Category: blogging

An excerpt from “If Only” – a work in progress

Investigation of crimes doesn’t always go according to plan, nor does the perpetrator get either found or punished.

That was particularly true in my case.  The murderer was incredibly careful in not leaving any evidence behind, to the extent that the police could not rule out whether it was a male or a female.

At one stage the police thought I had murdered my own wife though how I could be on a train at the time of the murder was beyond me.  I had witnesses and a cast-iron alibi.

The officer in charge was Detective First Grade Gabrielle Walters.  She came to me on the day after the murder seeking answers to the usual questions like, when was the last time you saw your wife, did you argue, the neighbors reckon there were heated discussions the day before.

Routine was the word she used.

Her fellow detective was a surly piece of work whose intention was to get answers or, more likely, a confession by any or all means possible.  I could sense the raging violence within him.  Fortunately, common sense prevailed.

Over the course of the next few weeks, once I’d been cleared of committing the crime, Gabrielle made a point of keeping me informed of the progress.

After three months the updates were more sporadic, and when, for lack of progress, it became a cold case, communication ceased.

But it was not the last I saw of Gabrielle.

The shock of finding Vanessa was more devastating than the fact she was now gone, and those images lived on in the same nightmare that came to visit me every night when I closed my eyes.

For months I was barely functioning, to the extent I had all but lost my job, and quite a few friends, particularly those who were more attached to Vanessa rather than me.

They didn’t understand how it could affect me so much, and since it had not happened to them, my tart replies of ‘you wouldn’t understand’ were met with equally short retorts.  Some questioned my sanity, even, for a time, so did I.

No one, it seemed, could understand what it was like, no one except Gabrielle.

She was by her own admission, damaged goods, having been the victim of a similar incident, a boyfriend who turned out to be an awfully bad boy.  Her story varied only in she had been made to witness his execution.  Her nightmare, in reliving that moment in time, was how she was still alive and, to this day, had no idea why she’d been spared.

It was a story she told me one night, some months after the investigation had been scaled down.  I was still looking for the bottom of a bottle and an emotional mess.  Perhaps it struck a resonance with her; she’d been there and managed to come out the other side.

What happened become our secret, a once-only night together that meant a great deal to me, and by mutual agreement, it was not spoken of again.  It was as if she knew exactly what was required to set me on the path to recovery.

And it had.

Since then, we saw each about once a month in a cafe.   I had been surprised to hear from her again shortly after that eventful night when she called to set it up, ostensibly for her to provide me with any updates on the case, but perhaps we had, after that unspoken night, formed a closer bond than either of us wanted to admit.

We generally talked for hours over wine, then dinner and coffee.  It took a while for me to realize that all she had was her work, personal relationships were nigh on impossible in a job that left little or no spare time for anything else.

She’d always said that if I had any questions or problems about the case, or if there was anything that might come to me that might be relevant, even after all this time, all I had to do was call her.

I wondered if this text message was in that category.  I was certain it would interest the police and I had no doubt they could trace the message’s origin, but there was that tiny degree of doubt, about whether or not I could trust her to tell me what the message meant.

I reached for the phone then put it back down again.  I’d think about it and decide tomorrow.

© Charles Heath 2018-2020

In a word: Rabbit

Have you ever heard of someone rabbiting on, you know, endlessly rattling on about nothing?

That’s just one use of the word rabbit.

The most obvious is the animal, a rabbit.  You know, that burrowing, plant-eating, long-eared, short-tailed animal that goes by the name of Bugs Bunny, maybe.

Nearly every child has a stuffed, cuddly one.

Of course, it’s of some significance at the moment because it’s Easter, and there are countless chocolate versions of the so-called Easter bunny.

Then there is that 6-foot-high invisible rabbit called Harvey, or not necessarily a rabbit, but a pookah.

We use the expression rabbit ears to describe those old interior television antennas.

There’s rabbit stew, rabbit pie, and white rabbit beer.

But my favorite is when the magician pulls the proverbial rabbit out of a hat.  It’s an expression we also use for someone who pulls off an impossible task.

‘What Sets Us Apart’ – A beta readers view

There’s something to be said for a story that starts like a James Bond movie, throwing you straight in the deep end, a perfect way of getting to know the main character, David, or is that Alistair?

A retired spy, well not so much a spy as a retired errand boy, David’s rather wry description of his talents, and a woman that most men would give their left arm for, not exactly the ideal couple, but there is a spark in a meeting that may or may not have been a setup.

But as the story progressed, the question I kept asking myself was why he’d bother.

And, page after unrelenting page, you find out.

Susan is exactly the sort of woman to pique his interest.  Then, inexplicably, she disappears.  That might have been the end to it, but Prendergast, that shadowy enigma, David’s ex-boss who loves playing games with real people, gives him an ultimatum, find her or come back to work.

Nothing like an offer that’s a double-edged sword!

A dragon for a mother, a sister he didn’t know about, Susan’s BFF who is not what she seems or a friend indeed, and Susan’s father who, up till David meets her, couldn’t be less interested, his nemesis proves to be the impossible dream, and he’s always just that one step behind.

