Month: April 2024

A to Z Blog Challenge – April 2024 – P is for Park Rendezvous

…

I was trying to look like I was not doing what I was doing, and that sometimes was quite difficult.

The thing is, you know what it is you’re doing, and neutrally, you think that everyone else does too.

Especially when people are looking at you, and that look conveys ‘I know what you’re up to’.

All I was doing was sitting on a park bench under a tree next to a small waterfall reading a newspaper.

That was the first giveaway.  No one stopped to read newspapers these days.  It was always about instant news gratification on the cell phone.

The second might well have been me holding the newspaper upside down, or worse, that I had cut two small holes in it so I could see beyond the newspaper without lowering it, much like the cartoons of old.

The third definitely was, that if anyone got close enough, they would see it was yesterday’s paper.  I had been running late and grabbed the wrong edition.

So, why was I sitting on a park bench under a tree beside a small waterfall, trying to look like I was not doing exactly that?

I was expecting company.

It didn’t matter who was sitting on that bench, just that they wore a pinstripe suit and a red rose in the lapel.  The bowler hat and umbrella were optional, but I was feeling whimsical.

After all, in a sense, I was a typical English public servant.

Jacobson, ostensibly the man in charge of a group if us aspiring ‘public servants’ had chosen me to run this errand.  I don’t know why. It was not my turn on the roster, and the person who should be going had been sent elsewhere.

It was unexpected and a much-needed change in what had been a very dull week.

I was five minutes early.  I had taken in the early summer afternoon sunshine, clear sky, and aromas of the outdoor gardens.  There was that freshly watered newly mown grass aroma that hung in the air.

There were quite a few other people also out for the afternoon, some strolling hand in hand, others as families with boisterous noisy children.  There was plenty of distraction and camouflage.

I folded the newspaper neatly, put it on the seat beside me, and sat back, looking towards the lake and thinking I might take a walk down and back before returning to the office.

It’s best not to look like I was scuttling back to the office after making the pickup because that was what it was.  A drop-off and pick-up in plain sight, my first and hopefully not my last.

I looked at my phone, ostensibly to check for incoming messages, but in reality, looking at the time.

One minute past the appointed arrival time.

I gave the scene before me a scan trying to look like I was not scanning the scene before me.  That was difficult.

There were three possible threats that fitted the profile of a possible threat, and I was hoping they were not.

The first, is a man on another park bench under a tree, not beside a small waterfall, reading a newspaper.  It was too far away to tell if it was an older edition.  He was glancing in my direction, able to see me without lowering his paper.

The second was a woman with a pram; standing in front, stopped and ostensibly attending to the child within, if there was a child within.  She had only arrived a minute before the appointed time.

The third was another man on another park bench not reading a paper by rather animatedly talking on his cell phone, at the same time looking in my direction.  Was he on the phone reporting, or was he talking to a friend?

Scan ended, and the target, a woman dressed to be noticed, was strolling towards me along the path in a group of about a dozen others evenly spaced, looking like there’ll were together but they were not together.

So much for anonymity.

The first man noticed the new arrival and was on alert. It could be that she stood out, the sort of woman men would give a second look.  She certainly had my attention.

This was getting to be thirsty work, and I took a drink out of the bottle of water I had brought with me.

The woman with the pram had noticed the first man on his bench stiffen and stopped fussing with the child, and started rocking horse the pram, looking at both him then me, then up and down the path, then repeat.  Was that a look of jealousy after she was the approaching woman?

Was she waiting and looking for my target, or was she waiting for a friend or partner?  She was moving towards me slowly.

The third man’s phone call ended when a woman came and sat next to him and greeted him effusively.  Distraction.

The woman with the pram was suddenly met by another woman, older, most likely a mother carrying a large fluffy toy.  Another Distraction.

First man, no longer on his seat, no longer in sight, where the hell was he?  Damn.

Target arrives, and sits, there’s not supposed to be any interaction, but the first man just hovers into sight and is now looking directly at us.

“Long time no see,” the girl said and slid over towards me, put her arms around my neck, and kissed me.  It was a fluid movement from sitting, sliding, and gathering me up in her web of deceit.

I kissed her back. I was happy to play the part asked of me.

Then she leaned back and smiled.  It was like we had known each other forever.  “My God, you have changed, Daniel, and I have to say I love it.”

