Tag: fantasy

Jazz with Ella

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excerpt

Volodya hung back to the end of the line. Jennifer knew now that he would not flee; he would brazen it out. Besides, he had the passport. Soon David was there beside her, as always, to support her.
“Pull yourself together,” he urged her, glancing at her worried frown. “You haven’t been implicated in anything.”
“They’ll ship him back to the Soviet Union.”
“No, I think it’s Lona that’s going down today.”
She was just beginning to calm down when one of the Americans approached her with a shout. “Hey, Jen. Why are they beating up on your guy?”
She could feel the blood rush away dizzyingly. “What do you mean?” Her voice had faded to a whisper.
“They’ve got him by that desk as if he’s gonna be there for life.” The man laughed crudely. “He doesn’t look like a terrorist with that little pointy beard.” With a huge sense of relief, Jennifer realized he was talking about Chopyk as “her guy.” Not Volodya. David let out a long breath. He was thinking the same thing.
The time crawled by. The line snaked through the shabby building with most of the passengers being released to mill about on the apron in front of Jennifer.
As Jennifer remained at her post, Volodya finally appeared from the building walking carefully, nervously, but his eyes held that same light of triumph as they had just a few brief hours ago. He joined her, wordless. David shook his hand.
The very last people to exit the building were Chopyk and Lona who had linked arms. Her face was crumpled like that of a pouty child. Chopyk stared straight ahead and explained nothing as he passed the group. They were ushered to their plane. Volodya resumed his seat beside Jennifer. The plane took off.
Once again, someone had spoiled the party and the tension filled the stuffy cabin. A swarthy young man—Kazak or Uzbek, maybe—walked down the aisle, stared at Lona with interest and finally addressed her in thickly accented English. Jennifer could not hear the exact words but soon the man had insinuated himself into the vacant seat beside the blonde who still looked dazed. He’s either security keeping an eye on her, or she’s found yet another admirer. At least, this time, the trouble was not about her, Jennifer thought with relief.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562892

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763246

In the Quiet After Slaughter

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excerpt

He was making his way to the bar when a stranger blocked his
advance.
– What you want? the man said. One eye had been inexpertly
sewn shut. Dis a private establishment, pilgrim.
Redman’s muscles twitched. He enjoyed a good row, it was a
Yukon sport, but on his first night out? Besides, the fellow had
shoulders broad as a linebacker. His fists were the size of five-pin
bowling balls.
– You best turn around, mon.
Redman feigned resignation, retreated a few steps — but then
pushed into the crowd. Convinced he’d lost Cyclops, he slipped into
a vacant seat and ordered a beer.
A few drinks later a girl approached his table and began dancing.
Her plump black thighs glistened with perspiration. She had breasts
and lips women like Marge would pay to replicate. Her hair was a
tangle of dreadlocks.
Ace jumped to his feet and began to move.
Boom-boom-ba-boom . . .
Oh, yeah.
The girl led him deeper into the crush of dancers. And then he
was being nudged into the washroom, its only exit blocked. The girl
was waved away.
– What I tell you, mon, huh? Dis place not for your kind.
There were machetes and at least one pistol tucked into a waistband.
All attached to four very large and fierce Caribes. The Cyclops
appeared to be their leader.
– You a crazy motha, know that, pilgrim?
The heat and the booze had caught up to Redman. He was out of
gas and the odds were against him. So he approached the man with
one eye squeezed shut and played his only hand.
His name, he said, was Johnny Cool, and you bet he needed a job. It
seemed most able-bodied men on the island did. He was in the lobby
sucking on sugar cane when Redman stepped from the elevator the
next morning.
– The dancer, she yours? he asked.
– Dey all mine.
– Have her checked out. I’ll want to see the certificate.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562874

