Category: Fiction

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to go on a treasure hunt – Episode 73

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.

…

Cavorting with a snake?

…

I had no idea that Boggs resented me that much for spending time with Nadia, though I could see how he could assume she was the enemy.

But he knew me, or I thought he did.

That cavorting with a snake statement elicited an instant response from Charlene, a wide-eyed look of total surprise.  I wondered for a moment what her interpretation of cavorting was, certainly not the same as mine.

Something else that was very clear, he hated Nadia.  And I was close to the top of that same hate list, by association.

“I would hardly call it cavorting, Boggs, rather just hanging out.  It’s not what either of you thinks.” I gave Charlene a glare to emphasize my disappointment.

Despite it, it was clear her interpretation was still leaning the wrong way, but the surprise has passed, “I didn’t know Nadia had returned from Florence.”  Charlene obviously kept track of Nadia, because I hadn’t known exactly where she had been staying in Italy.

“I don’t think many people do.”

“Was there a reason?”

“She said her mother was sick and wanted to see her, but I think that was a ruse, and she’s not happy with any of them, which is why she’s not staying with them but just outside the town.”

“That woman is not her mother, but stepmother.  Old man Cossatino tossed her aside for a younger woman, and I’m not surprised.”

Interesting insight, she had not told me that it was her stepmother she was annoyed with, nor where her real mother was.

Boggs however was not interested in the details of Nadia’s parentage, nor Charlene’s opinions.

He turned his attention towards her, “Just what are you doing here.”

“I told you already…”

“Just leave, wait outside, do whatever you want, but leave me alone.”

She went to reiterate her reason for being there, but it was met with a very volatile, “get out now.”

I had expected him to round on me next, as he watched her reluctantly get up and slowly walk out of the room, phone in hand.  The sheriff was about to get a call.

His anger was apparent, but he didn’t say anything for a moment, as if mentally counting to ten before speaking.  Then, “Sit, you’re making me nervous standing there.”

A sigh of relief, I did as he asked.

“In view of this relationship with Nadia, does this mean you are working with Cossatino?”

“Actually I work in Benderby’s warehouse attached to the factory.  I think you know me better than to seek employment with the Cossatino’s, and no, it’s not any sort of relationship other than talking over coffee.”

“In her hotel room,” Boggs added.

So, he had been watching me too.  I should be flattered so many people were interested in whom I spent my time.

“At times, yes, but it’s not anything else, no matter what you might think.  I seriously doubt she thinks of me in that way.”

It was not what he wanted to hear, so he tuned out.    “It’s not the impression you give, but I get it.  She is a contradiction at times.”

I wondered what he meant by that.

It was time to change the conversation.  “Did you ever get to the library to read the documents in the Ormiston collection?”

Yes, it got the desired response.

“What collection?”

“All of the stuff at Ormiston’s house after he died.  His wife had asked the librarian to come and box it up, and it’s been sitting there all this time.  I think so far she’s the only one to read any of it, aside from me.”

“How did you pull that off.”

“You know I was always her protégé at school.  She said Alex had asked her about the documents, but she just told him she didn’t know about them, but that’s not going to hold them off for long.”

He thought about what I’d said, perhaps debating whether to trust me, but I could see curiosity taking over.

“Was there anything useful there?”

“One item scribbled in one of his search diaries.  Look for the big A.”

I watched him carefully when mentioning that piece of information, and it struck a chord, as much as he tried not to react.

“But you knew that already because we both know where that big A is.”

“Does Nadia?”

“No.  Despite what you might think, I’m still on your side, and still working towards finding the location of the treasure, but, I think you need to consider the possibility it’s long gone.  I’m sure the Cossatino’s have made a very extensive search of The Grove, over the years.”

“They don’t act like they’ve found it, or have any idea where it is.  You can see that from the many maps they’ve produced.  I’ve got at least twenty variations, and none of them lead to that spot on the shoreline.”

