Friends With Shadows – Chapter 13 (…continued….)

Writer’s Note: For you new readers that just happened to stumble across this… This book is being written as you’re reading it. It’s an experiment. I don’t think a book has been written this way with the ultimate goal of being published. Upside, you can participate, share, and comment on what I’ve written. I do read your feedback and I do take your comments/criticisms seriously. Downside: this is a rough draft, so you’re going to get bad grammar at times, punctuation mishaps, and a plot hole here and there. By the time this book is done being written, I’ll have a completed piece of literature that you can be like a hipster about and say, “I read the book when it was a blog.” Cool, right! So, here is the continuation of Chapter 13! Get reading, my friends!

Chapter 13 (continued)

Again, irritated at having to look after this guy while Big Rich takes a siesta, she shoves his body back into the car and does her best to lift Big Rich’s hulking carcass onto the seat next him. A brief pause to catch her breath and she moves to the other side using the vehicle as a crutch. Cherie falls into the driver’s seat and starts up the 383 cubic inches of old fashioned Detroit steel, hits the gas and drives off to rendezvous with Command.

Arriving at an unsuspecting building, Cherie makes a call on her phone and gives todays code word with the all clear signal. She makes contact with the Security Chief and requests assistance with the two men in the backseat that behave like trash bags full of water in their unconscious state. The Security Chief sends out a half of a dozen armed guards to keep watch and assist with the two men in the car.

As the three of them entering to the building, a young girl with hair pulled back and dozens of frizzy fly-aways, gives a quick visual analysis and takes vitals to ensure they are relatively healthy.

Cherie shoos off the young girl repeatedly telling her, “I’m fine. Worry about them.”

The girl stops the caravan inside the main building hallway facing Cherie, closes her eyes and then starts reciting medical vernacular. Cherie is hypnotized and amused watching her eyes move behind the closed eyelids as if she were reading a book. The girl continues to recite medical words and facility policy with eyebrows raised and hands at stomach level palms facing out in a “stop” position. Cherie yields and tells her to make the check-up quickly, she has more important items to deal with.

The girl with the textbook behind her eyelids tells the guards to take Big Rich and the new guy to the second floor, room 207 and 208. The guards, not used to taking orders from anyone but their direct commander, looked at each other and at the tiny lady snapping off directives, not moving. Two of the bigger guards flinched when she lurched forward at them with her shoulders raised, feet arches flexed on her toes, and voice lowered but forceful, “Now!”

Cherie smirked, “You heard her, gentlemen!”

The guards starting moving, double-time, as if they had a flashback to boot camp. The young girl, clearly proud of herself, smiled and fixed one of the frizzy fly-aways unaware there were dozens more that need attention. Cherie patted the girl’s should and then took a set of stairs going to debrief with the Commanding Officer.

…TO BE CONTINUED….

Friends With Shadows – Chapter 12 (Continued, Again!)

Writer’s Note: Oh, man. This is getting good. I don’t want to spoil it for you, but…it’s getting good. I really do enjoy the direction of the story. Something interesting about the chapters that has developed is the way they show different perspectives for the same moment…are you catching on to that? It was not my original intention, but through feedback and natural necessity it evolved. Anyhow, today is my Friday. Yes, I have a regular job also, like you. 🙂 Enjoy your Thursday! You’re almost there and I’m rooting for you! To help pass the time, enjoy more of Chapter 12 cliff-hanging excitement!

Chapter 12 (continued)

Dean asks for identification of the subjects. Handel isn’t able to give him a definite answer. He couldn’t give him an answer. Someone had taken his earpiece – Handel turns his body with ferocity ready to defend and strike the would be attacker. Handel had been so focused on the subjects down below he didn’t notice someone approaching him. What shocked him even more, when he spun around ready to embed a few rounds in the unknown subject, he saw Thomas holding his earpiece.

“What are you doing?” Handel realized the awe on his own face and straightened it out to a facial expression more suiting to a Law Officer.

Thomas reacted to his partner, “I’m not sure. But, we’re done here. Let’s get out of here. Something is wrong here.”

