.”

We turned to look, and the first thing I saw was a horse, yes, but there was a rider on it.  Followed by another, and another, until at least ten came out of the forest and into the open.

Nightriders?

“What the hell…” I heard Charlene mutter.

Perhaps against a dark background, they hadn’t seen us.  Or they had and were ignoring us.  They stopped for what looked like a short drink break then continued to follow what must have been a path across the shoreline of the lake, and within a few minutes had disappeared into the forest.

“Local tourist adventure rides up to the lookout at night where they look at the stars,” Chad said.

“And you know this…”  Charlene sounded like she would have preferred that to what Chad was taking us on now.

So would I, if I had a choice.

“Is the lookout accessible by car?” I asked, now getting the feeling it wasn’t.

“A 4×4 maybe, but the most direct route and easiest is by horse.  But we’re not here to look at the stars.  I’m going down to the lake.  You two?”

“I’m staying here,” Charles said, shivering. 

I could tell she wanted to go home but was too afraid to say anything.  And by her body language, I didn’t think this relationship between her and Chad was going to last much longer.

“Then stay with her Mike.  I won’t be long.”

With that, he headed off towards the lake.

“He’s stark staring mad,” she said when he was out of earshot.

“Chad had some crazy ideas sometimes, but his heart is in the right place.  At least with him, what you see is what you get?”

“You think?  What’s your excuse?”

“Being here?  He’s helped me get through some rough times.  My parents were killed in an accident when I was 13.  He convinced his parents I should stay with them because otherwise I’d finish up in the foster care system, and they did.  I guess I’m the little brother he never had.  What about you?”

“Sad story, I needed someone to teach me to line dance.  He made it fun.  This isn’t.”

“Why’d you agree to come?”

“I thought we were going to the lookout, at least that’s how he sold it.  Not catching horses.  Can he even ride a horse?”

“His uncle has a ranch with cattle.  We’ve been going there mustering every year for what seems like a lifetime.”

“He asked me to go with him this year.”

“Then do.  I could do with a break, go to the city, see what I’m not missing.”

The surrounding silence closed in on us as the conversation dries up.  Talking to girls was not my forte.

“He’s taking a long time,” Charlene said about ten minutes later.

It mirrored my own thought.  How long could it take to walk to the water’s edge, see there was nothing to be found, and come back.

A loud bang, like the sound of a rifle, punctured the stillness.

“Was that…?” She said.

“A gunshot?  Sounded like it.” 

I went over to the back of the car and pulled out the rifle Chad carried with him, hidden under the seat.  It surprised me the first time I discovered he travelled around with a gun.  It wasn’t loaded, but it didn’t take long to load.  I put some extra bullets in my pocket, just in case.

“You coming?” I asked.  If anything happened to her, I knew Chad would be angry.  “If someone is out there shooting people, it’s not s good idea to be here alone.”

She didn’t need to be asked twice.

“You know how to use that?”

“Unfortunately, yes.  Coyotes.”

We both stayed on the track skirting the open space, just to make it harder for anyone likely to be aiming at us until we reached the knoll above the lake.  It was the one place where, if there was a shooter. we would be most vulnerable.  Neither of us stayed there for longer than a second, perhaps two, before heading down the 50 yards to the water’s edge.  A quick scan showed no sign of Chad.

At the water’s edge, she said, “Where is he?  If this is one of his games, then I don’t like it.”

I knew Chad, and I also knew he was capable of pulling a stunt like this.  If he was, I was going to be very annoyed.

Facing the knoll, I heard a soft splashing sound behind me and turned.

Chad.

He was not more than 20 yards out in the water, face down.

“Damn.”

I dropped the rifle and headed into the water, swimming the last few yards, but I knew, the moment I reached him, he was dead.  The hole in the side of his head was unmistakable.  I brought him back to the shore and dragged him above the water line, then checked for a pulse.

Nothing.

Then I realised Charlene was not there, where I’d left her, but further along the beach.  She had picked up the rifle, and by the way she was carrying it, she knew how to use it.  Had she heard something?

Behind her, one of the horsemen arrived with a riderless horse and stopped next to her.

“What’s going on?”  I asked.  I was hoping it wasn’t what it looked like.

“This has nothing to do with you, Mike.  Justice has been served.”

Justice?  What justice?  What had Chad done to deserve a death like this?

“Amy Potterdam.  Just because you own the law in this County doesn’t mean you can get away with murder.”

