This is one of those images that could be anywhere.
So, here’s the problem:
Ethan was reluctant to agree to go to the stag night, knowing firstly, that the others going were a bit too unruly when they had too many drinks, secondly, that they had to agree to not know where they were being taken by the bus, and thirdly, anything they saw or did had to remain completely confidential.
That was particularly the case when it came to the ‘stag’.
In that case, Ethan knew exactly what this night was going to be, hours of unrelenting debauchery.
And, since Ethan was the stag’s brother, and he was the best man, there was no way he could wriggle his way out of this one.
On top of that, Ethan had to promise the bride to be that he would not let her husband to be go too far. That statement, of course, was like a box full of hand grenades. He didn’t ask for a definition of too far.
So, seven sober, respectable, hard-working junior executives in suits that were worth more than Ethan’s annual salary boarded the bus.
What happened from that moment the bus drove off, until Ethan’s brother’s body was found floating face down in the river behind the resort, handcuffed to a naked girl in a rubber dinghy, barely alive from an overdose, was anyone’s guess, and Ethan’s worst nightmare.
Especially when he was the last one to see his brother, and the girl, alive.
And, no, this is not based on a real-life experience, though in recurring nightmares I’m the one floating fase down in the river.
We were standing off the two ships, each about half the size of our ship.
I wondered briefly if the people on board were thinking the same as us.
What were the people like, friendly or hostile, what weapons the other had, and what technology? We knew they could board us, by beaming in combatants, so I’d sent the third officer to organize the security team and other crew members to spread out through the ship and keep an eye out for boarders.
At the very least they knew we couldn’t send people over to their ships.
I walked over to the communications officer’s console where the communication expert sat, waiting.
“Can we broadcast a message so the other ship can hear us?”
“Assuming they understand any or all of the 32 languages we can convert any message to.”
And, if I read the crew briefing note on her correctly, she could speak fluently in every one of them. Just, perhaps, not alien, but up till now, she didn’t have to.
“The last one I spoke to understood me just fine.”
“Very good. Just speak when you are ready. We’re transmitting now.”
I went back to stand in front of the Captain’s chair though I was not sure why. I took a moment to consider what I should say, then proceeded with, “This is the commanding officer of the Earth space ship “Nautilus” hailing the two ships nearby. We are following the vessel that kidnapped two of our crew members. We have no quarrel with you, and this being the case, we will be proceeding with our pursuit forthwith.”
I put my hand up to indicate the message was done.
“Are systems online and ready to go?” I said in the direction of the helmsman who, like the rest of the crew, were looking at me. Why I wasn’t sure.
The helmsman replied, “Ready when you are.”
I was going to give the alien ships five minutes, then leave. They were either going to board us, or shoot at us, or maybe just let us go.
I looked at the military specialist. “I assume we can retaliate if they start shooting at us?”
“It’s possible if they don’t hit any vital parts of the ship.”
It was a rather sardonic reply, or maybe that was her usual tone. I didn’t get time to reflect on it.
“You might want to reconsider that plan, Earth ship Nautilus.”
It was an accented version of English, British perhaps, but very precise, and most likely the result of a translator.
“Who am I speaking to?”
“You may call me the commanding officer of my spaceship.
“Are you with the people who kidnapped my crew members?”
There was silence, a period where I assumed they were considering a response. Then, “I am not sure what you mean by with but were are of the same people, yes, but the one you speak of is not like us. We have been seeking them as you appear to be, but for different reasons.”
“So why are here, impeding our progress, if you are not helping them?”
“We wanted to see who they have mistreated, and what they have done. This is not the first time they have ventured into uncharted space.”
“Where have you come from?”
“Several thousands of what you call light-years away, in a system similar to yours, only each of the planets have a different people. The people who have taken your crew come from one of the planets who are looking for weapons to fight a war they are losing.”
“Then I think you people are in a great deal of trouble. They have also stolen a shipment of plutonium, which if they know what they’re doing, can be used to make bombs that can render a place unliveable for thousands of what we call years. Believe me when I say it’s a very long time.”
“Nuclear bombs?”
“You’ve heard of them?”
“In a roundabout way. You should know we are currently chasing the people who did this, and we are here to advise against you proceeding with your rescue mission. The people you are chasing have a vastly superior ship, and weapons than you, as I suspect your ship is to you, a marvel, but to us, about a hundred of your earth years behind us. We always believed your differences with your fellow humans would always hinder your space programs to the point where Mars would be the furthest you could travel.”
“You should realize we are out there on the very edge of our galaxy ready to find new ones.”
“That we cannot stop. But I give you this warning, not everyone out there is ready to accept new people from other planets or systems. And they are all more technologically advanced.”
Nothing surprising there.
“We’re still going out there, danger withstanding.”
