Category: Mystery

The A to Z Challenge –

If ever I needed a reminder that my understanding of women was appallingly bad, was the after I took Jennifer Eccles home.

Of course, I didn’t read the signals, that the invitation to come in for coffee was an invitation to explore where a relationship might go.

Instead, I dropped her off and said I would see her in the morning.  It was an informative if not frosty day and in the end a nice enough parting, but not one that I interpreted as an opportunity to move forward.

Friends, I’d said, and friends of a sort it was.

Because she was in sales and I was in marketing, our paths crossed constantly, so there was no room for animosity or regrets. If things didn’t work out, if that is, things were to ever to progress.

And to be honest, I was careful not to let romance rule what happened at work.  My father had made a mess if his life with an improper office romance, and I was determined not to let it happen to me.

So, after the tour date, if you could call it that, we reverted to being just colleagues, but it was evident we got along very well, to a point where it had been noticed, and asked to work together, side by side, rather than in different areas.

Something else I’d noticed about her, she toyed with all the boys, some might say she was a teaser, but I think it was her manner to be extroverted and flirt.  It was on us not to misinterpret her actions and act accordingly.

And, after about six weeks, relaxed in each other’s company, there was a slight shift in the relationship, where for a moment, our eyes met and lingered.

I blinked first.

“Would you like to go for a bite, talk about something other than work?” I asked.

I was not sure what to make of her expression, but it went from perhaps slightly puzzled, to a wry smile.

“I’d love to, thank you.  I’m a bit guilty myself with the all work, no play…”

“It’s why we’re here, I guess.”

…

I offered to pick her up from her place and take her to dinner.  My choice! I suspect she would be happy with a hamburger, but that was not what she would expect.

There was something else, I was going to see what she wore, having had one girl base what she wore on where I was taking her.  For that reason, we only went to a nightclub once.

Jennifer had a long, flowing dress that suggested somewhere formal, so it was going to be fine dining.  Something else I noticed, once removed from the office, and taking leave of her work-based demeanor, that she was almost someone who was barely recognizable from the woman I worked side by side with up to 12 hours a day.

I had to wonder for a moment if the girl I was seeing now was Jennifer’s twin sister, or simply an alternative ego.  And there was the issue I had with dating at work, that it would be easy to fall for this version.

But we were both in agreement this was not a date, just two colleagues having dinner, and not talking about work.

The question was where we expected to be in five years’ time.

It was a question that I’d not normally think about, but it was one of those questions people who were interested in other people liked to ask.

I delivered my answer with usual candor.  By now she had a good idea of what she could expect, and I wasn’t going to change, or surprise her.

“Not here,” I said.

That was the one thing I was certain of.  Whether we succeeded or failed, we will have all moved on to someplace else.  Very few were asked to remain, either as an ordained executive on the way to the top or in a training capacity.

“Because?”

Was she interested in staying, or did she have an indication she might be one of the ordained executives?  It was a nice city, smallish enough to have the best of both worlds, and the countryside was not far away.  That begged the question of whether her aspirations were based on being safe, rather than taking risks.

Ambition is one thing, but real ambition always came with taking a risk or two.  I knew from the outset I was not the overly ambitious type and being surrounded by a group that had only made that abundantly clear.

But that didn’t mean I didn’t have a clear idea of what I really wanted out of life.  I was less sure about my ideal partner to spend the rest of my life with.

“I always wanted to live near the ocean, not necessarily in the city.  In my mind’s eye, there’s a large house on a cliff overlooking the ocean, the aroma of salt water when the breeze is blowing in odd the sea.  Not far from the mountains, hiking in summer, skiing in winter.”

“And work-wise, where do you see yourself?”

“Preferably not in an office.  The idea of working eighteen hours a day for someone else doesn’t hold much appeal.  The point is, only a few make it to the top, but I have the fear if I did make it, it wouldn’t last, because you have the expectations of many on your shoulders, and you only have to make one mistake…”

“But isn’t that the reason why you aspire to get to the top?  You don’t want to think much beyond that, or, as you say, you wouldn’t necessarily do it.”

A point, and a good one.  Most people never think of the consequences of being so driven that everything ends up being sacrificed for what is only an ideal.  I saw that happen with people close to me, and I vowed I would not be that person.

And yet, I was going down that path.  It wasn’t something I’d expected to discover about myself.

