Married by Mistake Chapter 57. News Channel Gone Dark

MbM
Standard

Chapter 57. News Channel Gone Dark

In her apartment, every moment Kaylee spent outside of class, her computer logged in and a bluetooth connection to her television to watch it with her sister.

Melanie paced around the apartment in agitation. The news website out of Singapore at first uploaded the few still images and fewer videos had no recent enough updates to calm her irritation.

One high-quality video, the news reporter explained that Singapore authorities detained an American, Thomas Harte, while they investigated the charges that he smuggled marijuana bundled for transportation and a bottle of unknown liquid that investigators suspected as a narcotic. Cleared of drug-use by medical examination, the prosecutor planned to use the reports against him in a court and prosecute the United States Citizen as a smuggler.

‟He was cleared by a blood check? How can they use that he was clean against him?” Melanie said.

‟There, it said it. If he had it in possession and he’s clean, they know he was trafficker.” Kaylee held both hands to her tear-streaked face.

‟I’ve called Lettie, she called the government here. I talked with a lawyer that Lettie set me up with, he will set me up with the state department and we will see if there is any help I can do.” Kaylee said.

‟How can you help?”

‟The stash was mine.” Kaylee said. ‟It was in with my massage oil. I know that’s what they are calling as narc-oil.”

‟You left it? In his plane?” Melanie clapped her hand to her forehead. ‟You never planned to stay with Glenn.”

‟I, uh…” Kaylee stammered, then her temper flared. ‟Screw you.”

That just made Melanie the Monster and kid sister laugh harder.

‟You say that and that means I’m right. Tom got you to love him.” She smiled at her sister and poked her older Kaylee over her heart. “He writes about airship pirates, but he is the King of Pirates who stole your heart. Thomas Harte is a thief of hearts.”

 ‟Shut up, Melanie or I’ll tell mom.” In an empty threat. “And don’t poke me.”

Melanie quieted down and giggled for several minutes.

‟I’ll need to tell the State Department that Tom and I had gotten married and then annulled.” Kaylee rubbed her forehead. ‟Dad will poop a pinecone.”

‟Yeah, a whole tree of them.” Melanie smiled, but her tone was sad. ‟You know those crazy paparazzi with cameras will be here. You won’t be able to walk or drive to classes.”

‟I’ll live on campus then.”

‟The wait list is two years long, you won’t get a place until after you graduate.” Melanie shook her head. ‟If you tell the State Department, you can save him, but you will lose your chance to graduate in peace. The photographers will be all over you like flies on a dead fish.”

‟What…?” Kaylee interrupted. “Mel, the feed just went down. Just have a four-zero-four ‟Not Found” code.”

‟Just go back a page.”

‟I did, Online Network News only has other countries in the menu, Singapore is not there. Not even weather.”

‟Wierd. Try alternate news feeds.” Melanie suggested and sat next to her sister at the computer.

‟Okay.” Kaylee typed in the addresses of the different sources.

‟Those are old images we’ve seen. Tom might be free. Oh!” Kaylee smiled. ‟Lettie has sent an email.”

Then the excitement turned into crestfallen defeat.

‟She says Tom’s locked up in jail, Singapore police have confiscated his passport. She looked at the laws, sent me the link.” Kaylee clicked on the highlighted text. ‟That is harsh. He might get ten-years for the weed and forfeit all his possessions and death penalty is mandatory for the narc-oil.”

Melanie looked at her sister.

‟Death? But that is only aromatherapy oil, right? That essence of rosemary I gave you for your birthday.” She shook her head. “And they took… His plane?”

Melanie kept reading over Kaylee’s shoulder.

A phone rang, and both sisters looked at their phones before Kaylee picked it up.

‟Hello? Yes. Yes, at home. Yes. Las Vegas, three weeks ago. My address is…” Kaylee looked down off the balcony. ‟You know where I am? Yes. Right away? I’ll be here.”

‟That was the lawyer. He and a State Department rep are on their way.‟ Looking down, ‟Oh… Drat! I need to get dressed in something nicer than my t-shirt and jeans.”

‟At least put on a bra. You’re kind of on point since you have been on the phone.” Melanie pointed out.

‟What! ACK!” Kaylee squawked and ran to her room to change clothes, covering her chest up with her hands.