Amy Potterdam?  All I could remember about that was a girl had died in unusual circumstances at a party he had attended, if only briefly.  Someone had claimed that he had given the girl the spiked drink that eventually killed her, but witnesses and evidence had proven otherwise.  The fact his father was the County Sherriff had no bearing.

I watched her climb up on the horse and take the reins.  I stood and started walking towards her.  “This is wrong.”

“Don’t come any closer, or I will shoot you.”

I didn’t stop.  I didn’t know what I was going to do, or if there was anything I could do.  I just knew I had to try.

They say you don’t hear the bullet that has your name on it.

They’re wrong.

…

©  Charles Heath  2023

Curious children find a curiosity

I am constantly reminded of how curious grandchildren can be when they are not asking you what it was like to live with dinosaurs!

The second eldest who is a rather clever 15-year-old considers it interesting that I’m a writer, and having just met a ‘real’ author who came to visit them at school, asked me a few questions, some of which sounded like those that had been asked of my ‘real’ counterpart.

Like, “how old were you when you first wrote a story, and what was that story about?”

I didn’t think it was when I was at school, but sometime after that, and after a lot of reading.  Perhaps it had been one of those moments when a light bulb goes on in your head, and I said to myself, I can write these stories too.

Of course, that wasn’t an answer, so she asked again, when did I start writing?

That required a little thought, and there were several triggers that gave me a date, where I lived at the time, the fact I used my mother’s old portable typewriter, and the fact I had not been long out of school.  I was, in fact, about 17.  It was 45 years ago; I’ll let you do the math!

What was it about; that I couldn’t tell her, but I said I had rescued a lot of old scribbling of mine and put them in a box to look at later when I had the time.

I guess that time had arrived.

And, yes, there was the book, the individually typed pages, some with corrections, unfinished.

The pages were brown with age.

The story, well, I read the first few pages, and it seems I’d started down the thriller path then, the story so far, an agent comes ashore from a trawler to a bleak and isolated village, perhaps on the Scottish coast.

Then there was the inevitable next question; “What was the first story you read that put you on the path to wanting to become a writer”.

That was easy, Alistair Maclean’s HMS Ulysses.  I showed her a copy of the book.

That led to, “but this is about the British Royal Navy in World War 2…”

Perhaps I didn’t answer that correctly, it was after reading about a dozen of his novels, most of which were precursors to the modern-day thriller, perhaps more along the lines of action adventures.

The next question, understandably; “What was the first book you ever finished?”

That was The Starburst Conspiracy, the manuscript of which was in the box along with another completed novel, and quite a few short stories.

Back in those days, I remembered that I had sent some of my stories off to various publishers, and had entered a number of short story competitions, all to no avail.  And for a number of years, until I because to old, used to write and enter a novel in the Vogel novel competition but never made it to the shortlist.

It’s probably why I gave up writing for a number of years, until I worked for an interesting company who had a rich history of phosphate mining in the Pacific and being given permission to look into the archives, began writing what could only be described a saga, and by the time I’d left, it was over 1200 closely typed pages long.

I showed the bulky manuscript to her, but by this time her interest had moved to something else.

For me, however, it seemed there was a lot of unfinished business.

A photograph from the inspirational bin – 38

This is one of those images that could be anywhere.

So, here’s the problem:

Ethan was reluctant to agree to go to the stag night, knowing firstly, that the others going were a bit too unruly when they had too many drinks, secondly, that they had to agree to not know where they were being taken by the bus, and thirdly, anything they saw or did had to remain completely confidential.

That was particularly the case when it came to the ‘stag’.

In that case, Ethan knew exactly what this night was going to be, hours of unrelenting debauchery.

And, since Ethan was the stag’s brother, and he was the best man, there was no way he could wriggle his way out of this one.

On top of that, Ethan had to promise the bride to be that he would not let her husband to be go too far. That statement, of course, was like a box full of hand grenades. He didn’t ask for a definition of too far.

So, seven sober, respectable, hard-working junior executives in suits that were worth more than Ethan’s annual salary boarded the bus.

What happened from that moment the bus drove off, until Ethan’s brother’s body was found floating face down in the river behind the resort, handcuffed to a naked girl in a rubber dinghy, barely alive from an overdose, was anyone’s guess, and Ethan’s worst nightmare.

Especially when he was the last one to see his brother, and the girl, alive.

