Tag: Thrillers

A photograph from the inspirational bin – 9

…

I remeber once being told that if you shoot for the moon, you’ll land in the clouds, if you shoot for the tree tops, you’ll finish up back where you started from.

It was a silly analogy, but I always remembered it when I looked up at the sky and saw clouds.

That was back in those hazy carefree days just after you were finished with school and you had your whole life in front of you. Your parents were there as the safety net, and were still proud of your scholastic achievements, and were not in too much of a hurry to hustle you out of the house.

But what happened when there’s a recession that came upon everyone without any warning.

Stocks plummeted, people lost their life’s savings, those with mortgages and loans suddenly finding that along with unemployment came no income, no ability to pay the bills, and therefore lost everything.

Although I never said it, I was thinking what good was an education when the whole world had gone to hell in a handbasket.

Two things I remember from back then, which in the context of disaster, wasn’t all that long ago. Firstly, my father making us children go camping from before we could walk, and with it, to survive with nothing but the clothes on our backs, and our wits.

It had happened to him, as a member of am expedition in Africa in his younger days, thinking that he might become the next great explorer, or archeologist, and finishing up getting lost, even though he asserted the other members had deliberately left him behind.

And secondly, that it was essential that we forge working relationships with any and all those who were like minded, such as those who wanted to be saved, not those who expected everyone else to so the work. It was obvious he had met a lot of those type of people too.

It served us well.

When nations began turning on each other, when essential resources like electricity and fuel stopped being distributed and rationed, when food suddenly became scarce, that’s when the real trouble started. My father said, at the outset, what would happen, and was glad our mother was not there to see it.

Then, when neighbours attacked neighbours once food became scarce, it was time to leave. The pity of it was, he died defending us, even after offering up some of the food we had stored away, but that had not appeased a hungry or angry mob.

His last words, “Go to where we said we would go, and remember everything I’ve taught you” were etched in my brain, and my brother and I did as he asked.

But, even knowing where we had to go, and how to get there, a plan of action made many years before, and trialled in recent years with success, nothing in the past could have prepared us for the journey.

It was, literally, time to shoot for the moon.

—

© Charles Heath 2021

I always wanted to see the planets – Episode 9

What’s the worst that could happen?

…

Captains invariably hated the word ‘problem’. I did too, because it conjured up so many different scenarios, each more scarier than the last, and maginified exponentially because we were in space.

We took a closer look, and it was the sort of damage if it was back on Earth, one would associate with weapons fire, lasers to be exact.

Yes, in the 24th century we had ray guns, handheld, and ship bound.

The only problem was, only the cruise class vessels, like the one I was now on, were allowed to have them, and using them, well, the paperwork alone could keep a complement of 20 working day and night for a month.

Test them, yes, less paperwork, use them, no. There had never been a reason to.

But someone had, and on a freighter, which only meant one possibility, that whatever the freighter had been carrying, had been worth violating a thousand regulations and rules.

And bring their ship and selves out into the light.

It was, of course, Space Command’s worst nightmare realised, that the ideal of space exploration as a united effort by everyone, had a member who had decided against unity.

Unless, of course, the improbably had happened, there was life outside our solar system, and we were dealing with a new planet, or people.

Except I would not expect them to use something as conventional as a laser.

Myrtle had put us very close to the damaged area and taken a number of photographs, and the engineer had analysed the damaged area.

Then, cleared to enter the freighter, she took us up to the cargo doors and waited as we watched them open.

It was the same time the engineer’s hand held computer started beeping.

And a warning light on the console in front of Myrtle started flashing, accompanied by a warning klaxon.

Another vessel had just entered our proximity zone.

…

© Charles Heath 2021

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to go on a treasure hunt – Episode 59

Here’s the thing…

Every time I close my eyes, I see something different.

I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox.

But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.

Once again there’s a new installment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.

…

Did it upset me that Boggs was a little snarky?  Yes, a bit.

We’d been friends for a long time, the sort who had stuck together at school to keep arm’s length from the bullies and work together on projects and homework.  That friendship had become more important after his father disappeared, and I had believed he appreciated it.

Until this treasure thing.

It hadn’t been there, looking over everything.  The fact of the matter was he had been too young to understand any of it, and his mother wisely kept the extended details of her husband’s obsession away from him, and it was quite by chance he stumbled over his father’s effects in the attic.

Had she destroyed that stuff then perhaps we’d all not in this position?

Life had been more predictable, we avoided Alex and Vince, Nadia was nowhere to be seen, and life just rolled along in unemployed heaven.  Of course, that would have had to change, as it had, because my mother couldn’t continue to support a son in his late teens, and at that age, I should have been looking for both work, and to move on with my life.

The state of the economy, and the town’s fortunes, made that difficult, and I guess it would have been a matter of time before I left, like nearly all of my contemporaries had to the bigger towns and cities for more opportunities.

Benderby and the factory had staved that off, for now.

Other than that, I was rather pleased with the job I had, not too taxing, amenable hours so I could do other stuff, and although the only downside was working with Alex, all I had to do was avoid him, and the warehouse was a large building.

I went home to change and found my mother there, sitting at the kitchen table having a cup of coffee.

“You’re home early,” I said when I saw her.

“On a break.  Had to go to the bank, and it wasn’t much further to come here.  Muriel tells me you’ve been talking to Nadia Cossatino.”

Talking to Nadia to her was the same as spending time with her.  And to my mother, the Cossatino’s were public enemies, close to the number one.

“You taught me to be polite and speak when spoken to.”

It was always good to quote her rules back to her when she was trying to admonish me.

“You know what the Cossatino’s are, Sam.”

“She doesn’t act like one, not now.”

“You know why they sent her away, don’t you?”

Sent away?  That was not what I heard, but then, as a so-called child, what we were told and what was reality were two entirely different things.

“I thought I did, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me the grown-up reason?”

“She stabbed a girl, and instead of going to juvenile detention, they sent her home to Italy where she couldn’t get into any more trouble.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did she stab another girl?”

“Do the Cossatino’s need reasons for what they do?  She’s not a very nice person, nor are the family very nice people.  Remember that the next time you see her.”

