Days 45 and 46 – Writing exercise
Take one of your stories that’s stalled and re work it.
…
They say trouble comes when you least expect it.
It does.
I can attest to that.
I was at the end of my shift. Another shift, another night, another ten hours of my life gone, doing a job that, had you asked me twenty years ago would I be here, I would have said no.
Circumstances and stupidity put me here, and it’s not as if I didn’t deserve it. I was told I had choices, and I did, but I didn’t make the right one. There were reasons, but they were nothing but excuses.
And it wasn’t as if I was the only one.
Like Jim, slightly younger but no wiser, like Joe, older and regretting his mistakes, and like Mike, who simply didn’t care until he had to. My name was Sam. No one questioned whether they were our real names, no one wanted to know our last names, and the names were, by coincidence, easy to remember.
Along with rule number one: we had each other’s backs.
The breakout area was scratched Laminex, discoloured plastic and scuffed and cracked linoleum tiles. It was old and tired like we were.
“Usual weekend?” Jim asked.
I was heading towards the kitchen to get my small fridge bag, then out the back door and off home.
“The boat and the lake await.”
“You still expecting to find fish in that swamp?” Mike had been with me one weekend, and nothing took the bait.
After six or so months, I was beginning to think the locals were right. There were no fish.
“Miracles can still happen.”
“Yeah, right. You should come hunting with us.”
“Don’t like guns.”
Not anymore, anyway. There was a time I was happy to use one, when I had a purpose, and there was a reason to use it.
“Then why pick a job that needs one?”
“Chances of having to use it, Mike, zero per cent. If I have to, I will, but until then…” I left it there. We’d had this conversation, and it always ended the same way.
I collected the bag, told them I’d see them next Monday, the start of the next shift, and stepped out the back door into the early morning dawn, that period just as the light came.
Silent, fresh, the promise of either a good day or a bad. I wasn’t sure. I glanced over towards the car, and it had a slight sprinkling of snow. The weather was clear now, but I could feel that more snow was coming.
A white Christmas? Those were memories in another lifetime.
Across the parking area where there should have been four pickups, there was one too many, something out of the usual, and I slowed. The fifth vehicle, a car, looked empty, but it might not be.
I felt for the sidearm, for reassurance. I wasn’t expecting trouble, but was ready for it. No one could possibly know where I was now; that person had disappeared long ago.
Thirty-three steps, measured, slow, eyes on that fifth car, watching and waiting. Less than ten yards I stopped when I saw movement inside it, and effortlessly, the gun was in my hand, by my side, but ready.
I sopped when the light went on as the door opened.
I could see the driver was a woman, stepping out and standing. The interior light cast an eerie glow over her for a few seconds before letting the dark envelop her again.
“Graham?”
A second’s hesitation before my eyes readjusted to the overhead lamps, long enough to recognise the voice and its owner, one I hadn’t heard for a long time, one from that past I had tried to forget.
“Penny?”
She took several steps towards me, then stopped, leaning against the front of my truck.
“Thank God. You’re a hard person to find.”
Which was exactly what she asked me to do, twenty-three years ago, when any hint of scandal would have ruined her chances at become a District Attorney. I was a mess back then.
“You asked, I did as I was told.”
“It wasn’t meant to be forever.”
“Not according to your husband.” He said if he saw me again. It wouldn’t end well. I believed him.
I saw her grimace, and I don’t think it was the memories of that last encounter. “How did you find me?”
“I know people.”
Of course. She knew people who knew people, and so on. “OK. You found me. What do you want?” I could have been more conciliatory, but there was too much water under that bridge.
I could see the surprise and then hurt in her expression.
“You are the only person I can turn to.”
“For what? I have nothing you could possibly want.”
The black sheep, the perennial loser, the sibling no one wanted to know or see. Why would they? Run with the wrong crowd, join the Army, get deployed to hell on earth, walk away with bad dreams and PTSD.
Not exactly the sort for a District Attorney to be rubbing shoulders with or have as a contact/reference on a resume.
“I need help.”
I laughed, or was it a harsh guttural sound that was almost a snort of derision? Help from a person who couldn’t help himself? But curiosity got the better of me. “Why?”
“Someone wants me dead.”
“Isn’t that part of the job?”
She sighed and slumped back against the car, and I could see a dark stain on the left side just above her waist.
“I can’t go to a hospital, and no one must know…”
I reached her just before she hit the ground.
“No hospital, or doctor. Do not tell Fred. No one can know where…”
That was all she could manage before she passed out.
Damn.
Why me?
Trouble always finds trouble. It had been like that almost all my life. I had only managed to break the cycle with this job, being anonymous among anonymous people. I knew nothing about them; they knew nothing about me. Only that I was running.
When I saw Mike sauntering across the car park, all of that anonymity went out the window.
“What the hell? Sam?”
“My sister. Shot. In trouble, though she didn’t say how deep. A wound, a knife or a shot doesn’t matter. It’s bad enough.” I looked up at him. “I didn’t do it. I swear.”
His eyes took in the whole scene and made a decision. “I know a guy. No questions.”
