Ahhh, it’s one of my favorite days…the first Wednesday of the month, when I share a little bit of what I’m writing, and I invite you to do the same in the comments section. It’s okay if it’s rough — that’s the “in progress” part! We don’t critique each other’s work, though a kind word is always welcome! PG-13 is okay, but nothing too hot or too horrifying, please.
Today I’m sharing another scene from The Equinox Stone, a sequel to my upcoming release I shared a scene where he got his memories back.
[AdSense-B]
Nic answered the door in a tee shirt, sweat pants, and bare feet. His eyebrows raised when he saw Tristan. “Salaam. What’s up?”
“I remember everything.”
“Seriously?” Nic gave a wondering half-laugh. “Come on in.” He shut the door behind Tristan and pulled him in for a quick hug. “Sit down, have a drink.”
Tristan had already had two beers, but he didn’t object. Once when he’d refused a drink, Nic had seemed mildly offended. Besides, the alcohol did help with the shock of getting his memories back, even if Dr. Holst probably wouldn’t have prescribed it.
Nic’s quarters were small: just a bedroom, a bathroom, and a kitchenette. Tristan sat down in the only chair. Nic took a green bottle of soju out of the fridge and swirled it in one hand, creating a little tornado of the vodka-like liquor inside. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m okay. It’s been weird.”
“I’ll bet.” Nic handed Tristan a small glass, filled it, and then poured another one for himself. Tristan recalled Nic saying that in South Korea, no one poured his own drink, but Manus Sancti didn’t observe that point of etiquette, even in the guarída in Seoul. Nic sat down on the edge of the bed and clinked his glass against Tristan’s. “Salud.”
Tristan downed the shot with him. He’d never really liked the stuff: to him it tasted more or less like rubbing alcohol, with a bitter finish. As Nic refilled his glass, Tristan flashed back to being with him at a karaoke bar. The memory of the place, the blaring music and the neon lights, superimposed itself over Nic’s room.
“What is it?” Nic asked.
Tristan realized he was staring into space and blinked. “Nothing. I was remembering we had this in Vegas.” His memories were still strangely vivid, but at least now they weren’t overwhelming him.
Nic smiled. “Oh, yeah. I went home with that waitress, and you hooked up with that blonde from the bachelorette party.”
Tristan looked at the name on the label. “Chum-churum, what’s that mean?”
“It’s Korean for ‘like the first time.’ Not my favorite brand, but hey.”
Like the first time. That’s how everything had been, until a couple of hours ago. And it was strange to think that everything happening now, everything he could sense—the shadows in the room, the sound of Nic’s voice and the words that he said, the feel of the padded leather armrest and the gleam of the green bottle—all of these would be lodged in his memory, though probably deep in his subconscious.
Nic asked, “So Dr. Holst cured you immediately?”
“I don’t know if it was just the meds.” He told Nic about being on the beach, not glossing over any of the details this time.
“Wow,” Nic said. “Was that the first time you kissed Val?”
“No. We, uh…” He tried to think of how to put it.
Nic’s jaw sagged in disbelief–and maybe disapproval. “You didn’t.”
“No!” He sighed. “Kind of.”
“Shit. I mean, as soon as you forgot everything, you were really into her, but I didn’t think she’d go for it. No offense.”
“She, uh…She said she had a crush on me for a long time. Years.”
“Huh. Wouldn’t think you’d be her type.” This irritated Tristan, which was ridiculous, considering the most rational part of his brain agreed. “What are you going to do now?”
Good question. “Leave her alone, I guess.”
“Probably a good idea. A girl like her needs someone serious.”
Tristan reminded himself that Nic wasn’t trying to twist the invisible knife in his gut.
To write that scene, I bought a bottle of soju, since I’d never had it before. I can’t say that I drank much of it, though. Another brand of soju, Jinro, is the one of the most popular liquors in the world, though it’s not very big here in the U.S.
Go ahead and share an excerpt of your work in progress in the comments! Or if you’d rather not, just tell us how your writing’s going. Thanks for stopping by, and have a great writing month!
Another terrific excerpt, Bryn. I love the feel of sitting in the room with these two guys…the slight awkwardness and tension. I also loved your in-depth research!!! One of my favourite parts of writing has definitely been learning new things to make the writing ring true. I also loved how the liquor name matched up so well with what was happening to Tristan. You always leave me wanting more!
Here’s my offering for this WIP Wednesday. It’s a little ugly, but hey…who doesn’t love torturing their characters every now and again? Plus it’s an important moment for the hero. He’d surrendered himself to his nemesis…a kind of sacrifice in order to save the soldiers who were with him.
(Content Warning for torture and physical suffering — Bryn.)
______________
Aeoulys wanted to sing, but the sickening pain in his neck didn’t even allow him the pleasure of a few hummed notes to alleviate the misery of his captivity. The rope binding his mouth tightly shut didn’t help much, either. In hindsight, perhaps it hadn’t been such a good idea to try and set teeth to Lordane, but the notion had seemed brilliant at the time. His muscles moved as if to smile at the thought, but his swollen and battered face blazed with so much pain that he instantly sobered. His thoughts drifted to Gabrielle, and he hoped she was safely on her way to Szkolnieba; as much as he wanted to see her, Aeoulys was happy she couldn’t witness his appalling shame.
Footsteps scraped the floor in a measured cadence. A fresh wave of terror spilled over him like a bucket of icy water, and he held his breath. The advance stopped, and a meteor slammed into his ribs, causing his muscles to instinctively contract and pull his body into a tight ball – a difficult position because his numb hands were still bound behind his back. Blood shot up the back of his throat and slowly began to ooze from the corners of his tied mouth and nose. He wasn’t able to breathe for a few moments; the pain in his torso was a demon, eating him alive from the inside, and he couldn’t tolerate it any longer. A tortured groan seeped forth from his throat, and involuntary tears escaped his bruised and swollen eyes.
“I’ll bet you’re wishing I had choked the life out of you last night,” Lordane whispered, squatting down on his haunches and twisting the Imperator General’s ear as if trying to tear away a dirty rag. Aeoulys screamed, despite the fact his mouth couldn’t open; it was a hoarse and bloodcurdling force that erupted from his soul as he felt all the raw nerves, broken blood vessels, and bone fragments squeezed and displaced under Lordane’s iron grip.
The cruel male let go with a little snarl and surveyed his handiwork with great interest. “I must admit, drawing out the pain is so much more satisfying. You’ve been such a barb in my foot,” he said in a calm, frigid tone, digging fingers like steel claws into the younger male’s shoulder, straining ligament and bone, until he extracted another feral wail from Aeoulys’s body. “They’ll bring you water; I can’t have you dying on me too soon.” Satisfied with his latest effort, Lordane stood up and kicked a nearby stone in his captive’s direction as he left the room.
Aeoulys lay on his side in a broken heap on the cold dirt floor. He breathed loud and hard through his nose, feeling blood misting out of his nostrils on each exhale. The cool air must have been laden with shards of glass as it rushed into his bruised windpipe, and it didn’t hurt any less when it charged out as his lungs contracted. He could only take several deep breaths before the pain at his sides became too much to bear. Thanks to a bad fall from a szukar when he was younger, he knew exactly what a broken rib felt like. And now thanks to Lordane and his thugs, he understood what it was like to have several of them.
The beatings came regularly since the time he’d arrived in this place. During the first encounter, several of the dozen had set upon him just after they’d arrived, pushing him to his knees and holding him by the shoulders. They pounded their mallet-like fists into his head and torso with gleeful abandon. When he’d nearly lost consciousness, they released him and let his body fall to the ground, continuing their frenzy by kicking and stomping him wherever they could land a boot: his back, his stomach, his face, his tail. He thought they were going to take his life right then, but the assassin stepped in and called them off. After the initial onslaught, Lordane alone returned on a regular basis to continue inflicting pain, whether it was with his hands or his feet – he’d not yet resorted to using weapons. Aeoulys had nearly succeeded in biting his torturer in the arm when Lordane grabbed him by the collar, but that only earned him a disorienting kick to the face and a painful, humiliating muzzle. He found himself growing anxious and nauseated at the sound of footsteps approaching, dreading the cold rush that set his heart slamming against his rib cage, and praying for the release of death each time he survived a fresh wave of abuse.
Feet again tapped across the ground. His heart raced like that of a small animal’s in the sights of its predator, but all he could do was lie on the ground like a sacrificial victim: bound and gagged, unable to move, and unable to see. His cold, lifeless hands trembled, and he suddenly remembered the song he sang to Gabrielle the night he’d found her. Escaping briefly into his mind, he melted into the music, soaring above the treetops near Rhoenglasz on a moonlit night and floating along the mighty Annulej River as it tumbled and swirled on its path alongside the palace.
As the footsteps came to a halt next to him, he crashed back into the present and prayed to Oennac that this next encounter might quickly end his life. Aeoulys held his breath again, but there was no lightning from a fist to his cheek or a well-placed boot to bruise his kidney. Someone knelt over him and instead gently untied the miserable rope from around his face. Butterfly fingers danced across his screaming wounds, and a cool compress brought some relief to his throbbing right eye. He wanted to thank his benefactor for the kindness, but he could barely move his lips.
“I think he broke your jaw,” a female voice said quietly. The compress departed, water swished and trickled, and the compress returned. “Just so you know: I detest what he’s doing to you.”
“Me…too,” he replied like a ghost speaking from the dead, his lips and mouth barely moving.
She almost chuckled, as though she appreciated his attempted humour, but her voice was laden with sadness when she spoke again. “I don’t know how you have the strength to talk. Here, I’m going to give you some water. Do the best you can.”