‟Why did you cover and run? It’s only me.” Melanie laughed again. The younger sister enjoyed when the elder stressed out.

‟Oh my god! Omygodomygod I can’t find what to wear.” Sounds in her bedroom echoed as she slammed drawers and closet doors.

‟Wear your dark green skirt, boots and your black silk blouse with the pocket.”

‟You borrowed my skirt last month for the class interviews, have you brought it back?”

‟No, it’s in my laundry.”

‟Crap. Mellie, help, I am in a panic, I need some advice.”

‟Okay, black skirt?”

‟Yes, past my knee. Heeled boots, black silk blouse and the gray jacket.

‟Yeeaah… I would leave the jacket.” Melanie said and looked out the window. ‟It’s too hot to dress in those extra layers.”

‟Yeah. Yeah… I will meet with some important people, I don’t want them to think I am just a college kid.”

‟Well. You are, and he is a lot older, you might not get away without that label in their minds, then they would say it.” Melanie mused as she helped her sister adjust the collar on the blouse.

‟I don’t know what to say.” Kaylee said and walked out of the room. ‟The lawyer will be here in a moment.”

‟Okay. Okay.” Melanie said as the sibling turned around. ‟Okay, you look good. Wait, did you put a bra on?” Another squeak of profanity from her Kaylee who disappeared into her room again.

A short few minutes and she was ready. The sisters opened the door to walk down to the sidewalk and both sisters screamed in surprise.

Four men stood in the hallway, two in military uniform in places on either side of the door. Two in civilian office clothing, one looked like he had swallowed some vile drink.

‟Miss Grant?” The dark-skinned man held out a hand. ‟I’m Beyron Ferguson, attorney at law. The G.I. Joe here is the secretary of the local state department office, Maxwell Silverham.” he indicated the sour-faced man.

‟Local?” Melanie said. ‟I didn’t know we had a local one.”

‟And you are?” Beyron said.

‟She is my sister, Melanie Grant. I would like to have her here while you interrogate me. Should I get a lawyer?”

‟Please call me Max.” The older white-haired man said. ‟No you don’t need a lawyer, and local is a relative term Miss Grant.” He nodded with a smile to Melanie.

‟May I get you a glass of water?” Kaylee asked.

‟No, thank you.” Max said. ‟May we sit?”

Motioning to the breakfast table, they all took a seat while Beyron pulled out a notepad.

‟For the record Miss Grant… Kaylee. I am your attorney, appointed by the Attorney General of the United States, pro-bono. That is no charge to you.” Beyron explained to the two women. “I will give you advice, but I will do what you ask, even finding a replacement if I do not fulfill my job to your satisfaction. Mister Silverham here is the government investigator in charge. He would like to ask about your relationship with Thomas Harte who is now in custody in Singapore and will stand trial for drug possession in the next few days. This is not a criminal investigation, but I am here to protect your rights in any event his questions stray into private areas that are not relevant. If at any time you wish to stop talking with Mister Silverham, we will bring this to an end. Do you understand all that?”

Kaylee nodded.

‟Before we start,” Max said, ‟What is your relationship with this author who seems to lack a street address.”

Kaylee held hands with her sister and relaxed, she felt more confident than ever and explained the events of the past summer.

Advertisements

Married By Mistake Chapter 5. The Morning After

MbM
Standard

Chapter 5. The Morning After

The first sensation she was aware of, was the smell of food, then the texture of the bunched up blankets and she heard water and a slow rocking of the room.

Stretching, she was face down in bed, naked. That itself was not strange, but the Egyptian cotton sheets were not hers. The pillow she had her arms wrapped around was nearly the full length of her body, it was firm and very nice to curl up with, she pulled herself as close in to the pillow as she could and enjoyed the slight odor of cedar. Whoever it was

She yawned and stretched again, snuggling close to the body-pillow it was a comfortable bed and… Something else, it rocked slowly.

But, not like a waterbed. Her brain buzzed with thoughts.

A boat?

She was on a boat!

And the smell of bacon was pervasive. Normally not a breakfast eater, usually coffee and toast. But that smelled heavenly.

Between the slight smell of cedar on the pillow and the bacon in the air, her tummy rumbled in hunger.