“Be that on your head. I suggest, however, that you do not follow those who have taken your crew members. We will take care of them, and return your people in due course.”
“Thanks for the warning, but we do not abandon our people.”
“Then don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Then, before our eyes, the two ships left, or that is to say, disappeared into a bright light that lasted a few seconds before the inky black returned.
“What just happened,” I said before I realized I’d said it out loud.
A voice from behind said, in reply, “I believe they disappeared into what might be described as a wormhole.”
I guess the point is that I have at least crystallised my thoughts on paper so that I can do something with them. After all, anything is better than nothing, isn’t it?
Sometimes I wonder. I look back on a lot of the stuff I wrote forty or fifty years ago and it looks bad. The thing is, then, I thought it was great, and that I was destined to do great things with the written word.
Pity, all this time later, I’ve turned into a self-critical monster, where it seems nothing I write is any good.
So, does that mean we need to be less critical of our work? After all, through the years, when I’ve shared novels and short stories with others, they have all universally said they’re quite good.
So…
It’s time to go back to the previous day’s work and rework it. Yes, the idea that I wanted to write about is where I wanted the story to go, it’s just the execution.
The problem is, since then a few other ideas have been running around in the back of my head, and these could be added or used to further the current plotline.
The other problem is, it is one of the six stories that I’m writing by the seat of my pants, you know, the way some pilots like to fly a plane, without all that computer backup. Similarly, this is the way I sometimes like to write.
It’s as much a surprise to me is it is to the reader.
There’s good arguments for having planned the story from start to finish, but with these, I like to write it and see where it takes me. They’re episodic, so sometimes I get to write three of four episodes at a time, and these would most likely in a book become a chapter.
Last night I wrote two episodes, but it seems that it might need pointers back in previous episodes, because we all like to leave a trail of crumbs for the reader so when they get to the denouement, they remember, ah yes, back in chapter two such and such happened, but why am I only remembering it now?
Ok, enough convincing myself I’m a good writer, it’s time to get back to work…
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.
…
It was only an hours’ worth of skimming newspapers, for the dates I’d discovered at the cemetery, and the month around the time that Boggs’s father had disappeared, because the date of death for Friedrich Ormiston had a familiar ring to it.
They’d both apparently died in the same year, within months of each other.
Of course, there was a twist.
Neither of the two men’s bodies had been found, and both missing person’s cases had remained open for the specified period before being declared legally dead. I knew that to be the case for Boggs’s father, but I had not really known the details of the circumstances.
The paper had played up the disappearance of both men, pushing the Treasure hunt aspect knowing it would bring in readers, and perhaps get picked up by the big city papers. It had got a television crew down briefly, I remembered that much, and the fact Boggs had wanted nothing to do with it.
The story, though, was interesting, that everyone remembered that fateful night in the bar when he had been telling anyone who would listen that he had found ‘the’ clue to the treasure’s whereabouts, and the drunker he got, the more outlandish the story.
A number of people who were visiting the town because suspects simply because they were out of towners, and subsequently cleared in the ensuing investigation. What had turned up was the fact he owed a great deal of one to loan sharks, and one in particular, who was in town to collect on a prior loan for a fruitless search, and who was a prime suspect.
In the end, the price of his freedom was to forgo the collection of the debt.
Yet another was unmasked as a fellow treasure hunter with a dubious past, having been jailed for earlier transgressions of stealing other’s finds, but he claimed he was not a legitimate treasure hunter, and that he was in town at the request of Benderby, to oversee the dredging of a part of the bay for more coins. It had been a fruitless endeavor.
But despite his assertions, no one really believed Boggs’s father’s claims and had dismissed it as the usual ravings that had become his mantra for many years. Only his son believed him.
Boggs himself had made the newspaper, a photo of him by the grave where his father’s spirit rather than body had been buried, vowing to prove his father right.
What added to the legend was the disappearance and apparent death of Ormiston not long after. The story of his search for the treasure was long and fruitless, one of dissipating the family fortune in search of another.
His disappearance was attributed to the fact he had become erratic and forgetful, the town doctor at the time telling the coroner’s inquest that he had early onset dementia and was prone to wandering off. This time it had been his downfall.
A search had been mounted and all the cave systems were checked, known to be the places he frequented the most, and when a new rockslide was discovered in one of the caves, it was assumed he had ventured too far and been trapped. Several attempts were made to clear the way, but the fall had been far too extensive and had to be abandoned.
Every few years the paper revisited Boggs’s disappearance, but there was no new information, and after ten years nothing more was written. It seemed that Lenny had a continued interest in the Treasure hunt because he had filed a number of newspaper reports, making it easy for me to get the gist of the story.