He helped me get her into the truck, then took her car and told me to follow him.
What choice did I have?
We took her to my place, a cabin with a two-car shed and a spare room. The guy met us at the house, he took one look at the wound and said it wasn’t serious, but she wasn’t going to go far for about a week.
She had been shot, single bullet, missed vital parts, but was messy. He left bandages, antiseptic and pills and told me to keep an eye on her for the next twelve hours. It looked like I was going on a different fishing expedition when she woke up.
And twelve hours to relive some memories that should not be allowed to come back, but then we never get a choice in what the mind wants to recall, or when.
Night bled into day, a dark, gloomy, murky morning where the sun had disappeared and left us with grey, and then white. The snow had come, heavy at first, then into a sprinkle. I was standing by the window, and the wind rattled the windows, just enough to keep me awake.
I shivered.
“Graham?”
A softer tone this time, the sort used when searching for a familiar person in the darkness and hoping you didn’t find a monster instead.
“I’m here.”
I heard rustling. I had put the clean sheets on the spare bed and gave her one of my blankets. Even so, it would still be cold. There was a fire in the other room, but it barely heated the area nearest to the hearth.
“Come, sit.”
I weighed up the odds that sitting near her could be harmful to my health, particularly if the gunman had followed her here. But then, with Penelope, her version of the truth was never the same as anyone else’s.
Almost instinctively, I pulled the chair back a few feet before sitting. Close was too close.
“You still don’t trust me.”
“Two years in jail, Penelope. Hard to forget or forgive.”
It still burned twenty-three years later, like it was yesterday. She had a choice, but in an election year, it had been all about appearances. Tough on crime, tougher on family. It didn’t matter that I was proven innocent.
Mt cell phone rang.
“It’s slime ball number two.” In other words, her husband. He and I never got along, never would. “How did he get my number?”
The look on her face told me more than she wanted to convey. The usual granite expression was replaced by fear. This was not the Penelope of old.
“Don’t…”
I pressed the answer button. Giles was not a man to ignore. He would find other ways to talk to me, which would lead to more trouble.
“What do you want?” This time, I didn’t disguise the hatred.
“Where is she?”
No hello, no how are you, after twenty-three years of silence.
“The cat’s mother? Damned if I know or care, Giles.”
“Don’t get smart, Graham.”
“I thought you said smart was a word not in my vocabulary, Giles. If I had another brain, it would be lonely. How did you get this number?”
“I have my methods. Like I know where you are and can cause you infinite grief. Now stop stooging around and tell me where she is?”
I counted to ten. Not because I was angry, which I was, but because Giles was a man it took effort to annoy.
“I take it that was a threat, Giles. If it were a declaration of war, let me tell you, I know how wars work, and if you want to go down that path, I’m your man. I don’t know where she is, I don’t care where she is. I’ve had twenty-three years to forget about you lot, and when I hang up, I don’t want to hear from or see you again. Do I make myself clear?”
“You don’t get a choice.”
“No. Neither do you. Start something, Giles, it won’t end until I say it ends. My advice, Giles. Go crawl back under that rock, and don’t come out again. Goodbye.”
I hung up. Of course, I knew exactly what was going to happen. He knew where I was, because she knew where I was. And like anyone who had no one left they could trust, she chose family.
Conveniently ignoring twenty-three years of history.
“Why would you do this to me?” I asked. “I just got my life back together.”
“I had no one else.”
“So you decided, let’s ruin Graham’s life again. He’s expendable. Nobody cares whether he lives or dies. Giles isn’t going to let this go.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re not. If you were, you wouldn’t come here.”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“You did. You simply chose what was best for you. I’m sorry. But it doesn’t work this time. You’re on your own.”
“He will kill me.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t do that the day after you got married. He certainly tried.”
Giles was not a man who could handle drinking, and it made me curious as to why he very rarely had a drink in his hand and always politely refused. Except on his wedding day. I called in on them after the reception to drop off some presents, and he was standing over her, and there was blood everywhere. I dragged him off and gave him a taste of his own medicine. It earned me his eternal hatred, and once an enemy of Giles, always an enemy. I discovered that in jail.
“I didn’t know he was like that.”
“Everyone else did and tried to tell you.”
“He changed.”
“Until?”
“He didn’t shoot me.”
“No, he doesn’t do that sort of stuff. He had people to do it for him. You don’t need me. You need a bodyguard. Two or three. I have to leave, now he knows where I am.”
“Take me with you.”
“No. I was done with you and him, twenty-three years ago.”
“Then I’ll die.”
“Perhaps then you’ll know what it’s like when he sets his goons on you, like he did to me.” I was supposed to die in jail, not get exonerated, and since then I’d only been one step ahead…
Damn.
I got it, and it was already too late.
He had deliberately set his goons on her, knowing she would lead them to me. He’d known, with no one else to turn to, she would instinctively turn to me. A desperate plan from a desperate man.
“Has he decided to jump from District Attorney to State Governor?”
The expression on her face was priceless.
I ran.
…
© Charles Heath 2026