“There was a latitude and longitude reference hidden in one of the diary sleeves, and it matched the spot where I saw what looked like the big A.  It had another reference, one in the Caribbean, so it might have been taken from the pirate’s log, as the start and end of the run to stash their plunder.  How did you come across the location?”

“Something I remembered my father saying.  It came to me a week ago, when I was camping out and a storm hit.  He mentioned the letter A, a formation on a rockface he had climbed once at The Grove.  There are several, and it was at the last I saw something that resembled an A.”

“Since that shoreline looks as much the same along the whole cliff face, I suspect the pirate used it as a marker do he could find it again.  The fact it’s a little lopsided tells me there’s been some seismic activity that stretched from the inland mountains across the lake that no longer exists to the shoreline, here, and at the old marina.  That’s what you were looking fir, wasn’t it, a shift in the rocks?”

“No.  Not really.  I thought there might be a cavern that was covered by a rockfall, but if there was seismic activity, all it did was clear a path for the lake water to drain into the sea.  But, now we agree on the most likely location of the treasure, it’s not going to be possible to get back there, not now the Cossatino’s can guess why I was there.”

“There is a way, but it involves Nadia.”

He shook his head.  “No.  She can’t be trusted.”

“Well, she’s your only ticket there.  You make up your mind what you want to do, but I’ll be at her hotel tomorrow night if you want our help.  Otherwise, I’ll go myself.”

“That’s not what we agreed.”

“We didn’t agree on anything.  You just asked me if I wanted to go on a treasure hunt.  I’ll be honest with you, I don’t want the treasure because it’s cursed.  It cost you your father, countless Ormiston’s, and that professor on Rico’s boat.  He was tortured by the way in a secret room at the mall.  Nadia and I found it, and Alex Benderby’s stash of treasure documents and maps.  They think a map is going to lead them there, but I think your father, as the Cossatino’s cartographer, spent more time leading everyone away from the real location, all the while searching for it himself with permission from the Cossatino’s.  The fact he said he’d found it was always going to get him killed.  And, if he did, then the Cossatino’s have it.  But, like I said, come or not, I’ll be going.”

And, not to give him the opportunity to argue, I left, leaving him with a rather bemused expression.

…

© Charles Heath 2020-2022

The 2am Rant: It’s cold out there

But…

It is, but it isn’t.  Oddly enough after two weeks in temperatures ranging from -21 to 7 degrees Fahrenheit, I think I’m finally used to it.

My early morning walk after leaving the hotel is both for exercise and exploring.

Looking for locations, observing people, watching and learning what it’s like to live, work, and hang out in a city like New York.

It’s so much more interesting than where I come from.  There it would be impossible to spin a story in such a small city.  You need to be able to hide in plain sight among millions of people over a very large area that encompasses Manhattan, Brooklyn, Queens, and everything else in-between and beyond.

I was looking at going to a Walmart in Secaucus, about three and a half miles from my hotel in Manhattan.  Three and a half miles.  In my city that’s way beyond the limits of the city and in the outer suburbs.

Here I can spin a tale that could live within the confines of 35th street, 85th street, 2nd Avenue and 10th Avenue, and have so much material, I could probably write a trilogy.

Pity is, I won’t be here long enough to gather enough background.

Still, it’s like being in literary seventh heaven.

I’ve written one book based in New York, I’m sure another is currently writing itself in my head and will be on paper over the next year.

Then, maybe I’ll be back.

What I learned about writing: It’s not a writing room unless…

You have this incredible, fully working scale model of an Airbus A380 coming into land…

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Imagine this: a majestic Airbus A380, the undisputed queen of the skies, gently descending, gear down, flaps extended, ready for touchdown… Now imagine that happening, not on a sprawling tarmac, but in your very own living room. Well, almost!

That’s the scenario I found myself in recently, courtesy of an incredible, fully functional scale model of the iconic Airbus A380. And let me tell you, this isn’t just a static display piece; oh no. This magnificent machine, stretching over a meter in length, has actually flown as a remote-controlled aircraft.

Now I can simulate tornadoes.

