NANOWRIMO – November 2025 – Day 19

…

The Third Son of a Duke

…

Unless we come from small towns, how much can we know about the big cities, and living in the outer suburbs?

In my day, living in the city, the inner suburbs cost too much, which is why families found themselves on the fringe of the city.

Of course, the differences between Australia and England are stark, and it has taken a lot of reading to get up to speed.

Just when our protagonist is leaving Australia to go back home.

I wondered if I might put him on a ship that was sunk by the Germans, but the Orontes made it back in one piece.

Various diaries have information about the voyage home, and particularly from Colombo, then Aden to take on coal, then back through the Red Sea, Suez, and the canal.

There are points along the way where the guns from the Dardanelles can be heard. There is a stop at Alexandria for the service personnel we ll to disembark.

Our chap is considering not going home but disembarking in Port Said and making his way to Cairo, where he will find out how to enlist in the British army, which has training camps in Egypt.

Then there’s that desire to see Louise and surprise her.

I’m thinking a letter will be awaiting delivery to our protagonist from his father in Aden. In it will be instructions.

What will those instructions be?

…

1880 words, for a total of 30965 words.

Writing about writing a book – Research

Day 25 – Digging deeper into the psyche of both the protagonist and his friend, both seemingly casualties of the war, one disassociative, the other having buried relevant memories that are connected to his current circumstances.

We’ll start with the protagonist, and how he got to this point, and this research I should have done a while back, and had to a certain extent, but this now clarifies, at least in my min,d why he is this way now

…

The Unburial of Nightmares: Neurobiological Catastrophe, Iatrogenic Retrieval, and the Crisis of Post-Dissociative Stability

Abstract

This paper explores a specific, highly acute mechanism of traumatic memory retrieval: the sudden unearthing of deeply buried, dissociated memories (often termed “repressed memories”) triggered by the synergistic shock of severe physical trauma (e.g., a gunshot wound) and the administration of potent psychoactive analgesics. While the strict concept of Freudian repression remains contested, modern trauma theory utilises the framework of Dissociative Amnesia to explain the compartmentalisation of traumatic data. This extreme retrieval event, characterised by sudden memory flooding, collapses decades of psychological defence, plunging the individual into an acute crisis of identity and reality. The central focus of this analysis is the subsequent psychological effort required—the processes of containment, integration, and therapeutic intervention—necessary for the individual to navigate this catastrophic cognitive shift and regain psychological stability, or “sanity.” We argue that stability is achieved not through re-repression, but through structured, trauma-informed integration that scaffolds the shattered self.

1. Introduction: The Cartography of Buried Memory

The nature of extreme traumatic memory—whether it is actively repressed, poorly encoded, or passively forgotten—has been a central, often contentious, topic in psychology, law, and neuroscience for decades (Loftus & Ketcham, 1994; Van der Kolk, 2014). While forensic debates caution against the spontaneous recovery of “false memories,” clinical literature consistently supports the existence of Dissociative Amnesia (DSM-5), where memories of severe, life-threatening experiences are segmented, unintegrated, and inaccessible to conscious recall due to overwhelming emotional load.

This paper addresses a critical scenario: the sudden, non-volitional retrieval of such dark, previously compartmentalised material. We hypothesise a specific trigger pathway:

Severe Physical Trauma: The overwhelming stressor (e.g., being shot) floods the system with catecholamines, shattering existing coping mechanisms.
Iatrogenic Catalyst: The administration of strong psychoactive drugs (e.g., dissociative anesthetics or potent opioids) alters the neurobiological state, disrupting the usual filtering mechanisms of the prefrontal cortex (PFC), thereby granting access to state-dependent memory fragments.

The resulting memory retrieval is not gradual introspection but a catastrophic memory flood, instantly replacing the current reality with the original trauma. The subsequent challenge is monumental: how can the individual maintain psychological integrity when the foundational structure of their self-narrative collapses?