“She’s nice to me, and I prefer to be polite.  But I’ll take what you said and be careful.”

That said, I was dismissed, lecture given.

I changed and came back to pack a meal for the evening break.  Mother was still sitting at the table.

“I thought you’d be on your way back to work.”

“Not going back today.  I’m not feeling very well.  How is the job going?  I never get to see much of you these days.”

“I’m helping Boggs when I can.”

“Isn’t he on that treasure trail his father started?”

“Yes.  He found a box of his stuff in the attic, and we’ve been trying to make sense of it.”

“There is none.   There was no treasure, just a bunch of maps Boggs’s father made for the Cossatino’s to con people out of their money.”

“What about Ormiston?”

“He was a bigger fool than Boggs.  You don’t want to be humoring Boggs with such nonsense.  You concentrate on doing your job properly and let him follow his father down that rabbit hole.  I feel sorry for Muriel, having two of her family sucked into that mess.”

“And what if it is real?”

She gave me a look that told me the only thing that was real would be her wrath if I persisted with it.  “OK,” I said.  “I’ll try and reason with him, and get him to give it up.”

It was then I noticed the flowers over by the window, a very expensive-looking bouquet in an ornate vase.

“Do you have a secret admirer?”

She looked a little puzzled, then realized what I was talking about.

“Joshua sent them over, thought it might cheer me up.”

Joshua was Alex Benderby’s father, my employer.  Odd that he would be sending my mother flowers.  We were not anywhere near his social circle.

“He’s a kind man, Sam, and we have been friends since school.  I could do with some cheering up.”

I was not sure what she meant by that, but I hope it didn’t mean he would come visiting.  Knowing Benderby was a curse, not a benefit, and I hoped my job wasn’t contingent on her being nice to him.

I shuddered at the thought, said no more, and left for work.

My job was supposed to be my sanctuary, where I could get away from home, the depressive nature of living in the town, and Boggs and his treasure hunt.

It wasn’t an escape from Alex, and not only did he work in the same building, but treated it as his fiefdom, and resented the fact I’d ‘wormed’ my way into his domain.

Under that boastful and arrogant exterior, he really was just an insecure little boy.

But very, very dangerous.

He was leaving when I arrived, having switched from night shift to day, a blessing.  His alternate for the night shift was an uncaring old man who was approaching retirement and didn’t want anything to screw up his exit.

He let me do whatever I wanted so long as it didn’t blow back on him, and I took extra care not to cause offense, or raise any flags.  Stuff came in, stuff went out, the stock register was up to date, and nothing ran out.

It was as simple as that, and even so, Alex still couldn’t get it right so we covered for him.

Alex stopped at the door on the way out, a bad sign.

“You want to tell that clown of a friend, Boggs, to stop poking around the caves.  They’re not a place for amateurs.”

“I didn’t know he was poking around the caves.  Nor that you were.  Any particular reason?”

“It’s called spelunking, dimwit.”

I knew that but wasn’t going to make an issue of it.  He was lucky he could pronounce it let alone know what it was.

“They’re just caves, Alex, with nothing more than a few limestone pinnacles, and bat shit on the floor.  Unless, of course, you think the pirate captain hid his treasure in one of them.  I can’t see how, or why.  They’re a long way from the coast.”

“We’re not looking for treasure.  It doesn’t exist.”

“Then why warn Boggs off?”

He shook his head.  “You’re as daft in the head as he is.  Just tell him not to get in my way.”

With that, he was gone.  A huge sigh of relief, and a long peaceful night ahead of me.

Until the phone rang.

…

© Charles Heath 2020-2022

The cinema of my dreams – Was it just another surveillance job – Episode 4

I didn’t get the last part of the opening sequence sorted until after we arrived in Vancouver.  I made a start on it before breakfast was served, though it was rather odd calling it breakfast when outside the plane it was nearly six in the afternoon.

In finishing it much later, I think I’ve come up with a different direction to the one I planned, but in truth, I was never happy with where it was going from the start.

That’s why I prefer to plot on the run so that it doesn’t necessarily get bogged down with a certain result in mind.  For me, that is the biggest bugbear is writing to a plan.  For some, though, I’m sure it works.  For me, not so much.

So, what happened to the rest of the team?

 

Just in case I’d made a mistake, I kept one eye on the target, who seemed to be consumed by the events unfolding, and another taking a wider search of the surrounding area to make doubly sure the team was still in control of the mission.

They were not.

A hundred yards back in the direction I’d first seen the target heading when the explosion took me out of play, I found one of the team, Jack, a relatively new member of the surveillance division, roughly hidden behind a dumpster, dead, a victim of a clean, accurate, and methodical stab wound to the heart.  No noise from the weapon, or the victim.

The target knew we were onto him.  It also meant that it was likely the other two members of the team were also out of play, I preferred not to think they might be equally dead, and I didn’t think the chances were good that he might not know about me.

It wasn’t a good sign that he had come back to the site of the explosion because I doubted someone of his stature had time to stand around and watch a search and rescue.

And if he was looking for me I had to make sure he didn’t find me.  Good thing then it was exactly what I was thinking when he turned and started to scan the outer perimeter, as I had, and just managed to miss his gaze in my direction.

Yes, he was definitely looking for me, so it was a good bet he had tortured one of the others to get the information he needed.

All the more reason for me to take him down.

I moved closer, all the time keeping him under surveillance and avoiding his searching eyes. 

Then, satisfied I was not at this location, he started moving to the next, before I’d last seen him in the distance.  It was the epicentre of the explosion and the one where there was a high concentration of police and rescue workers.

He stopped.  I used the cover of the confusion, and in a way, a very efficient organization, to move closer.

I saw him take another look around, perhaps he suspected I might be near, then again satisfied, moved on.

It was clear I was not going to be able to take him on while we were in the immediate vicinity of the explosion, there were too many witnesses.  Perhaps he was hoping that the abundance of cover would aid his mission.

He stopped again, among a smaller group of observers, and checked both sides of the line.  From there he had two choices, to consider if I had retraced my steps, or gone ahead thinking I might catch up to him.  Obviously, he’d realized I’d not kept up, and it had been due to the explosion.