And, I have to say, it’s rather awe-inspiring to look at it.

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The Power is REAL

If you’ve ever doubted the power of scaled-down engineering, allow me to dispel those doubts. I fired up those four engines in my lounge room – cautiously, I might add – and the thrust generated was enough to almost blow the curtains clean off their hooks from a good 40 feet away! Holding the plane down was a genuine struggle against its immense power. I’m pretty sure I could simulate a small tornado in here if I wanted to!

Beyond the raw power, it’s just awe-inspiring to behold. The sheer detail, the imposing presence – it truly captures the spirit of the real A380. Every curve, every engine nacelle, every bit of its massive scale is mesmerising.

For the Aviation Enthusiasts and RC Pilots: The Technical Marvel

For those of you, like me, who love to dive into the nitty-gritty of what makes such a marvel tick, here are the details that truly make this model stand out:

This isn’t just a model; it’s arguably the largest EPO (Expanded Polyolefin) model you’ll ever encounter. With a formidable wingspan of 1520mm (nearly 60 inches!) and powered by four potent 56mm ducted fans (EDFs), it’s guaranteed to turn heads at any airfield.

Despite its impressive dimensions, the designers have done a brilliant job making it surprisingly light and economical to fly, requiring just a 3000mAh 3S battery (though it can handle up to a 5000mAh for extended flights). This means less drain on your wallet and more time in the air.

And for those eager to get airborne, the good news is it arrives 95% pre-built. It includes a powerful 4 x 25A brushless EDF system and a steerable nose wheel, meaning you just need to add your own Tx/Rx (transmitter/receiver) and battery to get this giant taking to the skies.

Key Specifications:

  • Length: 1410mm (55.51in)
  • Wing span: 1520mm (59.84in)
  • Flying weight: 1800g
  • Motor: 2826 Brushless outrunner (3200KV)
  • ESC: 4 x 25A
  • Servo: 9g * 5pcs
  • Battery (Required): 3000~5000mAh 3S1P 45C~65C Lipoly Pack
  • EDF Diameter: 4 x 56mm

This A380 model is more than just a hobbyist’s dream; it’s a testament to incredible engineering, both at the full scale and in miniature. The thrill of seeing it take flight, or even just feeling the raw power of its engines, is an experience I wouldn’t trade. It truly brings the majesty of aviation right into your hands.

365 Days of Writing, 2026 – Beyond the second novel

Where the dynasty begins

…

Ground Zero for Greatness: Why Location is the Ultimate Character in a Book Series

If you’re going to write a book series, sometimes it will be rooted in one particular place—the place I would call home.

Dynasties need a place that is theirs, to start from nothing. And when you’re building a multi-book epic, a generational saga, or even a sprawling television-style procedural, it’s all about picking a location.

Before you plot your twists, before you name your protagonist, and long before you figure out how the story ends, you have to choose the dirt. Because in serialised fiction, geography isn’t just a backdrop; it’s the heartbeat of your entire fictional universe.

Here is why your series needs a definitive home base, and how to pick a location that can carry the weight of an entire dynasty.

1. The Power of “Home” in Serialised Fiction

Think of the most iconic series in literature and pop culture. Game of Thrones is inextricably linked to Winterfell and the stark brutality of the North. Lord of the Rings always circles back to the comforting, green hearth of the Shire. In crime fiction, Michael Connelly’s Harry Bosch is Los Angeles—the asphalt, the traffic, the neon-lit grit.

When a series has a distinct home, it offers the reader a psychological anchor. No matter how chaotic the plot gets, or how many new characters are introduced in book three or four, returning to “home” provides a sense of continuity.

As a writer, establishing a home base gives you a baseline. You can’t show how much a character or a family has changed unless you show them against the backdrop of where they started.

2. Dynasties Need Dirt: Starting from Nothing

Every great dynasty—whether it’s the Corleones in The Godfather, the Roys in Succession, or a fantasy bloodline clawing its way to a throne—needs a genesis point.