He felt her fingers lift his lip, and a stream of life-giving moisture dribbled over his teeth and tongue. He tasted his own coppery blood more than anything, but the kindness in the attempt mattered more than the result. “He’s…going…to kill…me,” he managed between arduous breaths, keeping his jaw as still as possible.
She exhaled deeply. “Yeah…he probably will.” She refreshed the compress and placed it lightly over his eye. Her feet scuffled as she re-positioned herself, and Aeoulys winced at the unexpected surge of pain when she touched his wrists. “If I don’t untie this soon, you might lose your hands. Just…dear gods… Just bear with me.”
Aeoulys knew she was trying to be gentle, but right at that moment, a beam of sunlight would have felt like a mighty sword slicing through his flesh. She succeeded in freeing the knot and slowly removed the cord, but not without adding fresh agony. The rough rope had cut into his flesh, and his blood had dried on it and on the fur at his wrists. Everything was stuck together in a raw, tangled mess. His arms fell free, and yet another round of torture descended on him as seized muscles and broken ribs cried out in retaliation. He inhaled sharply, his back stiffened, and he groaned.
“It should… You’ll… Let me just…” She sighed in a frustrated manner, and he felt her hands massaging his cold, torpid fingers. “I don’t think Syrach would be happy if he saw you like this, Aeoulys. He and Lordane may be best friends, but Syrach’s got a huge soft spot for you.”
The way she said his name…her voice suddenly sounded so familiar. And like a comet blazing from the depths of space, her name roared into his sluggish mind. “Yenndelle?”
She stopped rubbing his fingers for a moment when she heard the name. Resuming her elegant ministrations, her voice sounded strained, and it quivered when she replied, “Yes. I’m surprised you remember me. I didn’t hang around for long.”
But he did remember.
Wow. That’s pretty intense. I love it!
Thanks for reading, Sara! My first ever attempt at writing a “torture” scene…it’s been a serious WIP. 🙂
Wow, so powerful and had me in tears. Thank you for sharing and look forward to reading more some time.
Thanks for the feedback, KC! This part always makes me cringe a little because I love my characters, but it lays a lot of groundwork for what happens to them later. 🙂
Really visceral stuff, Lisa! I want to know more about A and Y’s history, for sure.
Thanks for reading, Justin! As they say, in for a penny… The whole thing sets up the reunion between these two characters, creates psychological damage, exposes a few secrets…pretty pivotal scene (in retrospect). 🙂
Hooooooly smokes. Lisa, I loved this. I added a content warning to your piece, just to make it clear you were referring to physical torture…just to let people know. It’s not a judgement at all. This is so visceral, and the motives that led him to these circumstances make it so emotional. The interaction between him and Yenndelle was fantastic. I really loved it. Thank you for sharing it!
Lol, Bryn! I’m not the sort of person/writer who normally earns a content warning, so I’ll wear that with pride! I’ve never attempted writing something painful like this; it was a stretch of the imagination and my comfort zone. Hopefully it rings true…I wanted to avoid melodrama but also impress the deadly seriousness of the situation and set the stage for these characters to renew their relationship.
Hi Bryn! What a great excerpt! Your soju research reminds me, I have a scene where my teenage characters get drunk on wine coolers and gorge themselves/ruin some perfectly good baklava and ice cream. I keep thinking I need to research it firsthand, but then I remember I am not sixteen anymore, that is way too rich for my blood (there’s syrup involved, too), so I stick with just the baklava.
Here’s a little bit of heartbreak from my oracle story. Afraid of her powers (and the vow of chastity that goes along with it), Claire stood up the boy she likes and ran away.
Three more days.
Three days in this hellhole that fails to be one, because what sort of hellhole has lush beaches, the glistening waters of the Mediterranean, and the clearest, bluest skies I’ve ever seen? And for me the hard part is over; I have been tested and found lacking, so I get to go home. To hang out with Dani. I can’t stop smiling at that.
To see Gareth again, if it’s not too late. If he doesn’t hate me yet.
He emailed me again.
To: Claire Dorian (clairebear02@santaelenahigh.us)
From: Gareth K. Davies (garethkdavies@santaelenahigh.us)
Claire—
I’m sorry to bother you again on your vacation, I really am. I’ve got one coming up in a few weeks myself, visit family in London and—well, you’re probably not interested in that. Danica told me you’re having some family issues yourself. If you need a sympathetic ear, you know where to find me. Not that you will but I wish you would.
Do you remember the first time we met? Honors World History class freshman year? You corrected Mr. Barton on his use of the word decimate. Very politely, of course. I was so impressed. Here you were, this little thing half his size, and yet you corrected him. And he even shook your hand.
Right then I thought: “I have got to get to know this girl.” I thought I was starting to. I guess maybe I was wrong.
Take care,
Gareth
My heart hurts. I know it’s almost over. I know it won’t be long until we see each other face to face. I still owe him a response.
I start to type:
To: Gareth K. Davies (garethkdavies@santaelenahigh.us)
From: Claire Dorian(clairebear02@santaelenahigh.us)
Gareth, I
I don’t know what to say, that’s what. Something like
I can’t wait to see you.
I think we’ll go home soon.
See you in French class, huh? You’ll totally eat my dust.
I rather like the last one, if it doesn’t sound too flippant. But I can’t say it, in case it does.
Just in case I’m wrong.
Heartbreak scenes are so tough to write and the best ones cause the reader tears. Excuse me while I fumble for a tissue. I’m enjoying the snippets. Thank you for sharing.
Hi, Kimberly! Oh my goodness…baklava and wine coolers. 😀 When I was in high school I worked at a library and I’d have a slice of baklava from the Lebanese deli nearby for my whole lunch. So nutritious, hahaha.
Such a touching excerpt. I really liked it. And this is great: “Three days in this hellhole that fails to be one, because what sort of hellhole has lush beaches, the glistening waters of the Mediterranean, and the clearest, bluest skies I’ve ever seen?”
Hi Bryn,
Nice sample! I, too, have bought things specifically so I could see how my characters might react to them. Since my WIP is set in Central America, that’s also meant searching out restaurants that make the foods they’d likely eat. It’s been both informative and delicious.
In this section my FMC is having her very first conversation with the MMC, who she’s going to fall hook, line, and sinker for. He’s newly-arrived at their isolated village full of vampire hunters. She got lost trying to find her own place and ended up at his.
__________________
Miguel saw my hesitation. “Don’t worry. You’ll be perfectly safe.”
I smiled at his misunderstanding, but didn’t correct it. “All right. For a bit. Thanks.”
I stepped inside, and he closed the door behind me. “Don’t mind the mess.”
I blinked, looking at the piles of papers, clothing, and various things that covered the floor and sat without any rhyme or reason on the shelving in his home. It looked as if a van full of boxes had exploded. “How did you carry all of this in?” I asked, forgetting my manners.
“David and Araceli helped me,” he said. “I’m moving here, so I wanted my things.”
I slid along the side of one wall, looking for a bare spot large enough for my rather narrow butt. “Here, let me help you.” He seized a stack of books and relocated it to a different corner of the room. “This place is smaller than my last. I couldn’t bring everything, but I’d hoped for more storage than this.”
“How long have you been with us?” I blurted, aghast at the mess.
“A month. I have even more stuff in Managua.” He’d returned to the spot where he must have been sitting when I’d knocked, before a pile of portfolio folders. “I have to get these papers organized ASAP. I’m studying for my exam.”
I compacted myself into the available space. “Exam?”
“To become a lawyer.” He sorted through the portfolio folders, his fingers flying. “Everything got jumbled up in the move. It’s the last thing I need to do, and then I’ll be done with all this mess.” He sighed, his shoulders slumping. “They’re not in this pile. I hope I didn’t leave them in Costa Rica.”
They weren’t in the pile before me, which looked to be clothing and the occasional small item. “If we clean this mess up, maybe it’ll make it easier to find them.”
“I thought about that,” he said, shifting to a stack of folders. “But honestly, Lisette, it’s just going to get this way again. I have a special place I store important stuff. I just need to find those papers and then I’ll be good.”
“Do you mind if I start?” I had nothing else to do, and I wasn’t particularly tired.
“Suit yourself.”
I started with the clothes he’d brought. All sensible stuff, suitable for places like this. “Costa Rica, huh? You spend a lot of time in jungles?”
“The last several years, on and off,” he said, picking through the contents of one folder. “I was a Sandinista before I became a vampire hunter. I spent a lot of time either at the university or in the countryside.”
That explained the worn boots in the corner. I left them there, picked my way to his shelves, and cleared two of them, cramming their contents into the lower shelves. His neatly-folded clothes were transferred to the cleared shelves. “What kind of lawyer?”
“Human rights.” He frowned at the stack of folders. “Damn.”
“Hey,” I said. He twisted to look at me, and once again I saw the pain in his stance. “Take a break. Maybe it’ll help.”
“My test is in a few weeks. I’m going to have to finish studying—by myself—then get the hell out of here, get to Guatemala City, fly to Managua, and sit the test. Then I have to get back here. I don’t have time for breaks.”
The parade of tests I’d had to endure to complete my MD marched through my head. I sympathized. But I also remembered how exhausted I’d been under the work load. I hadn’t had to deal with all that AND been forcibly relocated to a place with no electricity. In retrospect, I wished I’d taken more breaks. I might not have done as well on the exams, but I’d have passed, and I’d still be a doctor.
“I understand,” I told him. “But you need a break. You just moved.”
He scrubbed one hand over his face. “I haven’t studied at all today. If I could find those papers and spend even an hour studying, today wouldn’t be a *complete* loss.”
It was like I was looking at a younger me. Only male, short, and bald. “Miguel,” I said gently. “Have you eaten?”
He waved a hand vaguely at the door before relocating to another stack of papers. “An hour ago?”
“Slept?”