And, no, this is not based on a real-life experience, though in recurring nightmares I’m the one floating fase down in the river.

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to see the planets – Episode 20

Just what do you talk to aliens about?

…

We were standing off the two ships, each about half the size of our ship.

I wondered briefly if the people on board were thinking the same as us.

What were the people like, friendly or hostile, what weapons the other had, and what technology?  We knew they could board us, by beaming in combatants, so I’d sent the third officer to organize the security team and other crew members to spread out through the ship and keep an eye out for boarders.

At the very least they knew we couldn’t send people over to their ships.

I walked over to the communications officer’s console where the communication expert sat, waiting.

“Can we broadcast a message so the other ship can hear us?”

“Assuming they understand any or all of the 32 languages we can convert any message to.”

And, if I read the crew briefing note on her correctly, she could speak fluently in every one of them.  Just, perhaps, not alien, but up till now, she didn’t have to.

“The last one I spoke to understood me just fine.”

“Very good.  Just speak when you are ready.  We’re transmitting now.”

I went back to stand in front of the Captain’s chair though I was not sure why.  I took a moment to consider what I should say, then proceeded with, “This is the commanding officer of the Earth space ship “Nautilus” hailing the two ships nearby.  We are following the vessel that kidnapped two of our crew members.  We have no quarrel with you, and this being the case, we will be proceeding with our pursuit forthwith.”

I put my hand up to indicate the message was done.

“Are systems online and ready to go?” I said in the direction of the helmsman who, like the rest of the crew, were looking at me.  Why I wasn’t sure.

The helmsman replied, “Ready when you are.”

I was going to give the alien ships five minutes, then leave.  They were either going to board us, or shoot at us, or maybe just let us go.

I looked at the military specialist.  “I assume we can retaliate if they start shooting at us?”

“It’s possible if they don’t hit any vital parts of the ship.”

It was a rather sardonic reply, or maybe that was her usual tone.  I didn’t get time to reflect on it.

“You might want to reconsider that plan, Earth ship Nautilus.”

It was an accented version of English, British perhaps, but very precise, and most likely the result of a translator.

“Who am I speaking to?”

“You may call me the commanding officer of my spaceship. 

“Are you with the people who kidnapped my crew members?”

There was silence, a period where I assumed they were considering a response.  Then, “I am not sure what you mean by with but were are of the same people, yes, but the one you speak of is not like us.  We have been seeking them as you appear to be, but for different reasons.”

“So why are here, impeding our progress, if you are not helping them?”

“We wanted to see who they have mistreated, and what they have done.  This is not the first time they have ventured into uncharted space.”

“Where have you come from?”

“Several thousands of what you call light-years away, in a system similar to yours, only each of the planets have a different people.  The people who have taken your crew come from one of the planets who are looking for weapons to fight a war they are losing.”

“Then I think you people are in a great deal of trouble.  They have also stolen a shipment of plutonium, which if they know what they’re doing, can be used to make bombs that can render a place unliveable for thousands of what we call years.  Believe me when I say it’s a very long time.”

“Nuclear bombs?”

“You’ve heard of them?”

“In a roundabout way.  You should know we are currently chasing the people who did this, and we are here to advise against you proceeding with your rescue mission.  The people you are chasing have a vastly superior ship, and weapons than you, as I suspect your ship is to you, a marvel, but to us, about a hundred of your earth years behind us.  We always believed your differences with your fellow humans would always hinder your space programs to the point where Mars would be the furthest you could travel.”

“You should realize we are out there on the very edge of our galaxy ready to find new ones.”

“That we cannot stop.  But I give you this warning, not everyone out there is ready to accept new people from other planets or systems.  And they are all more technologically advanced.”

Nothing surprising there.

“We’re still going out there, danger withstanding.”

“Be that on your head.  I suggest, however, that you do not follow those who have taken your crew members.  We will take care of them, and return your people in due course.”

“Thanks for the warning, but we do not abandon our people.”

“Then don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Then, before our eyes, the two ships left, or that is to say, disappeared into a bright light that lasted a few seconds before the inky black returned.

“What just happened,” I said before I realized I’d said it out loud.

A voice from behind said, in reply, “I believe they disappeared into what might be described as a wormhole.”

…

© Charles Heath 2021-2023

NaNoWriMo – April – 2023 — Day 26

“The Things We Do For Love”

…

The waiting game begins.

Henry moves into the hotel to begin the wait for the call from Michelle.