She stretched, then slid her leg over the giant pillow, holding it in a big hug and close her eyes again, enjoying the smells and sounds. She could hear someone clanking around in the kitchen, with banging pans. They were cooking.

A wonderful way to wake up, she softly thought. Her hands rested on each other as she was reluctant to wake up.

Another deep breath through her nose, rosemary? Someone was going all out for breakfast.

Her hands felt odd, opening her left eye, something was on her hand. It sparkled in the soft morning light like it was lit by fire from within, a pretty little thing, like someone gets from those machines that promised swag with just a few coins. She might keep it for a while, it was cute.

She sat up and looked around, she could not find her clothes anywhere in the smallish bedroom. Opening the dresser against the wall, she pulled out a t-shirt that made her laugh!

“The box read: Requires Windows XP or better. So I installed Linux.” Printed on the front of the soft cotton pullover.

*Oh, great! A nerd.*

Reading it with a wonder of what kind of person she might have slept with the previous night, male or female, she was never very picky when she was high. From the smell coming from the kitchen, she was betting it was the pretty Asian who she saw when she was having dinner with…

What was his name? Chart… No. Harte.

Thomas Harte.

She met him in the Chart House.

She pulled the t-shirt over her head. It fit a broad-shouldered person and it hung loose, down to mid-thigh.

*Not the Asian girl I saw last night.*

She flinched when she scratched herself with the ring when she pulled the shirt on.

Then she closely at the ring on her finger. It was a faceted-cut gold ring with white gold inlay, this was no cheap swag from a vending machine.

*A wedding ring?* She was looking at the jewels as she walked out into the main room of the boat.

He moved with his back turned as the cook knocked about the kitchen. Broad shoulders that went down to a slight V to his waist fit the t-shirt better than it fit her. On her, it was a night-shirt.

She gave a polite cough that startled him making him laugh.

“Care for some coffee? O-j? Tea or champagne?”

She sat gently at the table, her legs ached and the vinyl surface of the seat was cold to her skin.

“Ugh.” Kaylee’s lips were dry as she gave a crooked smile, she had a slight hangover. “You did not just take me raving. You took advantage.”

He put some rosemary potatoes on a plate, eggs Benedict and a glass of champagne and orange juice and put it in front of her. “And I said ‘Okay’ and you laughed at me. I don’t think you believed it.”

“I can’t be married. I’m going to college here and I’m not going to graduate for at least two more years.” Kaylee gasped. “Mom and dad will flip out! Oh my…”

She paused, a momentary loss for words.

“God. You have said that a few times now. You are in panic mode. Slow down a little, take a breath. Now, breakfast or it’ll get cold. ” He put his plate on the table and pour himself a glass of mimosa. But the drink was of a different shade and slightly different flavor.

“A beautiful breakfast and a blushing mimosa for a beautiful blushing bride after one heck of a night. You about wore me out. You went to sleep finally about an hour before sunrise.” Note-Pad smiled. She finally remembered the nickname she gave to him on the beach.

“Last night is a blank and my thighs are tired. They are trembling like I ran a marathon and my shoulders are sore like we did a bike-hike along the trails in the back country.” Kaylee laughed nervously. “I…You…er…”

She paused.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Thomas. Thomas Harte. You don’t remember at all last night?” He looked at her with a twinkle in his eye. “You and I were sharing some drinks when you took a few pills then smoked some pot.”

“No, not at all, I may have taken too much Z. Usually I get extremely touchy and enjoy a body.” She took a bite of the hollandaise covered poached egg and what looked like ham.

“Omygod,” She said it as one word. “This is wonderful!”

“Sorry for the ham, I didn’t have Canadian bacon.” Thomas smiled. “Well, you did that for sure. Especially after smoking a bowl full of weed.” He laughed. “And you liked looking at that ring.”

“Where did I get this ring?” She looked it over. “It looks real.”

“The one on your finger?” He asked as he took a drink from the glass with the red-orange cocktail, washing down his bite of food. “I bought it for you, just before we got married.”

“Married?” Kaylee ’s fork stopped in mid-air. Her eyes got large as the plate that held her breakfast. “What do you mean, married?”

The meaning of it all sank in as she wrapped her mind around what this man and cook was saying.

“We are married.” He said in a tone of describing last nights news.