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0980897971

Wellspring of Love

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excerpt

She bent her back to the task again, covering the seeds she had just
planted with the rich loose loam. As she worked she let her thoughts
drift. As usual they returned, like a dog gnawing on a bone, to both
Rachael and Millie Harper. Tyne had tried, over and over, to leave
them in God’s hands. But time after time, she had taken them back
to worry over them herself, as if she could do better than God could
in making things right for them.
She felt a sudden longing to talk to the one friend who had been
her closest confidante since the day they entered nurses’ training
almost twenty years earlier. Maureen Hall, better known as Moe to
her classmates, continued to be a constant in Tyne’s life, although the
years had separated them in distance. Moe and her husband Ken lived
in the city of Calgary, where they operated their own thriving plumbing
business. Moe had left her work in the pediatric department of
the Holy Cross Hospital before giving birth to her first child. Now
Ken and Moe had two – Elizabeth and Brian – and Tyne wished the
families could get together more often.
She decided she would call Moe tonight when the kids had gone
to bed, and the house was quiet. By that time, she suspected, the Hall
household would have settled down as well.
Again she glanced at her watch. It was almost half past three and
the girls should be coming down the lane at any moment. She had
expected Rachael to hurry the twins on their way when they saw the
threatening sky. The older girl was as aware as anyone of the fury of a
prairie storm, and Tyne trusted her to be responsible.
Gathering her tools, she threw them in the wheelbarrow just as
the sky lit up with a fork of lightning. As she hurried to the garden
shed, she looked towards the lane. Relief flooded over her when she
saw Susie and Katie streaking towards the house almost as fast as the
lightning bolt. A thunderous roar overhead put even more wings to
their small feet.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562917

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763327

The Unquiet Land

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excerpt

“Yes. A mile or so outside the village. His farmhand Bill Neely just left, so my father needs someone like you to do the things you’ve just told me you can do. You weren’t lying to me, were you?”
“Oh no. I can find people here to speak for me. Even in Corrymore. My uncle, Seamus Slattery, lives there.”
“Seamus Slattery is your uncle?” the girl cried in surprise.
“My mother’s brother.”
“I can hardly believe it. We lived with the Slatterys until I was six or seven years old. My twin sister, Nora, and I. My father wasn’t the kind of man who could raise two young girls on his own.”
“You had no mother?”
“She died giving birth to us.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. My own mother died six years ago.”
“And your father?”
“He abandoned us.”
“Well, if you’re Seamus Slattery’s nephew, you’re definitely hired.” She smiled at him again, but the frown still rippled his forehead below the yellow curls. She reached into the basket and brought out a light, golden confection. She held it out to him. “Have some yellow-man, yellow man.”
“Thank you,” he said. He tried to pick a lump from the paper, but it was stuck. He had to hold her hand steady and pull the sweet, sticky pieces of confection apart. She looked at him and smiled at his serious face. Michael felt himself blush.
“You have strong hands,” she said.
“I’ve worked with them all my life,” he replied. He felt a quivering inside of him. He wanted to hold her hand again.
“All your life,” she repeated. “You’re not more than twenty years old.”
“Twenty-one,” he said.
“That’s a long time to have worked with your hands.” She was teasing him again. “Twenty-one years of digging and raking and hoeing and ploughing. Twenty-one years of pulling flax and dipping sheep. And look what big, strong hands you have. What will they be like when you are eighty-one?” She had taken one of his hands in hers and was looking at it like a palmist, turning it over and back. “They’re strong hands,” she said. “Are they gentle hands too?”
He did not know what to say. He looked at his boots; cow manure had caked on one of them.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562888