Then, several months ago, he had written a new story, a small piece that I had missed, reporting on Boggs’s discovery of a new map of the coastline, one that suggested that the site of the ill-fated mall was, in fact, an entrance to the cave system where the treasure may have been placed. It referenced a survey that had been made before the second world war, one that hinted that the cave system was much larger than originally thought, and quite likely went all the way to the mountains, the origin of an ancient underground river.
The fact the mall site had been the victim of flooding made that seemed to make that assumption plausible, but apparently, no one else had seen that particular map, and Boggs had not been forthcoming in sharing it with the reporter.
But aside from those few paragraphs nothing more was said.
It explained what Boggs was doing when we went to the mall site.
All of that was condensed into a page of notes in my notepad, where it would have to stay for a day or so because I had to go home, change and go to work.
Perhaps tomorrow I would get to talk to Boggs about it.
As luck would have it, I ran into Boggs just up the street where he was coming out of the hardware store with a skein of rope slung over his shoulder.
“Just the person I’m looking for,” I said.
His look told me that I was the last person he wanted to see.
“I’m busy, Sam. Can we do this another time?”
“Planning a lynching?” My eyes went from him to the rope, and back.
“Climbing. I’m going away for a few days, get away from everything, and do something other than think about treasure.”
“Probably a good idea. I’m sorry I haven’t been much of help lately, with work and stuff.”
“How’s Nadia?”
It was a pointed question, and I knew he had seen me with her. I had thought it might be Alex.
“Being Nadia, leopards don’t change their spots, and I’m trying to keep the enemies close so I can track what they’re up to.”
“There’s close and then there’s too close, Sam.”
“True, but it’s not what you think.”
“I don’t know what to think anymore. Let’s just leave it at that, and I’ll call you when I get back.”
I knew the tone, and I could smell a burnt bridge. Maybe it was time to give him some space, and I could get on with a bit of research and bring it to him when he was in a more receptive frame of mind.
On a night that most attendees would hope simply pass by without any fanfare, there proved to be more than just the usual rubbing shoulders and an opportunity to reacquaint themselves with the other movers and shakers in Marin County.
Yes, this year, there was a new theme, one that harled back to the mid-nineteenth century when the Gentry held balls, and there was dancing.
There was also a slight break in tradition when not all attendees were from the same social set, and finally, after many years of lobbying, certain residents of Cedar Falls were invited, one of who was our own, and rather well-known, William Benjamin Oldacre.
The Oldacres have been living in and around Cedar Falls for as long as anyone can remember, in fact, since 1807, nearly 19 years before the first vestiges of a town appeared. They were here long before the Reinharts, they have a school named after one, a street, the public library, and several buildings.
And, yet, no one received an invitation to the ball, or any of the fundraisers, until now.
Be this as it may, I mention this for only one reason, it brought about a change to proceedings, and the dancing and this reporter will bear witness to what was an excellent rendition of the Viennese Waltz in the first instance, led out by none other than William Oldacre, and the second daughter of James Edward Rothstein, Emily Rothstein.
Such was their flair and artistry one could almost assume they were an item. Watch this space if there are further developments.
The article went on the tell everyone how much was raised and where it was going, though tongue in cheek I got the impression it was not where most wanted it to be directed.
It wasn’t quite the hatchet job I was expecting, but it was an interesting touch to highlight the longevity and renown of the Oldacres in the area versus the new kid with all the money.
Our family just wasn’t good at taking over or making buckets of money.
I know Dad left the paper on the bench open at the page, and I could see his expression, when he read it, one of mock indignation. He preferred that no one remembered the Oldacres’ part in the town development. It wasn’t quite what everyone imagined it to be.
Darcy appeared, still in pyjamas and; looking sleepy. Her life had changed since the ball, a girl now in ‘demand’ as she put it. It was a notoriety she didn’t need.
“You’ve seen the assassination?”
“How do you know what’s in it?”
“Taylor rang and told me. You got a mention, liked infamously to the one and only Emily. That cat is well and truly out of the bag now.”
“We danced, that’s all it said.”
“Maybe but what it really says, between the lines, is that you two are an item.”
“It said ‘one could almost assume’.”
She shook her head. “Semantics, again, Will. We know differently, don’t we?”
I was off to the library to do some research on the Oldacre family, fired up again after reading Angela’s piece, just in case a rebuttal was needed.
I made it to the street when a very familiar limousine stopped, and Genevieve got out.
“Mr Oldacre.”
“Please, that’s my father, I think we knew each other well enough to use first names.”
“William.”
“Genevieve. What do I owe this honour?”
“Miss Emily would like to see you?”
“Would she now. Well, as it happens I’m off to the library. I might not be, if she had called and told me, but she didn’t, and I’m not going to drop everyone when she summons me. This is me telling you to tell her there is a way to do things properly.”
