Free Falling

                Jean Henrikson had been away on business for three weeks now.  Travelling was something he’d long since become accustomed to and was something he enjoyed immensely.  He had no family to go home to, no pets to board during his time away, and no one who would miss him while he was gone.  Some would think this sad and depressing, but for Jean it was simply reality and a reality he had no intention of changing.  The money was good and money was the only thing he was interested in having a relationship with, so for him life was good.

                The cab driver had finished loading his suitcase into the trunk and returned to his seat in the front of the taxi.  He looked at Jean in the mirror.

                “Airport,” Jean said without needing the question to be asked.

                Whether it was Jean’s own persona or rudeness on the part of the driver those were the only words exchanged by either driver or passenger.  Traffic was heavy giving the traveler plenty of time with his own thoughts.  When he was bored with those he fell asleep.

               

                Jean stood in the line to board the airplane.  He was returning home, but for him there was no sense of relief, no desire to be home.  He stared at the back of the man in front of him noticing the tag of his t-shirt sticking out.  It was funny what one noticed when the scenery never changed.  Instead of telling the man about his tag problem Jean simply turned to stare out the large window which looked out over the tarmac.  He saw many planes moving across it, some coming and some going.  He saw one which he presumed was his own, flight number 1470.  The line was finally moving which pleased Jean not because he was in a hurry but because he was a man who hated to waste time.  Time standing in line was time wasted. 

                Upon entering the flying machine he was greeted by a smiling face and a pleasant word.  He nodded his appreciation and worked his way up the aisle, maneuvering his laptop case to avoid the occasional rear end which had not yet been firmly planted in its seat.  He glanced down at his boarding pass once more, spotted his seat, and plopped into it.  He obediently placed his laptop case underneath the seat in front of him, waiting for when he would be told it was safe for him to now proceed to use the device.  He had been journaling about his travels, hoping one day to compile them into a book and be published.  It was a long shot, but one he was willing to take.  Other passengers began to fill in around him until the flight was near capacity.  Once everyone had taken their seats the plane began to taxi and the flight attendants began their presentation of the various safety features the plane possessed.  For some these sewed the seeds of fear, for others they brought comfort.  Jean didn’t care either way.  He closed his eyes and leaned back into his seat waiting for the moment that the plane would speed up impossibly and then begin to climb into the air.

                He heard the engines roar.  He felt the plane lurch forward.  He felt pulled into the seat and just when he thought he’d be pulled through to the other side the plane lifted off.  It continued to climb into the air as if weightless.  Jean knew that many passengers were clutching the armrests, knuckles whitening as they continued their ascent.  He simply smiled.  Then it happened.  The plane shuddered as if it were shivering.  Jean’s eyes snapped open. 

Turbulence, he thought.

He heard garbled words over the intercom and saw the flight attendants begin to scramble.  They sat down and buckled their belts.  More garbled words.  He caught some of them.  Engine.  Failed.  These were not good words.  They were words you didn’t want to hear.  It wasn’t long before the inevitability of the situation presented itself.  This metal thing, this thing that should never have been airborne in the first place, was going to plummet to the ground.  It was a flight which would end with a fiery crash likely taking the lives of all aboard.  Some people began to pray to their gods.  Jean would have prayed to his, but all of his money would do him absolutely no good now.

Jean woke, still in the rear seat of the cab.  He sat bolt upright, glanced out the side window, and saw they were now moving smoothly along toward the airport.  He wiped a bit of drool from his chin and rubbed his eyes.  It had been a dream.  No, a nightmare, but that was all it had been.  It was then he heard the song on the radio.  It was the unmistakable voice of Tom Petty singing ‘Free Falling’.  He looked at the radio and saw that it was tuned to AM 1470, a local classic rock station.  His stomach was filled with lead and his mouth with sand.  The rest of the ride felt like an eternity as he wrestled with his thoughts.