2. Theoretical Foundations: Dissociation, Encoding, and State-Dependent Retrieval

2.1 The Repression-Dissociation Continuum

The traditional Freudian concept of “repression” implies an active, unconscious defence mechanism pushing unacceptable material out of awareness. In modern trauma psychology, dissociation provides a more precise neurobiological explanation. Dissociation, as described by Pierre Janet and later expanded upon by figures like Bessel van der Kolk (2014), involves the fragmentation of the traumatic experience. Instead of being stored as a coherent autobiographical narrative, the memory is stored as raw sensory fragments (images, smells, somatic sensations) in the primitive brain structures (amygdala). These fragments remain separate from the conscious self-system, resulting in amnesia.

2.2 Neurobiology of Traumatic Encoding

When trauma occurs, the high levels of stress hormones (cortisol, adrenaline) inhibit the hippocampus, the brain structure crucial for dating and contextualising memory. The amygdala, responsible for emotional salience and fear responses, remains highly active. This imbalance ensures the memory is encoded powerfully but fragmentarily—a raw sensory footprint lacking narrative context (LeDoux, 2000). The PFC, the executive control centre responsible for memory retrieval, actively suppresses these fragments to maintain daily functioning. This suppression is the neurobiological “burial.”

2.3 State-Dependent Memory and Pharmacological Triggers

Memories are often tied to the physiological and psychological state in which they were encoded. State-dependent memory suggests that retrieval is easiest when the retrieval state matches the encoding state. The acute trauma-analgesia scenario creates a perfect storm for accessing deep trauma:

High Arousal/Pain State: The initial trauma (getting shot) mimics the extreme stress and life threat of the original trauma, lowering the threshold for retrieval.
Pharmacological Alteration: Drugs, particularly powerful synthetic opioids (e.g., Fentanyl, Morphine) or dissociative anesthetics (e.g., Ketamine), drastically alter consciousness and inhibit the PFC’s filtering function. Ketamine, for instance, acts on NMDA receptors, fundamentally altering sensory and cognitive processing, often leading to profound, non-ordinary states of consciousness where psychological defences are temporarily deactivated (Krystal et al., 1994). This unique, highly altered state acts like a master key, bypassing the long-established neurological firewall and instantly accessing the fragmented traumatic material.

3. The Catastrophic Retrieval: Acute Memory Flooding

When the repressed material is accessed under these extreme conditions, the experience is described clinically as a memory flood or abreaction—a sudden, overwhelming confrontation with the past, entirely divorced from the protective therapeutic setting.

3.1 Collapse of the Self-Structure

The primary consequence of memory flooding is the immediate and profound destabilisation of the individual’s constructed identity. The personality framework may have been built entirely around the absence of this memory. The sudden introduction of dark, overwhelming data challenges the core schemas of safety, self-worth, and reality. The individual experiences acute symptoms of depersonalization (feeling detached from oneself) and derealization (feeling detached from reality), often coupled with flashbacks characterised by full sensorium immersion, believing they are reliving the original horror (Van der Kolk, 2014).

3.2 The Trauma of Retrieval

The retrieval itself becomes a secondary trauma. The individual is simultaneously experiencing:

The acute physical pain and life threat of the present (the gunshot wound).
The terror, pain, and helplessness of the original, long-ago event.
The dissociative confusion is induced by the powerful analgesics.

This confluence creates an acute psychological crisis far exceeding the typical presentation of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), often manifesting as acute, protracted, psychotic-like states or severe fugue episodes. The memory is so dark—so overwhelming in its implications—that the immediate, unconscious imperative is often psychological obliteration or a return to global amnesia.

4. Pathways to Psychological Stability: Navigating the Crisis

The challenge of maintaining “sanity” post-flooding is not one of mere adjustment, but of rebuilding the personality structure from the ground up while simultaneously managing an existential crisis. Stability is achieved through rigorous containment, psychoeducation, and gradual integration.

4.1 Immediate Containment and Stabilisation

In the acute phase (hospital recovery), the priority is stabilisation and grounding, not processing. The individual must be protected from the desire to re-repress or self-harm.

Pharmacological Management: Careful titration of analgesics and withdrawal from dissociative agents is critical. Anxiolytics and short-term atypical antipsychotics may be used temporarily to manage acute hyperarousal, paranoia, and fragmented thinking caused by the memory flood.
Psychoeducation: The individual must be quickly educated on the neurobiology of trauma and dissociation. Understanding that the memory is an event from the past, rather than a current reality, helps manage the profound sense of fragmentation and shame.
Safety and Boundaries: Establishing a secure, predictable environment (both physically and relationally) counteracts the catastrophic loss of control inherent in both the current trauma and the original repressed event.