She had all but taken my breath away, but not so much that the man who had been watching had moved on, assuming as anyone would that two old friends had just reunited.

All I could say was, “Wow.”

She took my hand in hers and said, “Walk with me.”

She didn’t need to ask twice.  Once up, she didn’t let go.  It was a smooth and fluid operation, and it felt natural and not forced.  I had to remind myself that j was playing a role, it was an operation, and that we were improvising.

Over my shoulder, I could see the first man had stopped a short distance away, now intrigued, perhaps to see how this played out.  If he was expecting a drop, he was not expecting two old lovers to reunite.

I leaned towards her, whispering, “Over my shoulder red handkerchief.”

“Saw him on approach.  Amateur.”  Then out loud, ” You got that dull as ditchwater desk job, where was it, treasury or no let me guess, revenue and customs?”

“That was the old me, you know, the one you said you wouldn’t be caught dead with.  No, I’m in a far more interesting home, science innovation, and technology.”

“You failed science at school, come to think of it you all but failed everything except how to wear that old-school tie.  My, and you thought you’d end up on a fishing trawler cleaning the bilges.”

“And therefore totally qualified to work for the government in something I know absolutely nothing about.  Did you get that modelling contact?”

“And a screen test.  I was going to be in the movies until I realised what the screen test entailed.  Now I just model clothes.”

The banter, the manner in which we were walking, the carefree air of two people who had nothing better to do, we were heading for the nearest cafe.  Coffee, cake, more outlandish conversation, the drop would be made, my life would have fifteen minutes of what I’d always wanted but would never get, and the job would be done.

Our new friend was already losing interest.

When I finally returned to the office, I tried to act like nothing happened and completely failed.  The thing is, I was supposed to be able to handle any situation, act in any role it took to get the job done, then go home and come back the next day ready for the next role.

What happened before happened and was forgotten.  Our lives were quite literally clean slates every morning.  There was no time to dwell on what happened or what might happen.

Except…

“You’re not the first,” Lenny, another of the team, said.  “The fact is, we all want to spend a few minutes with her.  I’m told her name is Harriet. They call her Harry for short.

Jay, listening to the conversation, said, “Larry’s furious because he had been slated for this operation, and has now missed out.  “He’s been assigned to work with her before.”

That might be the reason why he was passed over.  She might not want to work with him again.  I remembered him from training, and he particularly was prone not to follow orders or ‘ad lib’.

“Perhaps she wanted someone new, who knows how this works.  No one understands what it is we’re really doing that involved her,” Larry muttered, “but the scuttlebutt is that we’re still being tested.  How did it go?”

“Mission accomplished, potential threats taken care of, and I’ve been debriefed.  I’m sure if there was anything wrong, they’ll tell me.”

Sixteen of us had gotten through the first round of training, out of an intake of about a hundred.  That had been whittled down to six, and I was not sure if I was pleased or sad that my tenure would be determined by a situation, I had no control over.

The more I thought about it, the more I realised that whatever they’d been giving us to do, we were still being tested; only these were far more life-like than training.  The question was if I ended up being in the final few, whether or not I would take it.

At the end of the day, I went home.

We had been told from the outset that this was not going to be a nine-to-five job, that we could go anywhere, at any time of the day or night, to do almost anything.  We had to be able to drop everything and simply go.  As per instructions, I had an away bag packed at ready to go.

And more important was that we should have no attachments, and one of the questions, and the main reason why the people recruited us, was because we had no families or friends of consequence.  The reason it was stressed; they could be used as leverage.

On the other hand, if we had those special people we cared about, our minds would not be on the job in hand.

I certainly fit the loner category.  My parents were dead, and I had no brothers or sisters or family of any sort, making me the ideal candidate.  I certainly didn’t want friends; they had constantly let me down in the past.

Of course, if this didn’t work out. I was going to leave the country and become a ski instructor in New Zealand, a place I doubted anyone I knew knew existed.

But until then, my small place in Brooklyn was where I could hide from the rest of the world.

Or so I thought.

I walked up the stairs to the third level, where I shared the floor with another apartment.  I ran into the other occupant the day I moved in, and he had referred to as the penthouse if only to feel better about the small space.