His laugh was short and humorless. “I haven’t gotten a full night’s rest since I was fourteen years old.” He glanced at me, humor warring with frustration in his eyes, before continuing to flip through his papers. “You’re a doctor? A real one?”
“I was a first year resident at a hospital in Peru when I was Afflicted,” I said. “So, yes. A baby doctor, but a real one. And now I’m here, committing surgery on these fine people.”
He chuckled “’Committing surgery.’ I like that. But you must know what it feels like? To work this hard?”
“Oh yeah,” I said, my eye caught by something on his shelf. A picture, in a frame, half-covered by a small notebook. I uncovered it and held it up, to the light.
The photo showed Miguel and another man, both in jungle camouflage, both with rifles, sitting around a campfire in the middle of rural nowhere, both laughing. Both men in the picture looked about twenty. Miguel had been clean-shaven and had a short crop of nearly black hair, already receding away from his high forehead. The other man looked taller, stockier, with lighter and longer brown hair and a hawk-like face. “Who’s this?” I asked.
“Put that down.”
The sharpness in his voice struck me. I replaced the photo and raised my hands, turning toward him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.” Privacy was at a premium here. I shouldn’t have touched his picture. Or asked about it.
He sighed heavily. “No, I’m sorry. I should not have snapped.” He rose from his spot, took the photo, and brushed some imagined dust from it before he carefully set it atop a stack of shirts. “That was my best friend. Guillermo. He died about six months ago.”
I had never had a best friend. The closest I’d come as a human was Alice, back at Harvard, but we were just study buddies. And now? Florencia and Diego were my friends, but I doubted either of them thought of me to as their best friend. What would it be like to choose to become that close to someone, then see them ripped away?
I remembered my manners. “I’m sorry for your loss. Was it vampires?”
“Thanks,” he said, giving me an odd, sharp look. “No. He was shot trying to help some peasants escape the Contras. They’d been trying to cross into Honduras, for safety, but some of the Contras had a camp just across the border in Honduras and …” He closed his eyes, falling silent.
Without thinking, meaning only to give comfort, I touched his shoulder. He opened his eyes, gave me the same sharp look, and grimaced. “Sorry,” I mumbled, removing my hand.
Interesting interaction. It makes me wonder about what’s going on that the other doesn’t know and would love to read more. Thank you for sharing.
Hi, TM! Researching central American food sounds delicious. 🙂 I really enjoyed this, and being pretty over-worked right now myself (with the messy house to go with it), I could really feel for Miguel. I wanted to know more about both of these characters!
That’s a great scene, Bryn. And your research on soju reminds me of the times I cooked meals that the characters in my book also eat. Since the characters are (as of now) still minors, just like me, I can do basically all the testing I want.
And I have started with taking a little break from my venture into fanfiction to make a start with rewriting the first draft of my main WIP. Since I was 15 at the time I started it, it was in worse English than I speak/write now. So I often cringe at my weird sentences and remind myself that I’m not a native English speaker.
Here’s a little bit from the improved opening scene. (Small note: Morgan’s bedroom is a mess, which I have described in an earlier scene.)
She put away her saxophone and wanted to make her way to the door. Then she tripped over a book and fell face first onto the ground, knocking over the paper bin with her flailing arms. The Swan Lake sheet music from earlier now rested against her forehead. Stupid mess, Morgan thought. She scrabbled to her knees and picked up the paper bin, putting it where it belonged. Then she stuffed all the sheets and crumpled wads in it again. She also threw the book where she tripped over on her bed. Under the book was a cracked pen, mostly likely broken when she fell. Carefully, she laid it on her desk. The pen was somewhat special. Kirsten had asked if she could borrow it once, during a band rehearsal. A fond memory. Maybe I can repair it with tape or something, Morgan thought. She rubbed her bruised chin, before looking on her phone for the time. It was almost nine o’ clock. She’d come too late if she would stand around in the mess any longer. Quickly, she snatched her bag with schoolbooks and ran down the stairs. After sliding to a stop over the floor near the kitchen, she quickly grabbed her keys from the table. Just when she wanted to run to the hall to slip into an easy pair of shoes, a tremor went through the house. Morgan fell onto her knees, the empty bowl on the kitchen counter was thrown onto the floor. It broke into hundreds of shards. Warily, Morgan walked away from the kitchen cabinets, because there were plates and cups in there that could fall onto her. What in the world was that? Felt like an earthquake, she thought.
She took a deep breath to calm down. Right, if there’s another shock, I have to hide under the table until it stops. So she waited. Her phone bleeped in her pocket, a sound too loud for the eerie silence.
Guys, did you feel that? the message read. From Iris, in the group chat of her class. Morgan wanted to respond, before the phone went black. Alarmed, Morgan pressed the on-button. Nothing happened. She looked at the microwave, which was off as well, and the lights didn’t work too. No need to panic, could just be an electricity fallout. An awfully coincidental one. Maybe the amount of magic in the air had caused the fallout. Maybe it was no magic at all, but a perfectly normal earthquake. Morgan started to walk to the small cabinet next to the couch see if the intercom still worked. Then the second shock came. The cabinet fell over, Morgan jumped away, it barely missed her feet. She shrugged her backpack off and made a dive for the table. The tremors were still ongoing. One of the chairs broke into two pieces with a violent crack. Too loud, Morgan instinctively knew. Her trained reflexes kicked in before her mind. The pieces of chair were hurled through the room. The seat flew towards her. Morgan swirled to the side to dodge. Before the seat crashed into the wall, it evaporated into red smoke. Much time to think, Morgan didn’t have. The plaster of the roof gave way in a shower of chalk bits. Just about the entire mess in Morgan’s bedroom came crashing down into the living room. With a raspy shout, Morgan made a grab for her saxophone. A bunch of books and paper clattered onto her head, and for a second, she felt solid metal under her fingers. Then her instrument disappeared into smoke as well. Morgan landed hard on the floor, adding to her already bruised knees from the fall earlier. She scrambled upright, just as the windows broke. Again, her fighting reflexes saved her. She grabbed a pillow from her mattress and shielded her face from the glass shards. The wind blew in through the now open gaps, it tore away pieces of the wall.
Whatever magic is going on now, whoever is causing this, it needs- Morgan’s thoughts were cut off and she yelled aloud as the remaining part of the floor from the second story broke into pieces. The tiles from the bathroom and the shower were right above her. She covered her head and hoped that the impact wouldn’t hurt too much. When the red smoke enveloped her, her arms were forced to the sides. It was not unlike the flying she had done before, but this time, she couldn’t control it. She was floating in the air, arms and legs outstretched like a child making a snow angel. And she was glowing, light blue. These were spells Morgan didn’t know. Her battle instincts prevented her from panicking for a few more seconds. Just when she wanted to starts thrashing around in the air, a lightflash engulfed her vision. Everything went white.
Whaa?! Just when it was getting interesting. Hope to read more next month. Thank you for sharing.
Kiete, your English is so good that it’s easy for me to forget you’re not a native speaker! Really, no one would ever know now. ☺ I find it so impressive, because writing can be such a challenge even in one’s own native language. I thought it was really sweet that she wants to hold onto a cracked pen for sentimental reasons, and I love how she notices it right before real calamity ensues. Very nice!
This is so much fun. I enjoyed reading everyone’s excerpts. I remember doing some “cultural research” sampling Saki one night years ago–but I don’t remember much after that. 🙂
This excerpt is from the rough draft of the final novel I’m working on in a series I’ve published about two dysfunctional 19th century families:
Buck sat beside his brother watching his mother laugh while balancing a forkful of lima beans in her plump hand, her jowls shaking in good humor. The younger children’s eyes shined on Fred who, at least for this meal, kept his mother light-hearted after so many tense and silent suppers.
Buck had a nervous stomach. He enjoyed a fleeting satisfaction when he interrupted the merry mood with an unseemly belch. Yes, it had been on purpose. Buck had given it all he had though he found crude humor and bodily functions distasteful and shame-filled like the rest of his family. Yet, he’d done it. Wasn’t he always the source of tension? Wasn’t that his role after all? But why? Buck had no clear answers—but an angry compulsion nudged him to end the peace.
Margaret lunged across the table then, upsetting Fred’s plate.
Buck leaned just out of reach. “Sorry, Mama,” he said with a triumphant smile he’d suffer for—but didn’t he suffer anyway?
“Go to your room at once,” Margaret ordered.
“But Mama my stomach ached.”
Margaret raced around the table. The other children quaked as she took Buck by the ear with a painful jerk, leading him toward the cellar door off the kitchen. Buck, like a cat, held to the door frame, intensely afraid of the cellar where once Fred had seen red rat eyes peering at him as he stole a bottle of wine.
Margaret, with one good tug, got the better of him. “You ruined our nice time with your disgusting behavior, and I won’t have it!”
Buck’s hands slid along the smooth wall as he tumbled past Margaret, landing on the damp cellar floor.
Margaret raced down shouting, “You turn everything into a colossal failure—even steps!” She pulled him up to his feet. “Clumsy! How did I ever produce such a clumsy and disgusting boy?”
Buck scratched to get by her, but Margaret blocked him. She thrust him deeper into darkness, and, with arms flailing, Buck fell against a row of expensive bottles. The shelf, not meant for rough use, slipped from its brackets and sent the vintage bottles rolling and crashing to the floor.
Margaret gasped at the destruction of Graham’s collection, not seeing in the dark as the wine poured forth, the gash on Buck’s chin until a glimmer of light on the staircase lit Buck’s bloodied and expensive shirt.
“Oh!” Margaret cried. “What shall we do, Buckie?”
Buck stared at the bottles emptying the last of their precious liquid. Glass glistened on the floor as Lucretia, the house maid, descended the stairs with her lantern.