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763203

The Qliphoth

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excerpt

“When’s the next return connection, please? And where do I catch it?”
“What connection you talking about? You got ID?” The guard is surly, he
picks at a scab at the corner of his mouth, and then presses a red button above
his intercom.
This is all happening too quickly. Lucas can only speed into a convoluted
improvisation about a lost student railcard,. As the fabulation becomes
increasingly riddled with internal contradictions, Lucas can hear his voice rising
to a fractious squawk.
Now he’s a public spectacle. The guard has been joined by two colleagues,
and there’s also a random gathering of people from the concourse, a man carrying
a huge china dog, an elderly Asian in flared trousers, someone with a
combination-lock briefcase chained to his wrist.
They’re all staring. Their throats start moving in unison, out of his control,
they’re inhaling nasally, to produce a thick hawking laughter. Through their
din, Lucas can hear fragments of a security conference:
“. . . sure this is the geezer ID Division is after?”
“They want him to have special ID treatment, for crissakes . . .”
“They’re not really Operational yet. He might be some random nut who’s
wandered in from the rain.”
“If he is just a random, Transit will want some action, you bet.”
Lucas now knows what has to be done. Crude physical action can refute any
illusion, even a bad dreamscape. Material conditions determine consciousness.
That’s what Mummy said. So just hit out.
He punches the iron pillar nearest him, bruising his hands on the protruding
bolts. Nothing collapses. So this Terminal of Babylon is going to be a stubborn
bugger?
On a rush of adrenalin he pushes aside the guards and staggers into their
booth, tugging at the intercom, to tear out its reality by the roots. It comes away in
a clutch of wires. His ankle collapses and he falls back through the cubicle doorway,
but the momentum won’t stop, his fists swing into their grinning faces.
“I can’t wake . . .” he shouts between gasps. “I can’t wake up!” Now they are
rolling and tumbling in the rubble; he can smell one victim’s aftershave, and
blood trickles all over his hand, he’s broken a porcine nose, or a porcelain dog,
and lightbulbs are swinging—
More figures in peaked caps block the light—their gloves grip Lucas
around the neck and legs, bending him into balletic contortions, counter-
stretching every tendon in his body.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562839

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0978186508

Poodie James

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excerpt

“Is there anything you’d like to add?” Spear asked.
“Just that something ought to be done to control these hobos.”
Spear banged his gavel to quiet another outbreak of chattering.
Pearson avoided looking at Torgerson. He felt the mayor’s gaze
follow him when he made his way to a seat in the audience. Those
eyes, Engine Fred thought. That man’s eyes are as cold as ice.
The next man at the lectern said, “I am Richard Brown, counsel
for the Great Northern Railway, here at the request of Mayor Peter
B. Torgerson. I have a short statement, Mr. President.”
“We don’t have a president, Mr. Brown,” Spear said. “I’m just
the man in charge today. Go ahead, please.”
“The Great Northern Railway prohibits passengers on its
freight trains and trespassers in its rail yards and rights of way.
Railroad detectives who apprehend violators hold them for local
law enforcement agencies and file appropriate complaints. That is
company policy in a nutshell. I am happy to answer your
questions.”
Spear looked up from the briefing paper he had begun to read,
his eyes wide.
“You said you are a lawyer, Mr. Brown?
“By training and license, yes, sir.”
“That is the shortest speech I have ever heard from a lawyer.”
People in the chamber chuckled.
“My question is this,” Spear said, “what does your railroad do to
keep hobos off the trains in the first place?
Brown appeared to be studying the air above Spear’s head.
‘’As I explained, our detectives regularly pull transients off the
trains, run them out of the yards and have the police arrest them.
Vagrancy convictions don’t put hobos in jail for long, and they’re
soon back on the road.”
Frank Stout strained himself upright in his chair. “So, what will
your railroad do to help us get rid of these bums? That’s what the
people of this town want to know.”
“The Great Northern, sir, is not authorized to interfere in local
policy or local law enforcement, nor do we wish to do so.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562868

