What happens when your past finally catches up with you?
…
Christmas is just around the corner, a time to be with family. For Will Mason, an orphan since he was fourteen, it is a time for reflection on what his life could have been, and what it could be.
Until a chance encounter brings back to life the reasons for his twenty years of self-imposed exile from a life only normal people could have. From that moment Will’s life slowly starts to unravel and it’s obvious to him it’s time to move on.
This time, however, there is more at stake.
Will has broken his number one rule, don’t get involved.
With his nemesis, Eddie Jamieson, suddenly within reach, and a blossoming relationship with an office colleague, Maria, about to change everything, Will has to make a choice. Quietly leave, or finally, make a stand.
But as Will soon discovers, when other people are involved there is going to be terrible consequences no matter what choice he makes.
I’m back home and this story has been sitting on the back burner for a few months, waiting for some more to be written.
The trouble is, there are also other stories to write, and I’m not very good at prioritizing.
But, here we are, a few minutes opened up and it didn’t take long to get back into the groove.
Chasing leads, maybe
“Silly question, what were you doing in the hotel with this ‘operative’?”
Yes, it sounded odd the moment I said it, and, if it was the other way around, I’d be thinking the same.
“We joined forces, thinking we were in danger, at the time, not knowing that she was working with Dobbin. I discovered that later, by chance. She doesn’t know I know.”
“And she’ll be waiting at the hotel?”
“Dobbin wants the USB. She believes we’re collaborating, after telling me she works for MI5, on a different mission involving O’Connell. She had apparently been undercover as a fellow resident at the block where O’Connell had a flat, and a cat. The cat, of course, had no idea his owner was a secret agent. The flat was sparsely furnished and didn’t look lived in, so it may have been a safe house.”
“Wheels within wheels.”
“That’s the nature of the job. Lies, lies, and more lies, nothing is as it seems, and trust no one.”
“Including you?”
“Including me, but keep an open mind, and try not to shoot me. I’m as all at sea as you are. And, just to be clear, I’m not sure I believe Quigley that the information is lost. People like him, and especially his contact, if he was a journalist, tend to have two copies, just in case. And the explosion might have killed the messenger, but not the information. Lesson number one, anything is possible, nothing is impossible, and the truth, it really is stranger than fiction.”
“Great.”
A half-hour later I’d parked the car in a parking lot near Charing Cross station. The plan, if it could be called that, was for me to go back to the room, and for Jennifer to remain in the foyer, and wait. If anything went wrong she was to leave and wait for a call. For all intents and purposes, no one knew of her, except perhaps for Severin and Maury, but I wasn’t expecting them to be lurking in the hotel foyer, waiting for me.
As for Dobbin, that was a different story. It would depend on how impatient he was in getting information on the whereabouts of the USB, and whether he trusted Jan to find out.
I’d soon find out.
The elevator had three others in it, all of who had disembarked floors below mine. As the last stepped out and the doors closed, it allayed fears of being attacked before I reached the room.
As the doors closed behind me, the silence of the hallway was working on my nerves, until a few steps towards my room I could hear the hissing of an air conditioning intake, and suddenly the starting up of a vacuum cleaner back in the direction I’d just come.
A cleaner or….
Remember the training for going into confined spaces…
The room was at the end of the passage, a corner room, with two exits after exiting the front door. I thought about knocking, but, it was my room too, so I used the key and went in.
Lying tied up on the bed was a very dead Maury, three shots to the heart.
And, over the sound of my heart beating very loudly, I could hear the sound of people out in the corridor, followed by pounding on the door.
Then, “Police.”
A second or two after that the door crashed open and six men came into the room, brandishing weapons and shouting for me to get on the floor and show my hands or I would be shot,”
“Sunday in New York” is ultimately a story about trust, and what happens when a marriage is stretched to its limits.
When Harry Steele attends a lunch with his manager, Barclay, to discuss a promotion that any junior executive would accept in a heartbeat, it is the fact his wife, Alison, who previously professed her reservations about Barclay, also agreed to attend, that casts a small element of doubt in his mind.