“Lord save us,” Lucretia said, her voice hollow though used to such scenes. “Ma’am, take the boy into the light before he bleeds to death.”
“He tripped, Lucretia—you believe me don’t you?” Margaret cried.
“You don’t answer to me, Maggie—only to God,” Lucretia replied, the closest time she ever came to acknowledging the abuse she’d witnessed over her many years of service. “Now go upstairs.”
Lucretia herded the other children up to their bedrooms, called the stable boy in to clean the cellar and nursed Buck as he lay upon the kitchen table, applying pressure to stop the blood at his chin.
Margaret hovered and simpered. “What will Graham say? What will he say, Lucretia?”
“Ma’am, Buck needs a doctor for stitches.”
“Yes, tomorrow,” Margaret said. “Graham will fix everything. Buck tripped. Isn’t that so, Buck?”
Lucretia with a look of uneasiness hurried from the room to fetch Buck a shirt.
Margaret came close to Buck’s throbbing face. Tears dripped from her red eyes. “You tripped, Buck, didn’t you?”
Buck said nothing until she gave him a quick, violent shake.
“Yes, Mama. I tripped!”
In this brief snippet, I hate her and my insides are knotted. Well written and thank you for sharing.
Thanks for reading. Yeah, Margaret is a real thorn in the side of her children even after they’ve grown up. The scars of her abuse inform every decision they make.
Hi, Adrienne! Ughgh, this made me furious toward the mother. I thought it was so realistic, too—the way an abusive person can switch from being cheerful to being a monster. Really effective.
I thought I’d share something light the first time here. LOL.
Nice scene, Bryn, weaving thought and action together to quickly bring us up to speed on characters’ history, feelings, and plans for the future. I laughed when Nic said “Probably a good idea. A girl like her needs someone serious.” I know some characters who, friend or not, would respond with fisticuffs.
September was rough personally and on the writing front, but I did manage to post three new chapters for my Dragon Age adventure romance, The Amatus and the Altus: Lost Loves, Missing Wardens; Heretics and Friends; and No Safe Haven. Up next in the Trevelyan brothers’ adventure is chapter 12, In Your Heart Shall Burn (Haven Falls). Content includes fantasy battle violence:
The Elder One! Even the most seasoned of the troops at Leo’s side shrank back in fear. Leo looked to Karl for instructions; traveling with Dorian and Solas had taught him a lot about fighting alongside magic, but Karl knew how to work with a group of battlemages.
Leo hoped beyond hope that Lace had cleared the mountain before the Venatori had arrived.
“Connor,” Karl said, voice laced with desperation, “I need a plan.”
Connor jerked his chin toward a group of mages on the balcony and three of them took off: Mid-step, two shifted into ravens, and the third became a Mabari that ran off toward the village faster than any man.
“Solas!” Connor called out. “Can you steer a sled?”
Solas raised an eyebrow. “Of course.”
“Form up!” Karl shouted, and everyone followed Connor out of the Temple ruins.
With a wave of his hands, Connor felled a massive stone slab from the Temple wall to lay on the snow-covered slope. Solas and other mages followed his example.
“Four swords or bows to each sled!” Connor said. “Two mages to steer. If you’re afraid of falling, close your eyes and hold on to the person in front of you.” He turned to Karl. “My lord, if you would accompany me.”
It was an order, not a question, and Leo wondered how things would have been different had a mage been allowed to be Arl. For one thing, the Conclave might not have been necessary. Perhaps none of this would have.
Karl pulled Dorian onto Connor’s sled. Leo, Varric, and Cassandra followed.
Ava boarded Solas’ sled and cast a purple barrier over the soldiers who sat and knelt between them. “You’re not going without me,” she said. Solas raised an eyebrow and turned toward Haven.
Connor shouted the last of his instructions. “Don’t wait for the sleds to stop; the Red Templars will kill you where you stand. If you can’t hit the ground running, roll until you’re clear.”
With a deafening whoosh of invisible power, the sleds sped down the mountain. Connor stood on the first sled, wind tearing through his hair and enchanted battlerobes. Everyone else knelt or sat, clinging to the very devices that hurtled them down the icy mountainside.
Leo’s heart raced as fast as the sled. Faster than it had when they’d fought that Pride demon. This wasn’t a remote battle that risked only his life, Karl’s, and the troops’. The refugees were below. All the children. The Venatori would slaughter them.
His blood thundered in his ears until he couldn’t hear the biting wind of the Frostbacks that tore across his body. The sun was finally up over the tallest peaks—yellow, after all these weeks of poisonous green. Black smoke and red flames rose high from the village.
Haven burned.
–
Want the next 261 words of this WIP? Read it on Tumblr.
Thanks for reading! I’m DAfan7711 on Tumblr, Pinterest, and Archive of Our Own (AO3), where guests and registered users alike can read my stories. I’m Paragade Blues on YouTube.
Ohhh, so intense. I have such a vivid imagination that I could see the scene. I do enjoy your snippets, thank you for sharing.
Hey, DAfan! I’m sorry to hear things have been challenging, writing-wise and otherwise. I am right there with you. Of course, most of us would be pretty pleased with getting three new chapters done in a month. You have such a natural voice for fantasy. Great action scene!
Bryn, I always love reading your excerpts. They always leave me wanting more.
Here is the beginning of chapter 5 in the 2nd book of my trilogy – likely to be name Dostado (gifted). Each book will have its own subtitle. A while ago, I shared an excerpt where the young woman, Julie was taken away against her will by a man she barely knew. This young woman is not one of my main characters, but the man who took her, and the young man in this excerpt are. She is a an essential character, given her relationship to these men. In this excerpt, she has been reunited with Ricky, the young man she though was her brother, and he is trying to convince her not to escape her remote captivity. It is for own good because she was in trouble with the law for drinking, petty theft, and drugs after the murder of her father.
The next morning, Ricky took Julia down the path along the cliff side that led to the beach. He had explained that the only time the trail was accessible was during low tide. He also explained that the people down below were very wary of the people who lived on top of the cliff, and should they see her, they may not be very welcoming. He also explained that there was no one that he had encountered in this area that spoke English, and their Spanish was as limited as hers was. He did this in attempt to dissuade her from escaping. He hadn’t told her yet that he was leaving in two days with Murphy to return to Esperanza. He wanted her to be successful here, even though he now knew that they were not brother and sister, they were raised that way, and he would always think of her that way.
Once at the beach, they moved to an area away from the cliff where the sun was shining on the beach. Julia sat in the sand and let her toes sink in. She leaned back on her hands and closed her eyes. He could tell that she was feeling a little more relaxed now.
“How did you sleep last night?” Ricky asked.
She didn’t open her eyes, “Surprisingly well,” she answered. “Better than I have in months.”
“That’s good,” he said.
“Sofia told me that you have a sister,” she inquired.
“Yes, her name is Sabela, she’s about 4 years older than you. She has triplets, 2 boys and 1 girl,” he answered.
“Wow,” Julia said. “This is all so weird.” She opened her eyes to look at him. “Why would they have sent you to live with Dad, but keep your sister here?” she asked.
“It’s quite complicated, actually,” Ricky admitted. “But they had a very good reason.”
“It seems everything about this is complicated. I’m beginning to think that I didn’t know Dad at all,” she said.
“There is truth to that,” he said. “But one thing I know for certain is that he loved us both very much.”
“But your parents… are you sure that they really are your parents? I mean, it’s not some weird story they are telling you to keep us here, is it? It still seems too creepy to me,” she said.
“Yes, I am positive they are my real parents. I saw many pictures of my mother when she was younger,” he said, not wanting to divulge how exactly he knew. Julia was bright, but he was sure she did not possess any special abilities other than her own quirkiness. And though, she would be 22 soon, she was still very much like a teenager, young, naïve, and defiant.
“But, doesn’t it seem weird to you, that this guy, who was your favorite professor in college is now telling you that he’s your father?” she pried. “That seems sort of stalkerish to me.”
He sat down next to her. “Julia, I never told you this, but I was there when Da… Dad was killed.”
She looked at him shocked.
“He gave me a flash drive, and on it, was a video of him telling me that my whole world was about to be turned upside down,” he told her. “I didn’t quite know what to expect, but the information he gave me led me here, and once here, the pieces all fell into place, and I know, without a doubt that Sofia and Murphy are my biological parents.”
“You were there when he died?” Julia began to cry. “Why didn’t you tell me, that means you know who killed him.”
He sighed, she was not ready for the truth. How would he ever explain to her that his best friend, the one she had a crush on when she was little, was the one that killed her father. “It all happened so fast, Julia.”
He let her cry. He watched the birds dip in and out of the water to catch fish, and he saw that the tide was coming back in.
“We need to go soon, or we won’t be able to get back up the trail for several hours,” he said. He reached in his pocket and pulled out the flash drive his adoptive father had given him. “This is for you, there was a file on there for both of us. I have removed mine and left yours. It was asked that I not give it to you until you were in a safe place. This is as safe as place as you can get right now.” He pushed it into her hand. Then he stood up.
She looked at it for a moment, then tucked it into her pocket. She accepted his hand to help her up.
“I just have to know,” she said. “Did you come here on your own, or did that… your father bring you here?” she asked. “Please, tell me the truth.”
He pulled her close and kissed the top of her head, “Oh, my dear Julia, ever the worrier. I came here on my own. The only person I told I was leaving was Laura, but even she didn’t know where,” he said.
“Ok,” she said. “I’m satisfied, I won’t try to run away.”
“Good,” he kissed the top of her head again. “Now let’s go before we get stuck here.” He grabbed her hand and led her towards the trail.
I remember the last snippet and I enjoyed this one as well. Thank you for sharing.
You’re welcome. My beta readers have really enjoyed my story, and my grandmother, who did my editing for me on book 1, is very happy for me.
