Tag: Thrillers

This is how the end of my decade went

December was a good month for getting things done.

For instance, of the four episodic stories I’m writing,

What happens after an action-packed start – I sat down and wrote the rest of the episodes except for one or two to wrap it up.  The story had been nagging at me for a few months now with bits of how I wanted to end floating around in the back of my mind, and, suddenly it all came together.

Was it just another surveillance job – THis also has been working away in the back of my mind and I managed to write another five or six episodes, an idea presenting itself.

I always wanted to go on a treasure hunt – This has stalled, but I hope to get back to it.  I wrote it to a point where it now needs to go in a different direction – I’m still working on what direction, but, I have been working on the treasure map, and I must say, that’s been fun

A matter of life, and … what’s worse than death – This had reached a point where a new avenue is to be taken and is still forming in the back of my mind.

Strangers We’ve Become, the sequel to ‘What Sets Us Apart’, is now back from the editor and I have to sit down and get on with the next draft.  I’m sure there will be lots of cuts because it had gone from just under 300 pages to over 600.

What can I say, there were many nuances that had to be followed.

Likewise, the final editor’s version for Walthenson’s first case as a private detective has also returned from the editor and needs to be attended to.  This I hope will be published soon.

There are several other works in progress that are hovering between the editor and my in-tray, and I will get to these soon.

At the moment I’m trying to get a few days rest, but those pesky stories keep dragging me back to the writing pad.

Still, it’s Happy New Year to everyone and I hope your writing endeavors flourish into best sellers.

 

Was it just another surveillance job – Episode 23

I’m back home and this story has been sitting on a back burner for a few months, waiting for some more to be written.

The trouble is, 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.

An unlikely ally?

 

The bar in the hotel was tucked away in a small area behind the dining room, or perhaps it was part of the dining room, I wasn’t quite sure.  There were indoor shrubs blocking the view from the front entrance, so we could feel safe enough, and less strenuous in watching the continuous comings and goings of the hotel’s guests and their friends.

For a small hotel, it was quite busy.

We were lucky it was not yet dinner time, so the restaurant was still being set up for the evening dinner service.  I had a look at one of the menus, and the Shepherd’s Pie looked good.  It was mostly hearty British staples like Bangers and Mask and Toad in the Hole.  I guess by calling sausages by their real name sausages, no one really wanted them.

Three drinks down, and looking for the restroom, it ended up an exploration of the passage that led to a rear door, one that could be used by guests, but was mostly used by smoking staff.  When I went outside, there were two housekeepers and a concierge boy talking about the couple in 506.  I hope Jan and I were not labeled an ‘interesting couple’.

“Let’s go outside and make some calls.”  She finished her drink and slid off the barstool.  

I joined her and we went out the back entrance, along an alley to the next main street, then along the busy road to an underground station.  There were two other hotels I noticed along the way, so we would not be making it easy for them if they could track us.

I called Nobbin first using the card he left under the name Wilson, leaving the phone on speaker.

“Yes.”  There was no ring on the other end of the line.

“Wilson?”

“Yes.  Who is this?”

“Sam Jackson.  You said to call you if anything happened.  I have managed to track down an address for O’Connell.  I went there and found two women, one named Josephine, who was definitely not a resident or his friend as she claimed.  Then I met another, whose name I can’t remember, but I suspect she’s not who she said she was, nor a friend.”

“Were they looking for the USB?”

“I don’t know.  One was on the floor when I arrived, and I assumed she had been rendered unconscious by someone else.  I roused her, but she had nothing conclusive to say.  I think she was one of your operatives.”

Silence, then, “Why would you say that?”

“I followed her out onto the street.”

More silence, then, “She was asked to search the flat.”

“For what?”

“Anything that would be useful in telling us what he was doing.”

“I’m sure I told you that Severin was after a USB, so I thoroughly searched O’Connell’s flat and didn’t find it, or anything else.”

“Neither did she, which is unfortunate, but not unexpected.  O’Connell must have been worried about the information he’d uncovered, enough to not be carrying it with him.”