“WHAT!?” Kaylee exclaimed. “Yeah, right. Not possible.”

“We were dancing and got to joking,” he explained. “And I said we should get married.”

“Then you dared me, because you didn’t think I could make it happen.”

She still rejected the growing realization that he was serious and all he said was a fact.

“Oh no, no no no.” She gasped. “This is not real.”

“Read the license.” Thomas slid an embossed paper over to her with a smile.

“We are married?” Kaylee . “Oh no! No way! This is not real?”

Thomas smiled as he sipped some coffee.

“It’s real. We got married last night in Las Vegas.” His voice was calm to her tight voice. “Care for a refill on mimosa, Missus Harte?”

“VEGAS?” She shouted at the paper. “MARRIED? Oh my god, this isn’t happening. How did we get there? Where are we?”

“We are back in Ocean Bay, safe and sound. It took only an hour to get to here from there. A little longer to come back.” He said calmly. “You wouldn’t let me file a flight plan, we were… uh… occupied. Then when we did get wheels up, we overshot the coast by more than an hour’s flight. Set off a few alarms I had to deal with.”

“Oh my god.” she said again. Kaylee jumped up. “How? I would have remembered going through security.”

“Well, no. You flew naked in that chair over there after smoking a bowl. Then we made love on top of the plane so you could look at the stars while we did it.” He smiled and continued to chew. “Right at this moment, you are more dressed than you have been all night. Not counting you wearing your little black dress to get married at some place near the Vegas airport.”

“An Elvis impersonator performed the ceremony.” He laughed softly, it was clear he enjoyed the surprise. “And you picked out the most expensive ring you found while we walked through the city, looking for a chapel that was open. We came back here and you made love to me the rest of the night, until we nearly fell off and then moved to the middle of the fuselage.”

“I’m not following, how did we get to there from this boat during the night?”

Thomas laughed softly and poured the both of them some fresh coffee.

“We are on a Russian built flying yacht. A customized Beriev Be-240ER.”

“A what? Are you are serious?” She stood up and paced. “We’re in Russia?”

“Yes, serious as a heart attack and no, we are not. We are not in Russia,” He smiled and shook his head. “You are on the “Pacific Wizard” in Ocean Bay. It’s a medium-sized jet with a boat hull. It’s quicker than commercial flights, too. We only need about an hour to get to Vegas.” Thomas smiled. “You flew naked during the trip there. For someone who was careful at the bar, you like to run around without clothes.”

“Well, yeah. I do.” Kaylee nodded. “But, how did we get married? How did we do this? This is wrong on so many levels.”

“Um, sorry?” Thomas froze in the middle of a bite. “Care to elaborate on that?”

“How did you and I get married? How how did I agree to that?” Kaylee rubbed her forehead, leaning over. “This is so wrong.”

He put down his bite and sipped his coffee slowly. Thomas looked at Kaylee with a quizzical look.

“Well, you made a few comments as we talked. I said we should get married and you are one heart I could fall in love with.” Thomas said as Kaylee ‘s eyes followed his gestures. “You said I better not say that without meaning it. Then we came here drank some more wine, you smoked a bowl. Then we went to the top of the plane and you kept me to my word. We left from here on the Wizard. Landed in Vegas, did the deed and flew back. We were back well before sunrise, you opened the door and dropped your dress into the ocean, then dragged me to bed.”

“Oh.. this is so much worse.” Kaylee paced, pulling at the shirt she wore. “I… I don’t know, I need to tell my parents. Oh my god… how they will react to me being married? And I only met you yesterday – Naked on a beach and in a fight! That won’t go over well.”

“Well, we can avoid that part of the discussion.” Thomas winked.

“No, not what I meant. I have a sort of boyfriend at home.” Kaylee gasped. “He won’t understand this at all!”

“A “Sort-of” boyfriend?”

“Well, we attend different schools now, he is going to Mazama University up north, but when we were in high school we were exclusive. Every time now when I’m home and he is there, we are together all day, every day. With anyone else, I am careful, but never with him. We have an open, but solid relationship, our plans are to get married after we graduate.”

“That’s complicated.” Thomas said helpfully.

“Oh… yes. And you are not making it any easier with you sitting there, understanding and listening.” She gave a deep sigh. “How did you get this, this… what did you call it? Flying boat?”