Hi, Sara! Thanks for the kind words. Oh yes, I remember this story! Wow, there is great dramatic stuff here. He saw his dad being killed? The killer is someone she knows? That’s some intriguing plotting.
Thank you. I’ve had a lot of positive feedback from my beta readers on the 1st book. They’ve loved my cliffhangers and plot twists, and unanswered questions. One reader actually got mad at me for leaving her hanging without having the 2nd book ready yet. She called me unnecessarily cruel. The killer is actually his best friend, and although his best friend was under the influence of botched brainwashing, this is something he can probably never tell his sister. Ah, the world of spies… so many secrets….
Hi Bryn! I always love the dialog. Nice piece!
Here is the opening lines of “Solon’s Key – Graham Manor.” It’s a WIP I’m co-authoring and it could be ready by spring 2018.
“When I was a child, I was afraid of ghosts. But when I grew up I realized ghosts are only butterflies within the world of darkness – the things that amuse the real horrors.” Astrid’s voice quivered.
Tracing her finger along the window pane from one corner to the next, she recalled every memory Graham Manor twisted, every fear birthed within its walls.
Interesting opening. I don’t know if I want to read more or not (I’m not into gory horrors) lol. Thank you for sharing
Aw man, Lee. That’s a great opening!! This sounds like a proper gothic ghost story to me. I’ve never co-authored anything with anyone before, though I might someday. I hope it’s a great experience!
My very first WIP…I’m a bit nervous…Beginning of my book..Love lost…Love found and poker
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WINNERS NEVER FOLD
“Life and love are like a game of poker. It’s all about how you play the hand you have been dealt. The strategy you use will take you down the path to your destiny. You will bluff, you will bet, you will call, you will check…but never fold.”
************************
They weren’t kidding when they said three strikes and you’re out. I certainly didn’t bat a thousand today. I couldn’t sit back and take it anymore. I simply snapped.
For the third time in two weeks Adele’s mom, Marion had been called to pick her up from school because of her behavior and she was absolutely livid. This time Adele was suspended for three days. At seventeen, her behavior had become aggressive; at least, that was what the establishment seemed to think.
“What the heck is wrong with you, Adele. Why can’t you be like your brother, Aidan? I don’t even know what to do with you anymore. Can’t you just shut up and go with the flow?” Oh, here we go again with Aidan, my twin brother, aka, the golden child. The smart one. The quarterback on the football team. The one that always played by the rules. And then there was me the trouble maker. The one who beat to a different drummer. I’d always been different, even when I was a kid. I was the one who jumped off the roof of the garage and broke my arm thinking I could fly. I wished upon stars thinking those wishes would come true. I was the one who stood up when I thought something wasn’t right. Today I stood up and, holy crap am I in big trouble.
Adele sat silently looking at her hands in her lap. Lately every time she opened her mouth the wrong thing came out. They entered the house with Marion still giving her an endless sermon.
“You’re just like your dad, a dreamer. Wishing on stars and always in trouble just like he was when he was young. Life isn’t about dreams, wishing on stars and doing what the hell you please. It’s about playing by the rules. When are you going to get that through your thick skull?”
Adele always thought the part of Marion’s sermon about her being like her Dad was pretty comical since she and Aidan had been adopted at birth. Her dad, Frank, wasn’t even her biological father. But then again, her dad had always been in her corner with the good, bad and ugly. He’d managed over the years to smooth her mother’s feathers with his charm and logic on her behalf. Adele and her dad were buddies and always had been. He was the only person in her life who never faltered. Simply, she loved her dad beyond words. He was always there to pick up her pieces. What was she going do without him?
Marion left to return to work and Adele walked into the den. It had been converted into a bedroom for her dad. A bedroom she knew he was dying in. Frank was full of cancer. Just a matter of time.
Jackie, his nurse, was adjusting his morphine pump and smiled at her sheepishly.
“I’ll leave the two of you alone.” Jackie left closing the door quietly.
A skeleton of her Dad lay in his bed with the morphine pump trigger at his thumb. Frank dropped the trigger of the pump to his side and held his skinny arms out to Adele.
“Oh, Adele, what happened?”
Adele walked to his bed and leaned into him. His arms encircled his daughter as she broke down and began sobbing.
“Am I ever going to get it right, Dad?”
“Tell me what happened.”
“There’s this kid Joey with Down’s Syndrome that was mainstreamed into our English class. For weeks Cliff and his buddies have been harassing him and making fun of him. Every day it made me so doggone mad. Today I blew my cork and jumped up and punched Cliff in the mouth.”
Frank chuckled. “Good for you. You did the right thing.”
“But Dad I’m in so much trouble I’ve been suspended for three days and Mom is so mad at me. I think she’s going to punch me in the mouth.”
Frank tightened his arms around Adele.
“She’ll get over it. She’s got a lot on her plate right now. You have to cut her some slack.”
“I don’t think she’s ever been this mad at me and Aidan isn’t ever going to speak to me again. He’s always saying “Will you please stop embarrassing me at school.”
“Don’t worry about Aidan. He loves you.”
“Has he ever told you that?”
“Trust me, he does.”
“I wish he would tell me once in a while.”
“He will. Aidan is more guarded with his feelings than you but when you least expect it he will tell you. Aidan’s living his life and you’re living yours and I am glad they’re different. He’s a rule keeper and you, Adele, probably not so much. But that’s okay because going against the flow will take you to exactly where you’re supposed to be. Sometimes in life you pay a price for doing the right thing. But, when people reflect on that moment that Adele Merrick blew her cork in English class sticking up for Joey they will feel admiration for you. Do you want to know why?”
“Yes,why?”
“Because they didn’t have the guts at the time to stand up for what was right and you did. Don’t ever let anyone take away your spirit. Your spirit is a true gift. It will save your life someday.”
“I love you, Dad.”
“I’m dying.”
“I know. What am I going to do without you?”
“You will be just fine as long as you hang on to that hardy spirit of yours and listen to your gut. Now, go find a deck of cards because I’m going to teach you how to play poker. After all, you have a three-day vacation before you have to jump back into the real world. I want to corrupt you just a little bit more before that happens. Go find the cards.”
I like it. It’s sad, but also a bit hopeful at the same time. I’d love to know what happens after this.
Thank you so much, Sara for your comment. It means the world to me. Just the beginning of what I believe is a beautiful love story. I’m excited about it. It has been floating around in my head for decades. Now that I’m retired, I’m putting it on paper because….WINNERS NEVER FOLD….
Oh my goodness, I need the tissues and I love those last words of dad’s pep talk. I so want to read more. Thank you for sharing.
I am a novice in this whole process. Your last words “I so want to read more.” inspire me. Thank you!
Jan! I remember you talking about this project. So glad you’re sharing it with us! I love this kid, and what a great segueway into her learning poker. I’m looking forward to more!
I love family relationship stories. This one looks good! And sad.
Adrienne, thank you for reading. Life is a struggle sometimes. I can assure you if you don’t fold happiness can be found. There may be bumps in the road but it wouldn’t be life if there wasn’t.
Thank you again for your comment.
Thank you Bryn. I’m so happy I found your little spot in this writing world. I want to be like you when I grow up. Have a great day.
Well-written scene, Bryn! It certainly piques curiosity about the three characters’ shared history. (I also want to know when/why they were in South Korea.)
TR is almost out (woo-hoo!!!) so here’s a bit from my next one. Yes, it’s a bit rough. A Nashvillian college senior goes to work a Wyoming resort ranch over the summer, and nothing prepares him for the people he finds.
from “Frozen at the Wheel” (working title)
After getting a shower and meeting two of my fellow ranch hands— JoBeth and Kelly—the three of us are mustered in the driveway in clean clothes. Kelly holds a clipboard at her side. Next to me is JoBeth, an attractive blonde, who has to the loudest human being in the Mountain time zone. Some quirk in her voice-box projects horribly. When the two girls entered the men’s room as I was stepping out of the shower—uninvited and unannounced—her voice seemed to be inside my head. I initially thought it was a demon in the warm vapor.
“Welcome to the castle, Pretty Boy! Things go a little differently ‘round here.”
It was all I could to not stand there like a confused idiot in my towel.
“What?” I swiped water from my eyes, wondering if they’d seen my jock. “Are you going to tell me when I can shower?”
“Kelly,” JoBeth announced with a finger, “and I’m JoBeth. We’re two of your bosses since you’re low man on the totem pole. And the big boss says we need you in the drive in fifteen minutes for show-time.”
I wanted to ask if her verbal assault was an act, but they both turned on their cowboy boot heels and left. “Lickety-split,” the Kelly girl said from the door.
Great. It’s a good thing I didn’t want easy.
A stylish motor coach is rumbling up the driveway, now. This is a tour group, Kelly informed me.
“Okay, how much do rooms run here?”
“Start at two-fifty a night,” JoBeth deadpans.
“Jesus!”
“Another thing,” she says before the coach starts pulling around toward us. “Working with guests, you need to be presentable as much as possible. Don’t be afraid of the laundry room and iron.”
“I’ve never ironed. Can you teach me?”
She leers at me with a fake smile and laughs. “Oh, we are gonna have us some fun together!”
The coach parks and the growling motor shuts off. It’s show-time.
Faces look at me and my cohorts.
“Best behavior,” JoBeth says, as if setting the tone for an upcoming conversation.
“I wasn’t born in a bar, you know,” I return quietly.
She snickers without looking at me. Very pretty, tall, upper twenties. Brown cowboy hat—a cowgirl hat? Plaid shirt and jeans, thumbs hooked on either side of her belt buckle. She holds her chin high like she’s in complete control. No telling how many times she’s been through these summers or these rituals, but it’s more than me. I stand with hands behind my back, the way I was taught.