All of this soul searching had been going on alongside a three-course meal with wine and topped off by French champagne, what I could only describe as a gastronomic triumph.

That voyage of self-discovery had come to the end with coffee, and Jennifer explained what her ideas were for the figure, which, like me, having put it into words, had caused moments of pause.

In the end, she stood, and it was time to go.  It had been an experience, but the idea before the evening started that I would walk away with a different perspective was entirely unexpected.  And that I could reach those conclusions with her, well, I never expected that.

By the time we reached the car we were holding hands, a subconscious action, I was sure, on both our parts.

It was a clear, cool night, clear sky, and almost a full moon making it lighter than normal.  It was almost as if the moonbeams were directed at us.

I had only one thought.

There was a wan smile as if she knew what I was thinking.

“Right idea, but bad timing.  But it’s the best non-date date I’ve ever been on.  It’s going to be hard for you to top this.”

A kiss on my cheek and the moment was over.

© Charles Heath 2022

“The Things We Do For Love” – Coming soon

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, s 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.

The cover, at the moment, looks like this:

lovecoverfinal1

NaNoWriMo – April 2022 – Day 25

First Dig Two Graves, the second Zoe thriller.

…

In all of the goings-on, with Zoe chasing down old acquaintances in Bucharest, then moving on to  Yuri, then Olga, we forget that Isobel and Rupert are on her trail, with Sebastian in tow.

It’s not so much Sebastian in charge anymore, not after going rogue and shooting his boss and John’s mother, an act that Rupert witnesses after following Sebastian on the hunch that he was up to something.

Rupert realizes that Worthington still presents a major problem, and on the basis that Worthington was going to realize it’s not Zoe shooting at him, Worthington had to be taken off the chessboard.

Unfortunately, he has to enlist Sebastian to get a crew together to kidnap him and take him to a safe house.

Meanwhile, Isobel, with a computer in hand, takes up vigil at the hospital with John’s mother, pretending she is her daughter.  There she tracks Zoe via her cell phone to an address in Zurich.

Then, miraculously John’s cell phone reappears and is active long enough for her to get a location, and see that a 96-second phone call is made to a phone in Zurich, Zoe’s.

Then it disappears again.

Isobel then calls Zoe and gives her the address.  It’s a short call.

Calls to Sebastian and Rupert mobilize them, and everyone is on their way to John’s location.

…

Today’s writing, with Zoe languishing in a dungeon waiting for a white knight, 2,011 words, for a total of 61,922.

The story behind the story: A Case of Working With the Jones Brothers

To write a private detective serial has always been one of the items at the top of my to-do list, though trying to write novels and a serial, as well as a blog, and maintain a social media presence, well, you get the idea.

But I made it happen, from a bunch of episodes I wrote a long, long time ago, used these to start it, and then continue on, then as now, never having much of an idea where it was going to end up, or how long it would take to tell the story.

That, I think is the joy of ad hoc writing, even you, as the author, have as much idea of where it’s going as the reader does.

It’s basically been in the mill since 1990, and although I finished it last year, it looks like the beginning to end will have taken exactly 30 years.  Had you asked me 30 years ago if I’d ever get it finished, the answer would be maybe?

My private detective, Harry Walthenson

I’d like to say he’s from that great literary mold of Sam Spade, or Mickey Spillane, or Phillip Marlow, but he’s not.

But, I’ve watched Humphrey Bogart play Sam Spade with much interest, and modeled Harry and his office on it.  Similarly, I’ve watched Robert Micham play Phillip Marlow with great panache, if not detachment, and added a bit of him to the mix.

Other characters come into play, and all of them, no matter what period they’re from, always seem larger than life.  I’m not above stealing a little of Mary Astor, Peter Lorre or Sidney Greenstreet, to breathe life into beguiling women and dangerous men alike.

Then there’s the title, like

The Case of the Unintentional Mummy – this has so many meanings in so many contexts, though I image back in Hollywood in the ’30s and ’40s, this would be excellent fodder for Abbott and Costello

The Case of the Three-Legged Dog – Yes, I suspect there may be a few real-life dogs with three legs, but this plot would involve something more sinister.  And if made out of plaster, yes, they’re always something else inside.

But for mine, to begin with, it was “The Case of the …”, because I had no idea what the case was going to be about, well, I did, but not specifically.