To make a dynasty compelling, you have to show the climb. And to show the climb, you need a starting block that feels tactile, specific, and often, limiting.

  • The Mud and the Scaffolding: Starting from nothing means your characters are shaped by the geography of their struggle. Are they mining coal in a bleak valley? Are they scraping by in a crowded port city? The physical environment dictates their resourcefulness, their culture, and their desperation.
  • The Claim: A dynasty isn’t just a family; it’s real estate. The moment a group of characters stakes a claim on a specific piece of land—whether it’s an abandoned farm, a contested borough, or an uncharted island—the story shifts from mere survival to legacy-building.

When you pick a location, ask yourself: What does this dirt demand from the people who walk on it?

3. How to Choose the Right Location for Your Series

Picking a location isn’t about just pointing a finger at a map or making up a cool-sounding fantasy name. It’s a strategic choice that will dictate the trajectory of your entire series. Here’s how to nail it:

Give the Location Personality

Treat your setting like a main character. It should have moods, history, biases, and secrets. A coastal town isn’t just “near the water”—it’s salty, isolated, suspicious of outsiders, and at the mercy of the tides. The weather, the architecture, the local cuisine, and the regional slang should all bleed into the narrative.

Ensure Room for Expansion

A common pitfall in series writing is picking a location that is too small. If your entire story takes place in a single room or a tiny village, you’ll run out of narrative fuel by book two. Ensure your chosen location has layers: neighbourhoods, surrounding wilderness, political jurisdictions, or hidden undergrounds that you can peel back as the series progresses.

Make It Inhospitable (At Least a Little Bit)

Comfort breeds stagnation; struggle breeds dynasties. Whether it’s harsh winters, political corruption, economic depression, or literal monsters at the gates, your location should present ongoing obstacles. A dynasty is forged in the forge, after all.

4. The Location Evolves With You

One of the greatest joys of writing a series is watching the home base change over time.

In Book 1, your characters might be shivering in a leaky shack on the edge of town, dreaming of something better. By Book 5, that same shack might be replaced by a sprawling estate, or serve as the historic foundation of a massive corporate or political empire.

Because the location stays the same while the characters change, the setting becomes a measuring stick for time and ambition. Readers love nothing more than recognising a street corner, a building, or a landmark that appeared in the first book, but seeing it entirely transformed through the lens of the characters’ success (or downfall).

Final Thoughts: Plant Your Flag

If you’re staring at a blank document, paralysed by the sheer scope of the series you want to write, stop trying to plot the ending. Stop trying to introduce every character.

Instead, look for the place.

Find the town, the planet, the estate, or the street corner that feels like the epicentre of your imagination. Plant your flag there. Make it messy, make it real, and make it home. Because once you find the right location, the dynasty will build itself.

…

In a word: Rain

Well, isn’t it just like you to rain on my parade?

Yes, and don’t we need a lot of rain because of the bushfires that are burning out of control?

Rain is that stuff that falls from the sky, sometimes at the awkwardest of times, like when you leave your umbrella in the car.

And rain can be a problem in sub-zero temperatures and high winds when it almost takes on the form of multiple miniature knives.  Rain and snow together, sleep, but that’s something else.

Of course, it could always rain cats and dogs, a rather interesting occurrence if it ever happened.

This should not be confused with the word rein.

As any horseperson would know this is what helps control a horse

But, it doesn’t have to be a horse, it might be that you are told to rein in your attack dog

Or rein in your excesses

Or alternatively, give a person free rein to go about their business.

Then there is reign, that period of time when a monarch rules, and it seems in England women hold the record for the longest reign, Queen Victoria, and Queen Elizabeth II

That’s distinct from the office oligarchs who seem to think they reign over the plebs

‘What Sets Us Apart’ – A beta reader’s 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 of 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

…

365 Days of Writing, 2026 – Beyond the second novel

Where the dynasty begins

…

Ground Zero for Greatness: Why Location is the Ultimate Character in a Book Series

If you’re going to write a book series, sometimes it will be rooted in one particular place—the place I would call home.