It was enough for me, as a temporary space to call home if and when I would be in London.  I wasn’t planning on being there long or often.

A glance at the other door, the occupant was away.  I unlocked my door and went in.  It was unusually dark, and I did not remember pulling the curtains, I usually left them open to get some natural light in the main room

I stopped inside the door and leaned against it.  There was a very familiar aroma in the room, a particular brand of perfume I had recently become acquainted with.

“Checking to see if I can notice a break and enter,” I said, at that moment to no one in particular.

If I was right, it was the woman I had met in the park who shared a fifteen-minute adventure.

The chair beside my desk swung around, and she was sitting cross-legged on it.  She fit into it like it had been made for her.  It also demonstrated a certain flexibility.

“What gave me away?”

“Perfume?”

“I will have to deal with that, something less potent.”

“Unless you want to intoxicate your target.”

“Does that mean I have you under my spell?”

She uncurled herself from the chair and sashayed over to me.  I could not take my eyes off her, as I suspect was the point.

“If I deemed you a threat, we would be in a very different position right now.”

She smiled.

“Your training officer said you were more dangerous than a cage of riled rattlesnakes.”

“My compatriots would give their right arms to go on a mission with you.”

“And you?”

“I need my right arm, so no.”

“That’s a pity.  You’ve reached the end of your training, and you’re ready.  Would you like to stay? It’s not mandatory.  Long hours, bad pay, and definitely no thanks.  I don’t know why anyone would want to.”

“Today, you almost gave me a heart attack.  It’s the most alive I’ve ever been.  How could I refuse?”

“You will be working with me then.  Undercover.  It’s going to be long and arduous, and the people who were cosying up to are very, very dangerous.  I’ve got your legend, and you’ll have a day to study it, remember every detail, and then live it.  In or out?”

“Right now?”

“Right now.  We leave tomorrow night.  There is no time to think about it.”

I shrugged.  “I’m in.”

“Good.  Everything you’ll need is in your bedroom.  Until tomorrow then.”

She took a step closer and was so close I could feel the temperature rise.  It was like that moment on the park bench.  I leaned forward slightly and kissed her on the lips briefly, eyes closed for just a second before opening them to look at her.

Whimsical.  My heart did double somersaults, and I don’t think it was meant to.

“Perhaps not then.  I think in a very small space of time, I’ve developed feelings for you.”

“I feel it too.  That’s why I want you for the job.  We’re going undercover as husband and wife, and it has to look real.  I knew from that moment on the park bench you were the one.  And you are going to have to compartmentalise those feelings.  Think you can?”

“Of course.  It’s the nature of the job.  I’ll be ready.”

“Excellent.  Change of plans.  I want to know everything about you so I’m staying.  And I’ll tell you everything about me.  Let’s see where this goes.”

I would tell you how that went, but that’s another story!

…

©  Charles Heath  2024

…

Memories of the conversations with my cat – 98

As some may be aware, but many not, Chester, my faithful writing assistant, mice catcher, and general pain in the neck, passed away some months ago.

Recently I was running a series based on his adventures, under the title of Past Conversations with my cat.

For those who have not had the chance to read about all of his exploits I will run the series again from Episode 1

These are the memories of our time together…

20160903_163902

This is Chester.  He’s now over having the grandchildren staying with us.

As part of the COVIS 19 restrictions in place, the grandchildren cannot go to school.

However, because their parents are both working (which is very fortunate as so many others are not) they have asked us to look after them.

So, they arrive Sunday night, stay the whole week, and go back home on Friday.  It means they are homeschooling, so the internet is taking a beating, I have to feed them, morning tea, lunch. After school snack at three and then dinner.

Chicken nuggets, pies, and shoestring chips can only go so far, and, no, he does not like scraps from their plates.

And having to cater for four rather than two means a gentle shift in logistics.  More shopping for food, having to do the washing every day, tormenting the cat.

OK, that last part is where Chester comes in, or, rather, he stays hidden away.

Remember that phobia he has when the grandchildren are around?

Now they’re here semi-permanently, he’s in hiding, and coming out only for food and water.

And to let me know just how displeased he is.

He wants his domain back.

Pity I haven’t told him yet they’re going to be back next week.