Entering the airport he had decided to reschedule his flight.  After checking the airlines website via his cell phone he’d determined that the next flight would not leave until tomorrow, but his employer would understand.  They’d even foot the bill for one more night at a hotel.  Jean was sure they’d still have his room available.  He walked up to the airline counter and explained to them that he’d decided to stay for one more day.  He gladly paid the change fee and the difference in price of the flight, economy be damned.  He wanted to tell them the plane was going to crash.  Wanted to scream it over the intercom to save other lives, but knew he’d only manage to get himself tackled by security and probably find himself in jail for the night.

No. Thank you, he thought.

Instead he handed over his credit card, signed the receipt, grabbed his bags, and exited the airport to hail another cab.  As it turned out his driver was still there.  The cabby popped the trunk, but Jean motioned that he’d take care of his own suitcase.  The driver shrugged and eased himself back into the driver’s seat.  Jean loaded the case in the back, closed the trunk, and opened the rear door.  He plopped into the backseat and informed the driver he’d be heading back to the hotel.

“Change of plans?” the driver asked.

“You could say that,” Jean replied.

                Jean couldn’t help, but smirk.  ‘American Pie’ by Don McLean was now playing.  He was safe now though.  He relaxed into the seat and watched as the city flew by outside the window.  A light rain began to fall, sprinkling the window.  At home it might be spitting snow.  Jean continued to stare out the window wondering if he’d see the explosion of the plane from here.  He tried to shake the morbid thoughts free from his mind.  Maybe he’d celebrate his life by ordering one of those pay-per0view movies the hotels always offer.  He was sure the company would pay for that too.  Maybe even order room service.  He felt the road surface change as the cab crossed onto the bridge.  The blue water below looked slate gray.

                “Oh crap!” the driver exclaimed.

                Jean watched as the man slammed his right foot onto the brake pedal.  He felt the tires lock up, but the car kept moving forward.  He could feel them slipping on the wet pavement beneath.  He saw the cabby begin to wildly turn the wheel first in one direction and then the other.  He looked out the side window again and saw the rail of the bridge approaching quickly.  He heard crunching metal as the yellow car collided with the green metal.  He felt the car teeter as it came to a stop half on half off the bridge.  His heart thudded heavily in his chest. 

                So this is what it feels like to narrowly escape death, he thought.  I never once saw my life flash before my eyes though.

                In an instant that changed.  The teetering stopped and the falling began.  Jean couldn’t see it, but he knew the steel gray surface of the river was quickly approaching.  He saw scenes from his past fast and furiously, every one of them a regret.  Too quickly it was over.

What happened to Duke?

The following short piece is written for those who have read 'The Death of Harold Hartline' and were wondering what happened to Duke at the end of the book.  Well I asked around and finally found out.  Here it is.

                “Fire,” Steve said sitting up straighter in his bed.  “That’s it.  Fire!”

                Duke popped his head up.  His master was excited which sometimes meant good news.  Duke watched as Steve leapt from the bed, clad only in his boxers and t-shirt, and rushed down the stairs.  Duke hesitated for a moment as he hadn’t been beckoned and wanted to maintain his ‘Good boy’ status.  ‘Good boy’ usually meant an extra scoop of food or a special treat.  Both of these were things that Duke treasured.

                Duke’s hesitation didn’t last for long, however.  He stood up and, like Steve, rushed from the room and down the stairs.  He followed Steve out the backdoor and toward the shed.  Duke enjoyed the shed, but was rarely allowed to explore it.  He sniffed around while his master was grabbing the items he was planning to use for the world’s largest barbecue pit.  Duke scented a mouse and mounted a search for the rodent.

                His search had proved unfruitful, but when he turned to look for his master he found that the man was gone.  He heard the sound of the backdoor closing and ran from the shed, but it was too late.  He sat down by the door, his tail wagging, waiting patiently to be allowed in.  After a few seconds he let out a sharp bark, but Steve still didn’t open the door.  Duke began to whine, but still his owner didn’t let him in.