“Well, I don’t think it was his primary residence.  Still too many price tags on the furniture.  He had somewhere else to go, and that might be where the USB is.  I’m surprised you don’t seem to know very much about him or what he was doing given he was one of your operatives.  Unless, of course, he went off-book.”

“I assure you that isn’t the case, and O’Connell’s activities were on a need to know basis.  All I can say is that he was using a Journalist cover, investigating cyber currency being used to purchase weapons.  We were scheduled to meet for a report on his progress late afternoon on the day he was killed.  Are you sure there was no one else near the alley where he was killed?”

“It was empty except for Severin and Maury.

“And you.”

“Are you implying that I took it?”

“No, but there’s a compelling case that might fit you in the frame.  Do you know who the other woman was in O’Connell’s flat?”

“No.  Like I said, she gave me a name, but I don’t think it was real.  She claimed to be his neighbor, but so did Josephine, so it’s likely she wasn’t.  Other than that, she could be anyone.  If he had another place, you might want to try and find out where it was.  I’m going to take up the search tomorrow morning.”

“Are you sure there was nothing to point you in that direction lying around in the flat?”

“The man was a neatness freak.  I doubt it.  And now he’s dead.  The only possibility I can see is that he found out what Severin and Maury are about to do, and by now they will be far more desperate to find it.  We need to get to it first, so perhaps if you have some analysts looking for something to do, see if they can find that second residence.  I’m sure you can get a hold of any CCTV there is.  You might be able to find him that way.  If you do and you get an address, let me know and I’ll go straight there.”

“Yes, of course.  Keep in touch.”

The line went dead.

“Interesting man,” Jan said, “but not a trustworthy one.  You listen to the modulation of his voice.  That’s a man who wouldn’t know the truth even if he fell over it.  And if he does find that address, you will not be the first person he calls.”

I shrugged.  “Probably not.  As for Nobbin, isn’t that the very nature of our business, to tell endless lies in order to get to the truth?”

“Remind me, one day, to tell you about pathological liars.”

© Charles Heath 2019-2020

Just one of many reading lists – part 2

**Please don’t assume that you have to, nor would I ever expect you to,  read any or all of these books.  You don’t.**

Everyone, it seems, will publish what they call the top 100 books that you should read.  Some are voted on, some belong to the opinion of the editor of the book review section of a newspaper, and, as you know, there are a lot of newspapers, a lot of editors, and a lot of opinions.

I’m not a newspaper, I’m not an editor, but I have a list, based on personal experience, and many, many years of reading.

It’s in no particular order.

21.  Passage of Arms by Eric Ambler, I have to say I have read most of his novels and they are very good

22.  Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte, a very powerful story of a courageous, independent woman

23.  The Riddle of the Sands by Erskine Childers, a 1903 secret service story, and a good example of an early espionage novel

24.  The Father Brown stories by G. K. Chesterton, which features a Roman Catholic priest who is also an amateur detective

25.  The Grantchester Mysteries by James Runcie, similar to the above, but featuring an Anglican vicar Sidney Chambers and set in the 1950s.  Recently brought to life on television.

26.  The High Commissioner by Jon Cleary, an Australian author, this novel introduces Sargeant Scobie Malone, in the first of many adventures

27.  A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens, the first Dickens book I read, possibly because it was one of the shortest, and paved the way to reading all of his books.  Who could forget Madame Defarge

28.  Brideshead Revisited by Evelyn Waugh, another of those delightful but depressing stories of the 20s through to the 40s, perhaps for some, the golden age.  What could be said, in the end, about the Flytes?

29.  The Godfather by Mario Puzo, is the story of the Corleone mafia family, and for me, the most interesting part was that of the horse’s head, and of course, the death and mayhem

30.  The Shipping News by Annie Prouix, a Pulitzer Prize winner, and a story about a man, Quoyle, who against all odds puts his life slowly back together

31.  Detection Unlimited by Georgette Heyer, noted mostly for her Regency romances, she also wrote a series of detective novels.  This was her last detective novel published in 1953

32.  Poldark by Winston Graham, a series of stories about the Poldarks and Cornwall, and his arch-nemesis, George Warleggan

33.  Our Man in Havana by Graham Greene, one of many very interesting novels, this the first I read, followed by the Quiet American and Travels With My Aunt.  Seeing movies of some didn’t enhance the reading experience.