4.2 Therapeutic Integration: The Necessity of Scaffolding

Psychological recovery requires abandoning the previous life structure built on denial and moving toward integration, a process that is often nonlinear and agonising.

A. Phase-Oriented Treatment

Effective treatment follows Judith Herman’s three-stage model (1992):

Safety and Stabilisation: Focusing on emotional regulation, grounding techniques, and managing daily life before delving into the trauma content.
Remembrance and Mourning: Gradually processing the fragmented memories in a controlled, therapeutic environment (often using techniques like Eye Movement Desensitisation and Reprocessing – EMDR or Cognitive Processing Therapy – CPT). This requires confronting the memory without becoming overwhelmed.
Reconnection: Re-engaging with life, finding meaning, and establishing a new, coherent biographical narrative that incorporates the dark event.

B. The Role of Dialectical Behaviour Therapy (DBT)

For individuals experiencing extreme emotional dysregulation and dissociation post-flooding, DBT skills—specifically mindfulness, emotional regulation, and distress tolerance—are invaluable tools for preventing a relapse into severe destabilisation. These techniques provide the concrete, present-focused skills necessary to contain the constant threat of fragmentation posed by the unearthed memories.

4.3 Resilience and Meaning-Making

Ultimately, “sanity” post-trauma is defined by psychological resilience—the ability to adapt positively to adverse circumstances. For memories so dark they “should have been left there,” the individual must engage in a profound shift toward meaning-making. This often involves:

Post-Traumatic Growth (PTG): Finding ways to use the survival of the original event and the subsequent unearthing as a source of strength, greater appreciation for life, or a renewed sense of purpose (Tedeschi & Calhoun, 1996).
Separation of Self and Event: Recognising that while the terrible event happened to them, it does not define who they are. This requires moving from the victim role to the survivor role, acknowledging the profound suffering without allowing the trauma narrative to consume the present identity.

5. Conclusion

The forced retrieval of deeply dissociated memories via acute trauma and pharmacological intervention represents a complex neurobiological catastrophe. The resulting memory flood instantly dismantles the individual’s long-standing defences, forcing a confrontation with overwhelming darkness. Maintaining psychological stability in this landscape requires rigorous, phase-oriented trauma therapy centred on containment, psychoeducation, and the gradual integration of the fragmented self.

The individual keeps sane not by successfully burying the memories again, but by utilising therapeutic scaffolding to build a new self-structure robust enough to hold the horrific reality of the past without collapsing in the present. The journey from fragmentation to integration is long and fraught, but it is the dedicated effort to synthesise the formerly unspeakable into a coherent life narrative that defines true psychological resilience and survival.

The cinema of my dreams – I never wanted to go to Africa – Episode 42

Our hero knows he’s in serious trouble.

The problem is, there are familiar faces and a question of who is a friend and who is foe made all the more difficult because of the enemy, if it was the enemy, simply because it didn’t look or sound or act like the enemy.

Now, it appears, his problems stem from another operation he participated in, and because of it, he has now been roped into what might be called a suicide mission.

I was not sure how the Congo commander was going to react when four cars with people who looked more like mercenaries than a film crew turned up at the front gate.

Not that we had the film equipment to use as a cover. I guess that was the reason the kidnappers had removed it from our cars. One less reason to believe our story. I would have been curious to hear just how the commander had described us to his Congo counterpart.

Or what sort of treatment we were going to get. I don’t think the hostages were going to like the idea of becoming hostages again, albeit with a new set of ransom demands, and probably a lot of harsher treatment. Mercenaries could be rough, but they needed resources, and trying to negotiate with overly damaged goods wouldn’t set much of an example.

The Government military, on the other hand, would not be too particular. And capturing an invading enemy force, spies if you will, well, that was going to be a feather in the cap of the airfield commander.

But would he tip his hand at the gate or wait till we pulled up outside the headquarters building. If there was one.