Then I liked the idea of calling it “The Case of the Brother’s Revenge” because I began to have a notion there was a brother no one knew about, but that’s stuff for other stories, not mine, so then went the way of the others.

Now it’s called ‘A Case of Working With the Jones Brothers’, finished the first three drafts, and at the editor for the last.

I have high hopes of publishing it in early 2021.  It even has a cover.

PIWalthJones1

A photograph from the inspirational bin – 35

This is Railway Hotel in Gympie, adjacent to the old Gympie station

Just the name Railway Hotel conjured up a lot of interesting connotations. There’s one in almost every rural town that has Railway station, or perhaps a Junction Hotel, a Railway Hotel, or a Terminus Hotel.

And, once upon a time, there were nearly 600 of them, up until the 1920s, ubiquitous hotels build to house the people building the railways, and, then, when they were finished a lot disappeared, but a lot also remained to service the railway station and passengers coming and going.

These days, these old hotels that still exist are anachronisms of a bygone age, rather ornate wooden structures with big rooms and communal bathrooms, bars, saloons, and dining rooms, and only those curious about the past would stay there.

I’ve stayed in a few myself.

But, as for a story, well, the older, the better, because these would have ghosts.

They could also have infamous pasts, like a fire that destroys only part of the hotel, signs of which form part of the character.

A doorway into a now hidden room closed off because of something horrible happening there, could suddenly become a portal, where stepping through takes you back to the time of the event.

In fact, I’m in the mood to write just such a story…

“One Last Look”, nothing is what it seems

A single event can have enormous consequences.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The cinema of my dreams – I never wanted to go to Africa – Episode 45

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.

 

We flew north at low altitude, crossing the border into the Sudan, then ran along the border, heading back to the landing field we’d arrived on in Uganda.

It was basically a two-hour flight that in the end was eventless.  After everything that had happened over the past 24 hours, it wasn’t hard to doze off, leaving Davies to get us back.

I was woken suddenly by a thump on my arm.

“Need your help landing this crate,” a squeaky voice in my ear said.

I could feel the plane losing altitude, and the engines not making the same noise as they had just before I’d dropped off to sleep.  It seemed like it was only a few minutes ago we were taking off.

She leveled the plane at 1000 feet, and flew over the airfield, the landing lights on, and I could see the strip from start to end.  It looked a lot longer than the one we’d taken off from.

Turning sharply, I could hear the landing gear being activated and saw green lights come on one the dashboard.  Down and locked I assumed.

She then went through a series of landing checks and told me what she wanted me to do to assists, and then everything seemingly OK, we came in to land.

This landing was a lot bumpier than that in the C130 earlier, but she got us there, throttled back, and slowed the speed before heading for the terminal buildings.

Once there, she let the engines run for about a minute or so before switching them off.

Once the propellers stopped turning, the silence in the cockpit was strange.  At the rear, the door was opened, and everyone was getting off, the Colonel first to make sure none of his men shot anyone by mistake, and then the rest of the team.

Davies and I were the last to leave.  I got the impression she would have stayed, just a little longer, and it was telling that she patted the dashboard in what I would call a loving manner, thanking the aircraft for its service.

“I can see you like flying these old planes,” I said, still seated and taking in the moment.

“There’s something about them.  You have to fly them, they don’t fly you, not like the F15’s or any of those other jets that have autopilots.  No, this comes from the days of real flying.”

“You said your Dad has one?”

“Yep.”

“Then the art of flying is not lost on you.  Perhaps one day when I get lost, somewhere where this plane lives, you can take me up.”

“Any time.”

She dragged herself out of the left seat and headed towards the rear of the plane.  I took a moment longer, then followed her.

Maybe she could teach me how to fly.

Or maybe not.

I keep forgetting I hate flying in planes.

As I stepped off the plane onto terra firma again, I could see just inside the range of my peripheral vision, some activity by the terminal building.

Suddenly, a man was running towards us.  He was also yelling out, words to the effect, ‘they’re coming’.

Who?

The Colonel looked up just as the man, almost hunched over out of breath, reached him.

“They’re coming.  A helicopter, heading towards us.”  Several more huge breaths, then, “An hour at best.”  He looked at me.  “You have to go.”

Then he handed the Colonel a sheet of paper, and he quickly scanned it.