34.  The Mayor Of Casterbridge by Thomas Hardy, another of his interesting but sometimes hard to read novels of rural England.  This led to Jude the Obscure and others in the ‘series’.  It all started with Tess of the D’Urbervilles.

35.  A Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway, set during the Italian campaign of World War 1.  He also wrote The Old Man of the Sea

36.  Lucky Jim by Kingsley Amis, I don’t think he was all that lucky

37.  Whiskey Galore by Compton MacKenzie, the story of the ‘resue’ of several hundred cases of whiskey and the locals’ efforts to hide it.  Also famous for writing Monarch of the Glen, later a television series

38.  The Expedition of Humphry Clinker by Tobias Smollett, a collection of satirical observations of English life in the 1700s in spa towns and seaside resorts

39.  Barchester Towers by Anthony Trollope, part of the series known as the Chronicles of Barsetshire and features the unpopular Bishop Proudie and Mrs. Proudie

40. The Mysterious Affair at Styles by Agatha Christie, Christie’s first book published in 1920, and introduced Poirot, Arthur Hastings, and Inspector Japp.  Who knew so many books would follow

The list continues

“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.

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onelastlookcoverfinal2

Writing about writing a book – Day 11

Once again, instead of writing, I have been obsessing over the planning and creation of a website for the book.

And, that being the case, now I have to give the book a name so I can name the site/blog after it.

The word Starburst has featured in the story so tentatively I’m going to name it “The Starburst Conspiracy”

The site will be on WordPress.  There will be progress blog posts, there will draft writing and possible chapters for beta reading and comment.  There will be separate pages for each of the characters.

I’m not sure how I’m going to build an email list so perhaps I’ll build a following first.

So, having mapped out a plan for the site, I’ve made the first post and written the ‘About’ page which basically gives a bit of history about the book.

Bear in mind the original book of about 400 pages scribbled over a long period of time, and not really a book in the sense of the word (more a collection of ideas set in some form of chronology) and set in the early eighties and will probably stay there but will be the basis for the new novel.

Another interesting aspect of this exercise is to see how far I have come writing-wise in the last 30 years and how easy it is to spot the issues with the original manuscript.

I’ve also created a master page for the cast of characters and only a page for the main character so far.  Others will follow.

There will be another page with an ongoing, updated synopsis.

Shortcuts to these pages, as the information flows will be in subsequent posts.

 

For now, it’s back to writing, after a long gap, and the ideas have been churning in my head.

 

© Charles Heath 2016-2019

Just one of many reading lists – part 1

**Please don’t assume that you have to, nor would I ever expect you to,  read any or all of these books.  You don’t.**

Everyone, it seems, will publish what they call the top 100 books that you should read.  Some are voted on, some belong to the opinion of the editor of the book review section of a newspaper, and, as you know, there are a lot of newspapers, a lot of editors, and a lot of opinions.

I’m not a newspaper, I’m not an editor, but I have a list, based on personal experience, and many, many years of reading.

It’s in no particular order.