“Well, I’m comfortable.”

“Who are you?”

“An author. Perhaps you remember? I’m Thomas Harte, your husband.”

“What can we do? How could it be legal that we’re married?” She asked. “I don’t know how I could do that. Harte? Not sure if I have ever read your stuff.”

“You were walking straight, smiling, talkative. Never slurred your words.” Thomas said.

“So I was… sober?”

“You were as baked as you could be and showed no signs of slowing down.” Thomas nodded. “And the sex was amazing, we even joined the mile-high club.”

Kaylee laughed and hid her face in her hands

“Oh god! Sex on the plane? Who was driving?”

“Autopilot. Not one-hundred percent according to rules, but this bird is quite advanced.”

Kaylee took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to get a grip on what happened the night before.

“That would have been memory to enjoy for years,” She toyed with the ring on her finger, but did not remove it. “Well, until I can figure out what to do. I need to find out what happened and who to tell.”

“You need to slow down a little. You are in full panic mode when there’s no need. I would wager you are nearly hysterical by the way you’re talking.” Thomas chuckled. “We can annul it. I can look it up on the net and find out what it takes. It may already be too late.”

“Too late?” Kaylee blinked. “How so?”

“We have consummated all the things we could and did all the things that married folks do.” Thomas winked.

“What do you mean?” Then her eyes got big.

OH!” Kaylee laughed and blushed. “Oh my god! So that is why I’m chaffed. I have never done that! “

“You can’t say that anymore. Last night you insisted.” Thomas said as he typed on the laptop computer. “You are sure you’d like to annul this?”

“Well.” She said. “Can we? I have never been married before. And we have done a lot already.”

Thomas looked at her sharply.

“Do not play with me. You teased and impressed me last night. I will only do this one time, I’m too busy to be doing the weekly wedding and divorce like some people in my circles do.”

Kaylee laughed softly, he was right, she was in panic mode and could not decide what to do. She picked up the paper with the seal embossed on it.

“I won’t force you to do that. You say we got married and this looks legit.” She looked the paper over. “We have a month to figure it out. I will be leaving for home after summer session for the break. If we work out well? I’ll take you with me and we can figure out what to do with the Glenn then.”

Thomas laughed.

“Who is Glenn?”

“That is my boyfriend back home. He won’t be around, either. He sent me an email a few weeks ago that he had to stay through July to take care of business there.” She nodded. “I think he failed a class and has to take summer session to make up for it. I don’t have to go home, and I can make extra credit by independent art studies during the summer.”

“So you can stay here?” He smiled. “I can say I like that idea.”

“Well, Mister Harte, being as you are my husband.” She winked. “And as long as you promise to help me fix this issue in a month, I want to have a memory of doing this as a wife.”

He stopped laughing as she stood up slipped his shirt off and dropped it to the floor. The new wife took him by the hand into the bedroom shaking her bare bottom at her new husband.

The waves on the ocean were not all by wind for the next few hours.

Married by Mistake Chapter 4. After The Report, The Charthouse

MbM
Standard

Chapter 4. After the Report,  The Charthouse

The uniformed police officers looked uncomfortable standing on the beach, surrounded by nude sunbathers that stood to watch at what the activity.

Professionalism had been given a major test as the officers called for an ambulance to transport the abused and arrested would-be rapist to the hospital. Pictures taken of Kaylee ‘s hands and her shin, where a bruise showed where she had smashed the culprit’s nose and cheekbone.

Wearing just her pants and shirt, no other injuries that she had claimed from the fight that she had taken to the assailant. She had almost killed him and her mood was nearly enough to carry it through. She would have beat on him more if he had arrived just a half-hour before he did, she would have given the detectives much more evidence to discover.

Evidence technicians took photographs of her and the sand, then left while the police interviewed her and her wingman, the man she had mentally named Note-Pad, who had come to her aid.

Detective Lynda Nesbitt, a twenty-year veteran of the force handed a business card to the victim-cum-victor in the crime while her male counterpart discovered a knife. The detective motioned to an Evidence Technician who photographed the discovered weapon, then picked up the knife in his gloved hands.

Detective Charley Galt placed the butcher knife in a manilla bag and tagged it with a sticker. To this, he wrote his name across the seal, then handed it to the evidence technician he called over.