From that moment, his life, in the company, in deciding what to do, his marriage, his very life, spirals out of control.
There is no one big factor that can prove Harry’s worst fears, that his marriage is over, just a number of small, interconnecting events, when piled on top of each other, points to a cataclysmic end to everything he had believed in.
Trust is lost firstly in his best friend and mentor, Andy, who only hints of impending disaster, Sasha, a woman whom he saved, and who appears to have motives of her own, and then in his wife, Alison, as he discovered piece by piece damning evidence she is about to leave him for another man.
Can we trust what we see with our eyes or trust what we hear?
Haven’t we all jumped to conclusions at least once in our lives?
Can Alison, a woman whose self-belief and confidence is about to be put to the ultimate test, find a way of proving their relationship is as strong as it has ever been?
Oncoming headlights, a bright light flashed in our eyes or walking into a dark room and a halogen light suddenly snaps on.
You’re still seeing red flashes for hours afterwards.
Literally, blind means you’re not able to see anything, i.e. you are visually impaired. That’s the first meaning of the word people will think of.
But…
It’s another of those words with a few other meanings, such as,
A blind is a window covering; usually it goes up and down, and some you can see through slats. Very good for nosey parkers, and subplots in stories.
Being blind to the truth means that you refuse to accept it for specific reasons, generally brought on by a belief or a prejudice
It can be a hidden enclosure from which to observe or shoot animals
And for the more interesting uses
Blind drunk, I think a lot of people have been there
Flying blind, pilots do it at night, but some of us have figuratively done it a few times, but not in a plane
And lastly, a blind tasting, where you’re not sure what you’re going to get, but usually it’s for a wine tasting, to see if you can tell what’s good and what’s swill.
Sadly I can never tell the difference, which is why I usually stick to beer.
It could be said that of all the women one could meet, whether contrived or by sheer luck, what are the odds it would turn out to be the woman who was being paid a very large sum to kill you.
John Pennington is a man who may be lucky in business, but not so lucky in love. He has just broken up with Phillipa Sternhaven, the woman he thought was the one, but relatives and circumstances, and perhaps because she was a ‘princess’, may also have contributed to the end result.
So, what do you do when you are heartbroken?
That is a story that slowly unfolds, from the first meeting with his nemesis on Lake Geneva, all the way to a hotel room in Sorrento, where he learns the shattering truth.
What should have been a high turns out to be something else entirely, and from that point every thing goes to hell in a handbasket.
He suddenly realises his so-called friend Sebastian has not exactly told him the truth about a small job he asked him to do, the woman he is falling in love with is not quite who she says she is, and he is caught in the middle of a war between two men who consider people becoming collateral damage as part of their business.
The story paints the characters cleverly displaying all their flaws and weaknesses. The locations add to the story at times taking me back down memory lane, especially to Venice where in those back streets I confess it’s not all that hard to get lost.
All in all a thoroughly entertaining story with, for once, a satisfying end.
Henry writes a letter and sends it. He’s disappointed when after a week there is no reply. He resigns himself to the thought he might never see her again.
Michelle gets a message concerning a person from her past, one who was helpful even when she was at her worst. But, it could be a trap because one of the people she was hiding from knew of his association with her.
Then a real letter arrives, one from Henry, but it is not fully of his undying love for her, removing him from the status of the knight in shining armour. What was she expecting, and then remembered she had told him expectation ruined everything.
This was her reality, not what it had been with him. She was hiding, she was alone, and she was afraid. All the time.
She writes back, reassuring him, and admonishing his writing skill.
He in turn tries harder to improve, and then advises her it might be possible to meet again giving her a date and time.
Plans are made and plans are dashed, and more plans are made, and there springs a possibility.
I’ve been on roller coasters, and they actually scare the hell out of me. It might have something to do with watching the news and hearing about a breakdown. High up and usually hanging on for dear life upside down.
My fear is it’s going to come off the rails, or that I’ll lose my grip!
A bit like my life really.