 

The cinema of my dreams – Was it just another surveillance job – Episode 47

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

When the room was empty and only Richards and I remained, he cut the ties that bound my hands and legs.

“Bad business,” he said.

I sat again, and flexed the muscles that had begun to stiffen up whilst tightly bound.

“I’m assuming you know a woman by the name of Jan?” I said. “She told me she was working for MI6 so I’m assuming you’re her handler.”

“When she chooses to be handled, yes.  Jan is just one of her names.  She’s currently missing, and I think we now know why?”

“Her work,” I nodded towards the body.

“God no.  She’s charged with chasing down leads and then calling the cavalry.  We had a tracker on this chap, found him, and had him in a safe facility awaiting interrogation, what we thought was safe at any rate, and Jan and another agent watching over him until the interrogation team arrived.  When the interrogation team got there everyone was gone, but with enough blood on the floor to paint a pretty clear picture.  Maury had been interrogated and killed there, dumped here, with no indication of the whereabouts of our agents.  She told me this guy and another trained you, and others, in rather strange circumstances.  A bogus operation. To what end?”

“From what I could tell, a single surveillance operation.  Me and a dozen others.  Cut loose after it failed, those of us that survived, that is.”

“A lot of effort to achieve nothing.”

“Pity we can’t ask him what it was about?”  I looked over at the body.  Maury was hardly recognizable.  Whoever carried out the interrogation had been either in a hurry or in a bad mood.

“Indeed.  She told me this chap called O’Connell was involved.  Now so?”

Another rule that popped into my head from the training: never share information with other agencies unless you absolutely had to.  I had no doubt if Dobbin was here, he would agree, but he wasn’t.

I wondered if I should tell him she had allegiance to another branch of the secret services, or mention Dobbin.

“He was the surveillance target.  We were charged with observing him, but not what he was suspected of.  I followed him as far as the exploding shop, got temporarily disorientated after the blast,, but managed to reacquire the target, following him to an alley where I spoke briefly to him before Maury and Severin arrived, and he was shot, apparently killed.”

“Either he was or he wasn’t.”

“The body disappeared.  My view is he is still alive, somewhere.”

“That explosion was supposed to be caused by a gas leak.”

“Standard operational doubletalk.  A journalist was killed, apparently in the shop waiting for the target.  It went up after the target passed, I’m assuming his tradecraft was to check first then go back.  Never got a chance.  I think now given the circumstances, the journalist was going to hand something off.  I’ve been asked a number of times by various people about a USB drive.  You know anything about it?”

“This is the first I’m hearing about anything about a USB drive.  You know what was on it?”

“Above my pay grade, I was told.”

“OK.  What about this Severin character?:

“All I have is a phone number, and that, I think we can both agree, will be a burner.”

“Agreed, but it might be useful.”

I gave it to him and he put it on his phone.

A new team of men in white suits arrived at the door, no doubt MI5 forensic specialists, and two more agents, bigger and tougher, what I would call the muscle.

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to come back to the office to answer a few more questions.  It’s not custody, but mandatory co-operation.”

“And if I refuse?”

“It might make their day if you know what I mean.”

I shrugged.  One I might be able to take, but not the both of them.  And they both looked like they would be happy to teach me the error of my ways if I tried to escape/

“That won’t be necessary.  I’m taking him with me.”

“Dobbin just came to the door, flashing an MI6 warrant card.

“I’ve been charged with cleaning this mess up.”

“And so you shall, but not including this agent.  Orders from above, reasons why, as they say, are above your pay grade.

I suspect the warrant card said Dobbin outranked him.  Did our people have fake MI6 IDs?

“This is highly irregular.”

“Call your boss, if you don’t like it.  I can wait.”

I could see the reluctance in his face.

He glared at me.  “Go, but don’t go too far.  I still might get clearance to have another chat.”

…

© Charles Heath 2020-2022

Mistaken Identity – The Final Editor’s Draft – Day 12

This book has finally reached the Final Editor’s draft, so this month it is going to get the last revision, and a reread for the beta readers.

…

Today I’m dealing with the art of elusiveness, and trying to emulate what it would be like to hide the truth from someone. It would require a great deal of elusiveness and guile to carry it off as though whatever you’ve been lying about for so long doesn’t come back to bite you.