“You may have stopped him from escalating to worse things. I suspect he’s involved with many of the attacks,” She said softly to Kaylee. “But we will let the evidence speak for itself.”

Detective Nesbitt, while she interviewed Kaylee, mentioned that there had been a rash of sexual assaults and the male being transported to the hospital had matched the description, down to the butcher knife used and that DNA would be collected and tested against the previous crimes.

Nearby, having pulled on swim trunks of his own, his interviews over and the sun red and low in the sky. The writer walked up to her, nodded and asked how she felt.

“This was an unusual day. I’m pleased you are unhurt.” He said with a chuckle. “That was a hell of a beating you gave him. Sitting naked on his chest and thumping on his melon is an image I won’t soon forget. There is a real story in that somewhere.”

He laughed softly.

“You are impressive.”

Note-Pad man chuckled, again.

“Would you let me buy you a drink?”

“No.” Kaylee laughed softly. “I don’t even know your name, you have seen me naked and now you ask me out for drinks? This is a bit awkward, don’t you think?”

“Uh, yeah. I suppose it is. Well. My name is Tom Harte.” His smiling green eyes sparkled like emeralds in the fading light of the day. “Well, anyway, I will head into town and I’ll have a few drinks the Chart House restaurant and bar for a while. When you’re finished here, I’ll buy you dinner if you like and you don’t need to sit with me.”

She laughed at this.

“I’m Kaylee Grant, nice recovery.” She nodded. “Still don’t hold your breath. But thank you.”

Watching him talk to the police detective briefly while she gathered up her possessions, putting them into the bag she had brought with her. His broad shoulders were more obvious from behind, his mild middle age spread had masked his nice build.

“Miss, may I take you anywhere?” The female detective was less influenced by standing around naked frisbee players on the beach than some of her male counterparts. “Do you have someone you can call?”

“No, I don’t need a ride. And I can call my sister, but I have no service here, I’ll need to walk to the showers.” Kaylee glanced at the phone display.

“You can borrow my phone, I have service here.” Detective Nesbitt said. She pulled an armored Android phone out of her pocket and handed it to the younger woman who impressed her with her focus and poise.

Kaylee thanked Detective Nesbitt then dialed her sister’s phone.

“Hi Melanie ?” At the sound of her sister’s voice Kaylee broke down in tears while she tried to explain what happened.

****

The Chart House, a four-star restaurant two-hundred paces from the high water mark from the beach. The bar was known for celebrity stop-ins and excellent food and drinks, both strong and virgin.

At the corner of the bar, where he took up more than his fair-share of room. He sat scribbling on an electronic notepad with a stylus.

Tom Harte, they called him Thunder Harte and the job he did often was writing. Fiction, a lot of fiction. Under the pen name of Sanne Footman, his stories were those of heart and love. He had gotten his start in romance novels with a touch of bodice-ripper styles and enjoyed that his stories were in demand.

The demographics taught that women were the largest group of readers and he flew in the face of tradition that men could not write romance novels.

But Tom was not one to follow convention, he never believed in the word, “Can’t”.

His passion now, was to manage to write stories for children and young adults. Often he also wrote about Steampunk stories under the name of Keegan O’Danu.

Now, there he had sat with his notepad out, writing down ideas that would be the next book.

His muse had gone silent for a few hours. Writing about sea shells, birds, on the beach earlier in the day. But none came to him in a coherent thoughts.

But this afternoon’s excitement where some beach patron, it had turned out, was a rapist. The attacker had picked on the single worst person, in the extreme, that he could have ever have chosen on the beach.

Unclothed, unarmed and cornered, she had pounded the knife wielding man into bloody submission. It was an impressive sight as he ran towards the sounds of the screaming of a girl to come to the woman’s aid.

Not that she needed it as it turned out. The screams he had heard were coming from the young man. The attacker was double her size, she was a petite woman, only a few inches over five-feet in height.

And still the assailant earned the pain of having his face broken along with his arm, breastbone and testicles.

And it was inspiring!

Tom Harte wrote, and wrote, and wrote. The woman had shocked him into writing swiftly. Between his satellite phone and the electronic notepad that he tapped on, he had filled in pages of notes from the words in his head.