Then he said, “Your friendly militia decided the ransom wasn’t enough and they’re coming to take them back.”

“How is that possible?  Can they just cross borders like that?”

“This is Africa.  Anything can happen.  By the time their mission is done, it’ll be too late for us to scramble anything to attack them.  You need to go.”

Davies had come back, assuming it had something to do with the plane, and after taking in what the Colonel had to say, said, “We need more fuel.  Not much, but it’ll take time.”

The fuel truck had already come out and begun the refueling.

“Go tell the driver how much you need.  You’ve probably got a half-hour, a little more before you take off and go before, they get here.”

She headed towards the fuel truck, muttering under her breath.

I yelled out to Monroe, “Round up everyone and get them back on the plane.  Wheels up in half an hour.”

I could see her mouth the word why.

“Seems we’re about to get a visit from some very unfriendly people.”

Enough said.

 

© Charles Heath 2020

“For heaven’s sake…” – a short story

It was a combination of circumstances, not all related, but coming at me out of left field, circumstances that would prevent me from going home when I said I would.

I had every intention of getting there and as a testament to that, I had got to the airport with baggage two hours before departure time and had reached the departure gate with 20 minutes to spare, ready to board the plane.

I’d even got a business class ticket so I could travel in style.

What precipitated the set of circumstances? A simple phone call. I should have turned it off five minutes before boarding, but I didn’t but because I’d forgotten to, simply because I’d been distracted.

The call was from Penelope, my hard-working and self-sacrificing personal assistant. I had offered to take her with me so we could work on a business plan that had to be presented the day after I was scheduled to return, but she had declined, which when I thought about it, if she hadn’t it might have created problems for both of us.

With a huge restructure going on, I was running behind in getting it completed and had promised to finish it while at home.

The call: to tell me I had left a folder with vital research back on my desk, and she came to the airport to deliver it, and she was, in fact, was in the terminal building when the boarding call came.

When I met her at the gate, only a few passengers had to be loaded. Being business class had afforded me a few extra minutes. File delivered, I left her looking exasperated and headed down the boarding ramp.

I was last aboard, and seconds after being seated, the door was closed.

I quickly typed and sent a message to tell everyone I was on the plane, eliciting two responses. My mother was glad that I was finally coming, the other from my elder brother, saying he would believe it when he saw me.

It was not without reason; I’d been in this situation before; on the plane ready to go.

Last time the plane didn’t leave the gate, a small problem that caused a big delay, so much so, I couldn’t get home.

Not this time. There was a slight lurch as the push tractor started pushing the plane back from the gate. A minute or so later the pilot fired up the engines, a sure sign of a definite departure. Nothing could stop us now.

It was a reassuring vibration that ran through the plane before the engines settled into a steady whine, a sign of an older plane that had flown many miles in the past and would into the future.

We stopped while the push tractor was disengaged and then the engines picked up speed and we lurched forward, heading towards the runway for take-off. In some airports, this could take a long time, and tonight it seemed to take forever.

I looked out the window and saw a backdrop of lights against the darkness, but no indication of where we were. It didn’t look like the end of the runway because I could not see any other planes waiting to take off.

Then the engines revved louder and for a pronged period. We didn’t move but remained where we were until the engines returned to what might be called idling speed

It was followed by an announcement from the pilot, “This is the captain speaking. We have encountered an anomaly with one of the engines, so to be on the safe side, we are returning to the gate and will have the engineers have a look at it. I do not anticipate this should take longer than 30 minutes.”

A collective groan went through the airplane. Those savvy with these problems would know that the odds were we would not be leaving tonight. The airport curfew would see to that.

But a miracle could still occur.

The plane then started back to the terminal. Another message from the pilot told us we would not be going back to the gate, but to a holding area. Time to have a glass of champagne the steward was offering before going back to the terminal for what, an interminable wait.

It seemed the gods did not want me to go back home.

…

When we got back to the parking spot, three buses and four delays later, I headed for one of the several bars to get a drink, and perhaps something decent to eat.

Then I saw Penelope, sitting by herself, a glass of champagne sitting half drunk in front of her.

“What are you doing here?” I said as I slid onto the stool beside her.

She started, as if she had been somewhere else, and turned to see who it was. The faraway look turned into a smile when she recognized me. “Getting drunk.”