We were about to find out. The gate was in sight and flanked by two very bright lights which we had all seen for about the last half mile, flickering through the undergrowth. The road was well made, and we would have made good time, but I deliberately slowed down to give Monroe time to get into place.

Another brief report from the Colonel told me they reckoned on 20 troops deployed at different parts of the field, just in case we decided to ‘sneak’ in on foot.

At the gate the road widened into a large turning circle for turning back cars.

I stopped right on top of the gate. A non-commissioned officer came out of a small shack by the gate and joined two men standing either side of the gate. Weapons weren’t pointed in our direction, but that could change quickly.

I was going with the film crew going home story first.

“Who are you?” I noticed the officer had a clipboard and made a show of looking at it, and the page underneath. “You are not on my list.”

“Probably not. We have been filming a documentary, and it’s time to go home. We have an aircraft coming in tomorrow morning to pick us up.”

One of the guards came through the gate and went down one side of each car, then came back up the other side, peering in through the windows. Back at the gate, he spoke to the officer.

“You have weapons. That is unusual for a film crew isn’t it?”

Highly, if we were anywhere else in the world. “We were warned about militias. Luckily we didn’t run into any.”

“Then, before you enter the airfield I suggest you, and your men, surrender any weapons.”

“Of course.” I relayed the instruction back through the cars. The soldier then came down the car and collected the weapons in a bag. As I’d assumed, we were not going to gain admission to the airstrip armed. It was probably also a law which in any country made perfect sense.

Once the soldier returned the officer had the gate opened, and came over to me.

“Fill in the form, and we’ll get you on your way soon enough.”

He handed me the clipboard, and then stepped away, taking out a radio unit of his own and spoke into it in a language I didn’t understand. Perhaps we should have kept Jacobi with us for a little longer so he could interpret.

When I filled out the form and handed it back, he said, “Drive up the road about a half-mile to a hanger and park your cars out the front. I suggest when getting out of the cars not to make any sudden or suspicious moves.”

Like we’d been told almost word for word back at the commander’s camp. Interesting.

The men at the gate didn’t follow us, but I did see, coming from two separate points back from the runway, or what looked to be the runway, two groups of five soldiers in each, in a proper formation. That was not the actions of a motley militia.

Serious soldiers perhaps.

It didn’t take long to reach the hanger, quite large, but in a sorry state of repair. Beside it was two old army huts that were in better repair and lit up. At the top of the steps of one stood the commander, a Captain. Clean, fresh, snug-fitting uniform, looking the part. Newly promoted, with something to prove.

With him were another six soldiers, armed and ready. That made 16 plus him. Where were the others?

Another non-commissioned officer came out of the hut and briefly spoke to his commander. Then he went back inside, and the commander came down the stairs to greet me. The rest of the team stood together, in front of the third car, and about 20 feet away. They were trying their best to cover the two hostages.

“Good evening Mr. James.” Reasonably good English, polite, but there was a slight edge to his tone.

“Good evening.”

“May I ask, which way do you come?”

“From Faradje, on the way to Nagero. I was going to drive into Nagero but changed my mind. Best to get here and be ready.”

“I heard there were some elements of the militia on the road. Did you meet any?”

“No. I was told that this country is quite safe and that we would not be harmed, thanks, I’m told to the good services of the Government’s military. You will be pleased to learn that it is quite safe, a point I will be spreading when I return home. Hopefully that will bring in more tourists.”

“If, as you say, you’ve been making a documentary, it seems odd to me that on one hand, you don’t have any equipment, and on the other, that you have not included Garamba.”

“A valid observation. We had to call the shooting off because two of our crew are ill and need to be returned home, and we left the equipment back in Faradje, our last stop, ready for the replacement crew who will be scheduled to fly in, in the next week or so.”

I had considered what I might say and tried to make it sound plausible, but in the end I don’t think it mattered what I said, especially if the other commander had forewarned the Captain of our impending arrival.

“Yes. That may be true, or it might not. I’m assuming the two sick members of your team are over next to the film crew. In that case, I believe both of us know that those men do not belong to your crew, but are escaped prisoners.”

He gestured towards his men and they went over to the group and extracted the two hostages.

Seemingly it was game over.