Radly turns up, having decided to join the rescue mission, and they while away the time playing chess.

Then, the call comes, and decisive action is prompted by the news of Angie’s death.

They are given the location, and it’s time to move.

They are being followed.  The Turks men had Henry’s location and were on surveillance, waiting to see what he would do.

Seems the Turk never believed Michelle’s promises, and vice versa.

Radly leads them on a merry-goose chase, and then manipulates them into having an accident which ends their surveillance.  Unfortunately, it also ends the protection provided by Banner, his men being caught up in the traffic disaster.

Henry’s finally at the door, only to find a woman he least expects.  Michelle is also there.

They go to leave, and the Turk is standing in the doorway.

The reunion doesn’t last long.  Michelle is dragged away, unconscious and Henry’s brief but futile resistance is met with extreme violence.  He is taken away too but downstairs all is in darkness and there’s hesitation on the Turk’s part.

Henry escapes and finds Radly ensconced with Diana, waiting for the inevitable in another apartment.  That becomes a messy last stand, Radly badly injured, as Diana and Henry escape, as far as the Turks man who sees them and deals with Henry first.

Banner arrives too late to prevent both Henry and Diana from paying a hefty price for their involvement.

…

Words written 3,980, for a total of 98,326

I’ve got words on paper, but

They’re not exactly Nobel prize-winning prose.

Well, not yet.

I guess the point is that I have at least crystallised my thoughts on paper so that I can do something with them.  After all, anything is better than nothing, isn’t it?

Sometimes I wonder.  I look back on a lot of the stuff I wrote forty or fifty years ago and it looks bad.  The thing is, then, I thought it was great, and that I was destined to do great things with the written word.

Pity, all this time later, I’ve turned into a self-critical monster, where it seems nothing I write is any good.

So, does that mean we need to be less critical of our work?  After all, through the years, when I’ve shared novels and short stories with others, they have all universally said they’re quite good.

So…

It’s time to go back to the previous day’s work and rework it.  Yes, the idea that I wanted to write about is where I wanted the story to go, it’s just the execution.

The problem is, since then a few other ideas have been running around in the back of my head, and these could be added or used to further the current plotline.

The other problem is, it is one of the six stories that I’m writing by the seat of my pants, you know, the way some pilots like to fly a plane, without all that computer backup.  Similarly, this is the way I sometimes like to write.

It’s as much a surprise to me is it is to the reader.

There’s good arguments for having planned the story from start to finish, but with these, I like to write it and see where it takes me.  They’re episodic, so sometimes I get to write three of four episodes at a time, and these would most likely in a book become a chapter.

Last night I wrote two episodes, but it seems that it might need pointers back in previous episodes, because we all like to leave a trail of crumbs for the reader so when they get to the denouement, they remember, ah yes, back in chapter two such and such happened, but why am I only remembering it now?

Ok, enough convincing myself I’m a good writer, it’s time to get back to work…

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to go on a treasure hunt – Episode 58

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.

…

It was only an hours’ worth of skimming newspapers, for the dates I’d discovered at the cemetery, and the month around the time that Boggs’s father had disappeared, because the date of death for Friedrich Ormiston had a familiar ring to it.

They’d both apparently died in the same year, within months of each other.

Of course, there was a twist.

Neither of the two men’s bodies had been found, and both missing person’s cases had remained open for the specified period before being declared legally dead.  I knew that to be the case for Boggs’s father, but I had not really known the details of the circumstances.

The paper had played up the disappearance of both men, pushing the Treasure hunt aspect knowing it would bring in readers, and perhaps get picked up by the big city papers.  It had got a television crew down briefly, I remembered that much, and the fact Boggs had wanted nothing to do with it.  

The story, though, was interesting, that everyone remembered that fateful night in the bar when he had been telling anyone who would listen that he had found ‘the’ clue to the treasure’s whereabouts, and the drunker he got, the more outlandish the story.

A number of people who were visiting the town because suspects simply because they were out of towners, and subsequently cleared in the ensuing investigation.  What had turned up was the fact he owed a great deal of one to loan sharks, and one in particular, who was in town to collect on a prior loan for a fruitless search, and who was a prime suspect.

In the end, the price of his freedom was to forgo the collection of the debt.

Yet another was unmasked as a fellow treasure hunter with a dubious past, having been jailed for earlier transgressions of stealing other’s finds, but he claimed he was not a legitimate treasure hunter, and that he was in town at the request of Benderby, to oversee the dredging of a part of the bay for more coins.  It had been a fruitless endeavor.