I thought she would get annoyed, certainly, her expression changed from bright and sunny to somewhat clouded.
“My thought exactly, and I did tell her, equally as politely.”
“I’m sure you did. Now, I’m going to start walking in the direction of the bus stop. If you choose to tell her my sentiments, that’s fine, otherwise I’m sorry you were sent out on a fool’s errand.”
She smiled. “I’d rather be here than there.”
I could understand that sentiment. She got back in the car, but it did not drive off. She was calling Miss Emily.
I made it to the bus stop before my cell phone rang.
“William?”
“Emily.”
“Genevieve says you’re being petulant.”
“No, Genevieve did not say I was being petulant. If you are going to paraphrase what people say to you incorrectly, Emily, I will hang up.”
Silence for a few seconds, then, “You’re going to be a pain in the ass, aren’t you?”
“No. I’m being me, and if you want to talk to me, call, we’ll arrange to meet, and then we’ll talk. You do not summon me by sending a car and an assistant. It’s a waste of resources and manpower.”
“I want to see you now.”
“Then you have to call and then we meet. If you’d called last night, we would be meeting now, if you get out of bed before seven.”
“I didn’t know last night. I just read the paper. She’s not very nice.”
“I thought we dodged a bullet.”
“We’ve become an item?”
“Assumed to be an item. There’s a big difference. People ask, you simply say it’s a work in progress.”
“What does that mean?”
“Exactly. Now if you want to meet this morning, then call me in an hour and I’ll tell you where and when.”
“This is not going to work.”
“That’s your call, Emily, not mine. I know you can be the girl I know and love, you just have to realize who that girl is. My bus is here. We’ll speak later.”
An hour and a half later we were sitting in a booth at the café near the library. It was one of my favourite haunts, it had a jukebox and all the old 50s and 60s hits. I had offered to buy it when the current owners decided to retire or sell.
It was playing ‘Irresistible You’ by Bobby Darin when Emily came in.
She smiled as she sat down. “Did you play that for me?”
“No, someone else put it on, but it is appropriate.”
“God, you are going to drive me nuts.”
“Isn’t that your job, to drive me nuts?”
She shook her head. “You made me think before nine William. Not happy.”
“Then you’d better get used to it. I don’t like wasting the day.”
I could see a retort forming in her eyes, and then she parked it at the back of her mind. I suspect I had an inkling as to what it was, she was going to say, and certainly what she was thinking. The same thought passed through mine, and it surprised me.
“Now,” I said, “What do you want to talk about?”
“The article in the paper. It was a bit nasty.”
“Semantics, Emily. Down among the common people, it is viewed as an elitist affair. I don’t agree about the stuff on the Oldacres. We may have been here since God created the earth, but we did nothing of note. If we had, the place would be called Oldacre Falls, not Cedar Falls. It’s just Amanda venting.”
“I thought journalists were supposed to report “the news, not comment on it.”
“You live in a different world.
“Daddy owns the company that owns the paper. He says the news is what he says it is.”
That was just a little scary. “You have heard the expression, don’t shoot the messenger, haven’t you?”
“She doesn’t like me.”
“And why is that, Emily?”
Dorothy, my usual waitress, came over with the coffee pot to give me a refill. Most mornings I usually stayed for three. This morning, I was considering adding some bourbon.
She looked at Emily with something akin to surprise. This café was hardly a place the Rothstein’s frequented. “Coffee, Emily?” She was not going to call her Miss Rothstein.
“Yes, thank you.”
Emily, on her best behaviour. Or perhaps because she was not with her friends. They had something of a reputation when visiting local stores.
Dorothy collected a cup and saucer and brought it over, then filled it.
Dorothy looked at me. “I read the paper.”
“Don’t believe everything you read.”
Emily frowned at me.
“I’m still waiting for my invitation,” Dorothy said, a smile forming.
We always said that the world would stop spinning on its axis if one or other of us got invited. Exactly the opposite had happened to me that night, the earth moved. I was not going to tell Dorothy that.
“Perhaps,” Emily said, “we should make the next more town centric.”
Dorothy looked puzzled so I translated, “Ask more of the town’s folk along. It’s a good idea.”
“Good idea.” Dorothy had to go; another customer was after more coffee.
I looked at Emily. “I have a great idea. It’ll kill two birds with one stone. If you are thinking of joining your father’s company, perhaps you should ask him if you could work in the charity functions area, as an organiser. Even better, since the company doesn’t specifically have a department to handle that, tell him to create a foundation, and ask him if you can be in charge. That would be a real job, and I know you can organise.”
“You mean work in an actual role?”
“It might actually work in your favour, showing Amanda you’re not the person she thinks you are, and if you impress her… What were you planning to do after Uni?”