“You’re kidding! That’s funny. C’mon, let’s get back to business,” Handels tone sounded playful, his face was serious, daring him to rebel.

Thomas, unsure of what his next move would be, tried one last time to persuade his Law Academy colleague, “We shouldn’t be here,” staring him down and emphasizing every syllable.

Thomas threw the earpiece over his shoulder off of the building.

“I’m sorry. You’re serious. Well, I’m not going down. And you’re not leaving me to do this by myself. So, get back down there and cover the front so none of us get hurt.”

Before Thomas could reply, Handel already knew he wouldn’t comply and immediately leapt for his former partner. Crashing into the ground, the two struggled, exchanging elbows and fists. The fiasco was more equivalent to young brotherly brawls in terms of appearance; make no mistake, the two were determined to submit one or kill the other.
Thomas managed to break from Handel with his back to the skylight. Handel raised his sidearm and double-tapped his trigger. The ballistics made contact with the center mass of Thomas. Stumbling back Thomas attempted one final gesture and released a grenade too late; he was out of energy, and out of time. The grenade fell through skylight and landed near the subjects.

Handel ran up to the skylight just in time to see the blue tinged bubble emit from the detonated grenade. After the flash, his eyes adjusted to see his partner dead on the ground next to him – a quickly fading sense of guilt passed through his heart. He looked down the skylight and saw two blurred figures moving and clumsily grabbed his rifle and began firing down at the two. The two subjects ran out of the building and he saw another possible target under broken crates and pallets, slightly moving. Through his scope, he could see an opal colored ring and realized this was the other target Dean was looking for.
Handel shook his face, wiped his blurred eyes, looked down the scope, centered his target in the reticle, slow breath – darkness.

That’s twice someone managed to sneak up on him tonight.

…to be continued (again, I think)….

Friends With Shadows – Chapter 12 (Continued)

Writer’s Note: I appreciate you all bearing with me as I write this book. It’s not a perfect process and sometimes I won’t have anything to write. However, you may rest assured that I will make every attempt to post something to keep you up to date. Yesterday did not go as planned, obviously. Today is a new day and I will be writing some more. Hopefully, the infamous writer’s block won’t attack and kill any inspiration or clever thoughts I may have. Anyhow, enjoy the rest of Chapter 12! Share it with your friends!

Chapter 12 (Continued)

Through the alley, Dean clears the back part of the warehouse. Finger resting just to outside of the trigger, safety off, pointed down at forty-five degree angle, he approaches the back door, takes one more breath, calming his nerves, turns the knob and peels the door open. The old rusted knob, grinding against its will, Dean squints his eyes as if that will help the grinding noise. He slices his body across the doorway, firearm at ready position, all clear. He slips into the building, no sign of anyone, only the sound of a deep voice some distance away. Unable to make out what he’s saying, he moves for a better position trying to maintain the element of surprise.

Thomas moves to the front of the building using shadows and parked vehicles as cover. Standing in a semi-crouched position, Thomas looks around him and then eyes the door. Waiting for a signal from his counterparts to confirm how many subjects and locations, he begins to question his motives for being here. His breathing becomes shallow, his thoughts become lost, his shooting arm starts to shake. Rolling his eyes up, standing more erect, he lowers his shoulders and leans against the wall, telling himself there is still time to turn around. “You don’t have to be here. You can still back out. It’s not too late,” not his own voice but the words bounced around in his head. Some deeper, more ominous voice, causing the realization of his choices to become more clear.

Handel struggles to climb the ladder with his gear attached. Once he throws his legs over the ledge he finds a glass skylight in the ceiling with a large surface area. He looks down and sees a light and someone standing in the center; possibly the snitch. He seems to be talking to someone in the shadows but unknown how many are there.

He hears Dean’s voice in the earpiece, “I’m in position. Report in.”

Thomas hesitates then clicks the com, “Ready. Waiting for instructions.”

Handel turns his mic on, “Aerial set. One subject in center of the building. At least one more just out of sight in the shadow towards the back of the building. Unknown number of others. Standby.”

…to be continued (tomorrow, perhaps)….