When the rollercoaster finally came to a halt, and I could start breathing again, it was an ending that was completely unexpected.

I’ve been told there’s a sequel in the works.

Bring it on!

…

The book can be purchased here:  http://amzn.to/2Eryfth

…

The cinema of my dreams – It’s a treasure hunt — Episode 70

Here’s the thing…

Every time I close my eyes, I see something different.

I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox.

But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.

Once again there’s a new installment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.

…

In a cave, Nadia is a surprise

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We also have the tide to contend with.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It sounded lame.

I could hear rather than see her shake her head.

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

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

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

“He thinks the treasure is here?”

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

“We didn’t find anything.”

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

I was going to say anything was possible.

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

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

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

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

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

“Occam’s razor?”

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

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

“He doesn’t trust you because of me?”

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

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

“Why did you come back then?”

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

“I’m sorry.”

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

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

“You had a funny way of showing it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

© Charles Heath 2020-2022

NANOWRIMO – 2024 – Day 3

Behind the Green Door

…

Memories are being disturbed.

It’s been ten years since the death, albeit in rather questionable circumstances, of Michael’s wife Elsie.

Even the circumstances of how they met, dated, and eventually married, if he thought about it long enough, was a mystery.

But…

In the new, well, now not-so-new world order, the matter of marriage is highly regulated. Because they are living in a confined space with a finite number of people, and the possibility that there would eventually be relations marrying, it was a requirement that brides or grooms came from different facilities.

This was a new world made up of a large number of these underground facilities that could house up to 50,000 people, no more, hence a rule called Rule 71. Basically, that meant when people reached the age of 65, they retired and died. It was deemed the age, which, when also births were regulated to match deaths, populations were maintained at manageable levels.

And, after nearly 200 years, people had begun to question Rule 71. Some even tried to avoid it.

It’s an interesting scenario that will undoubtedly play out in many ways as the story is written.

But, the relevance?

Michael’s wife, Elsie, comes from another facility. She came with her mother, who was marrying someone in his facility.

Her impact on everything that happens to Michael, and the eventual ending is immeasurable, even from the grave.

The fact is, no one, except one man, knew what that impact was, and that one man wasn’t her husband.

Intrigued?

So am I…

…

Word written today 2,011, making a total of 5,121 words

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to write a war story – Episode 45

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

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

And, so, it continues…

——

A second report from Blinky’s surveillance of the castle had Leonardo on the move, and a second shadowy person following them.

It had to be Jackerby, Atherton thought.  Jackerby would be the only one who didn’t trust anyone, or, perhaps, he had more murderous intentions.  Maybe he had worked out that Leonardo was rapidly becoming a liability.

Or he had some other agenda.

“How many of resistance are waiting at the barn?” Atherton asked the soldier.

“Four.  The fifth went to find them.”

“OK.  Carlo, take some of the soldiers and stop them.”

He grinned.  At last.

“I’ll deal with the other man.” I whistled and Jack came over.  “We have a job to do, Jack.”  He had no idea what I was saying, but his enthusiasm was obvious.

“Taking any prisoners,” Blinky asked.

“If the situation warrants it, but if the fire on us, we fire back.”

“And, once that’s done?”

“We retake the castle.”

“Sounds a bit like a story out of a Boys Own annual.”

“It does.  It’ll certainly make a good story to tell your grandchildren one day.”

“If we make it back.”

“We will.  If we’re careful and don’t take unnecessary risks.  I won’t be bringing a prisoner back.  If it’s Jackerby, I have a score to settle with him.”

“Don’t let revenge cloud your judgment.”

“I won’t.  See you soon.”

When we reached the woods, on the opposite side of the castle, I planned to come at Jackaby from an angle he would not be expecting anyone.

From the moment we entered the woods, Jack went into what I would call stealth mode as if he was hunting.  In a sense he was, and perhaps he knew instinctively what we were looking for.

It took about a half-hour of carefully moving through the woods to get to a point where I could just see Jackerby, sitting beside a tree, watching the barn.  I moved a little closer, and the change of angle brought Leonardo and two other men of the resistance, sitting behind the barn, and one of sentry duty, waiting for the fifth to return.

I turned back to see where Jack was, but he had gone off.  A rabbit perhaps, or something else.

I moved closer; Jackerby’s attention was fully on the resistance members, so he would not hear me coming.

What was he doing?  He was taking an enormous risk coming out of the castle alone or did he think that if I was clever enough to have the castle under surveillance, he could assume I might be stupid enough to follow him.

It was an interesting thought, broken by the sudden rustling through the undergrowth, and then a yelp, as Jack launched himself at Jackerby, taking him completely by surprise, then, when Jackeby tried to get a gun in hand, Jack attacked that hand.

Long enough for me to get there, gun in hand.  “Stop resisting, or I’m sure Jack will do some serious damage to that hand.”

It looked serious enough to me.

“So, this is where you’re hiding?”