Chester appears as the first few guests get off the coach with their backpacks and jackets. There are pimply-faced laughing teenagers, grandparents, a couple young kids and an assortment of adults of all ages between. One Asian family, a man who may be Caribbean, and the rest are white. Among them is a tall, attractive woman with auburn hair. Tour guides in matching sky-blue windbreakers get out last.
“Welcome, Ladies and Gentlemen, to the Quicksilver Creek Lodge,” Chester begins to the mustered group. “Here you will find the finest hospitality, best food and likely the most fun that our fare state has to offer. At least, that’s what you’re supposed to put on your comment card when you’re all done.” A pause for chuckles. “Now, you folks have been traveling for a few hours in this here wagon, so let’s stretch our legs a bit. We’ve got Kelly, JoBeth and Robbie here right now to help get you settled. Then we’ll muster on the patio in ten minutes for a short hike, followed by a tour. Everybody all right with that?”
There are a few loud affirmatives from the group of about forty guests. Chester nods, speech complete, and turns to Kelly.
“All right, everyone. We’ll take care of your luggage so you don’t need to worry about it. I will call your party name, you answer ‘Here’ and I give you room numbers. Ready?”
People nod. The coach driver gets off, wearing black gloves, and comes to the luggage compartments. He nods to me.
“Hasegawa?”
“Here.”
“Rooms five and six.” Pause. “Baker?”
This roll-call continues. As the driver opens the two compartment doors, I move to start unloading. This is my task—I can feel it. The space is low, of course, so it’s all stooping and hauling. A job best suited to the young and strong, in other words. Underneath, the space smells of metal, grit, diesel and the cool leather of luggage. I pull them out by twos, and the female half of the guide team starts checking tags.
Joker appears beside me, saying, “Nothin’ to it, Boss.”
I’d like to think he’s present out of efficiency rather than anything else. This is a job I can handle on my own. When the guests and a guide move off, JoBeth follows with a couple bags. The driver watches us work and confers with the remaining guide, who seems pretty skilled at clustering bags.
“Miller, two. Johnstone, there’s two, need one more. Here we are.”
The cool thing about a job like this, I guess, is you can see the ‘defined parameter’ as my father calls it. When there’s a clear objective—even if you can’t see the actual goal—you know that a certain percentage of the finite job is complete. It’s how he got through such mundane tasks as peeling potatoes in the Navy. Two huge piles sat before him, but underneath was table. He wasn’t standing over a mineshaft of them.
Bam, job done. With another glance in, I follow the driver’s lead in closing the compartment door. Seems like I’ll be doing this a lot, so I’d better know if there’s some catch or trick.
The tour guide—a cheery if plump woman—steps off the coach with someone’s jacket and announces everything else has been cleared out.
“Righty, then,” the bus driver says, adjusting his gloves. “See you folks in three days.”
The way he says it, it’s like he’s going to join some magical flotilla of grouchy coach drivers sipping beers and playing shuffleboard. All in white shirts, black pants and with black driving gloves on or at the ready. Maybe there’ll be a fountain with synchronized swimmers beyond the bar and craps tables. When someone gets called—“Sorry Fellas, I’m out!”—the summoned driver dons his gloves and moseys to his coach.
Wow, pretty descriptive there. I don’t know whether to feel sorry for his first start or encouraged by his attitude. I do enjoy reading your snippets so thank you for sharing.
Hi, Justin! You know, there’s an international group in my story, so they have cells all over the globe. Nic’s parents are of Korean and Chinese descent, and he grew up in Seoul, D.C., Shanghai, and a year in Paris. Tristan’s white and grew up in Florida, Spain, and Cairo.
I saw that about Tempest Road! So exciting! Congratulations. I need to do a “share your brag” post soon so that people can share covers and links. ☺
The description of JoBeth’s loud voice and our guy getting confronted by girls in the men’s room is just cracking me up. This seems really different from the other work I’ve read of yours—really like it, though!
Great scene Bryn, I love how much research you putting into you’re writing. This is part of the first chapter of a book I’ve planned on naming Call Me GhostBoy. Though it needs a lot of work:
Graveyards are essentially associated with a mopey and grievous feeling. Not for Colin Bowne though, for him it’s resembles a library waiting to be read, waiting to be understood. Or sometimes it’s the feeling of seeing your bestest of friends; relief and joy that you can be completely yourself – that is, when they’re around anyhow. Colin’s recent visits have been lonely ones, save the nagging conversation from Judd and Jill. Who are not in the least enjoyable company. “Ye’ old codger here don’t know a open-eye from a clud.” Jill jeered. Judd started muttering indecipherable words back at Jill. Colin looked up from his comic book. “A what?” He asked from his sitting position on the lush summer grass.
“Are ye’ deaf?A clud! Now ‘nough with yer’ palaver.” Jill spat, or more like tried to. It’s rather hard to spit when you’re a ghost. “I heard what you said, I was just wondering what a clud was.” Colin stated. “Clud’s is unbelievers, an unfaithful. Ain’t nobody got the wits about em anymore.” Judd’s wheezy voice uttered.
“Unbelievers?” Colin asked again uncertainly as he sat up straighter, his neck starting to ache from leaning on Tom’s headstone. “Ye’ heard me, ye’ discommoding boy! Unbelievers, people who don’t believe in ghosts. Them who thinks us old wives tales.” Judd wheezed more forcibly.
“And what’s an open-eye?” Colin could tell his curiosity was about to throw Jill and Judd into one of their ghostly outbursts. “Ones like yerself, though I can’t say yer’ got wits ’bout ye’ either!” Jill jabbed.
“There’s more people like me?” Colin inquired, his face full of surprise. “Ain’t nobody like you boy! But, I’ll tell ye’ Jill, I smelt the rat when this one showed up!” Judd pointed a shimmering finger at Colin, the edges of his aged hands were translucent, it was almost unnoticeable unless you were staring. Jill nodded her ancient head in agreement. “I say the pitch of the moment ‘as arrived. We best be rid of the peevish boy now, I say!” Jill hollered. Colin sighed and got up, there was no point in listening to those two any longer. It was a warm june Saturday and he had nothing planned, so his first thought was to pay Tom a visit. Tom was around Colin’s age when he died in 1927, his headstone had a small sleeping lamb placed on the top to mark a child. But there was no point in waiting around, the last time Tom was awake was about a week ago. And he had seemed sleepy and morose, only talking about how much he wanted to slumber. And Colin saw no point in trying to wake him, it was time he rested.
As he walked off, he could still hear Judd and Jill ranting about how they were going to ‘hall off’ the ‘peevish’ boy once and for all. Their voices drew quieter as Colin passed under two towering maple trees, full with rustling green leaves.Colin always thought Middlebury was at it’s most beautiful in the autumn, the forests full of vivid red and orange, and the sky a stormy gray.
A soft breeze blew in Colin’s face, making him glance around at the billowing green grass that needed mowing, and the falling flowers of a pitiful wild rose bush planted by a headstone.
And at that very moment as Colin admired the cemeteries natural beauties he did not realise that there had been someone watching him from afar.
Colin threw his bike into the alleyway of Addie’s Theater, or in other words, his house. Addie’s Theater was on the car swamped main street, so as suspected, Colin was quite used to the constant raucous of the town. Colin trotted over to the theater’s front doors and unlocked them with the extra set of keys he always carried. The doors unlocked and he pushed them open, then he let them swing behind him as he entered the stuffy popcorn room. Or at least that’s what he called it; there was an ancient and greasy popcorn machine behind a glass counter, which was full of junk food ranging from Sugar Daddies to Pringles. There were posters of the latest blockbusters hanging on the floral papered walls, and the floors were washed-out hard wood. Colin passed all of this and ran up the stairs leading to his, and his mother’s, apartment. When Addison chose to buy the theater as their home/business, the steep and antique staircase had given Colin many bad falls, but after four years he had grown accustomed to all it’s creaky and steep places. Now he agilely ran at a two-step at a time pace. Colin stepped over the top of the stairs and into the tight hallway leading into the projection room. He opened a door on his right and slammed it shut behind him. And then he collapsed on the bed, face planting on his pillow, and let out a long sigh.
Colin turned his head and glanced at his alarm clock on his nightstand, it read 3:24 pm. This was something Colin only did when he was exceptionally bored. He would stare at the clock as it did it’s usual ticktock. As if he were waiting for something different to occur, other than your usual clock behavior. Too bored to continue doing this, he looked away from the clock, and turned over onto his back and stared at the ceiling. There were still the glow in the dark stars he had put there when he was nine, and they still glowed every night like the day he put them there. The little plastic stars always helped Colin to sleep at night, they were, in a way, a comfort to him.
The dark never had scared him, even when he was little, and sometimes he wished his cluttered bedroom had no roof so he could stare at the night skies real stars to his heart’s content. Colin’s daydreaming suddenly popped when he heard a muffled voice coming from downstairs. He sat up, trying to listen in, wondering if his mom had gotten home early from her shopping.
He swung his legs off the bed and sauntered over to his bedroom door. He walked down the hallway slowly and went down the stairs.
“Uh-huh.” He could hear Addison say; she must be on the phone. Colin came into the popcorn room and saw his aunt sitting on the snack counter with a slight smile on her face. Her straightened carmel hair looked like it hadn’t been brushed in a while, and her outfit had it’s usual Addison-ness about it; a aqua flannel, flared jeans with rhinestones across the back pockets, and square toed cow-boy boots. Let’s just say her Montanan roots were pretty deep. She looked up and saw him, which made her smile and mouth the words “just a min” and continued to nod and make sounds of agreement. Colin crossed his arms and leaned against the wall; as much as he enjoyed Addison’s company, she tended to drag out social situations more than they needed to be. Colin sighed as he continued to listen to Addison’s giggles and laughs at her unheard conversation.