  1.  The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman by Laurence Sterne.  Don’t ask me why but I found this an interesting slice of life in England in the 1700s
  2. Vanity Fair by William Thackeray.  I met a direct descendant of him in England on a research visit which fuelled an interest in the book.  Another large tome recently brought to life by the mini-series on television.
  3. The Moonstone by Wilkie Collins.  Arguably the first detective novel, it was fuel for the imagination of any budding detective novel author.  He also wrote The Woman in White.
  4. Middlemarch by George Eliot, a remarkable novel, and famous for the fact it was written by a woman who thought it was best to use a male name in order to get recognition.
  5. Any of the Sherlock Holmes stories by Arthur Conan Doyle
  6. New Grub Street by George Gissing, very, very gritty
  7. The Thirty-Nine Steps by John Buchan, another of those incredibly well-written spy stories
  8. A Passage to India by E.M. Forster, a novel that brings up the subject of the British Empire
  9. The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitgerald, a story from the jazz age and the mysterious Jay Gatsby whom no one could figure out
  10. The Maltese Falcon by Dashiell Hammett, one of the few books that opened up the world of the Private Detective, and fostered a brilliant movie with Humprey Bogart as Sam Spade.
  11. The Big Sleep by Raymond Chandler, the author who introduced us to Philip Marlowe, with two definitive characterizations by Humprey Bogart and Robert Mitchum
  12. The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck, the classic about a family in the Great Depression, and my first introduction to Henry Fonda in the movie version of the book
  13. To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee.  I had to read this when I was at school and probably a time when I didn’t understand it’s importance.  Seeing the film with Gregory Peck much later helped.
  14. Catch 22 by Joseph Heller.  A friend recommended this and after I read it, I wondered what the hell it was about.  Only now do I understand it’s anti-war undertones
  15. Far from the Madding Crowd by Thomas Hardy was the novel that introduced me to Hardy
  16. Rural Rides by William Cobbett is a slice of life in the southern English countryside in the 1800s
  17. Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen, the first book of hers I read and found it fascinating.  Of course, when Mr. Darcy was brought to life in the television series, it found a whole new generation of readers
  18. Great Expectations by Charles Dickens, the remarkable story of Pip, Miss Havisham, and the mysterious benefactor
  19. Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury, apparently the temperature that paper burns, but this is more about Guy Montag and the saving of books rather than burning them
  20. Madame Bovary by Gustave Flaubert, probably the most depressing novel I’ve ever read, about a woman married to a mediocre doctor and seeks to escape to a fantasy world that leads to disappointment and devastating consequences

The list continues …

“Echoes From The Past”, buried, but not deep enough

On special, now only $0.99 for the next few weeks.

 

What happens when your past finally catches up with you?

Christmas is just around the corner, a time to be with family. For Will Mason, an orphan since he was fourteen, it is a time for reflection on what his life could have been, and what it could be.

Until a chance encounter brings back to life the reasons for his twenty years of self-imposed exile from a life only normal people could have. From that moment Will’s life slowly starts to unravel and it’s obvious to him it’s time to move on.

This time, however, there is more at stake.

Will has broken his number one rule, don’t get involved.

With his nemesis, Eddie Jamieson, suddenly within reach, and a blossoming relationship with an office colleague, Maria, about to change everything, Will has to make a choice. Quietly leave, or finally, make a stand.

But as Will soon discovers, when other people are involved there is going to be terrible consequences no matter what choice he makes.

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Taking the headlines and conjuring up the plot of a novel

What do you make of this lot:

What happened at a Russian missile site?  This is also tinged with nuclear fallout.

The US is consulting with allies in Asia about missile sites.  Nothing more inflammatory to a country like China, with whom relations are deteriorating at a rapid rate of knots.

Investors rush to buy bonds.  OK, that’s short term bonds not long term bonds, and that, of course, caused an inverted curve, or a preclusion to a recession.

Gold and silver investment is booming, and in times past, this could be a precursor to war.

China has survey vessels in the South China Sea.  Why no one knows.

China is also planning naval exercises in the same area.  Are they flexing muscles or sending a warning?

They’ve also got problems in Hong Kong, and, so far, there have been some violent scuffles, but nothing like what could be done, like at Tiananmen Square.  They have a large military force just outside Hong Kong, conducting exercises, perhaps waiting for the order to quell the challenges to business, travellers, and it’s sovereignty.

And, of course, there’s another flashpoint in Kashmir, which everyone seems to have an opinion, but that had been simmering for a long, long time.

And as for the former world power, the UK, they cannot get past internecine fighting over Brexit.

So, from a thriller writer’s perspective, it means that Russia is rearming, the US is trying to pre-empt missile strikes from China, or is it North Korea, it seems the savvier investors have a notion the world might be on the brink of war, and the US is right in the middle of it all.

The US appears:

  • to be in a trade war with China, or perhaps a war of words
  • are selling billions worth of arms to Taiwan, a red rag to a bull if there was ever one
  • are offering to help out in Kashmir
  • are sending ships to the South China sea to show the ‘flag’
  • are standing back and watching North Korea launch missiles
  • are emphatically denying there will be a recession, at least at home

Can we get a plot line out of all this?