“Enough, Jack.”

Curiously, the dog stopped, but remained menacingly close, growling.

“I should have shot that dog when I had the chance.”

Jack moved forward and growled in his face, baring his teeth, and Jackerby shrank back.

“Don’t upset him.  He obviously doesn’t like you.”

Our attention was interrupted by gunfire, and a glance over to the barn saw two men with their hands up against the wall, and the two on the ground, including Leonardo.   Carlo was in the process of ‘interrogating’ the other two.

“Carlo is not a happy man, Jackerby.  And I promised him five minutes alone with you.”

Another glance over at the barn, Carlo was kicking one of the men who had fallen on the ground, with enthusiasm.  I didn’t rate the man’s chances of surviving.  “You really shouldn’t have let Leonardo mistreat Chiara or Martina, wherever you’ve got her.”

“She is still alive.  We can do a deal here, Atherton.”

“The trouble I have with anything you say is that I can’t believe you.  I’m sure you’d say or do anything to stay alive and renege the moment you got back to the castle.”

“I give you my word as an officer.  We are, like you, men of honor.”

I shook my head.  “You’re Gestapo, or worse, Jackerby.  And they, as far as I’m concerned, are the lowest of the low, little more than murderous thugs.  No.”

I aimed the gun and pulled the trigger.

The only way Jackerby was leaving the woods was as dead weight.

——-

© Charles Heath 2020-2022

A photograph from the inspirational bin – 57

What story does it inspire?

…

…

There is always a place for a romantic walk along the beach on a hot summer night.

At least we all like to think that. Usually, we are competing with hundreds of others and their dogs, some of whom seem to snarl at you, the dogs I mean, not their owners.

Hardly romantic, as it is in the movies. After all, they get the beach cleared of everyone and then it feels like you have the place to yourself.

But, is the beach the place for such a stroll. At night perhaps, or early morning.

I would prefer to go for a stroll in a park, like Central Park in New York, just large enough that you can get enough space to yourself, as well as walk for a long distance, and have a hope that you might see a movie star walking their dog, or just taking in the sunshine.

Unlike, if you were in London, hoping it would not be raining, or snowing, or both, or just simply freezing cold. That, of course, might be Hyde Park, a stroll around the Serpentine, but to be honest I would prefer going to Kew Gardens.

That’s the notion from seeing that photo of dusk at the beach, so many ideas, and not all of them about the sand, the sea, people, dogs, or conversation.

Then, perhaps there is another thought … a sea-based invasion, and just happening to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Just a thought…

Searching for locations: Queenstown, New Zealand, from the top of a mountain

You take the gondola up to the Skyline and get some of the most amazing views.

Below is a photo of The Remarkables, one of several ski resorts near Queenstown.

You can see the winding road going up the mountainside.  We have made this trip several times and it is particularly frightening in winter when chains are required.

theremarkables3

In the other direction, heading towards Kingston, the views of the mountains and the lake are equally as magnificent.

theviewfromthegondolaquwwnstown

Or manage to capture a photo of the Earnslaw making its way across the lake towards Walter Peak Farm.  It seems almost like a miniature toy.

Was it a dream, or reincarnation?

I don’t believe we live many lives and are reincarnated over and over.

But…

I have had this dream a few times now and it is, to say the least, disconcerting.

I’m in a room, it looks to be a one-room log cabin, and in the middle of one wall a stove and just down from it, along another side, a bed.  It’s cozy, so I suspect it might be cold outside.

The wood stove is burning and is the source of warmth.  There’s a table in the middle of the room, with dishes and mugs.  Supper past, cleaning up later.

It’s cold outside, and the wind is whistling through the cracks in the logs that make up the walls.  I think it might be snowing outside.

This all sounds very homely, perhaps a dream inspired by inner happiness with my lot in life.  I know that around the first time had the dream I was living in a house with a wood stove in the kitchen.

Why then is the woman,  as a matter of interest, the woman who is my wife in this dream, not my current wife?

Are you as confused as I am?

Let me add this, I first had this dream the day before I married in this life.  Could it be construed that I was foretelling a long and contented life with the woman I was about to marry or was it a memory triggered from a previous life?

I’m sure Freud would have a field day with this one.

“One Last Look”, nothing is what it seems

A single event can have enormous consequences.

A single event driven by fate, after Ben told his wife Charlotte he would be late home one night, he left early, and by chance discovers his wife having dinner in their favourite restaurant with another man.

A single event where it could be said Ben was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Who was this man? Why was she having dinner with him?

A simple truth to explain the single event was all Ben required. Instead, Charlotte told him a lie.

A single event that forces Ben to question everything he thought he knew about his wife, and the people who are around her.

After a near-death experience and forced retirement into a world he is unfamiliar with, Ben finds himself once again drawn back into that life of lies, violence, and intrigue.

From London to a small village in Tuscany, little by little Ben discovers who the woman he married is, and the real reason why fate had brought them together.

It is available on Amazon here:  http://amzn.to/2CqUBcz