“All Right Peter, talk to you later.” She finally said as she pulled the iphone away from her ear, hanging up. “Who’s Peter?” Asked Colin out of curiosity as he looked up, eyebrows raised. Addison yawned and stretched her arms as she slid of the counter. “Just a friend.” She said. Colin smirked, nodded sarcastically, and thought to himself why does she always use the phrase ‘just a friend’? Addison looked over at him with a sudden seriousness that turned her jovial aura. “I know what you’re thinking Col. It’s not like last time.” She said as she came over and tipped her head to one side trying to get Colin to look up. “C’mon Col, lighten up a bit for me please? Pretty please?” She said with her sweetest voice. Colin looked up and smiled half-heartedly. “Okay, I believe you. So where’d you meet Parker this time?” Colin asked as he met Addison’s eyes. “It’s Peter, not Parker. And I met him two weeks ago at a garage sale. I also landed an awesome deal on some tupperware.” She answered as she went back over to the counter to search her grocery bag.
“And a new boyfriend.” Colin mumbled humorously.
“You be quiet. We’re just friends.” She said as she pulled a purple Gatorade out of her paper grocery bag.
“Like Luke; Jack; Derek; Jonas; and Billy, or was it Bobby?” Colin smirked again. Addison was about to take a chug from her Gatorade but stopped just to give him a warning look. “Don’t you have anything to do?” She said with a frown. “No, actually I don’t. Because Middlebury is so entertaining.” Colin sighed. Addison ignored his sarcastic remark and began reading the ingredients on her beverage out of boredom.
“Well, I think I’m gonna go back upstairs…” Colin finally said and turned tail, ready to hide in his room for the rest of the day, but just as he was ready to hop back up the stairs Addison stopped him in time. “Woah, woah. Not just yet, remember all that complaining I had to endure from you about how you did all the work on show nights? Well, I hired someone!” She said with a satisfactory look on her face. Colin’s expression would’ve remained the same throughout her exclamation, but to be polite he smiled and said: “Wow. Um… Thanks? I’m not sure that’s the right term or not.” He laughed. “Yes, I believe thanks is appropriate for the occasion. So now you and I can go have some fun one on one time!” She grinned. Colin’s smile wilted a little; Addison’s idea of a fun one on one time was dragging him along with her to the closest rodeo. “Sure, sounds fun mom.” He yawned and turned to go back to his room. He heard Addison mutter something along the line of “kids these days” with a vexed voice as he walked up the stairs.
Colin went back to his bed and his eyelids fluttered to stay awake in the suddenly dimmed room. he could hear wind blowing and howling at his window as he closed his eyes.
He dreamt of many different things while he slept, most were things so mundane he wouldn’t remember them when he awoke, but something kept cropping up that troubled his deep sleep. Something he could sense but not see, feel but not touch, hear but not listen too. Almost like it’s true form was only a presence and never anything more.
Colin began to stir and something echoed in his head from his dreams that left him cold:
Golden crown unerring, emerald cloak of the sea
Something within is deep, shaking with glee as his presence flies like a bird.
His eyes flew wide open. His thoughts were quiet for a moment. Those words came from his head, or his dream, yet they didn’t come from his voice. It sounded like a poem, an unfinished one. But – He’d never heard it before. He felt befuddled for a minute, thinking where the words could’ve come from – certainly not from him, he’d always been terrible at poetry. Colin finally dismissed the troubling words as nonsense from a strange dream.
He reached up and rubbed one his eyes as he sniffed – wondering how long he’d been out. He looked around the room and was reminded of the pile of Edgar Allan Poe books he often read. Perhaps it was a few verses from one of the many poems? He sat up and his vision went all blurry; one of his eyes was beginning to water. He rubbed his it again, this time making it worse. He slid off the bed and over to a hanging mirror that had a layer of dust coating it. He squinted and rubbed his eye so he could see better: it was badly bloodshot and had a constant stream of tears coming from it. Colin blinked a couple times and squinted as he stumbled towards the door and opened it, walking into the hallway. “Mom, there’s something wrong with my eye!” He shouted and he walked past the projector and went to Addison’s door and starting knocking lazily. “Addie…” He called again in a whiny voice. He stood there for a moment more with his eye reddened and watering before he finally wandered downstairs. As he stumbled down the stairs. He came into the popcorn room and expecting to see Addison he saw someone else. It was a boy who was making popcorn for the upcoming movie. Colin stood there for a moment slightly confused; the movie wasn’t for another five hours – or four – or however long he’d been asleep. The boy looked up and seemed just as confused as Colin felt. Luckily Addison ended the awkward moment by entering the room. “Colin, honey! What’s u- what on earth happened to your eye!” She suddenly exclaimed. “Uh… I don’t kno-”
“Oh! Colin, this is Teddy!” She said, cutting Colin off mid sentence.
“I hired him yesterday! Teddy, Colin; Colin, Teddy.” She introduced. Colin felt obligated to shake the kids hand, and apparently so did he. They shook hands but didn’t say any kind of greeting, he could see the other boy giving him a weird look when he noticed Colin’s red eye. Teddy’s hair was a dark brown, almost black, and a face that seemed to have a perpetual raised eyebrow, though he seemed normal enough. After the awkward handshake he went back to making popcorn and Addison turned to Colin with a concerned expression. “What did happen to your eye?” She asked with a frown. “Nothing – I’m gonna go back upstairs now.” He said, suddenly embarrassed that he’d been wandering around their apartment whining about a red eye. “You sure there’s nothing wro-” Addison started to say again, but Colin dismissed her worry quickly when he noticed Teddy snicker by the popcorn machine.
“Yes! I’m sure. See you later.” Colin said in a hushed tone, and turned and went back to his room
He sat on the floor with his back to the wall, reading through his pile of Edgar Allan Poe. He looked at the clock; it was 7:10; the movie had been playing for an hour already and he could hear its faint dialogue in the background. He’d been asleep for nearly two hours before he had wandered downstairs, so now all he had been doing was hiding in his room for another whole hour.
He looked out his window from his position on the floor: the night had grown darker and he could hear a faint rumble of thunder. He could feel an itch coming on in his eye and reached up to rub it once again. After restraining himself to rub his eye any longer he pulled his hand away and looked down at his book again. He felt out of sorts; he hadn’t found anything remotely similar to the poem from his dream. And this was the last book he’d been looked through in his mighty pile of eleven books. Colin had always kept his small collection private; these books were something he darkly understood, and in a way he didn’t want anyone to know that. He reached the end of The Gold Bug, which he had only lightly skimmed through, but still nothing that sparked his memory. He set the book aside and put his head in his hands. The strange words echoed in his head again, this time with his own voice:
Golden crown unerring, emerald cloak of the sea
Something within is deep, shaking with glee as his presence flies like a bird.
He got up and went to his window, which had a view of the Middlebury River. He rested his hand against the glass and it felt surprisingly cold for being the beginning of June. His eyes fell towards the river; the moon was covered by clouds so all he could see was something dark and flowing. Not much of a view Colin admitted to himself. His eyes trained instantaneously towards a spot that looked about a hundred feet from the river. As soon as his eyes landed his heart stopped.
A cloud blew away from the moon, making it’s shine bright like a flashlight. And under the light was a silhouette of a person in the opening of trees. But that wasn’t what made him rigid; it was the strange glowing orb of light that seemed to come from the person’s chest. Everything stopped within Colin; his heart, his breath, even his thought process. It was almost like the glow was drawing him nearer, wanting him to come closer without even speaking to him. Colin finally tore his eyes away with such force that he fall backward onto the floor. His breaths started coming heavy when he realised he’d been holding them. He stood up like lightning and looked out the window again, searching for the light. He found again, only this time it was moving, and not like any human or living thing. It was gliding through the trees and making it’s way towards the river. Colin eyes were wide as saucers as the orb of light that came in the shape of a person slowed it’s pace – almost stopping – when it came to the shore of the river. When it stopped Colin somehow knew it turned and looked at him without even seeing it do so, almost as if it was making sure he was still watching. Then it calmly glided into river, making it’s way to the middle where it descended, it’s light dimming. Colin’s mouth was open without him realising and he felt more chilled than he should’ve. He’d seen his fair share of oddities throughout his life as someone who could see and talk to ghosts – but nothing like this.
Never had he seen one glow like that or move that swiftly or serenely. Almost every ghost he’d ever seen was far from calm or swift. They were usually in constant tears, restlessness, anger, or sometimes fear. His eyes searched the spot where the glow disappeared in the water but there was nothing there. He heard a knock on his door and he snapped out of his trance. He went to his door and opened it. “Yeah?” He asked once he saw it was Addison. “Hey, hon. I brought you some leftover popcorn.” She said as she handed me a bucket filled to the brim with yellow and buttered popcorn. Colin took it and thanked her.
“Oh and Teddy is a great kid, you guys would get along really well! Hey you okay? That eye doesn’t look so good, maybe we should go t-”
“It’s fine, really! Don’t worry about it. Thanks for the popcorn.” He said while trying to slowly close the door, but Addison insisted on giving him a goodnight hug and kiss before bed. “Okay, goodnight mom.” He said as he hugged Addison back with just one arm and used the other to hold his popcorn. “Goodnight, sleep tight.” She said after giving him kiss on the head. Then she smiled and left to go to bed herself and Colin swiftly closed the door. He shoved the popcorn on his desk and hurried over to his window again. Still nothing, the light had vanished and everything went back to normal. The moon no longer was shining abnormally bright and there wasn’t any strange glowing orbs. Perhaps it was all some sort of trick of the light? Colin stepped away from the window and went over to his desk and started pulling out some things. Once he had his sketchbook, pencil, and popcorn, he went to his bed and pulled the blanket over his crossed legs, and began to draw while the image was still fresh within his mind.