Dynasties need a place that is theirs, to start from nothing. And when you’re building a multi-book epic, a generational saga, or even a sprawling television-style procedural, it’s all about picking a location.

Before you plot your twists, before you name your protagonist, and long before you figure out how the story ends, you have to choose the dirt. Because in serialised fiction, geography isn’t just a backdrop; it’s the heartbeat of your entire fictional universe.

Here is why your series needs a definitive home base, and how to pick a location that can carry the weight of an entire dynasty.

1. The Power of “Home” in Serialised Fiction

Think of the most iconic series in literature and pop culture. Game of Thrones is inextricably linked to Winterfell and the stark brutality of the North. Lord of the Rings always circles back to the comforting, green hearth of the Shire. In crime fiction, Michael Connelly’s Harry Bosch is Los Angeles—the asphalt, the traffic, the neon-lit grit.

When a series has a distinct home, it offers the reader a psychological anchor. No matter how chaotic the plot gets, or how many new characters are introduced in book three or four, returning to “home” provides a sense of continuity.

As a writer, establishing a home base gives you a baseline. You can’t show how much a character or a family has changed unless you show them against the backdrop of where they started.

2. Dynasties Need Dirt: Starting from Nothing

Every great dynasty—whether it’s the Corleones in The Godfather, the Roys in Succession, or a fantasy bloodline clawing its way to a throne—needs a genesis point.

To make a dynasty compelling, you have to show the climb. And to show the climb, you need a starting block that feels tactile, specific, and often, limiting.

  • The Mud and the Scaffolding: Starting from nothing means your characters are shaped by the geography of their struggle. Are they mining coal in a bleak valley? Are they scraping by in a crowded port city? The physical environment dictates their resourcefulness, their culture, and their desperation.
  • The Claim: A dynasty isn’t just a family; it’s real estate. The moment a group of characters stakes a claim on a specific piece of land—whether it’s an abandoned farm, a contested borough, or an uncharted island—the story shifts from mere survival to legacy-building.

When you pick a location, ask yourself: What does this dirt demand from the people who walk on it?

3. How to Choose the Right Location for Your Series

Picking a location isn’t about just pointing a finger at a map or making up a cool-sounding fantasy name. It’s a strategic choice that will dictate the trajectory of your entire series. Here’s how to nail it:

Give the Location Personality

Treat your setting like a main character. It should have moods, history, biases, and secrets. A coastal town isn’t just “near the water”—it’s salty, isolated, suspicious of outsiders, and at the mercy of the tides. The weather, the architecture, the local cuisine, and the regional slang should all bleed into the narrative.

Ensure Room for Expansion

A common pitfall in series writing is picking a location that is too small. If your entire story takes place in a single room or a tiny village, you’ll run out of narrative fuel by book two. Ensure your chosen location has layers: neighbourhoods, surrounding wilderness, political jurisdictions, or hidden undergrounds that you can peel back as the series progresses.

Make It Inhospitable (At Least a Little Bit)

Comfort breeds stagnation; struggle breeds dynasties. Whether it’s harsh winters, political corruption, economic depression, or literal monsters at the gates, your location should present ongoing obstacles. A dynasty is forged in the forge, after all.

4. The Location Evolves With You

One of the greatest joys of writing a series is watching the home base change over time.

In Book 1, your characters might be shivering in a leaky shack on the edge of town, dreaming of something better. By Book 5, that same shack might be replaced by a sprawling estate, or serve as the historic foundation of a massive corporate or political empire.

Because the location stays the same while the characters change, the setting becomes a measuring stick for time and ambition. Readers love nothing more than recognising a street corner, a building, or a landmark that appeared in the first book, but seeing it entirely transformed through the lens of the characters’ success (or downfall).

Final Thoughts: Plant Your Flag

If you’re staring at a blank document, paralysed by the sheer scope of the series you want to write, stop trying to plot the ending. Stop trying to introduce every character.

Instead, look for the place.