Friends With Shadows – Chapter 8

Writer’s Note: I apologize for not posting yesterday! So, to make up for it here’s Chapter 8, early! Today you can enjoy a read with your morning cup o’ joe and bagel. I hope you enjoy this chapter. Read on, my friends!

Chapter 8

Dean begins his own inquiry while he drives the man with large knuckles. He started with the most obvious questions anyone would ask when you find yourself driving a stranger unexpectedly, “Who are you? Where are we going? Why are you in my car?”

Clearly his this man’s intentions were different than Dean’s since he talked over his questions as if he didn’t even notice them, “Why did you become a person upholding the law?”

Adrenaline begins pulsing through Dean’s veins. Palms begin to sweat. Arms suddenly become made of gelatin. He knew the conflict inside from the past to the present, the contradiction he had become. “I wanted to bring justice and peace to those that had none. I wanted order for a system that was chaotic and sometimes fell apart when we needed it most. I wanted to change the system from within – make it better, the way it was intended to be.”

“And what happened instead?” As the man already knew the answer, he asked the question with purpose to wrench the hidden truth from Dean’s soul.
“I became what I fought against. I would confiscate the mail. Sell it back to the criminals through an intermediary – a snitch. It was supposed to be a legitimate operation and when the job was done, I wasn’t.” Feeling freer after confessing his sins to his make-shift priest, e Dean started to become angry at himself and at this man for exposing his lies and hypocrisy.

A steady tone, the man’s queries continued, “What fueled you to keep doing this?”
“I saw how much I could make by reselling the contraband back to the criminals – arresting them once they took possession and reselling it someone else. Greed. And I gave up – I succummbed to the system after being beaten down by it for so many years, after being surrounded by it for so many years.” Anger began taking over his eyes.

“I’m going to give you a choice – continue doing what you’ve been doing fueled by anger and greed or begin delivering for me. If you deliver for me, you won’t escape your past judgement will be in your future but you’ll be free. If you continue on your path, well, you know where that leads – you’ve arrested those that deliver contraband. How much long is the rehab? Ten? Fifteen years? I’ll give you a day to think it over.”

Dean’s vehicle pulled up to a stop sign and the man was gone.
Whatever trance Dean was under had begun to wear off when he became consumed by embarrassment and anger at himself and at whoever this guy is. He hit the accelerator once he realized there were other vehicles behind him, honking; he wasn’t aware how long he had been sitting at the stop sign – a second or minutes.

What Dean knew at this moment was that his snitch must have been talking to someone, who else knew about this? Why was he talking to someone? Money? Revenge? He had to find his snitch and get this problem fixed.

…TO BE CONTINUED…

Friends With Shadows – Chapter 7 – (CONTINUED!)

Writer’s Note: Who is this guy? What kind of club has a big ol’ opal ring? What is this? Lingering questions, my dear readers, but all will be answered in due time. I trust that I’m keeping you in some suspense as these characters begin to unfold. Enjoy your lunch and your leisurely read! If you need to go back a couple chapters to catch up, I won’t judge. 

Administrative note: Some people haven’t been able to view the pictures I’m posting on Instagram – for some reason, but the problem has been fixed. So, tell your friends, it’s on!

Personal Note: If you want to make things easier or if you know someone that doesn’t have access to any of the above mentioned social media platforms, you can also subscribe right now on this web page! You won’t get a bunch of emails, and just one when I make a new post.

Like, Comment, Subscribe, and Share! Read on, my friends! Chapter 7, continues!

Chapter 7 (continued)

We arrived in Cherie’s dark colored four door vehicle of some make and some model they don’t even manufacture anymore and I have never seen other than in pictures. The car was made of metal, steel. Wish I could be more detailed about the leather interior and the obnoxiously loud engine – but I’ve never been a car guy or history buff. She tells me we’re going to go in through a black door in the back of this building as we pull up to it.

The green glow from the energy efficient bulbs in the street lights gives me an uneasy feeling as I step out of the four-wheeled relic – this may be my last opportunity to run. Who am I kidding? I wouldn’t get far from this woman in high heels, not with my body looking like some kind of demented jigsaw puzzle ready to split open at any moment.