“Go away with friends, like a graduation thing. Surely, you’re going away, like, to celebrate freedom after all that school stuff.”
“Some of us have to earn a living, we don’t all have rich fathers.”
“You could come with me.”
“With your current friends, Emily? You are so much better than they are. You just need purpose, and with them, it’s about being entitled and delinquent because they can. I know you’re better than that, and I think you do too.”
“I think my head hurts talking to you,” Emily said, standing. “I’ve known them all for a long time, William, and we have plans.”
“And I don’t expect you to change them on my account. Just think about it. If you want to be seen differently, and with respect, then you’re the one who has to make it happen.”
“Whatever!”
There was the Emily of old.
I watched her leave, as did Dorothy, who came back after she left.
“The course of true love…”
“Never quite works out when there’s a huge chasm between the social strata. I believe she can change; I just think at the moment she doesn’t believe in herself.”
Perhaps she saw my wistful look as I watched her cross the road.
“At least it was one tick in a box, the Viennese Waltz. The lessons paid off?”
“They did. It was like dancing on air, she is that good.”
“Perhaps it’s more than that, Will, she had the right partner. Don’t give up on her.”
I shrugged. She was the most vexing girl I’d ever known.
This story is now on the list to be finished so over the new few weeks, expect a new episode every few days.
The reason why new episodes have been sporadic, there are also other stories to write, and I’m not very good at prioritizing.
But, here we are, a few minutes opened up and it didn’t take long to get back into the groove.
Things are about to get complicated…
Joanne let me get away far too easily.
When I got back to my car, I ran the scanner over it. One tracker was easily found, another that took a full half hour to find, and some very strange stares from people on the sidewalk.
I put them both on another car and then went back to the safe house. Knowing O’Connell was just a pawn meant there wasn’t a hurry to find him. Anna had everything she needed from him, and now he was of little use to her. The only question was whether he was still alive.
Jennifer had taken my pyjamas and my bed in the master bedroom, so I was relegated to the spare.
Not happy.
We needed a plan. In all the excitement I’d forgotten O’Connell had three places, the original apartment with Herman, his mother’s house in Peaslake, and the apartment in Bromley.
I was up before Jennifer, making coffee, when she came out.
She made my pyjamas look good. And there was the distraction factor Maury was prone to banging on about.
“How did it go at the office?”
“Turns out Anna Jakovich, the apparent seller of the USB, is a biochemist herself, one who was involved in a laboratory disaster, and discharged as part of the problem. Make of that what you will, but it looks like her husband was just the fall guy.”
“Of course, it all makes sense then. Gets the husband to steal the data on the pretext they’re saving the world, then kills him, and pins the blame on him if anything goes wrong. gets us to stump up several million pounds, then ditches O’Connell and runs with the money, and the USB, to bilk another unsuspecting government, like the Russians, or the Chinese.”
“Can you read minds?”
“No. Got a call from Dobbin, though I have no idea how he found my number since it’s a burner. Seems he finally found the file on Anna, presumably the same one you got.
“He doesn’t know you’re involved.”
“He does now. He figured you’d seek help from your classmates that were still on the books. There’s two of us, me and Miss Desirable, Yolanda.”
“Didn’t she leave the Severin School of wannabes before qualifying?”
“And went straight to the city office of the department and offered up all details on our once fearless leaders for a second chance. On the books, and back in training, training we might be able to use.”
“Possibly. The question is, of course, whether she knew what they were planning…”
“Dobbin says she was fooling about with Severin, or perhaps that was Maury…”
“Then Dobbin or Monica or both knew in advance what was going to happen and could have prevented a tragedy if that was the case. I don’t think she quite knew everything.”
“Well, what I know now is that we’re simply pawns in a much larger game, dancing to a tune that is completely out of key. Makes things all the more interesting, don’t you think. By my estimation when we complete our mission, we’re likely to end up like Severin, we just have to work out which one it is before we reach our expiry date. That coffee smells divine, by the way. We’re not going anywhere until I’ve had a cup.”
At least she hadn’t decided to go back to her old life. Not yet anyway.
We tackled Peaslake first. It was a free-standing house, and we had reasonably covered access that gave us entry to the property with minimal chance of observation.
When we were close, I was nearly run off the road by a fire engine, in a hurry. Closer still we could see a plume of smoke rising from behind the trees, and when we reached the top of the street, we could see where the fire engine was going.
O’Connell’s house was on fire.
I parled the car and we went to join the throng of nearby residents, all with nothing better to do.
“What happened?” Jennifer asked one of the residents.
“There was an explosion, a fireball, someone said they thought it was a gas tank, and then a fire started. It was fully ablaze by the time the first fire engine arrived.”
The firefighters had most of the blaze subdued, and we could see the house was destroyed.