Just as he was about to see me on another sweep, a minor explosion of sorts came from the main disaster site, what sounded like part of the structure collapsing, which explained dust rising into the air, and when my attention returned to the spot I’d last seen him, he was gone.

Not a good sign.  He could be anywhere.

But he wasn’t just anywhere.

“Sam?”

It was an unfamiliar voice, not expected, but I’d been more or less wary from the moment I lost sight of him.  And because I had been alert, it saved me from a far worse injury.  I felt the knife thrust through the fleshy part of my side and caught him with my elbow to the side of his head which sent him sprawling and knocking the knife out of his hand and sliding into the area where three bystanders were.

The scuffled turned their attention to him first on the ground, and then hastily getting to his feet and running away, leaving the weapon behind and me chasing after him.

No one said a word.

And this time he didn’t have a very big break on me and driven by rage at what he had done to the members of my team, it didn’t take long to catch up, in a place where we were alone.

In those few steps I’d made up my mind, he was not going to walk away from this.

 

So, is revenge on the menu, or something else?

 

©  Charles Heath 2019

 

A photograph from the inspirational bin – 9

…

I remeber once being told that if you shoot for the moon, you’ll land in the clouds, if you shoot for the tree tops, you’ll finish up back where you started from.

It was a silly analogy, but I always remembered it when I looked up at the sky and saw clouds.

That was back in those hazy carefree days just after you were finished with school and you had your whole life in front of you. Your parents were there as the safety net, and were still proud of your scholastic achievements, and were not in too much of a hurry to hustle you out of the house.

But what happened when there’s a recession that came upon everyone without any warning.

Stocks plummeted, people lost their life’s savings, those with mortgages and loans suddenly finding that along with unemployment came no income, no ability to pay the bills, and therefore lost everything.

Although I never said it, I was thinking what good was an education when the whole world had gone to hell in a handbasket.

Two things I remember from back then, which in the context of disaster, wasn’t all that long ago. Firstly, my father making us children go camping from before we could walk, and with it, to survive with nothing but the clothes on our backs, and our wits.

It had happened to him, as a member of am expedition in Africa in his younger days, thinking that he might become the next great explorer, or archeologist, and finishing up getting lost, even though he asserted the other members had deliberately left him behind.

And secondly, that it was essential that we forge working relationships with any and all those who were like minded, such as those who wanted to be saved, not those who expected everyone else to so the work. It was obvious he had met a lot of those type of people too.

It served us well.

When nations began turning on each other, when essential resources like electricity and fuel stopped being distributed and rationed, when food suddenly became scarce, that’s when the real trouble started. My father said, at the outset, what would happen, and was glad our mother was not there to see it.

Then, when neighbours attacked neighbours once food became scarce, it was time to leave. The pity of it was, he died defending us, even after offering up some of the food we had stored away, but that had not appeased a hungry or angry mob.

His last words, “Go to where we said we would go, and remember everything I’ve taught you” were etched in my brain, and my brother and I did as he asked.

But, even knowing where we had to go, and how to get there, a plan of action made many years before, and trialled in recent years with success, nothing in the past could have prepared us for the journey.

It was, literally, time to shoot for the moon.

—

© Charles Heath 2021

I always wanted to see the planets – Episode 9

What’s the worst that could happen?

…

Captains invariably hated the word ‘problem’. I did too, because it conjured up so many different scenarios, each more scarier than the last, and maginified exponentially because we were in space.

We took a closer look, and it was the sort of damage if it was back on Earth, one would associate with weapons fire, lasers to be exact.

Yes, in the 24th century we had ray guns, handheld, and ship bound.

The only problem was, only the cruise class vessels, like the one I was now on, were allowed to have them, and using them, well, the paperwork alone could keep a complement of 20 working day and night for a month.

Test them, yes, less paperwork, use them, no. There had never been a reason to.

But someone had, and on a freighter, which only meant one possibility, that whatever the freighter had been carrying, had been worth violating a thousand regulations and rules.

And bring their ship and selves out into the light.

It was, of course, Space Command’s worst nightmare realised, that the ideal of space exploration as a united effort by everyone, had a member who had decided against unity.

Unless, of course, the improbably had happened, there was life outside our solar system, and we were dealing with a new planet, or people.

Except I would not expect them to use something as conventional as a laser.

Myrtle had put us very close to the damaged area and taken a number of photographs, and the engineer had analysed the damaged area.

Then, cleared to enter the freighter, she took us up to the cargo doors and waited as we watched them open.

It was the same time the engineer’s hand held computer started beeping.

And a warning light on the console in front of Myrtle started flashing, accompanied by a warning klaxon.

Another vessel had just entered our proximity zone.

…

© Charles Heath 2021

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to go on a treasure hunt – Episode 59

Here’s the thing…

Every time I close my eyes, I see something different.

I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox.

But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.

Once again there’s a new installment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.

…

Did it upset me that Boggs was a little snarky?  Yes, a bit.

We’d been friends for a long time, the sort who had stuck together at school to keep arm’s length from the bullies and work together on projects and homework.  That friendship had become more important after his father disappeared, and I had believed he appreciated it.

Until this treasure thing.

It hadn’t been there, looking over everything.  The fact of the matter was he had been too young to understand any of it, and his mother wisely kept the extended details of her husband’s obsession away from him, and it was quite by chance he stumbled over his father’s effects in the attic.

Had she destroyed that stuff then perhaps we’d all not in this position?

Life had been more predictable, we avoided Alex and Vince, Nadia was nowhere to be seen, and life just rolled along in unemployed heaven.  Of course, that would have had to change, as it had, because my mother couldn’t continue to support a son in his late teens, and at that age, I should have been looking for both work, and to move on with my life.

The state of the economy, and the town’s fortunes, made that difficult, and I guess it would have been a matter of time before I left, like nearly all of my contemporaries had to the bigger towns and cities for more opportunities.

Benderby and the factory had staved that off, for now.

Other than that, I was rather pleased with the job I had, not too taxing, amenable hours so I could do other stuff, and although the only downside was working with Alex, all I had to do was avoid him, and the warehouse was a large building.