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08W7SHCMV

Wellspring of Love

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excerpt

Picking up a dry twig, she started to draw lines and figures in the
dirt around her. Her childhood did not seem as far away now as it
had just last week. Maybe Lyssa was right, maybe she was still a baby,
and maybe she needed to grow up. But if growing up meant going out
with guys and drinking and making out in the back seat of a car like
Lyssa did … well, did she really want to?
Rachael had overheard a group of girls from her church talking in
the school corridor. She had been about to close her locker door and
go over to join them when Julia spoke in a voice that carried further
than she probably realized.
“Well, I don’t think she should be hanging around with her cousin
so much. Everyone in school knows that Lyssa’s fast.”
Rachael knew they were referring to her and her cousin. Who else
would they be talking about? Fast? What exactly did that mean? She
wished there was someone she could ask. She could hardly broach the
subject with Lyssa, her closest confident. She’d like to ask her mom,
but then she would have to reveal what she’d heard, and that would
only add to her parents’ already poor opinion of Lyssa. Maybe she
should ask Ronnie; he wouldn’t squeal on her even if he guessed the
reason for her asking.
She heard a sudden thump on the wooden bridge. Looking up she saw
Tim Buckley striding in his lumbering gait from his side of the stream.
She sat up straight and waited until he was within hailing distance.
“Hi, Timmy. Whatja doin’?”
“Lo, Rachael.” He grinned as he lowered his large frame to the
ground beside her. His big face registered delight as he looked at her
then shifted his gaze to her schoolbag. “Comin’ home from school?
Whatya doin’ here then?”
Rachael shrugged and looked across the creek where two crows
danced among the debris from fallen branches. “Just thinking.”
“Yeah? I think all the time.”
She turned to look at him, smiling at his boyish naivety. “What
about, Timmy?”

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562917

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763327

The Unquiet Land

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…was smashed on the back of a pew. As Liam approached, he saw Padraig’s body lying against the altar at the end of the chancel. With heart pounding from fear at the sight of the still body, Liam rushed to its side and knelt down.
“Oh my God. Oh no. Not Father Padraig.” Liam stretched his trembling hand towards the prostrate body, but drew back. The blood on the chancel floor below Padraig’s head frightened him, as did the cuts and swelling bruises on the side of his face. Liam knew that two fingers placed somewhere on the neck could feel if the pulse was beating but he didn’t know where exactly.
“Father Padraig,” he said, as if trying to rouse the priest from sleep. “Father Padraig.”
He looked around helplessly, wishing that someone with more experience than he had would enter the church. Then he looked again at the inert, bloodied body of the priest. Padraig wasn’t moving; he didn’t appear to be breathing.
“He’s dead. Oh my God, Father Padraig is dead.”
Liam rose and ran outside. “Home, boy,” he shouted to the dog as he bounded down the steps. Followed by his old dog, Liam ran all the way to the main street of Corrymore. At the head of the street, the first house on the left was the home of Dr Starkey. Not only would the doctor be able to confirm if Padraig was alive or dead, his house had a telephone by which he could summon the police from Lisnaglass. Frantically Liam pounded on the door until a dishevelled Dr Starkey, wearing a plaid dressing gown, opened it.
“Liam,” said the doctor in surprise. “What’s wrong? Is it your father?”
Ciaran Dooley was known to have a bad heart.
“No, it’s Father Padraig,” Liam replied. “I think he’s dead. I think he’s been murdered.”
“Murdered?” cried the doctor. “Father Padraig? No. It can’t be.”
“I’m afraid it may be so, Dr Starkey. Father Padraig is lying in a pool of blood in the church and he’s not breathing. The pulpit has been knocked over, and I don’t know what other vandalism might have been perpetrated. Can you telephone the RIC in Lisnaglass and then go and see to Father Padraig? If he’s alive he needs help urgently. But I fear he’s dead. Murdered in his own church.”
Liam recalled the glimpse he had caught of the figure fleeing from the church. Could it really have been Michael Carrick? Yes, he was sure in his own mind that it was. But why would Michael do such a terrible thing? Liam troubled himself with questions as he walked down the still-deserted street to his home. Was it because Padraig was preparing Caitlin for the…