Title:  Flashpoint

Synopsis:

A leaked report on a Russian missile base suggests a recent ‘mishap’ with disarming ‘old nuclear missiles’, was more than just routine issue, and a flyover by satellite shows there are more sinister and unexplainable operations in play.

Meanwhile, the arrival of a Russian nuclear specialist and a group of Chinese scientists in North Korea is quickly followed by several missile tests a week later.  Are the North Koreans, with the help of the Chinese, looking to arm their missiles with Russian nuclear warheads?

The CIA has sent two of their best operatives to find out what is really going on, one, Sam Stockton, borne of Russian parents, and who has yet to exorcise his demons from the last failed mission, and the other, Elizabeth Chen, a North Korean expert who is coming out of retirement for this particular delicate assignment.

Will they discover the truth before the world descends into a nuclear holocaust?

Earth to …

You know how it is, you’re sitting at the lights waiting for the green, and everything is calm around you.

It’s a warm day, the sun is out, the sky is blue, and because they’re taking so long to change, you’re almost drifting off, somewhere else than in traffic.

Bang!

That awful sound of two metal cars crashing, short, sharp, incisive, intruding.

Lights changed, driver next to me, in a lane that ends on the other side of the intersection, pushes his foot to the floor, trying to get in front.  Another driver running a red light hits him.

I sit in stunned silence before moments after the scene bursts into life, people getting out of cars to help.

My eyes are on the car than ran the red light.  The door slowly opens, and a person is getting out.  I look closer, it’s a woman, bright red hair, and blood running down her face.

She is standing, stunned, looking around, then sees a man coming towards her.

Is that panic.  She looks in my direction, our eyes meeting for a brief second, then she’s running.

Towards my car.

Seconds later the door opens, she gets in, and the door slams shut.

Two men are now running towards my car.

“Drive,” she yells.

“You’re injured, you should wait for …”

“Drive, now, or I’ll shoot you.”

I see the gun, now pointing at me.

“You’re joking.”

One of the men is pounding on her door, which I noticed she’d locked.

“Drive.”

I did, pushing the accelerator pedal to the floor.

The two men were now running towards another car, reaching it before I’d got more than 50 yards.  My car was tired, old, and not very quick in a standing 100.

I didn’t tell her she’d picked the wrong car and driver if she hoped to make a getaway.

Before I made a 100 yards, there was a large black 4×4 hurtling towards us.

“Turn left here,” she commanded, pushing the barrel of the gun into my side for emphasis.

I did, nearly losing the rear end of the car in a slide towards the curb, just touching it before moving forward.

My heart was now in my mouth and pounding.

Death by a bullet or an accident, both were high probabilities.

Who was this woman, now indistinguishable because her face was covered in blood.  She should be bleeding out.  Perhaps she might, and that would save me from an ignominious death.

I could see the 4×4 closing the distance between us quickly.

Perhaps there was another way to die.

“Right,”

Another swerving turn.

“Left,” she yelled almost instantly after the last order.

A few seconds later, “Right”.  Then another “left, then floor it.”

The wrong car, I muttered under my breath.

No sign of the 4×4.  Had we lost it?

At intersection coming up, one I recognized.  The railway station.

“Don’t slow down, straight across.”

“Are you mad?”

Prod.

Apparently so, and with a death wish.

The front of the car crunched on the driveway, as I hit it at speed, the slammed my foot on the brake.  A train was waiting at the platform.

She was out and gone before the car had stopped, and the doors of the carriage had closed, all just before the 4×4 pulled into the station carpark.

 

Tap, tap, tap.

I looked over at the passenger side and saw my granddaughter looking in.

“Have you been daydreaming again, Poppy?”

 

© Charles Heath 2018

 

Writing about writing a book – Day 10

I’m back to writing, sitting at the desk, pad in front of me, pen in hand.
The only thing lacking, an idea

It’s 9:03 am, too early to start on a six-pack.

I need to try and concentrate on the job at hand, but it isn’t working.

Blogging, websites, Twitter and Facebook, all of these social media problems are swirling around in my mind.

The more I read the more it bothers me that if I don’t have the right social media presence if I do not start to build an email list, all of my efforts in writing a book will come to naught.  And especially so, if I don’t hire a professional to do my cover.  Another problem to add to the ever-growing list.