Sorry this one was so long, Bryn!
I enjoyed this and felt like I was there. Except I don’t like movie theatre popcorn lol. Thank you for sharing.
Thanks for reading KC! (I’m not a big fan of movie theatre popcorn either haha)
Hi, Tatyana! So glad you came back again to share some more. ☺ I love the idea of a graveyard being like a library…sometimes I read something and immediately know that it’s an idea that’s going to stick with me for a while. I loved the description of the “popcorn room,” too.
Thanks Bryn! I spend most of my writing time with my main WIP (from last WIP Wednesday) but every now and then I add some more to this story.
Excellent snippet, Bryn. They always have me wanting to read more, that what you’ve shared is never enough.
I can’t remember if I shared this or not but this is part of the first chapter of the wip I’m currently working on. It picks up after she’s received a text for a job. I have to do major rewrites to sections later in the story due to gaining some new knowledge and I don’t know how to handle it because what I currently have is the backbone to the encounters lol.
~*~
Justice’s Unknown Price
Chapter 1
“Ms Toni Arlow, I have a warrant for your arrest for illegal bounty hunting.” I said nicely, still smiling.
Then she did what I expected her to do, even though it did surprise me since she was larger than me. She ran while her friend tried to punch me in the face. I fell to my knees while tilting my head to the side to dodge the punch. While I was down there, I hit him between the legs really hard then ran after my target while the one I’d punched fell in a heap on the doorstep with crossed eyes and a groan of agony.
As I neared the back door Toni had exited, another scruffy-looking white man stood in front of the back doorway to block my way. What was this, jeans and t-shirt day for all three? I did a typical baseball slide, going between his legs – hitting him in the groin as I passed under him – and slid out the back door. He made a similar noise to the other guy as he fell to the floor.
Not looking back, I was on my feet running again as soon as I was out the door and down the two steps into the back yard. I saw Toni heading into the bushland and I ran after her. Good thing I practice running in high heels for moments like this. I didn’t mind her running from me as it meant I could shoot her if I wanted to. At that moment, I think I wanted to.
It wasn’t hard to see where she had entered the bushland. There were snapped leaves and branches along the way. They were the easiest set of clues I’ve ever had to follow. The cicadas and other wildlife had gone still at her passing so it was quiet. I used that quietness to try and hear her moving.
However, after the house was out of sight it seemed like she had changed tactics and proceeded quietly and carefully. Doing the same, I searched harder for signs of her passing. A minute or two later the cicadas started up again. She wasn’t moving at all.
“Come on, Toni. Give it up. You’re only making it worse for yourself.” I called out sweetly.
After that, there was no more talking, only tracking her. What I wasn’t expecting to hear, was three gunshots from two different guns back at the house. After a slight pause, I resumed tracking Arlow. While she was taking more care in keeping hidden, I was still able to track her via an occasionally snapped branch and a scuffing on the ground along the way.
I didn’t even have to bend down to see some of the scuff marks and the broken leaf stem or two weren’t difficult to spot with the fresh sap seeping from them. Sometimes I did have to search a little harder but overall, thank goodness she didn’t know how to hide too well.
Oooo… She’d disturbed a spider web with newly hatched baby spiders on it. They were scattering like mad and that only happens when they’ve been unsettled: either by the breeze of her passing or connecting with the web in some way. Ah, there… one or two of the strands were busted from their original anchor points. One of the bottom corner sections was flapping freely. I was obviously on the right track, pun not intended.
Tracking her for a couple more minutes, I was startled when she appeared about two to three metres in front of me. Stepping from behind a tree, she shot me. The impact sent me falling backwards. Surprisingly, she didn’t finish me off as she rushed past. I didn’t understand why, but I wasn’t going to complain.
Suddenly, from behind where Toni had been, a third Caucasian man appeared and paused beside me. He glanced in the direction behind me then frowned down at me. He was neatly dressed compared to Arlow and the two men I had hit so I figured he wasn’t part of their group.
“She went that way.” I pointing in the appropriate direction when he was about to speak. With a snapping shut of his mouth, he headed off along the path I had indicated.
Slowly, I got to my feet, looked around and realised I couldn’t find my trail to follow back out. It would seem that Arlow and the third man had messed up the tracks.
Then I heard two shots, but not from Toni’s gun – oh well, no hit or payment for me today – and I decided to follow the man’s tracks back out instead; once I had found them. His shoe prints were fractionally longer and wider than Arlow’s, as well as being a different tread.
Now, here’s someone who can hide their tracks well. I didn’t even have any broken greenery, no scuff marks, no disturbed bugs, just the occasional partial print. So love a challenge.
After a few minutes, with some stumbling, I made it to the tree line with the house in front of me. I had come out a few metres to the right of where I had entered the bushland. Damn, but my shoulder hurt. More than I thought it should. I clung to the tree for a moment before making my way across the yard towards the front where my car was.
Only, I didn’t even make it half way to the back of the house before I stumbled so badly that I fell. What’s wrong with me? I frowned at myself briefly then became surprised when I didn’t hit the ground like I was expecting to.
A set of strong hands caught and set me upright, however, I had trouble staying on my feet and I started to sag in the grip of those hands. I sighed in frustration. Unexpectedly, I was rising in the air.
“Oh, hello,” I said to the dark auburn haired man who had gone after my mark. I was surprised how similar our hair was, except his being darker than mine.
His face wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous, but did have a rugged handsomeness I found rather appealing. I looked into a pale version of my eyes; light green and speckled with a bluish grey. They really stood out in the tanned skin of his smooth, clean-shaven face, which just so happened to have a nose that had been broken at least once and a mouth that was slightly lopsided with the left side drooping a fraction and the right side curved up a little – like he had a permanent slightly smiling quirk.
As he carried me, I could feel the muscles working in his arms. Hmmm… very strong is he.
He raised his eyebrows and his lips twitched. “Hello. I could have been one of the bad guys for all you knew.” His brows furrowed as if I had done something wrong.
Wow! He had an amazing deep tone to his voice. Despite knowing a voice starts in the throat, his set up an incredible vibration that made his voice sound as if it started deep in his chest instead. Where I was leaning against him, very nice indeed.
“Oh no! You’re better dressed than they were and I already knew you had killed all three. I could tell it was your gun each time after you had shot Toni. Your gun sounds different to hers and that’s how I knew you had shot the other two at the house as well.” I said smiling up at him.
“I see, and what were you doing after I left you?” Again he raised his eyebrows and his lips twitched.
I didn’t understand the expression.
“Since you and Arlow had traipsed over my tracks in, I couldn’t use them to get back to the house so I just followed your tracks instead,” I answered simply.
By this stage, we were back at the house in the kitchen and he set me down in a chair. He went to the fridge, rummaged around in it for a bit then came back and handed me a glass of orange juice. He then undid my blouse half way, moved the bra strap off my right shoulder and started looking at the wound.
Not knowing what his intentions were, my breath caught in my throat. Then his head and hands disappeared behind me and I could feel him peeling the fabric away from my skin.
As he worked, I noted his thick and slightly wavy hair was brushing his collar, and I wanted to touch it to see if it was as soft as it looked. But restrained myself by watching the way his two-tone brown polo shirt stretch across his broad shoulders and chest. He was much wider than I was, almost two of me. With my eyes, I followed the line of his shirt down as it disappeared into his black jeans that fitted his lower half as snugly as his shirt did his top half, showing off all his muscles very nicely.
This close to him, I could smell the faint scent of gun oil and under that sandalwood with a citrus undertone. It was a nice mix of smells. The child me rolled her eyes at me and I shoved her back in the puzzle corner of my mind as I tried not to smile.
“Even though the bullet went straight through, you’ll have to go to the hospital to get this dealt with.” He said in a quiet distracted tone as he finished bandaging my shoulder.
“Okay,” I said and stood up once he had moved away from me. I was feeling a little better by then than I had in the back yard. I didn’t really want to go but, reluctantly, I knew he was right.
He frowned at me. “What are you doing?”
“You said I needed to go to the hospital so that’s what I’m doing,” I answered softly as I blinked at him, not understanding what the problem was.
“You’re just going to drive there?” He sounded sort of surprised as he continued to frown at me.
I didn’t understand why.
“Sure,” I smiled as I started for the front door with him following me. He escorted me to my car, but I got the impression he wasn’t happy with what I was doing. “Thank you,” I smiled up at him, since he was a lot taller than me, as I got into my car.
“You’re welcome.” He stood there with a slight frown as he watched me leave.
It wasn’t long before I noticed him in his car behind me. Ah, so it was he who had been in the Rover. He followed me to the hospital but didn’t enter the grounds with me.
I waved my thanks to him as he passed. I thought it was nice of him to make sure I had reached the hospital safely. It wasn’t until we had parted ways that I cursed myself for not getting his name or even note his number plate to try tracing him later. I sighed at the missed opportunity and parked my car.
When I walked into emergency, I showed my hunter’s licence so they didn’t have to report the incident to the police. However, they would send a report to the Bounty Hunters Association. A few of hours later – with stitches, extra padding and instructions of care and an appointment to come back, I was home and resting up with time off.
This is probably my favorite one yet, KC! I love the action and the sardonic humor, and I wasn’t expecting the encounter that followed. You write so convincingly about fighting and about tracking.
Thank you for sharing, as always! It wouldn’t be WIP Wednesday without you. ☺
Thank you, Bryn and thank you for the compliment on the fighting and tracking. They are due to watching movies and my own childhood traipsing through local bush lands. I’m always eagerly awaiting WIP Wednesday to get my reading fix ?