I’m in an abyss and free falling. The first thousand yards is exhilarating. I’m not sure if everyone has done skydiving, but it’s like that time before you pull the ripcord.
Absolute adrenaline rush.
Followed by a single thought. Will the parachute open? I’ve seen too many TV shows where ripcords don’t work, and strangely I have actually seen a skydiver whose parachute didn’t open, and it’s one of those moments when your heart is literally in your mouth.
Ok, I get it, if you don’t like the heat in the kitchen …
But, it’s hard to get that thought, that the metaphorical parachute won’t open, and I’m at a point where I’m starting to think about the landing.
You dash headlong into a job, thinking yep, you’ve got it covered, but, what if you haven’t. What if there are variables you never thought of, what if the people around you, so happy to cheer you on at the start, are now starting to change their tune.
It’s like jumping into an abyss; starting a new job, or the first day after a promotion, your choice of vocation, the sort of lifestyle you want to have, whether you are following a dream that could quite easily become a nightmare, it seems there’s very little difference conceptually.
I think about writing, and it’s an individual thing.
Are we writing for ourselves first, or are we writing simply to make money? If it’s the latter, it ain’t going to work, at least not until you’re established. If ever.
But, here’s the thing. It’s where I feel the most comfortable.
It cost me a relationship and my dream job, and it still hurt.
The thing is, in a situation where, if I could have thought outside the box, it would have saved lives, particularly Sharon’s, the woman I was supposed to marry three days after the event that ended her life.
And, it was my fault. I accepted responsibility, lost my job, and rightly or wrongly, spent five years of my life in jail, perhaps not the worst thing to happen to me.
What was worse was the knowledge I could have prevented it, and saved her life and five others. That was harder, almost impossible to live with. I had never imagined what it would be like without her, because I never imagined I’d fail.
Now I could not imagine what it would be like on the outside, back in the world again, with nothing.
“So Ken, ready to take that giant step for mankind?”
Louie, one of several prison guards I’d got to know over the time I’d been incarcerated, had already delivered my stuff after breakfast after I’d said my goodbyes, and had come back to take on that last journey to the front gate
“You do realise that a high percentage of inmates re-offend within a month or two. It’s a hard world out there, full of hate and distrust. Easier just to re-offend and come back to safety.”
“I don’t intend to come back.” There were 9 other reasons why I didn’t want to return, and one big one. Lodge. He only had one name, and he didn’t need another. Survival in those first few months had been my primary concern, and he tried to make it his.
I’d been expecting a visit at breakfast, to let me know it was not safe on the outside, and that I would get my just desserts. People like Lodge did not like to lose, and he had simmered for years. Luckily he would never see the outside again.
He didn’t arrive, perhaps because they locked him up but he’d made the threat before.
“They all say that, but we’ll see. Let’s go “
Some say the air is different on the outside, but it wasn’t. The jail complex was in the middle of a large open space, miles from anywhere. It was there so even if someone escaped they would have to traverse at least a mile in the wide-open surroundings.
No one had escaped. Ever.
Outside the gate was a visitor parking area, much larger than needed, and the sun beating down on the concrete made it at least 10 degrees hotter
Louie opened the gate and waved his hand, the invitation to leave the confines of the jail. He was right. Despite Lodge, it had become a safe haven, and I wasn’t looking forward to going home.
There were too many memories there, so I’d planned to go somewhere where no one knew who I was. I just wanted to become invisible.
“Are you expecting anyone?” He asked.
“There is no one who would want to see me. They’re all probably still angry I only got five years.”
“Like I said, it’s an ugly world out there. There’s a bus in about ten minutes. Goes to the nearest town. From there you can go anywhere. Have a nice life, Jack.”
“You too Louie “
The 50-yard walk to the bus stop was like trudging through head-high water, and by the time I got to the stop I was sweating profusely.
Five minutes, I saw a lone car coming along the road and then turning off the road to come to the jail. A visitor. There weren’t very many of those people in this jail. I didn’t get one the whole time I was there. My family, mother, father, brother, and sister had effectively disowned me. They hadn’t even bothered to come to the trial.