I went home to change and found my mother there, sitting at the kitchen table having a cup of coffee.

“You’re home early,” I said when I saw her.

“On a break.  Had to go to the bank, and it wasn’t much further to come here.  Muriel tells me you’ve been talking to Nadia Cossatino.”

Talking to Nadia to her was the same as spending time with her.  And to my mother, the Cossatino’s were public enemies, close to the number one.

“You taught me to be polite and speak when spoken to.”

It was always good to quote her rules back to her when she was trying to admonish me.

“You know what the Cossatino’s are, Sam.”

“She doesn’t act like one, not now.”

“You know why they sent her away, don’t you?”

Sent away?  That was not what I heard, but then, as a so-called child, what we were told and what was reality were two entirely different things.

“I thought I did, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me the grown-up reason?”

“She stabbed a girl, and instead of going to juvenile detention, they sent her home to Italy where she couldn’t get into any more trouble.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did she stab another girl?”

“Do the Cossatino’s need reasons for what they do?  She’s not a very nice person, nor are the family very nice people.  Remember that the next time you see her.”

“She’s nice to me, and I prefer to be polite.  But I’ll take what you said and be careful.”

That said, I was dismissed, lecture given.

I changed and came back to pack a meal for the evening break.  Mother was still sitting at the table.

“I thought you’d be on your way back to work.”

“Not going back today.  I’m not feeling very well.  How is the job going?  I never get to see much of you these days.”

“I’m helping Boggs when I can.”

“Isn’t he on that treasure trail his father started?”

“Yes.  He found a box of his stuff in the attic, and we’ve been trying to make sense of it.”

“There is none.   There was no treasure, just a bunch of maps Boggs’s father made for the Cossatino’s to con people out of their money.”

“What about Ormiston?”

“He was a bigger fool than Boggs.  You don’t want to be humoring Boggs with such nonsense.  You concentrate on doing your job properly and let him follow his father down that rabbit hole.  I feel sorry for Muriel, having two of her family sucked into that mess.”

“And what if it is real?”

She gave me a look that told me the only thing that was real would be her wrath if I persisted with it.  “OK,” I said.  “I’ll try and reason with him, and get him to give it up.”

It was then I noticed the flowers over by the window, a very expensive-looking bouquet in an ornate vase.

“Do you have a secret admirer?”

She looked a little puzzled, then realized what I was talking about.

“Joshua sent them over, thought it might cheer me up.”

Joshua was Alex Benderby’s father, my employer.  Odd that he would be sending my mother flowers.  We were not anywhere near his social circle.

“He’s a kind man, Sam, and we have been friends since school.  I could do with some cheering up.”

I was not sure what she meant by that, but I hope it didn’t mean he would come visiting.  Knowing Benderby was a curse, not a benefit, and I hoped my job wasn’t contingent on her being nice to him.

I shuddered at the thought, said no more, and left for work.

My job was supposed to be my sanctuary, where I could get away from home, the depressive nature of living in the town, and Boggs and his treasure hunt.

It wasn’t an escape from Alex, and not only did he work in the same building, but treated it as his fiefdom, and resented the fact I’d ‘wormed’ my way into his domain.

Under that boastful and arrogant exterior, he really was just an insecure little boy.

But very, very dangerous.

He was leaving when I arrived, having switched from night shift to day, a blessing.  His alternate for the night shift was an uncaring old man who was approaching retirement and didn’t want anything to screw up his exit.

He let me do whatever I wanted so long as it didn’t blow back on him, and I took extra care not to cause offense, or raise any flags.  Stuff came in, stuff went out, the stock register was up to date, and nothing ran out.

It was as simple as that, and even so, Alex still couldn’t get it right so we covered for him.

Alex stopped at the door on the way out, a bad sign.

“You want to tell that clown of a friend, Boggs, to stop poking around the caves.  They’re not a place for amateurs.”

“I didn’t know he was poking around the caves.  Nor that you were.  Any particular reason?”

“It’s called spelunking, dimwit.”

I knew that but wasn’t going to make an issue of it.  He was lucky he could pronounce it let alone know what it was.

“They’re just caves, Alex, with nothing more than a few limestone pinnacles, and bat shit on the floor.  Unless, of course, you think the pirate captain hid his treasure in one of them.  I can’t see how, or why.  They’re a long way from the coast.”

“We’re not looking for treasure.  It doesn’t exist.”

“Then why warn Boggs off?”

He shook his head.  “You’re as daft in the head as he is.  Just tell him not to get in my way.”

With that, he was gone.  A huge sigh of relief, and a long peaceful night ahead of me.

Until the phone rang.

…

© Charles Heath 2020-2022

An excerpt from “Amnesia”, a work in progress

I remembered a bang.
I remembered the car slewing sideways.
I remember another bang, and then it was lights out.
When I opened my eyes again, I saw the sky.
Or I could be under water.
Everything was blurred.
I tried to focus but I couldn’t. My eyes were full of water.
What happened?
Why was I lying down?
Where was I?
I cast my mind back, trying to remember.
It was a blank.
What, when, who, why and where, questions I should easily be able to answer. Questions any normal person could answer.
I tried to move. Bad, bad mistake.
I did not realise the scream I heard was my own. Just before my body shut down.

“My God! What happened?”
I could hear, not see. I was moving, lying down, looking up.
I was blind. Everything was black.
“Car accident, hit a tree, sent the passenger flying through the windscreen. Pity to poor bastard didn’t get the message that seat belts save lives.”
Was I that poor bastard?
“Report?” A new voice, male, authoritative.
“Multiple lacerations, broken collar bone, broken arm in three places, both legs broken below the knees, one badly. We are not sure of internal injuries, but ruptured spleen, cracked ribs and pierced right lung are fairly evident, x-rays will confirm that and anything else.”
“What isn’t broken?”
“His neck.”
“Then I would have to say we are looking at the luckiest man on the planet.”
I heard shuffling of pages.
“OR1 ready?”
“Yes. On standby since we were first advised.”
“Good. Let’s see if we can weave some magic.”