Then a familiar voice sounded next to him.

“Is that drink still available?” Kaylee asked.

Startled, Harte turned around in his seat and there she was. Wearing a black dress and she had brushed her dark hair until it glistened in the light of the bar.

“Why, yes. What is your poison? “ He motioned to the bartender. “I believe you had said this was awkward? After the beach and all.”

“It is, but it has been that kind of day. I beat a bad guy into the sand, I vented out some frustrations.”

“You did that for sure!” he laughed.

“Now, I have you here. You know what I can do to you if I become angry. You haven’t seen angry until I’m angry.”

“What would you like to drink, hun?” The bartender, a thirtysomething woman who had a bright smile.

“Death in the Afternoon.” Kaylee answered. “Champagne and Absinthe, very cold.”

“Hemmingway’s drink.” Thomas laughed. “You are impressive.”

“Well, anyone who can tickle my soul after what I had just gone through, I figure I can impress even more and find a little about him.” She nodded. “Besides, after a day like this, I need to get a little high too.”

“Put your right thumb over the camera so I can image it and let me take your picture.” She said. “Not that there is no faith in your intentions, but you will be number one on the most wanted list if something happens.”

Thomas nodded and scanned his right thumb and sat still while Kaylee took his picture.

“You do look nice. You went home to change?” Thomas asked.

“Sort of. This was in my car. It’s all I have on, my underwear didn’t match, so when I changed in the women’s room, I just stuffed them in my purse.” Kaylee pointed to the other side of the bar.

Thomas nearly shot his drink out his nose at this.

“Speaking of awkward! You have a… Um… Thanks for being blunt.” He chuckled.

“It’s just this day. It has been rough day and I am in need of getting very drunk or stoned – or both.”

Kaylee opened her purse and pulled out a pill bottle and dropped two pills in her drink.

“Cheers. You are in charge now, when tomorrow comes and I wake up not liking what has happened, you will join the guy from the beach in the ER.” She swallowed down the intoxicating drink.

“What was that?” Thomas lifted an eyebrow in curiousity.

“Hypnotic, muscle relaxant. If you want to do something tonight, I won’t object too much. But let’s make it fun.”

Fun.

That would not be the word Kaylee would use in the morning.

The Dark Place of Writing.

Standard

In the last 72 hours, I have found how the clouds can move over once again. Noticed it when editing a story that a good gent critiqued.  Good honest crit.

As I write this the honey colored dog, Honey, is head-butting my arm.  She’s not the strongest dog in the world, but she has a forklift for a head. She does pretty well on tipping me over.

Back to the here and now, I have not been writing which annoys me. Instead I’m overheated  (that time of year anyway) during the day and stripping paint of the door that Hershey the dog from abject panic of firecrackers in the area and no humans home to calm her.  Now I am on a mission to strip this door of at least six layers of paint, perhaps as much as fifty-years worth of paint. So care must be made to lock the paint in a plastic bag and reduce dust to zero.

This means no electric sanding, and hand-sanding with fluid surfactants to entrap the dust- and all done outside.

But, it also means I am not writing. Not like I need. I like to have stories mapped out (if not written, I’m ahead in my head.)  days ahead of the cycle, and I know I am late in the day.  Most of the studies I read say I should post in the morning of the United States.

Blech, I don’t do that. Midnight? Yeah. Often.

Tonight at midnight? Hardly.  You get a journal entry only, no fiction.  I don’t have a muse to write with. The muses are in the showers cleaning off paint-crud and paint stripper.

I would paint it all again, but Mrs Dash wants it stained, and it appears to be nice wood underneath. At least one filler, it seems that someone moved the door knob from one side to the other.

And yet, I feel lost.  Is it the drug of writing?

I prowl the kitchen without reason, aimless wandering and looking to poach something.  Peanut butter and chocolate? Ugh..then I sit down to the keyboard… then jump up and run outside again to scrape paint off the door. Again.

I daydream out there. Need to launch an arrow or two

The imagination calls, to watch the hero save the day?

Does the heroine save him, only to find out he is gay and married to a wonderful man?

Does the hero watch his hearts love walk away? Superman watching Lois Lane marry someone who is better for her than he ever could be?

Heh, I missed all those in the last few days. The glory of creating. Or editing? That is fear.