“I thought you were going home.” A nod in the direction of the bartender, followed by pointing to her glass and indicating I wanted two, got instant service.

“I saw an ex heading to a plane with his latest squeeze. Made me feel depressed. I heard your plane was returning so I decided to wait. Better to get drunk with someone you know than drink by yourself or someone you don’t. I’ve had three offers already.”

I wasn’t surprised. She was very attractive, the sort of woman who was the most popular at any of the work functions but was equally surprising was that she was not with any of those potential suitors. In fact, as far as I knew, she was not in a relationship.

“No one at home to amuse you?” It was not the sort of question I should be asking, because it was really none of my business.

It elicited a sideways glance as if I stepped over an invisible line.

“Sorry, none of my business.”

She finished off the glass in front of her, just as the new round arrived in front of her. I gave the bartender my credit card and asked him to start a tab. I’d just heard that the plane was going to be another two hours before we’d be leaving.

“I live with two other girls, but they are more interested in finding stray men and getting wasted, not necessarily in that order, and that’s not what I want to do.”

“Get wasted or find stray men?”

I was not sure how anyone had the time and inclination to do that, but a few weeks back I spent two evenings with a friend of mine whose marriage had fallen apart. The people there seemed either desperate or looking for a one-night stand. It had amused me to discover most of them were married, and not divorced, and that the girls knew what to expect.

“Both apparently.”

“How do you expect to find the man of your dreams if you don’t go looking.”

“I am, this place seems as good as any, but the man of my dreams doesn’t exist.”

The bemused expression and the tone of her voice told me she had had more than one drink before I got there. Even then, judging from several previous parties for work we had attended, she had a much greater capacity for alcohol than I had.

She finished off the glass just brought, and seconds later her eyes seemed glassy. Perhaps it was time for me to put her in a cab and send her home.

“Another,” she said, “and then you can be responsible for me.”

I had no idea what that meant, and I think, judging by the facial expressions, she didn’t really care.

“Perhaps…”

She didn’t let me finish. “Perhaps you should buy me another drink and lighten up.” And the look that came with it told me not to argue the point.

I got the bartender’s attention, and he responded by bringing two fresh glasses and a bottle. I told him to leave it. It gave me a minute or so to contemplate what she meant by ‘lighten up’. I was so used to seeing her work ethic and diligence, this was a different side to her.

I took a sip and could feel her looking at me. A glance took in the near permanent bemused expression.

“Are you going to be alright getting home?” It was probably not the question I should have asked, but in the back of my mind there was a recent briefing given to all of management on the subject of sexual harassment and intraoffice romances.

“I’m fine. It’s not as if I do this a lot, but the last week has been difficult. Not only for me, but for you too. But you have to admit you put yourself under a lot of pressure.”

She was starting to sound like my conscience. It was something I’d been thinking about on the way to the airport but decided it was part of the job, and I knew when I accepted the position what it would involve. My predecessor, much older than I was, had fallen on his sword, the pressure destroying his marriage and almost his life.

“So I said, lamely, It goes with the job, unfortunately.”

She shook her head. “No, it doesn’t. They might think it does, but they don’t care. They sit in their ivory tower and watch their minions crash and burn. There’s always someone else waiting in the wings to take your place, believe me.”

It was an interesting perspective, but where did it come from? I knew she had been at the corporation for a number of years, and I had been lucky enough to draw the long straw when having her assigned to me as my PA when I took the position. One of the other executives had lamented my good fortune, but he had also said she was one of the few who were there to guide that higher management considered were management prospects.

I just thought I was lucky.

“I might end up in that ivory tower one day.”

“Why?”

She turned to look directly at me. It made me uncomfortable now, as it had on other occasions, and I had begun to think it might have something to do with unspoken feelings. I liked her, but I doubted that was reciprocated. And, after the lecture on office romances, I promptly put those feelings in the bottom drawer and locked it.

“Doesn’t everyone aspire to be the best, and climb to the top of the corporate ladder?”

“For that, you have to be devious and ruthless, and from what I’ve seen, you’re neither. You’ve heard the expression ‘good guys come last’. It’s true.”

I was guessing from the people she had worked for, she had firsthand experience. My predecessor was a ‘good guy’ and some said he was eaten alive by the office predators. I knew who they were, and avoided them. Perhaps she knew something I didn’t, but when would she have told me? Not tonight, no one could have predicted the plane would break down.