The door closes behind us. Cherie stands off in a corner holding a weathered leather folder. Just enough light to make out the crates and antiquated equipment from the covered windows up high of this warehouse. The green glow of the lights outside penetrating the plastic covering the windows.

A solitary hanging light shines on a spot with a large “X” in the middle. The “X” was painted white and had been used a lot, the paint was mostly faded. She tells me to stand in the light. I oblige without questioning. For reasons unknown, I cannot help but follow her instructions – the sensation is that I am supposed to be here.

In the darkness, an ominous voice burrows through the air to make contact with my aural senses, tingling, sending signals to my brain that the hairs on my arm should be standing at attention, “Good evening. Let’s talk.”

A glowing smile presents itself from the dark figure. The figure holds out his hand, one of the fingers has an opal colored ring that covers the entire bottom segment of his middle finger.

Friends With Shadows – Chapter 7

Writer’s Note: I hope you all enjoyed your Memorial Weekend! I’m back and ready to give you some new mental visualizations via scripted electronic wording. That may have been verbose. Anyway, enjoy the beginning of Chapter 7! If this is your lunch hour, enjoy your tuna sandwich (I’m having a ham sandwich, personally). Don’t forget to comment and share! Read on, my friends!

Chapter 7

Now, let’s start in a room where no fundamental laws of nature apply.

No gravity.

No friction.

No Laws of Thermodynamics.

Throw out the idea that no system can be one-hundred percent efficient.

What have you created? A world where size doesn’t matter. A place where the tiniest guy can take the biggest punch and nothing happens.

But, once you start introducing these laws of nature back into the room then things start to change. Reactions happen. And when you know what the reaction is going to be when a small guy takes a big punch then you can also start predicting human behavior. You see this when your friend complains about getting a seat belt ticket after you have told them numerous times to wear a restraint. The reactions to forces becomes like predicting the end to a movie or a book – you know the basic elements and all that changes are the words. Predictable.

Though, not always. Sometimes, things don’t go as planned. People will often write off the scenarios that don’t go as predicted as erroneous solutions – to be discarded. Too soon are these misfit results overlooked; they are that undefinable human quality that cause revolutions and cause the statistics to not mean anything in the end.

The world we all live in, where, to maintain order in an otherwise chaotic existence, energy and effort, must be exerted to keep a peaceful existence – entropy. As long as we pour ourselves into our own life, only then can we meaningfully impact the lives of others and have the ability to do so, willingly. When other forces are exerted upon our own life, using brute force, then we resist the change.

So, what is it about these extraneous solutions in life that give us out humanity? Why do we fight them so much, and yet, they are what gives us our life, our soul, our perseverance?

We cannot discard these extraneous solutions, these people.

His words, in my head. These were the thoughts I had before he had even uttered a syllable to me. I could not be certain, if you ask me, that these mind blurbs were my own.

….to be continued….

Friends With Shadows – Chapter 6 – Who’s this guy?

Writer’s Note: Sorry for not posting yesterday! I’ve been up for nearly 24 hours making a trip to San Diego to visit family and sample the local cuisine. Fear not! The next chapter is up and ready! Enjoy your Friday! And enjoy the plot development in Chapter 6! Read on, my friends.

Chapter 6

Dean is sitting in the undercover Law vehicle waiting. Waiting. Tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, keeping the beat to a song that isn’t playing on the radio or in his head – just tapping. He knows he told him to be here at this time. Two hours. Typical snitch – everyone’s schedule revolves around him. He looks up at the apartments to see two small eyes peering out of the dirt matted blinds. Dean starts to get nervous – his snitch better show up soon to make sure this deal goes down. If it doesn’t go right, he’s going to have to explore the possibility of pursuing the largest lie of his career.

What his supervisors don’t know is the depth to which Dean has buried himself on this case. He’s trying to stop “mail” from being delivered, find the people in charge of these rings and put them away for a long while. Rinse and repeat. What his supervisors don’t know –

Two large knuckles appear on the window, tapping gently on the first rap, then with more authority on the second rap.