Magic.
It was the first word that popped into my head when I surfaced from the bottom of the lake. That first breath, after holding it for so long, was sublime, and, in reality, agonising.

Magic, because it seemed like I’d spent a long time under water.
Or somewhere.
I tried to speak, but couldn’t. The words were just in my head.
Was it night or was it day?
Was it hot, or was it cold?
Where was I?
Around me it felt cool.
It was very quiet. No noise except for the hissing of air through an air-conditioning vent. Or perhaps that was the sound of pure silence. And with it the revelation that silence was not silent. It was noisy.
I didn’t try to move.
Instinctively, somehow I knew not to.
A previous bad experience?
I heard what sounded like a door opening, and very quiet footsteps slowly come into the room. They stopped. I could hear breathing, slightly laboured, a sound I’d heard before.
My grandfather.
He had smoked all his life, until he was diagnosed with lung cancer. But for years before that he had emphysema. The person in the room was on their way, down the same path. I could smell the smoke.
I wanted to tell whoever it was the hazards of smoking.
I couldn’t.
I heard a metallic clanging sound from the end of the bed. A moment later the clicking of a pen, then writing.
“You are in a hospital.” A female voice suddenly said. “You’ve been in a very bad accident. You cannot talk, or move, all you can do, for the moment, is listen to me. I am a nurse. You have been here for 45 days, and just come out of a medically induced coma. There is nothing to be afraid of.”
She had a very soothing voice.
I felt her fingers stroke the back of my hand.
“Everything is fine.”
Define fine, I thought. I wanted to ask her what ‘fine’ meant.
“Just count backwards from 10.”
Why?
I didn’t reach seven.

Over the next ten days, that voice became my lifeline to sanity. Every morning I longed to hear it, if only for the few moments she was in the room, those few waking moments when I believed she, and someone else who never spoke, were doing tests. I knew it had to be someone else because I could smell the essence of lavender. My grandmother had worn a similar scent.
It rose above the disinfectant.
I also believed she was another doctor, not the one who had been there the day I arrived. Not the one who had used some ‘magic’ and kept me alive.
It was then, in those moments before she put me under again, that I thought, what if I was paralysed? It would explain a lot. A chill went through me.

The next morning she was back.
“My name is Winifred. We don’t know what your name is, not yet. In a few days, you will be better, and you will be able to ask us questions. You were in an accident, and you were very badly injured, but I can assure you there will be no lasting damage.”
More tests, and then, when I expected the lights to go out, they didn’t. Not for a few minutes more. Perhaps this was how I would be integrated back into the world. A little bit at a time.
The next morning, she came later than usual, and I’d been awake for a few minutes. “You have bandages over your eyes and face. You had bad lacerations to your face, and glass in your eyes. We will know more when the bandages come off in a few days. Your face will take longer to heal. It was necessary to do some plastic surgery.”
Lacerations, glass in my eyes, car accident, plastic surgery. By logical deduction, I knew I was the poor bastard thrown through the windscreen. It was a fleeting memory from the day I was admitted.
How could that happen?
That was the first of many startling revelations. The second was the fact I could not remember the crash. Equally shocking, in that same moment was the fact I could not remember before the crash either, and only vague memories after.
But the most shattering of all these revelations was the one where I realised I could not remember my name.
I tried to calm down, sensing a rising panic.
I was just disoriented, I told myself. After 45 days in an induced coma, it had messed with my mind, and it was only a temporary lapse. Yes, that’s what it was, a temporary lapse. I would remember tomorrow. Or the next day.
Sleep was a blessed relief.

The next day I didn’t wake feeling nauseous. Perhaps they’d lowered the pain medication. I’d heard that morphine could have that effect. Then, how could I know that, but not who I am?
I knew now Winifred the nurse was preparing me for something very bad. She was upbeat, and soothing, giving me a new piece of information each morning. This morning, “You do not need to be afraid. Everything is going to be fine. The doctor tells me you are going to recover with very little scarring. You will need some physiotherapy to recover from your physical injuries, but that’s in the future. We need to let you mend a little bit more before then.”
So, I was not going to be able to leap out of bed, and walk out of the hospital any time soon. I don’t suppose I’d ever leapt out of bed, except as a young boy. I suspect I’d sustained a few broken bones. I guess learning to walk again was the least of my problems.
But, there was something else. I picked it up in the timbre of her voice, a hesitation, or reluctance. It sent another chill through me.
This time I was left awake for an hour before she returned.
This time sleep was restless.
There were scenes playing in my mind, nothing I recognised, and nothing lasting longer than a glimpse. Me. Others, people I didn’t know. Or perhaps I knew them and couldn’t remember them.
Until they disappeared, slowly like the glowing dot in the centre of the computer screen, before finally fading to black.

The morning the bandages were to come off she came in bright and early and woken me. I had another restless night, the images becoming clearer, but nothing recognisable.
“This morning the doctor will be removing the bandages over your eyes. Don’t expect an immediate effect. Your sight may come back quickly or it may come back slowly, but we believe it will come back.”
I wanted to believe I was not expecting anything, but I was. It was probably human nature. I did not want to be blind as well as paralysed. I had to have at least one reason to live.
I dozed again until I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder. I could smell the lavender, the other doctor was back. And I knew the hand on my shoulder was Winifred’s. She told me not to be frightened.
I was amazed to realise in that moment, I wasn’t.
I heard the scissors cutting the bandages.
I felt the bandage being removed, and the pressure coming off my eyes. I could feel the pads covering both eyes.
Then a moment where nothing happened.
Then the pads being gently lift and removed.
Nothing.
I blinked my eyes, once, twice. Nothing.
“Just hold on a moment,” Winifred said. A few seconds later I could feel a cool towel wiping my face, and then gently wiping my eyes. Perhaps there was ointment, or something else in them.
Then a flash. Well, not a flash, but like when a light is turned on and off. A moment later, it was brighter, not the inky blackness of before, but a shade of grey.
She wiped my eyes again.
I blinked a few more times, and then the light returned, and it was like looking through water, at distorted and blurry objects in the distance.
I blinked again, and she wiped my eyes again.
Blurry objects took shape. A face looking down on me, an elderly lady with a kindly face, surely Winifred, who was smiling. And on the opposite side of the bed, the doctor, a Chinese woman of indescribable beauty.
I nodded.
“You can see?”
I nodded again.
“Clearly?”
I nodded.
“Very good. We will just draw the curtains now. We don’t want to overdo it. Tomorrow we will be taking off the bandages on your face. Then, it will be the next milestone. Talking.”
I couldn’t wait.