“You’re telling me this now, why?”

“You’re smarter than all of those above you put together. You don’t need them, but they need you. But, you won’t get any concessions, not until you get near the top. By then you will have had to sell your soul to the devil.”

Good to know, on one hand, I was about to see my soul to the devil, and on the other that I was smart, just not smart enough to see the wolves in sheep’s clothing.

I noticed she hadn’t touched the latest glass of champagne. Nor was she the languid barfly she’d pretended to be earlier.

“You’re advice, if I’m listening correctly, is that I should be looking for another job.”

“Actually, you shouldn’t be listening to me at all. Too many drinks and I pontificate. Some people become happy, I become,” she shrugged, “unhappy. Take no notice.” She swung around to the front and picked up the glass.

“OK.” I turned around to look at the departures board to see my flight had been canceled, and I should go to the check-in counter. “My plane is completely broken, so it looks like I’m staying home.”

“Or you could take me to dinner.” She looked sideways again, the bemused expression back.

“Wouldn’t that be inappropriate?”

“Only if you were in upper management, married, and asking me to have an affair. Last I looked you’re not in upper management, not married, so there’s no hint of an affair. For heaven’s sake, it’s only dinner.”

She was right on all counts, and it was only dinner.

“Why not?” I said, more to myself than to her.

“Good. And you’d better get me on the plane too. We need to get that report done, and it’ll be an excuse to stay at a hotel. I know you wouldn’t want to stay in your old room at your parents’ house.”

She was right about that too, I had long outgrown them, and staying at home would only lead to arguments. “How could you possibly know that?”

She smiled. “You talk in your sleep.”

…

© Charles Heath 2021

The A to Z Challenge – T is for – ”This can’t be happening”

“Did we hit an iceberg?”

Melanie had jumped out of the bed and wad in the middle of throwing on warm clothes, and considering what she could take, that constituted as little as possible.

I was less panicked because I suspected it was just an unscheduled evacuation drill, but I quickly and quietly dressed.  I didn’t have much to carry.

“I doubt it.  This might be a re-enaction of the Titanic voyage, but hitting an iceberg is not one of the things on the list.”

“Stupid hour of the morning to be running a drill, though.”

She wasn’t wrong.  Three in the morning wasn’t my idea of a good time for a drill.”

“I told you going on a Titanic cruise was a bad idea.  The very name is cursed.”  It had been a battle talking her into coming on it with me, even right up to walking up the gangway.

The ship was almost an exact replica of the Titanic, except this one didn’t have the faulty bulkheads.  It was not unsinkable, but it would take a lot more than an iceberg.

“Are you ready?” I asked.

Dragged out of bed, still half asleep, disheveled. She looked utterly adorable.

“As I’ll ever be.  After this, no more ships.  It’s dry land and airplanes after this.”

…

We joined the throng of passengers heading up to the main deck.  There were two thousand plus on the ship.  At least there were enough lifeboats for everybody this time.

Everyone was as bewildered as we were, except there were snippets of conversations from others trying to make sense of it.

“I’m sure I heard a thump, then we slowed down,” said one.

“We started turning, or at least I thought we were.  I had the oddest sensation,” said another.

“We were definitely turning,” another agreed.

I thought back to the timeline, of what I could remember lying in bed, still trying to get to sleep.  There was more going on than just trying to relax after a very long yes, that was plagued with extreme difficulties that had sent the company to the brink.

Then, last night, before the cruise ball, I got the email I’d been dreading.  The company had shut its doors, and everyone was now redundant. 

On top of our own financial problems with Melanie getting ill and unable to work for nearly a year, it could be the last straw that breaks the camel’s back.

I did hear a thump, but there was something that reverberated through the hull.  Yes, it seemed like the ship had slowed down, and yes it might have turned, but ships were always changing course.

I knew that from standing at the stern and watching the wake we left behind, and it was never straight.

But I don’t think any of us realized, as we came up on deck that the ship had stopped, nor that it was as still and calm as it was.

I would have said it was unnatural. Even surreal.  Enough that hush went over those who had arrived on deck, where if anyone spoke it was in a whisper.

It was dark, very dark in the distance, the moon behind us, spreading a surreal bluish tinge over the ship.

We were utterly alone.

The silence was shattered by a male voice through a handheld loudspeaker, “please move quickly and orderly to your designated lifeboat area.”