Find the town, the planet, the estate, or the street corner that feels like the epicentre of your imagination. Plant your flag there. Make it messy, make it real, and make it home. Because once you find the right location, the dynasty will build itself.

…

Inspiration, Maybe – Volume 2

50 photographs, 50 stories, of which there is one of the 50 below.

They all start with –

A picture paints … well, as many words as you like.  For instance:

And, the story:

Have you ever watched your hopes and dreams simply fly away?

Everything I thought I wanted and needed had just left in an aeroplane, and although I said I was not going to, I came to the airport to see the plane leave.  Not the person on it, that would have been far too difficult and emotional, but perhaps it was symbolic, the end of one life and the start of another.

But no matter what I thought or felt, we had both come to the right decision.  She needed the opportunity to spread her wings.  It was probably not the best idea for her to apply for the job without telling me, but I understood her reasons.

She was in a rut.  Though her job was a very good one, it was not as demanding as she had expected, particularly after the last promotion, but with it came resentment from others on her level that she, the youngest of the group, would get the position.

It was something that had been weighing her down for the last three months, and if she noticed it, the late nights, the moodiness, sometimes a flash of temper.  I knew she had one; no one could have such red hair and not, but she had always kept it in check.

And then there was us, together, and after seven years, it felt like we were going nowhere.  Perhaps that was down to my lack of ambition, and though she never said it, lack of sophistication.  It hadn’t been an issue, well, not until her last promotion, and the fact that she had to entertain more, and frankly, I felt like an embarrassment to her.

So, there it was, three days ago, the beginning of the weekend, and we had planned to go away for a few days and take stock.  We both acknowledged we needed to talk, but it never seemed the right time.

It was then that she said she had quit her job and found a new one.  Starting the following Monday.

Ok, that took me by surprise, not so much that it was something I sort of guessed might happen, but that she would just blurt it out.

I think that right then, at that moment, I could feel her frustration with everything around her.

What surprised her was my reaction.  None.

I simply asked who, where, and when.

A world-class newspaper in New York, and she had to be there in a week.

A week.

It was all the time I had left with her.

I remember just shrugging and asking if the planned weekend away was off.

She stood on the other side of the kitchen counter, hands around a cup of coffee she had just poured, and that one thing I remembered was the lone tear that ran down her cheek.

Is that all you want to know?

I did, yes, but we had lost the intimacy we used to have, where she would have told me what was happening, and we would have brainstormed solutions. I might be a cabinet maker, but I still had a brain, was what I overheard her tell a friend once.

There’s not much to ask, I said.  You’ve been desperately unhappy and haven’t been able to hide it all that well, you have been under a lot of pressure trying to deal with a group of troglodytes, and you’ve been leaning on Bentley’s shoulder instead of mine, and I get it, he’s got more experience in that place,  and the politics that go with it, and is still an ally.

Her immediate superior was instrumental in her getting the position, but unlike some men in his position, he had not taken advantage of the situation like some might.  And even if she had made a move, which I doubted, that was not the sort of woman she was, he would have politely declined.

One of the very few happily married men in that organisation, so I heard.

So, she said, you’re not just a pretty face.

Par for the course for a cabinet maker whose university degree is in psychology.  It doesn’t take rocket science to see what was happening to you.  I just didn’t think it was my place to jump in unless you asked me, and when you didn’t, well, that told me everything I needed to know.

Yes, our relationship had a use-by date, and it was in the next few days.

I was thinking, she said, that you might come with me; you can make cabinets anywhere.

I could, but I think the real problem wasn’t just the job.  It was everything around her and going with her that would just be a constant reminder of what had been holding her back. I didn’t want that for her and said so.

Then the only question left was, what do we do now?

Go shopping for suitcases.  Bags to pack, and places to go.

Getting on the roller coaster is easy.  At the beginning, it’s a slow, easy ride, followed by the slow climb to the top.  It’s much like some relationships; they start out easy, they require a little work to get to the next level, followed by the adrenaline rush when it all comes together.

What most people forget is that what comes down must go back up, and life is pretty much a roller coaster with highs and lows.