Was it Anna or O’Connell, or both covering their tracks? The house had become compromised when Jennifer and I turned up.
Five minutes later the Detective Inspector and her Sargent arrived.
“Should I be worried now you’re here,” she asked when she saw me.
“It belonged to the mother of one of our officers who is involved in the case I’m working on.”
“He has the information?”
“No, or maybe. We don’t know. We do know there’s a woman involved who was working with our agent.”
“Oh. I’ve been told there are two bodies found inside, one man and one woman. Nothing else yet, but I’m going to talk to the forensic team waiting to see if they know any more. Don’t go anywhere, I may need to talk to you.”
“Just a question. You didn’t let Jan out, did you?”
She looked puzzled. “Jan?”
“The girl who shot Severin.”
“Oh, her. MI5 came and took her away the moment my back was turned. Why?”
“She probably did this.”
“You might have told me she was dangerous. Who is she?”
“An MI5 assassin.”
She sighed. “You people are a law unto yourselves. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be back.”
We watched her stomp away.
“Well,” Jennifer said, “that just made our life a little more difficult.”
Is love the metaphorical equivalent to ‘walking the plank’; a dive into uncharted waters?
For Henry the only romance he was interested in was a life at sea, and when away from it, he strived to find sanctuary from his family and perhaps life itself. It takes him to a small village by the sea, a place he never expected to find another just like him, Michelle, whom he soon discovers is as mysterious as she is beautiful.
Henry had long since given up the notion of finding romance, and Michelle couldn’t get involved for reasons she could never explain, but in the end both acknowledge that something happened the moment they first met.
Plans were made, plans were revised, and hopes were shattered.
A chance encounter causes Michelle’s past to catch up with her, and whatever hope she had of having a normal life with Henry, or anyone else, is gone. To keep him alive she has to destroy her blossoming relationship, an act that breaks her heart and shatters his.
But can love conquer all?
It takes a few words of encouragement from an unlikely source to send Henry and his friend Radly on an odyssey into the darkest corners of the red-light district in a race against time to find and rescue the woman he finally realizes is the love of his life.
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.
“And tell me again,” Will said, “just why are we out here at two in the morning?”
It was not lost on him that a minute or so before they had passed a sign proclaiming they had crossed into Wild Horse Mountain territory, and moments later, a sign with a horse on it.
It explained the empty horse box they’d brought along, and the earlier statement by his friend Chad, that he was planning to catch a brumby and break it.
Chad was full of good ideas like that, especially after a dozen drinks.
“We’re on an adventure, Billy boy. Just roll with it.”
Last adventure I’d just rolled with saw us explaining to Sherriff Daley why we shouldn’t be locked up and the key thrown away.
“I’m trying, but seriously, you brought Charlene?”
Charlene was Chad’s latest girlfriend and the one, he said. So were Fergie, and Donna, and, well, I forgot the last one; she had lasted almost a week. But this one had lasted longer than the others, and I detected that same devil-may-care attitude in her. I put that down to the fact she was the daughter of the town preacher.
“She wanted to see what we get up to. The girl’s got an adventurous streak. What can I say?”
No, for starters. I doubt her family would be happily bailing her out of jail. Maybe with her along he might show a bit more common sense.
He slowed, then turning at the slip road, stopped in front of a locked gate where there was a road leading into the forest, and a sign saying that only authorised personnel could pass.
“Is this private land?” I asked.
“Forest service. Government land. The sign’s there to keep the fools out.” He held up a key. “My uncle knows a man who knows a ranger who says so long as we don’t kill anything it’s fine.”
“And you’re thinking catching a wild horse is going to be easy? I assume that’s what we’re here for?”
“I thought I explained that earlier. How hard can it be? I watched a video on YouTube and it’s easy. We’ve both been on a cattle drive and passed with flying colours. Just think of it as catching a bull, only a little larger, but no horns.”
I think trying to do that at night and in the dark might be slightly more complicated than he’s considered, and, as for having the skills necessary, back then there were a half dozen experienced cowboys there to back us up.
I shrugged; there was no changing his mind once it was made up. “What’s the worst that could happen?” I muttered under my breath.
“Exactly.” He handed me the key and I got out.
I looked back and could see Charlene acting a lot more animated than before, so maybe she was on board with this crazy scheme.
I unlocked the gate, opened it, waited until he drove through, and then closed and locked it behind me.
The discussion between Charlene and Chad was still going on when I got back in. From the part I heard it seems she thought he was taking her to a secret lookout, not go brumby hunting, and him saying they could do both. I got the impression she was not keen on catching a horse.
Whatever happened, it was going to be an interesting few hours.
Chad was the sort of person who when everything was going great and everyone was on board with his scheme, it was fine. When the hiccups in the master plan started to happen, that’s when things start to fall apart.