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562888

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763203

Straits and Turns

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…the moment if they didn’t interfere with his driving them to their destination.
On the other hand, could he ask them to stop? Why, could
they answer, and what could he say to such a question?
Strange beast, the human mind, as it went from one thing to
another, like a crazy monkey who jumped from one branch of a tree
to another, just like Costa’s which ran to his good trip back at the
Four Seasons to which he was eager to reach on time, so his customer
wouldn’t get impatient and take a different cab to the airport. He
looked at his watch: his time was just fine; finally, he arrived at the
Cypress Bowl, and he realized that his customers in the back were half
dressed and half not, such was their erotic oestrus during the trip…
upon realizing that they had arrived at their place they quickly fixed
their clothes, the man paid the driver and taking his half-dressed
sweetheart by the waist they walked to the front door of their place.
The driver said goodbye to them and started his return to the
city of Vancouver and to the Hotel where he arrived earlier than the
time we had agreed with the smoker. However, Costa saw his customer
waiting in the lobby. Costa walked over, grabbed his bag, put it in the
trunk, opened the back door for him, and started the trip to the airport.
Around the sixteenth and Granville, they started the usual little
talk, “Where are you from? How long have you been here? Etc. Costa
informed his customer that he came from Hellas and had lived here for
six years. The customer mentioned that he was a Turk, from Ankara,
on his way to Los Angeles for business. Oh, God, what just happened?
The earth started swirling around like a wind vane, like a top on a flat
surface. And all this buzzing noise was like a swarm of bees in Costa’s
head, as if desperately looking for honey. Endless pounding against
his two temples turned that buzzing noise into a thundering hatred.
In which school have they taught him to hate this man so much? In
which church have they turned him into such a fanatic? How many
eons of anger and hatred has he lived, and why is he in such a dreadful
condition? How was it possible that all his ancestors had resurrected
and stood before him demanding revenge? Why all this hatred today,
and why have all his ancestral parents, brothers, and sisters awakened…

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763866

The Unquiet Land

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…his eyes bulged with anger, and his lips curled back like a snarling dog’s. His right hand swung from his side and slapped Padraig so hard across the face it seemed to smash every bone. Then back the big hand swung. The knuckles smacked Padraig across the cheek and nose. The nose spurted blood. Padraig felt the hot stream on his lip and chin.
“You sneaking, cowardly lecherer!” Michael roared. “You guttersnipe priest! You bastard son of Satan! I’ll kill you.”
He burled his fist and crashed it down on Padraig’s face and head and shoulders. Then he pushed the priest away from him with a snarl. Padraig stumbled backwards and fell against the chancel steps. Michael rushed forward, roaring like a bull. With both hands he picked up the priest’s limp body and hurled it the full length of the chancel. Like an empty sack Padraig hit the floor and slid forward. His back struck an upright of the altar-rail, and his body swung round and stopped with a crack of his head against the altar.
Michael’s chest was heaving up and down, pumping his anger. He threw himself against the pulpit; it keeled over and crashed like a felled tree. In a frenzy he could no longer control he turned and ran to the opposite wall, tore down the picture of Christ walking on the water and smashed it against the front pew. Then he raced out of the church.
Michael knew that Caitlin had taken the shore path homewards. He had seen her wend her way through the graveyard and head westwards along the cliff-top. She had pulled her shawl tight around her against the coldness of the bright, clear dawn. He followed her, walking quickly, almost running. He reached the end of the line of low cliffs. The path slithered down a steep hill to meet the shore. Pausing on the lip of the hill, he saw Caitlin ahead of him, hurrying homewards like a cat. He left the path and ran straight down the grass-covered hillside. A few sheep bolted in front of him, then swung away to one side or the other. A couple of gulls rose from a rock in the grass, wheeled in a wide arc through the air and settled again. Michael was blind to them. He saw only the lonely figure in the white shawl to which he was drawing closer. He rejoined the path near a patch of brambles. Caitlin was barely a hundred yards away. Michael chased after her. The chumpf of breaking waves and the roll-rock chinner of the backwash sounded in his pounding ears. Then Caitlin’s head jerked round. She stopped and turned to face him. Fear and guilt froze in her eyes.
“Michael,” she cried, but more in a plea than a greeting.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562888

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763203