It was not unexpected. They had disapproved of my choice of Sharon and were not coming to the wedding. I know she was disappointed.
The car slowed and turned into the car park then slowly made its way to the bus stop. Was someone else being released today?
It stopped just past the bus’s designated spot and a driver just sat there. A woman, perhaps the wife or girlfriend of one of the inmates.
Five minutes, then she got out. She started walking towards me, with a familiar shape and gait. It couldn’t be Sharon, but Sharon said she had a sister who’d moved away, who hated her family, and who had been all but exorcised from their collective memory.
Perhaps the fact she worked for the FBI might have had something to do with it because my father had told me Sharon’s family were nothing more than a bunch of petty criminals, and that I should have known better, as fellow law enforcement myself. Perhaps I should have told him that love makes us blind. The real answer, I didn’t care.
Perhaps I should have.
“Jack Orville?”
I stood. “Yes.”
“I’m Louise Ranchess, Sharon’s sister, the one they never speak of. I’ve been investigating your case.”
“Not much use, unless your family wants me to spend the rest of my life in that place behind me. Is that why you’re here?””My family were murdered about a year after you were incarcerated. Some might say it was just desserts, but none should die like that. Your case and theirs are linked, and I’ve been waiting for your release. I think you were set up. Sharon called me the night she died, said she had something for me, and that her life was in danger. I ignored that call.”
“I simply made a wrong call. And I doubt Sharon was doing anything other than messing with you. She said she loved winding you up. There’s no conspiracy here. I’m sorry for the loss of your family.”
“You were law enforcement.”
“A small county deputy, at the bottom of the ladder. Traffic violations, and petty crimes.”
“Didn’t you realize the Sherriff was corrupt?”
“He was popular. People bought him stuff, and treated him nicely because he kept them safe.”
She snorted. “Paid handsomely to look the other way. He was responsible for your debacle. He had you put on the case, no doubt saying it was your first big case on the road to bigger and better things. It should have been handled by his specialist officer, not an inexperienced rookie.”
I remembered that speech, tied to the fact I was about to be married, and the job was the stepping stone to providing my bride with everything she deserved. He knew where he was sending me and whom it involved, knowing my thinking would be compromised by my feelings. I also remembered him saying at the review afterwards he had no idea she would be at the crime scene, and by the time he realised it and arranged for another officer to take over it was too late. It was an outcome he wanted because by them I had growing suspicions of his corruption and had followed him on several occasions only to find him secretly meeting members of rival crime families. I thought he was trying to solve their differences, but it was more likely he was taking bribes to inform each of them to the other. How else could he afford a ski lodge at Aspen?
“He wanted you out of the way Jack. Long enough to finish what he started and retire as a very rich man. I didn’t like my family nor did I like Sharon very much, but they were my family and they died horribly. I can’t help them now, but you were wrongly jailed and I can do something about that. I just need your help.”
“I’m an ex-con and you’re FBI aren’t you?”
She nodded. “But treated with kid gloves because of my family. After 10 years I’m still trying to prove to them I can be trusted. I just need to break one big case.”
In the distance, I could see the bus coming. Do I take it and get on with the rest of my life, ir do I accept the offer of getting justice for being wronged, ironically getting help from Sharon’s sister? Had someone suggested this as a possible outcome of five years in jail I would have laughed at them.
Even now it seemed unbelievable. No one had cared five years ago, all everyone wanted was a rapid conviction. I had considered the Sheriff was the only one who would benefit the most from my jailing, but was too lost in grief to do anything about it, and as time passed I didn’t let it eat me up.
No point. Even now it would be just a case of his word against mine, and who would listen to an ex-con. I doubted having Louise on my side would carry much sway, given her family connection. It would just be viewed as revenge.
“My help would not be a help.”
“You want him to get away with it?”
“You know how it works. Ex-con versus respected law officer. And your boss will look at the family connection, and come to the same conclusion.”
“Not if we get solid evidence.”
“And how do we do that?”
“He’s sitting in a special room waiting to tell us, right now. I just need you to ask the right questions.”