Then I start trawling the internet for information on marketing and found a plethora of people offering any amount of advice for anything between a ‘small amount’ to a rather large amount that gives comprehensive coverage of most social media platforms for periods of a day, a week or a month.  I don’t have a book so it’s a bit early to be worrying about that.

I move onto the people who offer advice for a cost on how to build a following, how to build a web presence, how to get a thousand Twitter followers, how to get thousands of email followers before the launch.

The trouble is I’m writing a novel, not a nonfiction book, or have some marvelous 30-page ebook on how to do something, for free just to drive people to my site.  I’m a novelist, not a handyman so those ideas while good is not going to help me.  And there are enough people out there telling the rest of us how to be a writer, how to be a marketer and then some.  The problem is, most of them are one long advertisement, offering the ‘real’ answers’ for money.

I’m not sure how many people have my email address, but I’m getting over a hundred emails a day, all asking me to buy some sort of guaranteed service.

Yet another problem to wrestle with along with actually creating a product to sell in the first place.

Except I’m supposed to be writing for the love of it without the premeditated idea of writing for gain or getting rich quick.

What am I missing here?

So should l be writing short stories and offering them for free to drive people to my site?  These would have to be genre-specific so it needs time and effort and fit into a convenient size story that will highlight or showcase my talent.

Or should I create a website for the novel and set up pages for the characters and get some interaction going that way?  It will be difficult without giving the whole plot away so if I do it will have to be carefully managed.  And, in doing so, it will be taking me away from what I’m supposed to be doing, writing.

Of course, I could get someone else to set all this up for me, but I haven’t got fifty dollars, let along the $5,000 they are asking.   Yes, I can create a free site, yes, I can find a cheaper option if I looked hard enough, but, again, it takes me away from my primary objective.

I don’t think I will have a good night’s sleep again with all of these social media problems I’m going to have.

Oh well, back to the book.  It’s time to have a nightmare of a different sort!

 

When I opened my eyes I was in a room, not immediately recognizable, because it looked like my room, in my parent’s house where I grew up, when I was a young boy.

The curtains fluttered on the other side of the room, around the edges a muted light that could have been the moon or street lighting.

It was warm, the breeze pushing pas the curtain material and washing over me in gentle waves.  I was hot and could feel the sweat on my brow.

It reminded me of the long summer days, the warmth stretching into the night, and the cool breezes that made the endless heat bearable, where the only covering you needed was a sheet, and then sometimes not.

There was movement, also, on the other side of the room, a figure curled up in a chair, the form of which was framed as a silhouette against the indistinct light, now a little brighter.  My eyes were rapidly adjusting, and shapes were becoming clearer.

I turned my head slightly and saw a door with a window in it, slightly ajar.  My bedroom door had never had a window,

I tried to speak but couldn’t, my throat dry, and made swallowing difficult.  It felt like something was stuck in my throat.

I tried to think, but it made my head hurt, and, then, a thousand images flashed before my eyes, or what seemed like a thousand, of a time I’d never known about.

Not until now.

Of a past that I’d known was lurking somewhere in my mind.  Of a missing period of my life that had been, up till now, locked away, and beyond my grasp.

And for a good reason.

It was awful.

No.  It was horrendous.

No.  It was worse than that.  Words could not describe the images, the feelings, the despair, the hopelessness.

And then I screamed.  Bound, in pain, feeling a charge of electric current run through me, trying to beg them to stop, only to find my mouth stuffed with a filthy, horrible tasting rag, making me gag.

Then it stopped, and I slumped back, easing the muscles that had tensed in pain, opening my eyes to see a man, Chinese, holding a knife over me, saying, “You will tell me what I want to know” over and over, then slowly pushing the knife near my shoulder, the pain unbearable as I screamed and begged for him to stop.

And as suddenly it started, it stopped.

It had to be a dream.  It had to be.

Then nothing.

 

I’m not sure about the knife wound, what impact or damage it may have or cause so some investigation is needed.

And that’s not where it ends.  More of the nightmare tomorrow!

 

© Charles Heath 2018