“So Commander Ntumba called you after we left?”

“Not a lot happens here without my knowing it. It was in his best interest to inform me.”

Something in the distance caught his eye, and I moved my line of sight to match his. Shurl, hands in the air, with two more soldiers behind him, coming from the bush line on the other side of the runway.

Commander Ntumba would also have told him about our sniper, as I’d surmised, and there was no mistaking the look of glee on his face. Outsmarting what he would consider a crack team of mercenaries from the United States.

I turned back and shrugged.

“Yes, he also told us about your sniper Mr. James. You didn’t think he was going to sneak up on us like he did Commander Ntumba did you?”

“It was worth a try,” I said in my best-defeated tone.

“Right. For the time being you will be kept in detention until I speak to my commander. You will not be leaving this airport. Your rescue plane, when it arrives, will be detained. I will have further questions for you later. Film crew indeed. Take them to B Block,” he said to the officer, then headed back up the stairs to his office.

As far as he was concerned, it had been all too easy.

What I learned about writing – 306/306

Running the beta reader gauntlet – what to change and what not to…

…

The Beta Feedback Gauntlet: Taming Your Ego and Choosing Your Critics

You’ve done it. You reached The End.

After months (or years) in the writing cave, fueled by caffeine and sheer willpower, you finally sent your prized manuscript out into the wild. You waited for the champagne feeling to settle, and then—the emails started trickling back in.

This is the moment every writer both craves and dreads. Feedback is the necessary acid bath that turns a rough stone into a polished gem. But when you open those documents filled with tracked changes and margins plastered with notes like “Confusing,” “Pacing slow,” or “Didn’t connect with this character,” the defenses snap into place.

Suddenly, the voice in your head screams: “My work is a masterpiece! What do these amateurs know?”

Welcome to the Beta Feedback Gauntlet—the ultimate test of a writer’s maturity. The challenge isn’t just getting feedback; it’s discerning whose voices to heed and how to shake that reflexive, stubborn refusal to listen.

1. Confronting the Masterpiece Delusion

The belief that your just-finished draft is perfect is natural. It’s a necessary psychological mechanism that allows you to finish the book in the first place. But that mindset is lethal in the revision stage.

If you are struggling with the feeling that your betas “just don’t get it,” remind yourself of this fundamental truth: You are too close to the work to see it objectively.

Your beta readers are your first genuine audience. They are experiencing the story for the first time, free from the context of the 80 notebooks, the frantic deleted scenes, and the emotional labour you poured into every sentence.

When you feel that throe of superiority, take a breath and reframe the goal: I am not looking for validation; I am looking for clarity.

2. The Hierarchy of Heeding: Who to Listen To

Once you’ve accepted that revisions are necessary, the strategic challenge remains: How do you prioritise conflicting advice? Not all feedback is created equal.

The key to navigating the notes is understanding the difference between A diagnosis (what is broken) and A prescription (how to fix it). Always trust the diagnosis, but treat the prescription as merely a suggestion.

A. The Weight of Recurring Advice

If one beta reader tells you your opening scene is slow, that’s interesting. If three beta readers tell you the opening scene is slow, you have a problem with the opening scene.

This is the golden rule of feedback: Recurring notes always signal a systemic issue.

It doesn’t matter if you disagree with the specific language used (e.g., one says “the protagonist is whiny,” another says “I didn’t root for her”), the underlying diagnosis is the same: the protagonist’s presentation or motives are failing to land with the reader.

Action Item: Use a spreadsheet or a separate document to track recurring comments. If a point is raised by 30% or more of your readers, it must be addressed, regardless of your personal feelings.

B. The Shock of the Single Insight

While recurring comments are supreme, don’t dismiss the powerful, precise note that only one beta provides. This usually applies to:

Genre Expectations: If one reader who specialises in your genre (e.g., a huge fan of dark fantasy) tells you that the magic system doesn’t make sense, heed them. They speak for a crucial segment of your market.
Structural Integrity: Sometimes, one sharp-eyed reader catches a massive plot hole or a continuity error that everyone else missed because they were swept up in the story. This single note can save the entire manuscript.

If a single comment causes your stomach to clench and you immediately think, “Oh, they found the weak spot I tried to hide,” that note is often more valuable than twenty comments on typos.