After an hour’s slow crawl through the forest over a track that gave the pickup and following trailer a good workout, Charlene was losing interest.
So was I, but I’d learned not to express my sentiments.
“So,” she said, “where are these horses?”
“Here. They’re everywhere, they’re always running all over the place.”
Except they were not. Not tonight anyway. And just then I remembered reading that the county administration had decided it was time to move the horses on so they could carve out a chunk of land for camping, hunting and fishing. The conservationists were up in arms, the hunters were rubbing their hands in glee, and the campers were saying fools with guns were an accident waiting to happen.
A loud bank and what sounded like a gunshot hitting the side of the horse float was enough for Chad to stop, douse the lights and kill the engine. I disabled the lights that went on when the doors opened.
Suddenly it was dead silent. I was sure I could hear my heart beating.
Then, the silence was broken by another shot, so loud we all jumped.
I was first out of the pickup, just in case they were shooting at us. That prompted, in the next breath, who was shooting at us, and why?
Chad and Charlene came around to join me.
“What the hell just happened?” Chad asked.
“Gunshots. Perhaps the hunters have decided not to wait until they got county approval. We’ll have to tell the sheriff, get on his good side. We just need to find out who they are.”
No need. A minute or so later there was yelling carried on the night air.
“What the hell are you doing. The boss said no advertising our presence.”
“I saw a car.”
“It’s the main track and there’s going to be cars. Get back to the camp, and you want to hope whoever you shot at doesn’t call the sheriff.”
I looked at Chad. “We’ll wait a few minutes then get moving again.”
“What’s going on?” A visibly shaken Charlene wasn’t too happy about what had just happened.
I could have told her that a night out with Chad provided enough excitement for a week. Things always seemed to happen around him.
“Hunting season started early,” Chad said.
“We’re not going to get shot are we?”
“No.” Chad sounded positive, but there was no way we could know what those people were doing.
I got up and checked the horse float for bullet holes and instead saw a scrape along the side made by an overhanging branch. There was no sign of a bullet hole, but it didn’t explain the loud bang we all heard.
When I came back, I said, “Let’s get out of here.”
Another half hour passed in silence until we came out of the forest into a clearing that was visible in the twilight, a cloudless sky and full moon giving the whole area a strange eerie feeling.
Chad drove on the track that skirted the open area and stopped by a dilapidated hut. Lights off and engine off, once out of the car the silence was rather strange to a person who lived in the city where there was constant noise.
Chad had a rough hand-drawn map he got from a friend of a friend, that looked a lot like the clearing with a hut exactly where we had stopped. It was as much of it as I remembered until she spread it out over the bonnet of the car.
He then switched on the light of his phone.
We gathered around like conspirators.
“We’re here.” He pointed to the X that marked the hut. His finger then followed the track around further to a point where a lake bordered the clearing, with another X. “A watering hole for the wildlife, and quite often where the horses come. This whole clearing is where they gather.”
Gather they might, but not tonight. It was light enough to see the edges of the clearing, the forest beyond, and the shimmering surface of the lake in the distance. It was enough to see nothing was stirring.
“Perhaps,” Charlene said, “they knew we were coming.” There was no mistaking the sardonic tone.
Maybe she had already been on one of his wild goose chases. This wasn’t my first rodeo.
The silence was broken by the sound of a horse, coming from the direction of the lake.
“Maybe not.”
We turned to look, and the first thing I saw was a horse, yes, but there was a rider on it. Followed by another, and another, until at least ten came out of the forest and into the open.
Nightriders?
“What the hell…” I heard Charlene mutter.
Perhaps against a dark background, they hadn’t seen us. Or they had and were ignoring us. They stopped for what looked like a short drink break then continued to follow what must have been a path across the shoreline of the lake, and within a few minutes had disappeared into the forest.
“Local tourist adventure rides up to the lookout at night where they look at the stars,” Chad said.
“And you know this…” Charlene sounded like she would have preferred that to what Chad was taking us on now.
So would I, if I had a choice.
“Is the lookout accessible by car?” I asked, now getting the feeling it wasn’t.
“A 4×4 maybe, but the most direct route and easiest is by horse. But we’re not here to look at the stars. I’m going down to the lake. You two?”
“I’m staying here,” Charles said, shivering.
I could tell she wanted to go home but was too afraid to say anything. And by her body language, I didn’t think this relationship between her and Chad was going to last much longer.
“Then stay with her Mike. I won’t be long.”
With that, he headed off towards the lake.
“He’s stark staring mad,” she said when he was out of earshot.
“Chad had some crazy ideas sometimes, but his heart is in the right place. At least with him, what you see is what you get?”
“You think? What’s your excuse?”