When morning came, I found myself afraid. Winifred had mentioned scarring, there were bandages on my face. I knew, but wasn’t quite sure how I knew, I wasn’t the handsomest of men before the accident, so this might be an improvement.
I was not sure why I didn’t think it would be the case.
They came at mid morning, the nurse, Winifred, and the doctor, the exquisite Chinese. Perhaps she was the distraction, taking my mind of the reality of what I was about to see.
Another doctor came into the room, before the bandages were removed, and he was introduced as the plastic surgeon that had ‘repaired’ the ravages of the accident. It had been no easy job, but, with a degree of egotism, he did say he was one of the best in the world.
I found it hard to believe, if he was, that he would be at a small country hospital.
“Now just remember, what you might see now is not how you will look in a few months time.”
Warning enough.
The Chinese doctor started removing the bandages. She did it slowly, and made sure it did not hurt. My skin was very tender, and I suspect still bruised, either from the accident or the surgery, I didn’t know.
Then it was done.
The plastic surgeon gave his work a thorough examination and seemed pleased with his work. “Coming along nicely,” he said to the other doctor. He issued some instructions on how to manage the skin, nodded to me, and I thanked him before he left.
I noticed Winifred had a mirror in her hand, and was somewhat reticent in using it. “As I said,” she said noticing me looking at the mirror, “what you see now will not be the final result. The doctor said it was going to heal with very little scarring. You have been very fortunate he was available. Are you ready?”
I nodded.
She showed me.
I tried not to be reviled at the red and purple mess that used to be my face. At a guess I would have to say he had to put it all back together again, but, not knowing what I looked like before, I had no benchmark. All I had was a snippet of memory that told me I was not the tall, dark, and handsome type.
And I still could not talk. There was a reason, he had worked on that area too. Just breathing hurt. I think I would save up anything I had to say for another day. I could not even smile. Or frown. Or grimace.
“We’ll leave you for a while. Everyone needs a little time to get used to the change. I suspect you are not sure if there has been an improvement on last year’s model. Well, time will tell.”
A new face?
I could not remember the old one.
My memory still hadn’t returned.

The story behind the story – Echoes from the Past

The novel ‘Echoes from the past’ started out as a short story I wrote about 30 years ago, titled ‘The birthday’.

My idea was to take a normal person out of their comfort zone and led on a short but very frightening journey to a place where a surprise birthday party had been arranged.

Thus the very large man with a scar and a red tie was created.

So was the friend with the limousine who worked as a pilot.

So were the two women, Wendy and Angelina, who were Flight Attendants that the pilot friend asked to join the conspiracy.

I was going to rework the short story, then about ten pages long, into something a little more.

And like all re-writes, especially those I have anything to do with, it turned into a novel.

There was motivation.  I had told some colleagues at the place where I worked at the time that I liked writing, and they wanted a sample.  I was going to give them the re-worked short story.  Instead, I gave them ‘Echoes from the past’

Originally it was not set anywhere in particular.

But when considering a location, I had, at the time, recently been to New York in December, and visited Brooklyn and Queens, as well as a lot of New York itself.  We were there for New Years, and it was an experience I’ll never forget.

One evening we were out late, and finished up in Brooklyn Heights, near the waterfront, and there was rain and snow, it was cold and wet, and there were apartment buildings shimmering in the street light, and I thought, this is the place where my main character will live.

It had a very spooky atmosphere, the sort where ghosts would not be unexpected.  I felt more than one shiver go up and down my spine in the few minutes I was there.

I had taken notes, as I always do, of everywhere we went so I had a ready supply of locations I could use, changing the names in some cases.

Fifth Avenue near the Rockefeller center is amazing at first light, and late at night with the Seasonal decorations and lights.

The original main character was a shy and man of few friends, hence not expecting the surprise party.  I enhanced that shyness into purposely lonely because of an issue from his past that leaves him always looking over his shoulder and ready to move on at the slightest hint of trouble.  No friends, no relationships, just a very low profile.

Then I thought, what if he breaks the cardinal rule, and begins a relationship?

But it is also as much an exploration of a damaged soul, as it is the search for a normal life, without having any idea what normal was, and how the understanding of one person can sometimes make all the difference in what we may think or feel.

And, of course, I wanted a happy ending.

Except for the bad guys.

 

Get it here:  https://amzn.to/2CYKxu4

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An excerpt from “The Devil You Don’t”

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

 

By the time I returned to the Savoie, the rain had finally stopped, and there was a streak of blue sky to offer some hope the day would improve.

The ship was not crowded, the possibility of bad weather perhaps holding back potential passengers.  Of those I saw, a number of them would be aboard for the lunch by Phillippe Chevrier.  I thought about it, but the Concierge had told me about several restaurants in Yvoire and had given me a hand-drawn map of the village.  I think he came from the area because he spoke with the pride and knowledge of a resident.

I was looking down from the upper deck observing the last of the boarding passengers when I saw a woman, notable for her red coat and matching shoes, making a last-minute dash to get on board just before the gangway was removed.  In fact, her ungainly manner of boarding had also captured a few of the other passenger’s attention.  Now they would have something else to talk about, other than the possibility of further rain.

I saw her smile at the deckhand, but he did not smile back.  He was not impressed with her bravado, perhaps because of possible injury.  He looked at her ticket then nodded dismissively, and went back to his duties in getting the ship underway.  I was going to check the departure time, but I, like the other passengers, had my attention diverted to the woman in red.

From what I could see there was something about her.  It struck me when the light caught her as she turned to look down the deck, giving me a perfect profile.  I was going to say she looked foreign, but here, as in almost anywhere in Europe, that described just about everyone.  Perhaps I was just comparing her to Phillipa, so definitively British, whereas this woman was very definitely not.