But despite his assertions, no one really believed Boggs’s father’s claims and had dismissed it as the usual ravings that had become his mantra for many years.  Only his son believed him.

Boggs himself had made the newspaper, a photo of him by the grave where his father’s spirit rather than body had been buried, vowing to prove his father right.

What added to the legend was the disappearance and apparent death of Ormiston not long after.  The story of his search for the treasure was long and fruitless, one of dissipating the family fortune in search of another.

His disappearance was attributed to the fact he had become erratic and forgetful, the town doctor at the time telling the coroner’s inquest that he had early onset dementia and was prone to wandering off.  This time it had been his downfall.

A search had been mounted and all the cave systems were checked, known to be the places he frequented the most, and when a new rockslide was discovered in one of the caves, it was assumed he had ventured too far and been trapped.  Several attempts were made to clear the way, but the fall had been far too extensive and had to be abandoned.

Every few years the paper revisited Boggs’s disappearance, but there was no new information, and after ten years nothing more was written.  It seemed that Lenny had a continued interest in the Treasure hunt because he had filed a number of newspaper reports, making it easy for me to get the gist of the story.

Then, several months ago, he had written a new story, a small piece that I had missed, reporting on Boggs’s discovery of a new map of the coastline, one that suggested that the site of the ill-fated mall was, in fact, an entrance to the cave system where the treasure may have been placed.  It referenced a survey that had been made before the second world war, one that hinted that the cave system was much larger than originally thought, and quite likely went all the way to the mountains, the origin of an ancient underground river.

The fact the mall site had been the victim of flooding made that seemed to make that assumption plausible, but apparently, no one else had seen that particular map, and Boggs had not been forthcoming in sharing it with the reporter.

But aside from those few paragraphs nothing more was said.

It explained what Boggs was doing when we went to the mall site.

All of that was condensed into a page of notes in my notepad, where it would have to stay for a day or so because I had to go home, change and go to work.

Perhaps tomorrow I would get to talk to Boggs about it.

As luck would have it, I ran into Boggs just up the street where he was coming out of the hardware store with a skein of rope slung over his shoulder.

“Just the person I’m looking for,” I said.

His look told me that I was the last person he wanted to see.

“I’m busy, Sam.  Can we do this another time?”

“Planning a lynching?”  My eyes went from him to the rope, and back.

“Climbing.  I’m going away for a few days, get away from everything, and do something other than think about treasure.”

“Probably a good idea.  I’m sorry I haven’t been much of help lately, with work and stuff.”

“How’s Nadia?”

It was a pointed question, and I knew he had seen me with her.  I had thought it might be Alex.

“Being Nadia, leopards don’t change their spots, and I’m trying to keep the enemies close so I can track what they’re up to.”

“There’s close and then there’s too close, Sam.”

“True, but it’s not what you think.”

“I don’t know what to think anymore.  Let’s just leave it at that, and I’ll call you when I get back.”

I knew the tone, and I could smell a burnt bridge.  Maybe it was time to give him some space, and I could get on with a bit of research and bring it to him when he was in a more receptive frame of mind. 

“As you wish.  Be careful out there.”

…

© Charles Heath 2020-2022

Inspiration, Maybe – Volume Two

…

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 on her for the last three months, and if noticed it, the late nights, the moodiness, and 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 like 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 was 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, which 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, 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.  In the beginning, it’s a slow easy ride, followed by a slow climb to the top.  It’s much like some relationships, they start out easy, but 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 the new job, the last thing she want was a reminder of what she left behind.  New friends new life.

We packed her bags, threw out everything she didn’t want, a few trips to the op shop with stuff 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 were a dozen other plane spotters, a rather motley crew of plane enthusiasts.

Already that morning there’s been 6 different types of planes departing, 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 to 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.

Perhaps it was.

© Charles Heath 2020-2023

Coming soon.  

The A to Z Challenge – 2023 — V is for Vexatious

…

On a night that most attendees would hope simply pass by without any fanfare, there proved to be more than just the usual rubbing shoulders and an opportunity to reacquaint themselves with the other movers and shakers in Marin County.

Yes, this year, there was a new theme, one that harled back to the mid-nineteenth century when the Gentry held balls, and there was dancing.