                The canine’s attention was soon captured by a squirrel which had dared venture onto Duke’s property.  Duke wanted to go after it, but he still wanted to be a ‘Good boy’ so instead he continued to sit.  It wasn’t long, though, before his desire of the chase was too much for the dog to overcome.  He ran.  The squirrel ran.  The race was on.  Duke disregarded the fact that the squirrel had already left his property.  He followed it, tongue lolling from his mouth, and delivering an occasional bark.  The chase ended when the squirrel’s fear was overcome by its cleverness and it ran up the nearest tree.  Duke stood at the bottom of the tree, continuing to bark, warning the squirrel not to come back down.

                Realizing he’d worked up a thirst Duke thought about returning to the house, but remembered his master had left him outdoors.  The clear, blue water of the lake was not far off so Duke went their instead.  He drank his fill of the refreshing water.  With his thirst quenched the dog lay down in the cool grass.  The buzzing of the insects relaxed him and he soon fell asleep.

                The sound of sirens, though the dog didn’t realize that’s what they were, woke him from his slumber.  He wasn’t sure why, but he felt he needed to return to the house.  He sprinted for him as fast as he could run.  He arrived to see ‘the woman’ kneeling beside his owner.  ‘The woman’ had been around a lot lately and she made his master happy.  His master looked hurt or sick.  Duke was worried.  There were many strangers gathered in the yard talking to each other and pointing toward the house.  Oddly dressed men were spraying water on the house while others were running inside.  Duke rushed to his owner’s side, whined once, and then began to lick his hand reassuringly.  Steve patted the dog’s head.

                “You’re such a good boy, Duke,” Steve said.

                Many people think dogs don’t smile, but they do.  And Duke did.

Hope this clears some things up for everyone.  I know it did for me.

NaNo Update

Today begins day four of NaNoWriMo and I am a little bit behind on my writing, but plan to use the weekend to catch up on that.  The good news is that the story is still flowing and there is still so much left to write.  Let's hope its momentum can carry me right (write) through the end.  Stay tuned here for more updates as well as some new material (provided I get caught up and ahead on the novel).  I do have two stories currently in prgogress and a third one in the idea stage.

NaNoWriMo Begins

The fun that is NaNoWriMo has begun and I am excited to see what this year brings.  Last year brought a novel which some of you have read and others have only heard rumors of.  Is it as good as people are saying? I don't know.  You'll have to buy it yourself and find out.  Shameless plug much?  So as the WriMo begins for me I wanted to give a sneak peek at what I am writing this year.  Here it is.

Chapter One

                James Henry stood at the front of the room behind a pulpit which was centered on his congregation.  His long hair was badly in need of a wash and was pulled back in a loose ponytail.  His beard was scraggly and would be well-served by a trim.  He smiled at the small crowd that was seated before him revealing crooked and yellowing teeth.  As well as a hairstylist he should also make an appointment with a dentist, but these things were of no concern to him.  His eyes twinkled, but it wasn’t happiness that gave them their gleam.    The people before him talked amongst themselves causing an enthusiastic buzz in the room.  James looked through the open door at the darkness that had slowly crept in as the sun made its way behind the hills in the distance.  The sound of the night creatures were drowned out by his congregation, but soon he would silence them and the breeze would carry the various chirps and croaks that he was so accustomed to.  He heard people approaching the building, drawn by the lights that shone through the windows and pierced the night’s blanket of darkness.  The meeting had been planned by him and his closest advisers for months, but they had kept the congregation in the dark until just days before.  The final stragglers strolled in through the open door and took their seats in the metal foldout chairs that had been placed in rows on the old, hardwood floor.  James looked at the two brutes that stood in the back and indicated with a gesture that the time had come for them to close the door.  They obliged and then returned to their positions one on either side of the portal.