C. Listening to the ‘Wrong’ Reader

One of the greatest mistakes a writer makes is only giving their work to other writers. While writer betas are useful for craft notes, you also need readers who are simply fans of the genre.

The non-writer reader is crucial because they don’t analyse; they read. They tell you when they got bored, when they stopped caring, or when a scene made them cry. They represent the market. If they struggled with the pacing, the pacing is probably the real problem, even if your writer friends told you the structure was brilliant.

3. Shaking the ‘I Refuse to Listen’ Attitude

That defensive, “I refuse to listen” attitude is a form of procrastination disguised as artistic integrity. To move past it, you need practical strategies for detachment.

1. Institute a 48-Hour Freeze

Never read feedback and start acting on it immediately. Your brain needs time to process the emotional shock. When the notes come in, read them quickly, close the document, and walk away. Go work out, cook dinner, or watch a bad movie.

The goal is to let the emotional heat dissipate so that when you sit down 48 hours later, you can approach the feedback as a detective solving a puzzle, not a defendant on trial.

2. Focus on the Effect, Not the Suggestion

When a beta reader gives a prescription—saying something like, “You should make the villain a woman instead of a man”—don’t focus on their suggested fix. Focus on the implied diagnosis.

Beta says: “I didn’t care about the villain’s motivation.”
The Problem: The motivation is weak.
Your Solution: Brainstorm five new motivations. Maybe one is a female character, but maybe another is a male character with a deeper backstory. You solve the problem without implementing the suggestion.

3. Seek the Root Cause

Often, a dozen different pieces of feedback point back to one central flaw.

Notes: “Dialogue is clunky,” “Pacing slows in the middle,” “I didn’t understand why they went to the abandoned factory,” “The stakes felt low.”
Root Cause: The protagonist lacks a clear, compelling goal that drives the entire second act.

When you find that single, vital root cause, the other twelve symptoms (clunky dialogue, weak pacing) often heal themselves once the main structural adjustment is made.

Feedback Is Fuel

Receiving beta feedback feels like a verdict, but it is actually a gift. It is the roadmap to the best possible version of your book.

Your job as a successful, professional writer is not to defend your work, but to elevate it. That means putting your ego aside and strategically choosing which voices to heed. Trust the patterns, focus on the reader’s experience, and remember: Every great masterpiece started as a messy draft that stubbornly resisted the first round of changes.

An excerpt from “Echoes from the Past”

Available on Amazon Kindle here: https://amzn.to/2CYKxu4

…

With my attention elsewhere, I walked into a man who was hurrying in the opposite direction. He was a big man with a scar running down the left side of his face from eye socket to mouth, and who was also wearing a black shirt with a red tie.

That was all I remembered as my heart almost stopped.

He apologized as he stepped to one side, the same way I stepped, as I also muttered an apology.

I kept my eyes down. He was not the sort of man I wanted to recognize later in a lineup. I stepped to the other side and so did he. It was one of those situations. Finally getting out of sync, he kept going in his direction, and I towards the bus, which was now pulling away from the curb.

Getting my breath back, I just stood riveted to the spot watching it join the traffic. I looked back over my shoulder, but the man I’d run into had gone. I shrugged and looked at my watch. It would be a few minutes before the next bus arrived.

Wait, or walk? I could also go by subway, but it was a long walk to the station. What the hell, I needed the exercise.

At the first intersection, the ‘Walk’ sign had just flashed to ‘Don’t Walk’. I thought I’d save a few minutes by not waiting for the next green light. As I stepped onto the road, I heard the screeching of tires.

A yellow car stopped inches from me.

It was a high powered sports car, perhaps a Lamborghini. I knew what they looked like because Marcus Bartleby owned one, as did every other junior executive in the city with a rich father.

Everyone stopped to look at me, then the car. It was that sort of car. I could see the driver through the windscreen shaking his fist, and I could see he was yelling too, but I couldn’t hear him. I stepped back onto the sidewalk, and he drove on. The moment had passed and everyone went back to their business.

My heart rate hadn’t come down from the last encounter. Now it was approaching cardiac arrest, so I took a few minutes and several sets of lights to regain composure.