Of course, if I tried it in practice I’d fail miserably, because I don’t have a poker face, and worse, I can’t keep a secret.

So, best not to ask me if I can keep a secret because I will say yes very earnestly, and then give it up when the pressure is on.

I’d never make a good spy either.

But it does make me wonder about all those people out there that constantly tell lies about everything, their past, whether or not they’re having an affair, where they’ve been, and what happened to the money.

Some people are very good at it, especially those who change their names, or have a half dozen different passports.

But, here, in this story, Jack’s mother probably just wanted to believe her twin sister had perished a long time ago, and the longer it became since she last heard from her, the more it was likely she was gone.

Pity. She’s about to come back from the dead.

And, of course, she does know about the doppelganger Jacob, because he had already visited her.

But as to why Jacob has come out of the woodwork, well that has something to do with the past, and an old flame Jack’s mother had a long time ago.

He too has come out of the past for different reasons, none of them good for her health.

More tomorrow.

Searching for locations: A trip to New Jersey

That meant we had to make the journey from New York to New Jersey, by train.  It involved the underground, or as New Yorkers call it, the subway, from Columbus Circle which by any other name was really, 80th street, to 34th street which apparently was the New Jersey jump-off point for us to get overground, well a lot of it was overground. So, were we going uptown or downtown?

Apparently, it was downtown, and to 34th Street on the A train.

You would not think this to be a difficult task, but for people not used to the subway, and where they were going other than some internet derived instructions, but without the help of a man at the station, just getting tickets may have stopped us dead in our tracks.  With his help, we determined the return fare for three of us and then get through the turnstile onto the platform.

We get on the A train, but soon discover it was not stopping at all stations.  There was for a few minutes, a little apprehension we might just simply bypass our station.  Luckily we did not.

Now, finding your way to the New Jersey transit part of Penn station might appear to be easy, on paper, but once there, on the ground, and mingling with the other passengers which all seemed to be purpose going somewhere, it took a few moments to realize we had to follow the New Jersey transit signs.

This led to a booking hall where luckily we realized we needed to buy more tickets, then find the appropriate platform, and then get on the right train, all of which, in the end, was not difficult at all.

Maybe on the return trip, it might be.

At Newark Penn station it was momentarily confusing because the exit was not readily in sight, so it was a case of following the majority of other passengers who’d got off the train.

This led us to exit onto the street under the train tracks.  Luckily, having been before to Prudential Stadium to buy the tickets, we knew what the stadium looked like and roughly where it was, so it was a simple task to walk towards it.

We were early, so it was a case of finding a restaurant to get dinner before the game. So was a great many others, and we passed about 6 different restaurants that looked full to overflowing before we stopped at one called Novelty Burger and Bar.

It looked inviting, and it was not crowded.

It was yet another excuse to have a hamburger and beer, both of which seemed to be a specialty in American.  I could not fault either.

And soon after we arrived, this restaurant too was full to overflowing.  Thankfully there were other Maple Leaf fans there because being in a room full of opposition teams supports can be quite harrowing.

That was yet to come when we finally got to the stadium.  I was not expecting a lot of Maple Leaf fans.
We went to this game with high hopes.  New Jersey Devils were not exactly at the top of the leader board, and coming off the loss in Toronto, this was make or break for whether we would ever go to another game.

It’s remarkable in that all the Ice Hockey stadiums are the same.  Everyone has an excellent view of the game, the sound systems are loud, and the fans passionate. Here it seems to be a thing to ride on the Zambonis.
At the front door they were handing out figurines of a Devil’s past player, and it seems a thing that you get a handout of some sort at each game.  At Toronto we got towels. And, finally, we were in luck.

The Maple Leafs won.

And it was an odd feeling to know that even though their team lost, there did not seem to be any rancor amount the fans and that any expectation of being assaulted by losing fans was totally unfounded, unlike some sporting events I’ve been to.

Perhaps soccer should take a leaf out of the ice hockey playbook.

That also went for taking public transport late at night.  I did not have any fears about doing so, which is more than I can say about traveling at night on our own transport system back home.

Oh, and by the way, there are train conductors who still come to every passenger to collect or stamp their tickets.  No trusting the passenger has paid for his trip here.  And, if you don’t have a ticket, I have it on good authority they throw you off the train and into the swamp.  Good thing then, we had tickets.