There was also a slight break in tradition when not all attendees were from the same social set, and finally, after many years of lobbying, certain residents of Cedar Falls were invited, one of who was our own, and rather well-known, William Benjamin Oldacre.

The Oldacres have been living in and around Cedar Falls for as long as anyone can remember, in fact, since 1807, nearly 19 years before the first vestiges of a town appeared.  They were here long before the Reinharts, they have a school named after one, a street, the public library, and several buildings.

And, yet, no one received an invitation to the ball, or any of the fundraisers, until now.

Be this as it may, I mention this for only one reason, it brought about a change to proceedings, and the dancing and this reporter will bear witness to what was an excellent rendition of the Viennese Waltz in the first instance, led out by none other than William Oldacre, and the second daughter of James Edward Rothstein, Emily Rothstein.

Such was their flair and artistry one could almost assume they were an item.  Watch this space if there are further developments.

The article went on the tell everyone how much was raised and where it was going, though tongue in cheek I got the impression it was not where most wanted it to be directed.

It wasn’t quite the hatchet job I was expecting, but it was an interesting touch to highlight the longevity and renown of the Oldacres in the area versus the new kid with all the money.

Our family just wasn’t good at taking over or making buckets of money.

I know Dad left the paper on the bench open at the page, and I could see his expression, when he read it, one of mock indignation.  He preferred that no one remembered the Oldacres’ part in the town development.  It wasn’t quite what everyone imagined it to be.

Darcy appeared, still in pyjamas and; looking sleepy.  Her life had changed since the ball, a girl now in ‘demand’ as she put it.  It was a notoriety she didn’t need.

“You’ve seen the assassination?”

“How do you know what’s in it?”

“Taylor rang and told me.  You got a mention, liked infamously to the one and only Emily.  That cat is well and truly out of the bag now.”

“We danced, that’s all it said.”

“Maybe but what it really says, between the lines, is that you two are an item.”

“It said ‘one could almost assume’.”

She shook her head.  “Semantics, again, Will.  We know differently, don’t we?”

I was off to the library to do some research on the Oldacre family, fired up again after reading Angela’s piece, just in case a rebuttal was needed.

I made it to the street when a very familiar limousine stopped, and Genevieve got out.

“Mr Oldacre.”

“Please, that’s my father, I think we knew each other well enough to use first names.”

“William.”

“Genevieve.  What do I owe this honour?”

“Miss Emily would like to see you?”

“Would she now.  Well, as it happens I’m off to the library.  I might not be, if she had called and told me, but she didn’t, and I’m not going to drop everyone when she summons me.  This is me telling you to tell her there is a way to do things properly.”

I thought she would get annoyed, certainly, her expression changed from bright and sunny to somewhat clouded.

“My thought exactly, and I did tell her, equally as politely.”

“I’m sure you did.  Now, I’m going to start walking in the direction of the bus stop.  If you choose to tell her my sentiments, that’s fine, otherwise I’m sorry you were sent out on a fool’s errand.”

She smiled.  “I’d rather be here than there.”

I could understand that sentiment.  She got back in the car, but it did not drive off.  She was calling Miss Emily.

I made it to the bus stop before my cell phone rang.

“William?”

“Emily.”

“Genevieve says you’re being petulant.”

“No, Genevieve did not say I was being petulant.  If you are going to paraphrase what people say to you incorrectly, Emily, I will hang up.”

Silence for a few seconds, then, “You’re going to be a pain in the ass, aren’t you?”

“No. I’m being me, and if you want to talk to me, call, we’ll arrange to meet, and then we’ll talk.  You do not summon me by sending a car and an assistant.  It’s a waste of resources and manpower.”

“I want to see you now.”

“Then you have to call and then we meet.  If you’d called last night, we would be meeting now, if you get out of bed before seven.”

“I didn’t know last night.  I just read the paper.  She’s not very nice.”

“I thought we dodged a bullet.”

“We’ve become an item?”

“Assumed to be an item.  There’s a big difference.  People ask, you simply say it’s a work in progress.”

“What does that mean?”

“Exactly.  Now if you want to meet this morning, then call me in an hour and I’ll tell you where and when.”

“This is not going to work.”

“That’s your call, Emily, not mine.  I know you can be the girl I know and love, you just have to realize who that girl is.  My bus is here.  We’ll speak later.”

An hour and a half later we were sitting in a booth at the café near the library.  It was one of my favourite haunts, it had a jukebox and all the old 50s and 60s hits.  I had offered to buy it when the current owners decided to retire or sell.