She was perhaps in her 30’s, slim or perhaps the word I’d use was lissom, and had the look and manner of a model.  I say that because Phillipa had dragged me to most of the showings, whether in Milan, Rome, New York, London, or Paris.  The clothes were familiar, and in the back of my mind, I had a feeling I’d seen her before.

Or perhaps, to me, all models looked the same.

She looked up in my direction, and before I could divert my eyes, she locked on.  I could feel her gaze boring into me, and then it was gone as if she had been looking straight through me.  I remained out on deck as the ship got underway, watching her disappear inside the cabin.  My curiosity was piqued, so I decided to keep an eye out for her.

I could feel the coolness of the air as the ship picked up speed, not that it was going to be very fast.  With stops, the trip would take nearly two hours to get to my destination.  It would turn back almost immediately, but I was going to stay until the evening when it returned at about half eight.  It would give me enough time to sample the local fare, and take a tour of the medieval village.

Few other passengers ventured out on the deck, most staying inside or going to lunch.  After a short time, I came back down to the main deck and headed forward.  I wanted to clear my head by concentrating on the movement of the vessel through the water, breathing in the crisp, clean air, and let the peacefulness of the surroundings envelope me.

It didn’t work.

I knew it wouldn’t be long before I started thinking about why things hadn’t worked, and what part I played in it.  And the usual question that came to mind when something didn’t work out.  What was wrong with me?

I usually blamed it on my upbringing.

I had one of those so-called privileged lives, a nanny till I was old enough to go to boarding school, then sent to the best schools in the land.  There I learned everything I needed to be the son of a Duke, or, as my father called it in one of his lighter moments, nobility in waiting.

Had this been five or six hundred years ago, I would need to have sword and jousting skills, or if it had been a few hundred years later a keen military mind.  If nothing else I could ride a horse, and go on hunts, or did until they became not the thing to do.

I learned six languages, and everything I needed to become a diplomat in the far-flung British Empire, except the Empire had become the Commonwealth, and then, when no-one was looking, Britain’s influence in the world finally disappeared.  I was a man without a cause, without a vocation, and no place to go.

Computers were the new vogue and I had an aptitude for programming.  I guess that went hand in hand with mathematics, which although I hated the subject, I excelled in.  Both I and another noble outcast used to toss ideas around in school, but when it came to the end of our education, he chose to enter the public service, and I took a few of those ideas we had mulled over and turned them into a company.

About a year ago, I was made an offer I couldn’t refuse.  There were so many zeroes on the end of it I just said yes, put the money into a very grateful bank, and was still trying to come to terms with it.

Sadly, I still had no idea what I was going to do with the rest of my life.  My parents had asked me to come back home and help manage the estate, and I did for a few weeks.  It was as long as it took for my parents to drive me insane.

Back in the city, I spent a few months looking for a mundane job, but there were very few that suited the qualifications I had, and the rest, I think I intimidated the interviewer simply because of who I was.  In that time I’d also featured on the cover of the Economist, and through my well-meaning accountant, started involving myself with various charities, earning the title ‘philanthropist’.

And despite all of this exposure, even making one of those ubiquitous ‘eligible bachelor’ lists, I still could not find ‘the one’, the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.  Phillipa seemed to fit the bill, but in time she proved to be a troubled soul with ‘Daddy’ issues.  I knew that in building a relationship compromise was necessary, but with her, in the end, everything was a compromise and what had happened was always going to be the end result.

It was perhaps a by-product of the whole nobility thing.  There was a certain expectation I had to fulfill, to my peers, contemporaries, parents and family, and those who either liked or hated what it represented.  The problem was, I didn’t feel like I belonged.  Not like my friend from schooldays, and now obscure acquaintance, Sebastian.  He had been elevated to his Dukedom early when his father died when he was in his twenties.  He had managed to fade from the limelight and was rarely mentioned either in the papers or the gossip columns.  He was one of the lucky ones.

I had managed to keep a similarly low profile until I met Phillipa.  From that moment, my obscurity disappeared.  It was, I could see now, part of a plan put in place by Phillipa’s father, a man who hogged the limelight with his daughter, to raise the profile of the family name and through it their businesses.  He was nothing if not the consummate self-advertisement.

Perhaps I was supposed to be the last piece of the puzzle, the attachment to the establishment, that link with a class of people he would not normally get in the front door.  There was nothing refined about him or his family, and more than once I’d noticed my contemporaries cringe at the mention of his name, or any reference of my association with him.

Yet could I truthfully say I really wanted to go back to the obscurity I had before Phillipa?  For all her faults, there were times when she had been fun to be with, particularly when I first met her when she had a certain air of unpredictability.  That had slowly disappeared as she became part of her father’s plan for the future.  She just failed to see how much he was using her.

Or perhaps, over time, I had become cynical.

I thought about calling her.  It was one of those moments of weakness when I felt alone, more alone than usual.

I diverted my attention back to my surroundings and the shoreline.  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the woman in the red coat, making a move.  The red coat was like a beacon, a sort of fire engine red.  It was not the sort of coat most of the women I knew would wear, but on her, it looked terrific.  In fact, her sublime beauty was the one other attribute that was distinctly noticeable, along with the fact her hair was short, rather than long, and jet black.

I had to wrench my attention away from her.

A few minutes later several other passengers came out of the cabin for a walk around the deck, perhaps to get some exercise, perhaps checking up on me, or perhaps I was being paranoid.  I waited till they passed on their way forward, and I turned and headed aft.

I watched the wake sluicing out from under the stern for a few minutes, before retracing my steps to the front of the ship and there I stood against the railing, watching the bow carve its way through the water.  It was almost mesmerizing.  There, I emptied my mind of thoughts about Phillipa, and thoughts about the woman in the red coat.

Until a female voice behind me said, “Having a bad day?”

I started, caught by surprise, and slowly turned.  The woman in the red coat had somehow got very close me without my realizing it.  How did she do that?  I was so surprised I couldn’t answer immediately.

“I do hope you are not contemplating jumping.  I hear the water is very cold.”