Our roller coaster had just come out of the final turn, and we were braking so that it would stop at the station.

There was no question of going with her to New York.  Yes, I promised I’d come over and visit her, but that was a promise with crossed fingers behind my back.  After a few months in the new job, the last thing she’d want was a reminder of what she left behind.  New friends, new life.

We packed her bags, threw out everything she didn’t want, a free trip to the op shop with stuff she knew others would like to have, and basically, by the time she was ready to go, there was nothing left of her in the apartment, or anywhere.

Her friends would be seeing her off at the airport, and that’s when I told her I was not coming; that moment, the taxi arrived to take her away forever.  I remember standing there, watching the taxi go.  It was going to be, and was, as hard as it was to watch the plane leave.

So, there I was, finally staring at the blank sky, around me a dozen other plane spotters, a rather motley crew of plane enthusiasts.

Already that morning, there had been 6 different types of planes departing, and I could hear another winding up its engines for take-off.

People coming, people going.

Maybe I would go to New York in a couple of months, not to see her, but just to see what the attraction was.  Or maybe I would drop in, just to see how she was.

As one of my friends told me when I gave him the news, the future is never written in stone, and it’s about time you broadened your horizons.

Perhaps it was.

© Charles Heath 2020-2026

…

Coming soon.  Find the above story and 49 others like it in:

The cinema of my dreams – Was it just another surveillance job – Episode 16

As we all know, writing by the seat of your pants is almost the same as flying by the seat of your pants, a hazardous occupation.

As it happens, I like writing this way because like the reader, I don’t know what to expect next.

And equally, at times, you can write your self into a corner, much like painting, and then have to go back, make a few changes and//or repairs and then move forward.

It’s part of the writing process, only in this case, the changes occur before you’ve finished the novel if you finish.  Quite often a lot of writers get only so far, then the manuscript hits the bottom drawer, to be brought out on a distant rainy day.

Or your cat has mocked your writing ability one too many times.

Therefore, we’re winding back to Episode 16, and moving forward once again, from there.

…

O’Connor seemed to be more affluent than I because he was living in a flat located in an upmarket building.  Getting into the ground floor required a passkey, one I suspect might also be needed to get in the front door of his flat, but I’d worry about that later.

My first problem was that front door, and it was not until a tradesman exited that I took the opportunity to appear to arrive at the same time, pretending to find my card, and brushing past him as he was exiting.  He ignored me, his hands full, being in a hurry.

It took a day and a half of watching the building, waiting for an opportunity.  His flat was on the third floor and although there was an elevator, I took the stairs, hoping that I wouldn’t run into anyone.

Quickly and quietly, and thankfully without seeing another resident, I came out into the passageway, and it was about ten steps to his front door.  Number 37.  Not far away, in one direction, the end of the passage, and numbers 38, 39, and 40.  In the other, four more flats and the end of the corridor.  Windows at either end, perhaps an escape route.  I would not use the elevator if I had to leave in a hurry.

There were two elevators and one staircase.  Both elevators were stationary on the ground floor.

I knocked lightly on the door to number 37.

No answer.

I knocked a little harder on the door.  It was quite solid, and I had to wonder if the knocking sound penetrated the solid wood.

I checked the lock.  Simple to open.  We’d been given instruction by a master locksmith, and I’d brought my tools.

I waited a minute, checked to see if the elevators were still on the ground floor, then picked the lock and was inside within a minute.

Silence.

I felt along the wall for a light switch, usually by the door, and found it, and flicked it on.  The sudden light was almost blinding, but then my eyes adjusted.

Trashed, much the same as my flat.

But, with a difference.

A woman was stretched out on the floor, unmoving.  I could see, from where I was standing, she had been hit on the back of the head and could see the wound, and a trickle of blood through her hair.

Five steps to reach her, I reached down to check for a pulse.

Yes, she was alive.

I shook her gently.  She didn’t react.  I shook her a little more roughly and she stirred, then, as expected, lashed out.