A glance up and down this side of the ship saw two crew members by each boat, adding authenticity 5o the fact we might be leaving the ship. 

Melanie and I were on the other side and took the shortcut through the cabin.  One part of it was a huge saloon where some of the passengers were sitting, having a drink, tea, and coffee, treating the evacuation as though it was an optional distraction.

The fact they were sitting in their life jackets was the only concession to acknowledging there was a drill.

And it was not yet an order to abandon ship.

Coming out to the throng of people assembling beside their boats, there were two things I was looking for; whether the sip was listing, fore or any, port or starboard, and it was not, or whether there was smoke, that the ship was on fire.  It was not.

Why had we stopped?

What had happened?

I saw the first officer, a man called Briggs, after a turn at the Captain’s table, when the Captain delegated the first officer to take his place.  He was taciturn at best, but he looked more animated now, three crewmen and a junior fighter in tow heading towards the bow.

“Excuse me,” I said as he was striding past us.

I thought he would ignore me, but he stopped, turned, and saw me.

“Wolverhampton, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Can you tell me what’s happening?”

It was clear he was of two minds to speak about it.  “It’s just a precaution.  We’re having a minor difficulty in the bow, nothing to worry about.  There will be an announcement soon.  Just wait by your boat.”

“Are we sinking?” Someone else asked.

“No.”

Emphatic.  Decisive.  Reassuring.

Enough chit-chat with the passengers, he continued on his way to the bow.

…

We stood on the deck until dawn exploded on the horizon, and light slowly seeped from that point, until a surreal orange glow surrounded up.

Regular updates told us that, firstly, the steerage machinery had broken down and was being prepared, that we could not move with steerage.

Then, a minor mishap had seen the anchors dropped and the retractor motors break down, and these too were in the process of being repaired.

Slowly.

No one could understand why we needed to be on deck for these two mishaps to be overcome, since they didn’t seem to be life-threatening.  In fact, about a quarter of the passengers, tired if strafing around, had gone back inside.

Melanie wanted to as well, but a premonition of a pending disaster had come over me when we came on deck.  I don’t why or where it came from, but suddenly it was like I was trapped, and drowning. When I told Melanie, she admitted she had the same sort of feel, but for a different reason.

And suddenly she said, “We’re in big trouble, aren’t we?  I think you just got the email from your company, didn’t you?”

But, as it happened, I didn’t have time to respond.  There was a huge explosion at the big and we could feel the tremor of the ships shake, like a death throe.

“This can’t be happening,” I heard a voice behind me say.

I didn’t realize at that meant until a few minutes later there was very load creaking and groaning, the sound of rending metal, and then a gentle lurch, followed by a slight dip at the bow end

We were taking water.

Five minutes later we got the order, “Abandon ship!”

Melanie summed it up succinctly, “just when you think it couldn’t get any worse, it does.”  Then, once we were on the lifeboat and moving away from the ship, “If we survive this, we can survive anything.”

A look and a squeeze of the hand told me, it might have been the worst week of my life, but it was also going to be the best.

© Charles Heath 2022

NaNoWriMo – April 2022 – Day 23

First Dig Two Graves, the second Zoe thriller.

…

Worthington was in a state, now realizing that he had become a target, and immediately assumes it was Zoe on the end of the sniper rifle.

He considers calling John and telling him what just happened, but if Zoe was there with him… 

No, better to attend to the problems at hand.  Arabella wasn’t dead, but it had come very close.  And, he suspected, it was because he had asked her to get a drink for him, and if she had not moved, the damage would be far less.

It was important then to go to the hospital with her and make sure he was then when she woke up to explain what just happened.  If she would ever speak to him again, that is.

Meanwhile, John is ‘collected’ at his hotel, and taken to Olga.  When he wakes up in a rather quaint bedroom or what seems to be a house in the countryside, he only remembers being in the hotel, then nothing.

When he is escorted to the meeting room, it is not the sort of interrogation he was expecting but is fascinated with the old Russian woman who claims to be Zoe’s mentor and teacher, and says that she has no interest in harming him, she only wants Zoe back.

John works out that the woman is in fact Alistair’s mother and presses her for more information about Zoe.

…

Today’s writing, with Zoe languishing in a dungeon waiting for a white knight, 1,771 words, for a total of 57,988..