I turned and looked at the jail behind me, and then at the bus turning off the main road. This was a recipe for disaster. I could tell from the heightened state of her manner and the octave-higher voice that there was more to this story. Something was not right.
The bus was turning into the carpark. The jail was beckoning, and would no doubt be happy to swallow me back into the fold and prove Louie right. I knew instinctively if I got in that car with her, it would be the ticket that would put me back inside.
“You have about 30 seconds to tell me the truth.”
She looked me up and down, trying to decide if I could be trusted. Considering where we were standing, it wasn’t hard.
“He’s tied up, literally. The bastard knows everything, and we can get it. Believe me, with or without you, he’s going to tell me everything.”
I didn’t doubt the sincerity of that statement, whether or not I believed she was unhinged or not. Perhaps I would be the voice of reason because right now this woman was off the reservation.
Another look at the prison, then the bus, almost upon us, then, decision made. “Let’s go. Tell me what this is about on the way.”
For better or worse I’d made my bed. I just hope I wouldn’t live to regret it.
What I found was the moon out in the late afternoon, a phenomenon that might happen on a regular basis, but this one of the few times I’ve seen it.
And it reminds me of something I was told a long time ago. Shoot for the moon. I never quite understood what the person meant, not until a long time later when I realised that I was being told nothing was impossible.
Had I ever achieved the impossible?
The thing is, each of us define what is possible and what is impossible ourselves, and is therefore different for every person. If you tell yourself it is impossible, then it requires a mind shift to get past that barrier.
But, the question still remains the same, did I achieve the impossible?
I never thought I’d write a book, or have it published. Some would say I still haven’t achieved that goal because I self published it on Amazon.
I think I achieved what I set out to do.
I never thought I’d get a university degree, but people had faith in me, and yes, I got it in the end.
I never thought, when I was younger, I would be a father, and sometimes I wonder whether it was worth it, but having grandchildren dispelled any perceived disappointment.
And what is on the impossible list now?
Not a lot. At my age, I don’t think it’s possible I will travel to the moon, nor afford to skirt the edge of space, as much as it would be amazing to look back at the planet.
I don’t think I’ll ever become a CEO, but then I don’t want to. Too much responsibility.
What’s left that is achievable?
Tracing my family history, and going back to where my ancestors came from, and, hopefully finding someone who was ‘famous’.
And, getting out of the elevator, this time no erratic behaviour but still not filling me with confidence, I step onto the bridge.
The forward screen has changed.
It seems we are going to Neptune via the moon, or we were going to be passing by on our way to someplace else.
The Captain was on the bridge, obviously coming out of his day room on the news that the Chief Engineer had fixed everything.
“Ah, number one, we’ve hung around here long enough.”
He walked back to his chair and sat.
I decided to remain behind the navigator. I could see that the co-ordinates to our destination had been entered and it was Neptune, so the moon was not going to be a stop off.
The Chief engineer’s voice came over the speaker. “Ready when you are, Captain.”
I forgot, for a moment, that the Chief and the Captain had served before, and someone had mentioned the fact the captain had asked for him to be assigned to this ship.
“Mr Jacobs, take us out, slowly, and try not to bump into anything this time.”
Mr Jacobs was the second officer.
In a rather sheepish tone, Mr Jacobs said, “Taking the ship out carefully, sir.”
It was hard to tell if the ship was moving, but the tell tale sign was the movement of the objects on screen. And the fact I could see through the side windows as we moved forwards, leaving the dock superstructure behind.
Also, on the screen I could see the movements of other vessels, several freighters waiting to leave, and one coming in, but standing off until we departed.
Then, suddenly, we were in clear space.
Jacobs turned to the captain, expecting the next order.
“Let’s take it easy. Level one, when you’re ready.”
Jacobs was ready, even eager to get this ship under way. It had performed faultlessly in trials, now we were going to put it through it’s paces.
“Level one, as you wish.”
He pushed the button, there was a moment when nothing happened, then with just the slightest movement inside the bridge, we were under way.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 