I caught her hands, saying, “I just found you.  I’m not your enemy.”

Of course, considering I was a stranger in what could be her flat without permission, I was not surprised she continued to struggle until I tried being reassuring.  Then she stopped and asked, “Who are you?”

“A friend of O’Connor.  I worked with him.  Something happened to him at work and he said if that happened, I was to come here.  He didn’t say anything about you, though.”

“I live here, in the flat next door.  I heard a noise and came to investigate.  That’s all I remember.”

I helped her up into a sitting position, and, holding her head in her hands, looked around.  “Did you do this?”

“No.  Just got here.  But it’s the same at my place.  The people who did this are looking for something.  By the look of it, they didn’t find it here either.”

“I’ll get a damp cloth for your head.  It doesn’t look serious but there might be a slight concussion that might need attention.”

She felt the back of her head, and, when she touched the wound, gasped, “It hurts though.”

I stood and went over to the kitchenette.  O’Connor was not much of a cook, the benches looked new, and there was nothing out.  I looked in a draw near the sink and found a cloth, still with the price tag on it.  So were several utensils in the drawer.  I ran it under the water, then went back to her, now off the floor and sitting on one of the two chairs.  I handed her the wet cloth and she put it against the injured part of her head.

I made a mental note, it didn’t look like O’Connor had been here long, if at all.  Something was not right here, and if that was the case, I should take care when saying anything to this woman.

“Who are you again?” she asked.

“I worked with him.  My name is irrelevant.  It’s unlikely that he mentioned me to you, or anyone.  It’s the nature of our work.”

“Why should I believe you?  You could be my attacker.”

“If that were the case, why would I still be here trying to be helpful.”

A good question that elicited a curious expression.

“What do you do, what did Oliver do?”

Alarm bells were going off.  Oliver was not O’Connor’s first name.

“Nothing very interesting, I can assure you, and definitely nothing that would warrant this happening.  If it had only been me, I would have not thought any more of it, but since we worked together, and this has also happened to him, it seems we are mixed up in something bad.”

“Where is he, by the way?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.  If you live next door and know him well enough to be here, he might have told you.”

“No.  He never spoke about work.”

She was trying to stand so I helped her up and held on when it looked like she was about to collapse.  Last time I had a knock to the head, I had dizziness for a minute of two.  Her knock had been a lot harder.”

“Are you alright?”  She didn’t look it.

“I will be, I’m sure.”

I let her go, and she took several steps, then gave me a rather hard look.  “Why are you here again?”

“Trying to find my friend.”

“How did you get in here?”

Rather than make her disorientated, the knock must have sharpened her senses.  Time to test a theory. 

“I think we should call the police now, and report the break-in.”

I pulled out my phone.

“Look, I don’t want to get mixed up in this.  You go, and I report this when I get back home.  And, if you find him, tell him Josephine is looking for him.”

As I thought.  She was not able to explain to the authorities why she was in this flat, as I’m sure she believed I couldn’t either.

She started walking towards the door.  My staying any longer would raise her suspicions about me, and any search I was going to do would have to wait.  I opened the door, she walked out, and I followed shutting the door after me.

I left her standing outside the door and headed for the stairs.  A last glance back showed her still where I left her.  I went down to the first landing, then stopped.  It was part of the training, to treat everyone as suspicious.

Then I heard her voice, as she passed the top of the staircase, on her way back to her flat.  “He was here, looking for the files.  No, he’s gone.”  A minute’s silence, then “On my way.”

Another minute, I heard the elevator car arrive on the third floor.

I quickly ran down the stairs to the ground floor and waited at the door until she came out of the elevator, heading for the door.

Then as she passed through the front door, I came out into the foyer just in time to see a car stop out the front, and a familiar face out through the rear window.

Nobbin.

© Charles Heath 2019-2022

‘The Devil You Don’t’ – A beta reader’s view

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 solace after disappointment turns out to be something else entirely, and from that point, everything 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.

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Available on Amazon here: https://amzn.to/2Xyh1ow

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