It was, all in all, a really great day.

NANOWRIMO – April 2024 – “The One That Got Away” – Day 17

Revenge is best served cold.

…

Though revenge is not what Michael wanted to get caught up in, it was the people with whom he had to see that had him thinking that way.

Michael knew from bitter experience that the world would be a better place without half the people in it, the half that made up the cheats, liars, self-serving, egotistical twits, and pompous asses.

He’d seen enough of those when he and Agatha had been together.

Dealing with a chap Agatha had had what had to be described as a fling, seemed to think that an invitation to stay at one of her apartments until he found his own was the same as being married.

That aristocratic self-entitlement was enough to have Michael considering whether a three-hour torture session in a disused factory where no one would hear the screams, might just teach him the error of his assumptions.  Sadly, it didn’t come to that, but there were plenty of others on the list.

…

Words today, 1,810, for a total of 31,236

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 underwater.
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: Central Park, New York

It’s a place to go and spot the movie stars, or perhaps their dogs.

It’s a place to go for long walks on idyllic spring or autumn days

It’s a place to go to look at a zoo, though I didn’t realize there was one until I made a wrong turn.

It’s a place to go for a horse and carriage ride, although it does not last that long

It’s a place to go to look at statues, fountains, architecture, and in winter, an ice skating rink

I’m sure there’s a whole lot more there that I don’t know about.

I have to say I’ve only visited in winter, and the first time there was snow, the second, none.

Both times it was cold, but this didn’t seem to deter people.

But…

We decided to go visit another part of the park, this time walking to West 67th Street before crossing Central Park West and into the park where Sheep Meadow is.

Once upon a time sheep did graze on the meadow, but these days it is designated a quiet area inspiring calm and refreshing thoughts, except for a period in the 1960s where there was more than one counter-culture protest, or love in, going on.

And, there’s the sign to say it was Sheep Meadow,

and that’s the meadow behind the sign,

Well, I don’t see any sheep, but of course, that’s not why the meadow is named or should there be any sheep on it.  That greenery that can be seen, restoring for the spring, was a very expensive addition to the park.

As a matter of fact, there is nothing was on it, because signs were up to say the meadow was closed for the winter, a new and interesting variation on the ‘Don’t Walk On The Grass’ signs.

I’m sure I could climb the fence, or, maybe not.  I’m a bit old to be climbing fences.

So, unable to walk on the grass, we tossed an imaginary coin, should we go towards West 110th Street, or back to West 59th Street.

West 59th Street won.

and, just in case we had any strange ideas about walking on the grass, the fence was there to deter us.  Perhaps if we had more determination…

One positive aspect of the park is that you could never get lost, and the tall buildings surrounding the park are nearly always visible through the trees, more so in winter because there is no foliage, maybe less so later in the year.

There is also a lot of very large rocky type hills, or outcrops where people seem to stand on, king of the mountain style, or sit to have a picnic lunch, quickly before it freezes.

Yes, it is cold outside and seems more so in the park.

I wondered briefly if it ever got foggy, then this place would be very spooky, particularly after the sun goes down.

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Mistaken Identity – The Final Editor’s Draft – Day 11

This book has finally reached the Final Editor’s draft, so this month it is going to get the last revision, and a reread for the beta readers.

…

So now the truth, or a version of it, is out there, Jack now needs to find out who this Jacob is.

Well, he thinks he knows who it is, but he needs some confirmation from his mother about what she apparently has been hiding from him all his life.

Of course, as expected, his mother is being elusive.

In the meantime, I’ve been playing around with the backstory, which, sometimes never finds its way into the book. It serves me to get a better understanding of a character, of several, in what some might call a background paper.

I also wonder if this type of scenario plays out in other families, and if they were, or are, referred to as the skeletons in the closet.

We didn’t have any in our family, well, none that I knew about, anyway. I’m sure there were, we just never got to hear about them.

I guess that’s why often members of a family will go searching the genealogical records, and find out if they are related to someone famous. My wife reckons that she is somehow related to Harriet Beecher Stowe, the writer of Uncle Tom’s Cabin. On our side, we had a Luddite (who wasn’t really a Luddite – long story) transported to Van Diemen’s Land from England.

I know who won that forebear contest!

…

More tomorrow.