I fear to make it worse. From exploding phones in the hands of bad guys to a steampunk journey to a romance that is as chaotic as they come.

But as Hemingway said, first drafts are all crap. (Well, paraphrased there.)

I will dig up another chapter, edit it a little, clean up some things and post it here, but is it truly writing?  It doesn’t feel like it.

Sometimes, I hear the laughter in my soul that is not there. The doubts. I am no writer, I am just… someone who thinks he is.

Who am I?

Odd question.

I am a writer, an author. I will make you cry or laugh.

I am Dash. Bradach Ard Ri.

Valley of Fear Chapter 1. Three Weeks Ago

Standard

Chapter 1. Three Weeks Ago

He sat quietly, an AR-15 leaning out of sight against the rock wall next to him, a branch obscuring its very existence.

Rocky Jorge Picot awaited the delivery of the drug mules from the north, the escort called Rocky’s mobile phone rang two-hours before, the truck made it through the gates at the border, the team met the truck at the rendezvous and set out with workers and product to his position on Misty Mountain.

The tunnel, an ancient construction that did not exist on any map. .

They soon covered up the ancient lithographs carved on the walls with boxes of product in one of the rooms of the deep, multi-forked tunnel.

Frightening to Rocky, tunnels that turned off of the main-line collapsed over the untold number of years, but deep in the mine, the warmest it would get was a constant sixty-two degrees Farenheit, he was of Southern-French descent and the cool of the tunnels chilled him to the bone.

That was his excuse anyway. 

His job was simply to keep everyone away who was not part of the company of smugglers, and he got the job from his stint as a sniper in the French Army. He enjoyed shooting the rifle chambered for a .338 Lapua Magnum over the .300 Winchester Magnum, for no other reason than he was more accurate with the larger caliber. He did not like the 12.7 Millimeter rifle, that caliber rattled his teeth, although he ranked in the top of his class and qualifications each time.

He was just tempted to miss once in a while, just so he would not have to fire the big caliber, come in the middle of the training list instead of placing first or second.

He liked the middle caliber, he was more comfortable with it and would have stayed in the service if not for incidents with drinking and an offhand threat to shoot a superior officer with his rifle.

“You won’t even hear the shot.” He had said.

It was a rapid exit from the government service.

Now he waited, watching, his pay off would be enough to retire on, comfortably, in the Caribbean.

There!

He could see heads moving, backpacks piled high with boxes and two mules, loaded down. Two followers dragging car tires behind them, obliterating the track of the mules and men.

Tillman “Tusk” Franks, the only man known that carried a knife made of a boars tusk, walked up to Rocky and spoke with him, motioning to the following men to put the product in the back of the tunnel.

The foreman of the drug smuggling team directed the men to dig in the back, clearing debris that had fallen over the thousands of years since the ancient people dug out the mountain side in the days of pre-history.

Time and again they went in, bringing out rock and gravel on their backs, distributing the tailings of the dig around in the forest.

During the sixteenth trip into the cave, a door was uncovered.

Not a door, precisely, a plug. A solid cross-section of a cut log. Seven-feet in diameter, set in the middle of the one mine-shaft, no hinges, no door. Just a giant cross-section jammed in the mine-shaft.

Like a cork, but huge and solid. With each man pushing and using levers, it never budged. Only a pattern of stones and paints on the butt end of the log.

Two of the men carved out some of the stones with knives, polished and carved, they appeared to have a scrimshaw like pattern of monsters and warriors cut into the semi-precious stones.

“What the hell.” Rocky said to Tillman. “All that stuff is, is trouble, if we try to sell it. Let them have the hassles, we have better here.”

The two men nodded to each other in a conspiratorial tones. The mules did not know what they had packed in, only that they were well paid.

Tillman left in a different route with the team. Rocky settled down, waiting for his partner, Kaarle Gulliaume, to join him, Rocky grew tired of being on the mountain alone.

He stayed well back with his furnace and cooking stove, knowing that the DEA had aircraft that could detect a fire from dozens of miles away. Thirty paces into the mineshaft, he kept it well out of sight from any federal agency.

In the deepest part of the tunnel, the large wood disk, split.

Rocky found there were more things to fear than the DEA and helicopters that could see in the dark.

He would be the first to scream in fear that night.