The knuckles obviously startled Dean, a man in deep thought, a man watching for his suspect. Dean looks straight ahead and then slowly turns his head with his eyes leading toward the direction of the knocks. He notices a thick opal band covering an entire phalange on a middle finger. His hand gently removing the safety from his sidearm tucked between the center console and his seat.

The face Dean sees is dark and smiling – not disarming, at all, more ominous. The knuckles make a motion to roll down his window. Dean cracks the window two inches; just enough to have a conversation. An oddly soothing and deep voice vibrates through the window, “Hi, I’m sorry to have bothered you. But, I’m hoping you can give me directions? I seem to be lost on my journey.”

Friends With Shadows – Chapter 5 (moving along)

Writer’s Note: The continuation of Chapter 5 is a special chapter since it introduces a new character, “Cherie”, which is the name of the winner of the sharing/tagging challenge from last week. Is she good? Is she bad? Let’s find out! Congratulations Cherie! Enjoy your name immortalized as a character in this book!

I’ll be doing more challenges in the future, so don’t worry if you didn’t believe me that I’d put someone’s name in the book. There will be more chances in the future! Now, let’s see what happens! Find yourself a nice cup of coffee, find a corner in your break room, snuggle up on your couch (preferably if it’s raining), and get ready for the last part of Chapter 5!

Chapter 5 (continued)

A bead of sweat runs down his face as he turns around from the front seat. He fakes a smile and asks how I’m feeling. I’m unable to deliver a snarky remark when he interrupts me and asks to who I’ve been talking.
I assure him that I’ve talked to no one besides the doctor, the attorney, and him – I then ask him what topic he’s referring. He licks his dry lips and swallows.
His fuse has been lit by someone and has caused his patience to be lacking, “THE MAIL, SNITCH!”

I can see him trying to calm his breathing and then slow his words using his most friendly and sincere voice in his repertoire of interrogation techniques, “Sorry. I’m sorry. I need to know who you’ve been talking to about the mail you’ve been delivering.”

He can see an amount of fear and confusion in my eyes and moves his hand up and down in a calm-down motion. I tell him that I tell no one about the transactions out of fear of being in rehab for the next decade or two.

“What’s that?” Dean points with his finger to his chest with his chin up, referring to the stitches that appear just over the top of the shirt I’m wearing. “Is that from the accident you had? Anyway, I need you to make sure you aren’t talking to anyone. An-y-one. If I find out you’re talking, you’re going to be begging for rehab.”

I nodded affirmation. One of the guys in the car opens the door to the car and lets me out. I stand there, stunned – the rain begins to fall. Great, now I’m in a cheesy independent foreign film with subtitles.

From the wet darkness of the alley a soft voice follows a path to my ears. Disarming. I look over, all I can see is the soft silhouette of a tall woman. I focus in on what she’s saying as she holds out her hand with an opal colored ring that covered the entire bottom segment of her middle finger, “Hi, it’s time for us to talk and for you to meet someone. I’m Cherie.”

With no hesitation, rehearsed, she reaches for the inside of her fitted blazer quickly and pulls out a shadowed object.

Great, I’m going to die in a cheesy French college student independent film alley.

Friends With Shadows – Chapter 5 – Now, we’re movin’!

Writer’s Note: I am very excited about how this story is developing. I’m going back and making some minor changes which will help the story along based on reader feedback. Yes, I do listen to your feedback! How often do you see an author actually listen to his readers while he’s writing his new book? You don’t. It doesn’t happen! Get on board! Let me know what you think, good, bad, indifferent. Here’s some fantastic imagery and plot development while you enjoy your lunch! Dig. CHAPTER 5!!! Yes! 