It was playing ‘Irresistible You’ by Bobby Darin when Emily came in.

She smiled as she sat down.  “Did you play that for me?”

“No, someone else put it on, but it is appropriate.”

“God, you are going to drive me nuts.”

“Isn’t that your job, to drive me nuts?”

She shook her head.  “You made me think before nine William.  Not happy.”

“Then you’d better get used to it.  I don’t like wasting the day.”

I could see a retort forming in her eyes, and then she parked it at the back of her mind.  I suspect I had an inkling as to what it was, she was going to say, and certainly what she was thinking.  The same thought passed through mine, and it surprised me.

“Now,” I said, “What do you want to talk about?”

“The article in the paper.  It was a bit nasty.”

“Semantics, Emily.  Down among the common people, it is viewed as an elitist affair.  I don’t agree about the stuff on the Oldacres.  We may have been here since God created the earth, but we did nothing of note.  If we had, the place would be called Oldacre Falls, not Cedar Falls.  It’s just Amanda venting.”

“I thought journalists were supposed to report “the news, not comment on it.”

“You live in a different world.

“Daddy owns the company that owns the paper.  He says the news is what he says it is.”

That was just a little scary.  “You have heard the expression, don’t shoot the messenger, haven’t you?”

“She doesn’t like me.”

“And why is that, Emily?”

Dorothy, my usual waitress, came over with the coffee pot to give me a refill.  Most mornings I usually stayed for three.  This morning, I was considering adding some bourbon.

She looked at Emily with something akin to surprise.  This café was hardly a place the Rothstein’s frequented.  “Coffee, Emily?”  She was not going to call her Miss Rothstein.

“Yes, thank you.”

Emily, on her best behaviour.  Or perhaps because she was not with her friends.  They had something of a reputation when visiting local stores.

Dorothy collected a cup and saucer and brought it over, then filled it.

Dorothy looked at me.  “I read the paper.”

“Don’t believe everything you read.”

Emily frowned at me. 

“I’m still waiting for my invitation,” Dorothy said, a smile forming.

We always said that the world would stop spinning on its axis if one or other of us got invited.  Exactly the opposite had happened to me that night, the earth moved.  I was not going to tell Dorothy that.

“Perhaps,” Emily said, “we should make the next more town centric.”

Dorothy looked puzzled so I translated, “Ask more of the town’s folk along.  It’s a good idea.”

“Good idea.”  Dorothy had to go; another customer was after more coffee.

I looked at Emily.  “I have a great idea.  It’ll kill two birds with one stone.  If you are thinking of joining your father’s company, perhaps you should ask him if you could work in the charity functions area, as an organiser.  Even better, since the company doesn’t specifically have a department to handle that, tell him to create a foundation, and ask him if you can be in charge.   That would be a real job, and I know you can organise.”

“You mean work in an actual role?”

“It might actually work in your favour, showing Amanda you’re not the person she thinks you are, and if you impress her… What were you planning to do after Uni?”

“Go away with friends, like a graduation thing.  Surely, you’re going away, like, to celebrate freedom after all that school stuff.”

“Some of us have to earn a living, we don’t all have rich fathers.”

“You could come with me.”

“With your current friends, Emily?  You are so much better than they are.  You just need purpose, and with them, it’s about being entitled and delinquent because they can.  I know you’re better than that, and I think you do too.”

“I think my head hurts talking to you,” Emily said, standing.  “I’ve known them all for a long time, William, and we have plans.”

“And I don’t expect you to change them on my account.  Just think about it.  If you want to be seen differently, and with respect, then you’re the one who has to make it happen.”

“Whatever!”

There was the Emily of old.

I watched her leave, as did Dorothy, who came back after she left.

“The course of true love…”

“Never quite works out when there’s a huge chasm between the social strata.  I believe she can change; I just think at the moment she doesn’t believe in herself.”

Perhaps she saw my wistful look as I watched her cross the road.

“At least it was one tick in a box, the Viennese Waltz.  The lessons paid off?”

“They did.  It was like dancing on air, she is that good.”

“Perhaps it’s more than that, Will, she had the right partner.  Don’t give up on her.”

I shrugged.  She was the most vexing girl I’d ever known.

…

©  Charles Heath  2023

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.

Get it here:  https://amzn.to/2CYKxu4

newechocover5rs