Closer up, I could see what I’d missed when I saw her on the main deck.  There was a slight hint of Chinese, or Oriental, in her particularly around the eyes, and of her hair which was jet black.  An ancestor twice or more removed had left their mark, not in a dominant way, but more subtle, and easily missed except from a very short distance away, like now.

Other than that, she was quite possibly Eastern European, perhaps Russian, though that covered a lot of territory.  The incongruity of it was that she spoke with an American accent, and fluent enough for me to believe English was her first language.

Usually, I could ‘read’ people, but she was a clean slate.  Her expression was one of amusement, but with cold eyes.  My first thought, then, was to be careful.

“No.  Not yet.”  I coughed to clear my throat because I could hardly speak.  And blushed, because that was what I did when confronted by a woman, beautiful or otherwise.

The amusement gave way to a hint of a smile that brightened her demeanor as a little warmth reached her eyes.  “So that’s a maybe.  Should I change into my lifesaving gear, just in case?”

It conjured up a rather interesting image in my mind until I reluctantly dismissed it.

“Perhaps I should move away from the edge,” I said, moving sideways until I was back on the main deck, a few feet further away.  Her eyes had followed me, and when I stopped she turned to face me again.  She did not move closer.

I realized then she had removed her beret and it was in her left side coat pocket.  “Thanks for your concern …?”

“Zoe.”

“Thanks for your concern, Zoe.  By the way, my name is John.”

She smiled again, perhaps in an attempt to put me at ease.  “I saw you earlier, you looked so sad, I thought …”

“I might throw myself overboard?”

“An idiotic notion I admit, but it is better to be safe than sorry.”

Then she tilted her head to one side then the other, looking intently at me.  “You seem to be familiar.  Do I know you?”

I tried to think of where I may have seen her before, but all I could remember was what I’d thought earlier when I first saw her; she was a model and had been at one of the showings.  If she was, it would be more likely she would remember Phillipa, not me.  Phillipa always had to sit in the front row.

“Probably not.”  I also didn’t mention the fact she may have seen my picture in the society pages of several tabloid newspapers because she didn’t look the sort of woman who needed a daily dose of the comings and goings, and, more often than not, scandal associated with so-called celebrities.

She gave me a look, one that told me she had just realized who I was.  “Yes, I remember now.  You made the front cover of the Economist.  You sold your company for a small fortune.”

Of course.  She was not the first who had recognized me from that cover.  It had raised my profile considerably, but not the Sternhaven’s.  That article had not mentioned Phillipa or her family.  I suspect Grandmother had something to do with that, and it was, now I thought about it, another nail in the coffin that was my relationship with Phillipa.

“I wouldn’t say it was a fortune, small or otherwise, just fortunate.”  Each time, I found myself playing down the wealth aspect of the business deal.

“Perhaps then, as the journalist wrote, you were lucky.  It is not, I think, a good time for internet-based companies.”

The latter statement was an interesting fact, one she read in the Financial Times which had made that exact comment recently.

“But I am boring you.”  She smiled again.  “I should be minding my own business and leaving you to your thoughts.  I am sorry.”

She turned to leave and took a few steps towards the main cabin.

“You’re not boring me,” I said, thinking I was letting my paranoia get the better of me.  It had been Sebastian on learning of my good fortune, who had warned me against ‘a certain element here and abroad’ whose sole aim would be to separate me from my money.  He was not very subtle when he described their methods.

But I knew he was right.  I should have let her walk away.

She stopped and turned around.  “You seem nothing like the man I read about in the Economist.”

A sudden and awful thought popped into my head.  Those words were part of a very familiar opening gambit.  “Are you a reporter?”

I was not sure if she looked surprised, or amused.  “Do I look like one?”

I silently cursed myself for speaking before thinking, and then immediately ignored my own admonishment.  “People rarely look like what they are.”

I saw the subtle shake of the head and expected her to take her leave.  Instead she astonished me.

“I fear we have got off on the wrong foot.  To be honest, I’m not usually this forward, but you seemed like you needed cheering up when probably the opposite is true.  Aside from the fact this excursion was probably a bad idea.  And,” she added with a little shrug, “perhaps I talk too much.”

I was not sure what I thought of her after that extraordinary admission. It was not something I would do, but it was an interesting way to approach someone and have them ignoring their natural instinct.  I would let Sebastian whisper in my ear for a little longer and see where this was going.

“Oddly enough, I was thinking the same thing.  I was supposed to be traveling with my prospective bride.  I think you can imagine how that turned out.”

“She’s not here?”

“No.”

“She’s in the cabin?”  Her eyes strayed in that direction for a moment then came back to me.  She seemed surprised I might be traveling with someone.

“No.  She is back in England, and the wedding is off.  So is the relationship.  She dumped me by text.”

OK, why was I sharing this humiliating piece of information with her?  I still couldn’t be sure she was not a reporter.

She motioned to an empty seat, back from the edge.  No walking the plank today.  She moved towards it and sat down.  She showed no signs of being cold, nor interested in the breeze upsetting her hair.  Phillipa would be having a tantrum about now, being kept outside, and freaking out over what the breeze might be doing to her appearance.

I wondered, if only for a few seconds if she used this approach with anyone else.  I guess I was a little different, a seemingly rich businessman alone on a ferry on Lake Geneva, contemplating the way his life had gone so completely off track.

She watched as I sat at the other end of the bench, leaving about a yard between us.  After I leaned back and made myself as comfortable as I could, she said, “I have also experienced something similar, though not by text message.  It is difficult, the first few days.”

“I saw it coming.”

“I did not.”  She frowned, a sort of lifeless expression taking over, perhaps brought on by the memory of what had happened to her.  “But it is done, and I moved on.  Was she the love of your life?”

OK, that was unexpected.

When I didn’t answer, she said, “I am sorry.  Sometimes I ask personal questions without realizing what I’m doing.  It is none of my business.”  She shivered.  “Perhaps we should go back inside.”

She stood, and held out her hand.  Should I take it and be drawn into her web?  I thought of Sebastian.  What would he do in this situation?

I took her hand in mine and let her pull me gently to my feet.  “Wise choice,” she said, looking up at the sky.

It just started to rain.

 

© Charles Heath 2015-2020

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