                “Ladies and gentlemen, can I have your attention please?”  James asked this as he raised his hands in front of him.  The crowd obliged by ceasing their own conversations.  The silence that remained was only interrupted by ambient noise from the buildings own systems. 

“I am sorry to have called this meeting on such short notice,” James did look genuinely sorry, but the looks on the faces of those in the know told a much different story.  They did their best to hide their knowledge, however, and the congregation seemed none the wiser.

Tim sat in the converted back of a white van.  He had the headphones pressed to his ear, listening to the conversation that was occurring in the converted barn where James Henry held his services.  He scratched his chin and neck, where his new growth of beard was itching, with his left hand and adjusted his position in the chair.  He would have thought that the FBI could afford more comfortable seats than this, but he guessed that money was tight for everyone, even the government.  He turned to his partner.

“How can people fall for this shit?” he asked.

Randall only shrugged and bit into his second slice of pepperoni pizza.  Randall Johnson was a big man.  The first thing that Tim had thought when he’d met him was: I hope someone had the forethought to get this man on a football field when he was younger.  In talking to him he found that the answer to that was yes.  He’d played in high school and two years of college before an injury cut his football days short.  He’d have played in the pros had he stayed healthy.  Instead he’d turned his degree, and a passion for law enforcement, into a career with the FBI.

Their only mission was to sit tight and wait for the moment.  They were new to this particular operation and were unsure of exactly what to expect.  All they knew was that the government had a man on the inside with the cult and he was about to make his move.  If he were successful they were to start the van and drive away as if nothing had happened.  If he wasn’t, however, they were expected to bring the thunders of heaven down upon this seemingly quiet commune in the Nevada desert.  The leader, James Henry, was in casual terms a “bad dude”.  He was willing to kill without conscience and would sacrifice any of his people for what he considered the “greater good”.  In reality he was a weak man with a strong personality.  He had been bullied, no tormented, as a child and had grown to resent anyone that thought for even one moment they were above him.  Given free reign, it was thought, he would lead a domestic terrorist attack.  He was not to be allowed to do this.  The FBI had every intention of ending his life before this attack could be mounted.  If things went right that night would be tonight.

“It shouldn’t be long now,” Tim said, continuing to listen to the voices from the headphones.

“Good, I’m missing my favorite show,” replied Randall with a toothy grin.

“Cop drama?” Tim asked.

“No, The Bachelor.”

Randall smiled.  Tim looked at him, dumbfounded.

“You’re kidding? Right?”

Randall again only shrugged.

Kyle sat in the front row of chairs.  He was trying to listen intently to the words that Brother Henry was speaking, but a strange buzzing in his head kept distracting him.  He’d felt odd since he’d woken that morning and was unable to shake the feeling all day, regardless of what activities he’d used in an attempt to distract himself.   He’d taken a walk in the hills, listening to the sounds of nature and smelling the clean scents which were carried to him on the breeze.  He’d done some of the manual labor around the compound.  He’d even had sex, but nothing took away the feeling.  It was a hard feeling to describe.  He just felt wrong, like he’d woken that morning as a different person.  The buzzing had not started at first, but when it did it had grown more intense as the day wore on.  He stared at Brother Henry and shook his head, trying to rid himself of the annoying sound.  It didn’t help.  He placed his hand at the waistband of his pants and felt the hard bulge which was the gun he’d found hidden behind the kitchen.  He’d felt the need to pick it up and tuck it away though he didn’t know what purpose he would have for it.  There were weapons here of course, but those were to be used to protect the compound against interlopers.  The feel of the gun gave him some comfort, but the buzzing did not abate.  He tried hard to listen to Brother Henry’s words.  To let their meaning wash over him and fill him with the joy and peace they had on so many other occasions, but it was different this time.  The words sounded wrong.  They sounded off.  They sounded like the crazy stuff spouted out by cult leaders that intended to make martyrs out of their whole congregation.

So there you have it.  That is the zygotic beginnings of this years NaNo novel.  Stay tuned for more when I feel sane enough to post it.