Chapter 5

Outside the hospital, fully clothed and semi-alert, I begin meandering down the street toward home. I can feel my new stitches. My two hemispheres of skin gently and slightly passing by each other like two tectonic plates seen from a distance; if I were on the surface of the skin, there would be pain, chaos, buildings crumbling, gas lines rupturing. My new prescription medications tumbling in my pocket, a maraca with each step keeping rhythm.
I hear the friction of the wheels against the pavement before I actually see the car. I feel my legs get scooped up from behind and my head cradled horizontally. Before I can make sense of what’s going on, I’m in the backseat of the car and not recognizing the two guys beside me. My vision turns into multi-colored static, oxygen catching up with my brain from being unexpectedly tipped back. The driver, I recognize him, Dean. I’m not certain how long I’ve been gone but I know he has got to be upset with me right now. If I may be completely honest, I had completely forgotten about everything: my job, my side job, meeting Dean at the pick up location, I haven’t even figured out what day it is. Somehow, dying and then waking up to see a surgeon with your spleen in his hand takes precedence over everything else.

He could have just pulled over and asked me to get in the car; I needed transportation anyway. The screeching wheels around the corner wasn’t totally necessary, but I like to think that maybe he’s just practicing his perishable skills of operating an emergency vehicle.

Dean pulls over into a stereotypical alley where I assume they’re going to give me marks on my face that I’ll be unable to fend off and then maybe take me to rehabilitation for delivering “mail” – if I survive. Great, I might die, again, but in an alley filled with the smell of old fish and diapers.

….to be continued….

Friends With Shadows – Chapter 4 (….Continued!)

Writers Note: I apologize for the delay in postings. However, it was a delay well spent. I’ve made some adjustments, working through a writer’s block, made some spelling and grammatical adjustments, and I am developing a more solid delivery of information to the reader via characters. While I continue to expand and develop, I hope you enjoy this next section! And as always, please leave any comments, concerns, questions, or burritos that you feel may warrant my attention – not to mention, please be certain to share and like this page! Word of mouth does wonders!

Chapter 4 (continued)

Even though you, the patient, have just been through a traumatizing life event that may or may not be the fault of this hospital and or this doctor or other subordinates and employees that may or may not have been in contact with you or any equipment actually used to evaluate or perform surgical or *cough* posthumous operations, you will hold harmless this hospital and any personnel under its jurisdiction including the Board of Directors. Further, without admitting any guilt or innocence on behalf of the hospital, we would like to offer a settlement of $10,000 as an expression of our sympathy and compensation to amicably bring this matter to rest. All that is required is you initial here. Sign here. Date here.   

Her fingers pointed to each spot like a flight attendant telling you where the emergency exits are. I doubt her fingers have resembled that of a woman for decades, save her gaudy rings. I can see the festering bacteria seeping from her gums. I can smell the volatile sulfur compounds pouring from her breath in every syllable she indifferently blathers.

Lawyers and disclaimers have replaced our human sympathy with dozens of pages of legal jargon no one was ever intended to read or understand. Scripts written by these ambulance chasing blatherskites for the purpose of protecting the potentially accused from every possible circumstance of life; an opera of language that might as well be dead to the person listening. Confuse and disorient; leading the signer to give up any recourse he or she may have been able to access.

I ask the man-woman, Phyllis, what are all of the other pages.

She simply states that it just says you won’t sue the hospital later for this incident.

Then why not just write that one sentence and save the time and money on that fancy education?
Check in hand, the ink forming my name has hardly dried. I initial there. I sign there. I date there.

The doctor says they’ll release me after a day or two of observation. Release me. A medical prison. The sutures, still fresh from where they opened my chest cavity to harvest my organs. I run fingers down the biological Braille, close my eyes and my mind clears a path down to a long sleep.

Everyone is so interested in recounting their own terrible experience, they forget to tell you that they made it through anyway; they forget to give you hope, “You can do this.” Though, I am certain no one I’m aware of has been through this or has had an experience remotely relatable. There’s not exactly a support group for the living dead or dead living – I can’t be sure which I am.

Something many would call a gift has been my ability to fall asleep anywhere and at any time. Like narcolepsy but completely voluntary.  I spend the remainder of my time at the hospital sleeping, mostly hospital strength narcotic induced.

The orderly insisted he push me out on the wheel chair to the sidewalk. I took advantage of the forced generosity by choosing not to press the situation. The hospital released me.   The orderly told me to take it easy and that things could have been a lot worse. He explained to me that I’m lucky, as best as he could.

That was the day I met the man. That was the day I was never given a choice. That was the day it got worse.