“Being here? He’s helped me get through some rough times. My parents were killed in an accident when I was 13. He convinced his parents I should stay with them because otherwise I’d finish up in the foster care system, and they did. I guess I’m the little brother he never had. What about you?”
“Sad story, I needed someone to teach me to line dance. He made it fun. This isn’t.”
“Why’d you agree to come?”
“I thought we were going to the lookout, at least that’s how he sold it. Not catching horses. Can he even ride a horse?”
“His uncle has a ranch with cattle. We’ve been going there mustering every year for what seems like a lifetime.”
“He asked me to go with him this year.”
“Then do. I could do with a break, go to the city, see what I’m not missing.”
The surrounding silence closed in on us as the conversation dries up. Talking to girls was not my forte.
“He’s taking a long time,” Charlene said about ten minutes later.
It mirrored my own thought. How long could it take to walk to the water’s edge, see there was nothing to be found, and come back.
A loud bang, like the sound of a rifle, punctured the stillness.
“Was that…?” She said.
“A gunshot? Sounded like it.”
I went over to the back of the car and pulled out the rifle Chad carried with him, hidden under the seat. It surprised me the first time I discovered he travelled around with a gun. It wasn’t loaded, but it didn’t take long to load. I put some extra bullets in my pocket, just in case.
“You coming?” I asked. If anything happened to her, I knew Chad would be angry. “If someone is out there shooting people, it’s not s good idea to be here alone.”
She didn’t need to be asked twice.
“You know how to use that?”
“Unfortunately, yes. Coyotes.”
We both stayed on the track skirting the open space, just to make it harder for anyone likely to be aiming at us until we reached the knoll above the lake. It was the one place where, if there was a shooter. we would be most vulnerable. Neither of us stayed there for longer than a second, perhaps two, before heading down the 50 yards to the water’s edge. A quick scan showed no sign of Chad.
At the water’s edge, she said, “Where is he? If this is one of his games, then I don’t like it.”
I knew Chad, and I also knew he was capable of pulling a stunt like this. If he was, I was going to be very annoyed.
Facing the knoll, I heard a soft splashing sound behind me and turned.
Chad.
He was not more than 20 yards out in the water, face down.
“Damn.”
I dropped the rifle and headed into the water, swimming the last few yards, but I knew, the moment I reached him, he was dead. The hole in the side of his head was unmistakable. I brought him back to the shore and dragged him above the water line, then checked for a pulse.
Nothing.
Then I realised Charlene was not there, where I’d left her, but further along the beach. She had picked up the rifle, and by the way she was carrying it, she knew how to use it. Had she heard something?
Behind her, one of the horsemen arrived with a riderless horse and stopped next to her.
“What’s going on?” I asked. I was hoping it wasn’t what it looked like.
“This has nothing to do with you, Mike. Justice has been served.”
Justice? What justice? What had Chad done to deserve a death like this?
“Amy Potterdam. Just because you own the law in this County doesn’t mean you can get away with murder.”
Amy Potterdam? All I could remember about that was a girl had died in unusual circumstances at a party he had attended, if only briefly. Someone had claimed that he had given the girl the spiked drink that eventually killed her, but witnesses and evidence had proven otherwise. The fact his father was the County Sherriff had no bearing.
I watched her climb up on the horse and take the reins. I stood and started walking towards her. “This is wrong.”
“Don’t come any closer, or I will shoot you.”
I didn’t stop. I didn’t know what I was going to do, or if there was anything I could do. I just knew I had to try.
They say you don’t hear the bullet that has your name on it.
This is one of those images that could be anywhere.
So, here’s the problem:
Ethan was reluctant to agree to go to the stag night, knowing firstly, that the others going were a bit too unruly when they had too many drinks, secondly, that they had to agree to not know where they were being taken by the bus, and thirdly, anything they saw or did had to remain completely confidential.
That was particularly the case when it came to the ‘stag’.
In that case, Ethan knew exactly what this night was going to be, hours of unrelenting debauchery.
And, since Ethan was the stag’s brother, and he was the best man, there was no way he could wriggle his way out of this one.
On top of that, Ethan had to promise the bride to be that he would not let her husband to be go too far. That statement, of course, was like a box full of hand grenades. He didn’t ask for a definition of too far.
So, seven sober, respectable, hard-working junior executives in suits that were worth more than Ethan’s annual salary boarded the bus.
What happened from that moment the bus drove off, until Ethan’s brother’s body was found floating face down in the river behind the resort, handcuffed to a naked girl in a rubber dinghy, barely alive from an overdose, was anyone’s guess, and Ethan’s worst nightmare.
Especially when he was the last one to see his brother, and the girl, alive.
And, no, this is not based on a real-life experience, though in recurring nightmares I’m the one floating fase down in the river.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 