At the next intersection, I waited for the green light, and then a few seconds more, just to be sure. I was no longer in a hurry.

At the next, I heard what sounded like a gunshot. A few people looked around, worried expressions on their faces, but when it happened again, I saw it was an old car backfiring. I also saw another yellow car, much the same as the one before, stopped on the side of the road. I thought nothing of it, other than it was the second yellow car I’d seen.

At the next intersection, I realized I was subconsciously heading towards Harry’s new bar. It was somewhere on 6^th Avenue, so I continued walking in what I thought was the right direction.

I don’t know why I looked behind me at the next intersection, but I did. There was another yellow car on the side of the road, not far from me. It, too, looked the same as the original Lamborghini, and I was starting to think it was not a coincidence.

Moments after crossing the road, I heard the roar of a sports car engine and saw the yellow car accelerate past me. As it passed by, I saw there were two people in it, and the blurry image of the passenger; a large man with a red tie.

Now my imagination was playing tricks.

It could not be the same man. He was going in a different direction.

In the few minutes I’d been standing on the pavement, it had started to snow; early for this time of year, and marking the start of what could be a long cold winter. I shuddered, and it was not necessarily because of the temperature.

I looked up and saw a neon light advertising a bar, coincidentally the one Harry had ‘found’ and, looking once in the direction of the departing yellow car, I decided to go in. I would have a few drinks and then leave by the back door if it had one.

Just in case.

newechocover5rs

Inspiration, maybe – Volume 1

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:

lookingdownfromcoronetpeak

And the story:

It was once said that a desperate man has everything to lose.

The man I was chasing was desperate, but I, on the other hand, was more desperate to catch him.

He’d left a trail of dead people from one end of the island to the other.

The team had put in a lot of effort to locate him, and now his capture was imminent. We were following the car he was in, from a discrete distance, and, at the appropriate time, we would catch up, pull him over, and make the arrest.

There was nowhere for him to go.

The road led to a dead-end, and the only way off the mountain was back down the road were now on. Which was why I was somewhat surprised when we discovered where he was.

Where was he going?

“Damn,” I heard Alan mutter. He was driving, being careful not to get too close, but not far enough away to lose sight of him.

“What?”

“I think he’s made us.”

“How?”

“Dumb bad luck, I’m guessing. Or he expected we’d follow him up the mountain. He’s just sped up.”

“How far away?”

“A half-mile. We should see him higher up when we turn the next corner.”

It took an eternity to get there, and when we did, Alan was right, only he was further on than we thought.”

“Step on it. Let’s catch him up before he gets to the top.”

Easy to say, not so easy to do. The road was treacherous, and in places just gravel, and there were no guard rails to stop a three thousand footfall down the mountainside.

Good thing then I had the foresight to have three agents on the hill for just such a scenario.

Ten minutes later, we were in sight of the car, still moving quickly, but we were going slightly faster. We’d catch up just short of the summit car park.

Or so we thought.

Coming quickly around another corner we almost slammed into the car we’d been chasing.

“What the hell…” Aland muttered.

I was out of the car, and over to see if he was in it, but I knew that it was only a slender possibility. The car was empty, and no indication where he went.

Certainly not up the road. It was relatively straightforward for the next mile, at which we would have reached the summit. Up the mountainside from here, or down.

I looked up. Nothing.

Alan yelled out, “He’s not going down, not that I can see, but if he did, there’s hardly a foothold and that’s a long fall.”

Then where did he go?

Then a man looking very much like our quarry came out from behind a rock embedded just a short distance up the hill.

“Sorry,” he said quite calmly. “Had to go if you know what I mean.”

I’d lost him.

It was as simple as that.

I had been led a merry chase up the hill, and all the time he was getting away in a different direction.

I’d fallen for the oldest trick in the book, letting my desperation blind me to the disguise that anyone else would see through in an instant.

It was a lonely sight, looking down that road, knowing that I had to go all that way down again, only this time, without having to throw caution to the wind.

“Maybe next time,” Alan said.

“We’ll get him. It’s just a matter of time.”

Find this and other stories in “Inspiration, maybe” available soon.

InspirationMaybe1v1