Accidental exposure, p.29
Accidental Exposure, page 29
Who is this jerk?
“No. We had a deal with Rugs. You look like a damn tourist. So get lost,” the jerk says as he walks right up to you, frowning down into your face. You look back up into his eyes and the man’s lips curl into a grin.
You turn and pass Andy to Will, then twist back to square up to the aggressor again. Without saying a word, you stick a finger into the man’s left eye. As he squeals and crouches and shuffles back, you strike out at the side of his head.
Your knuckles pound into the nerves and muscles stretched over the bones of his skull, leaving tender blue mountains behind. After about five blows to the head, your enemy cowers in a ball on the jetty planks. A hail of laughter fills the air and you look up to see the crew of the boat has formed a small mob on the deck to watch you.
The workers lean over the railings of the ship and you can feel their stares judging you, their eyes appraising you. They all seem to be in quite high spirits; everyone is smiling and joking with each other and pointing like old students meeting the debutants on the first day of school. A moment of uncertain ridicule passed before another woman emerges to greet you on the pier.
She wears a ratty old overcoat, but you can see a collared shirt beneath and proper trousers below.
“So, Mrs Crown, who are your friends?” the woman asks with a confident grin.
“My son Andy and my friend Will.”
“And a dog?”
“Yes,” you say and the woman thinks for a second.
“All right. I am the captain of this ship. What happened to Rugs?”
“He was stabbed in the throat by my ex-husband.”
The woman appears to be concerned, but she shows no signs of shock.
“It was bound to happen eventually, he won’t be too sorely missed,” she begins. “Show me your passports,” the woman continues and you wonder why this should be important here. This isn’t a bloody airport.
As if this woman can see your thoughts, she says, “To show you have been working with our organisation. I know what I’m doing today.”
“OK.”
The woman only has to study each of them for a few seconds before accepting their forgery as proof of your illegal associations.
“OK then, let’s go.”
“Just a moment,” you announce before you turn to skip back to where Will is waiting.
Chapter 72: The End
“Goodbye again,” Will says, forcing a smile through a couple of tears.
“No. Come with us.”
“What? I can’t.”
“You must. You can’t stay here. Think of all the things that will link you to what has happened. There’s a dent in your car from when you ran Brian over and he was bleeding in your trunk for God sake, you have to come with us.”
“But I have nothing with me and my work is here. My whole life is here.”
“I’m sorry I did this to you, but there will be nothing of your life left when the police come to your door. If you’re linked to any of the things we have done you’ll be locked up.”
Will thinks for a moment. He looks at you, makes some small sound and stops. Then he says, “Don’t tell me what I have to do. Tell me you want me there.”
“Please,” you say, “Please come with me. You’re my only friend. You’re my best friend.” Then he takes you by the hand and you walk towards the ship.
“This is no holiday, none of you can ever return,” the captain says to you.
“I understand,” you reply.
“Do you?” the woman asks Will.
“Yes.”
“OK. Let’s go,” she finishes, but instead of moving back to the ship the woman looks down at the jerk you attacked.
“Sorry about him, it’s been a rough night.”
“Don’t be sorry; nobody is ever sorry to that prick.”
“Good, is there a doctor on the ship?”
“He shouldn’t need a doctor.”
“No, but I think I do,” you add and you lift up the side of your shirt to see how your injury is doing. Every stitch has burst and the wound has fallen open like a crocodile bite. A cry of disgust rings out over the ship from every person who turns to gaze upon the gore.
“Oh my God,” Will mutters, “You need a hospital. ”
“Why? What’s wrong?” Andy asks.
“Nothing little man. Nothing is wrong,” the captain says as she kneels down to talk to Andy. “Do you know what kind of ship this is?”
“Nope.”
“It’s a pirate ship.”
“Are you a pirate?”
“Yes, I am, my young friend,” she says and you smile.
“Can I steer the ship?” Andy asks.
“Of course you can,” the woman chuckles.
You lean in and whisper, “He’s blind,” and the woman adds, “You can steer the ship, once we’re out in open water.”
You clamber aboard without a smidgen of experience, the crew practically lifting you off the dock, while Yeeha leaps easily past you with a mocking wag of her tail. The dog sniffs and scrambles over the deck with a few crew members patting her soft coat as she snuffles past them.
“You look tired,” the captain comments as she leads you towards the back of the ship. “Before you sleep, we’ll patch you up Annette. You’re lucky our line of work forces us to make sure we are capable of healing serious injuries. Especially to the torso. You come with me and your family can wait downstairs in your room.”
“No, Andy stays with me,” you snap back. “We stay together.”
You turn to see that Will is holding Andy as he falls asleep standing up. The child looks perfectly content but entirely exhausted.
“We’re OK. Go get patched up and I can look after Andy,” Will says.
You hesitate and ask, “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t take your eyes off him, please, not for a single second.”
“It’s all right. It’s done. We’re safe now,” Will says and although you feel a crippling desire to spend every possible moment with Andy, you let them go .
“I’m Andrew, who are you?” You hear Andy say as the captain leads you further away.
“I’m Will, I’m your mum’s friend and I think we’ll be friends too.”
“I missed mum. Did she miss me?”
“Yeah mate, she did.”
You move to a small medical bay and lay uncomfortably on an aged, varnished bench while a gritty old surgeon thrusts stitches into your flesh. You grunt with irritation while you wait for the half-arsed medical treatment to be completed.
“I’m not certain exactly what you did for my boss to secure this passage. Shall I assume it has something to do with your wound?” the captain asks.
“Yeah. A lot to do with it,” you reply. “I saved his life. Is he a good man?”
“No. But if what people are saying is true, and he is trying to make amends for the things he has done, then perhaps he will be in the future.”
You scoff at the captain’s optimism and follow her towards your cabin.
When you get there, you open the door to see a tiny cubicle with nothing more than a bed. There’s no other furniture, not even a table in the iron nest. It doesn’t matter. The sight of Will lying silently with Andy instils a confidence in you that overrules any feeling of discomfort. He’s gently holding Andy as they sleep in each other’s embrace. You’d join them if there were room on the single mattress, but instead, you decide to sit on the hard floor, leaning up against the wall to stare at your exhausted son. Yeeha sneaks out from under the bunk silently with her tongue almost dragging on the ground, panting furiously in the unavoidably warm room. The dog paces around a little then slumps down against you, drooling on your crossed legs.
Thoughts of your past lives dance through your mind’s eye and you remember what Andy looked like when he was first born, then when he was young and finally, just before the accident. A few images of Brian burst into your memory, but your brain won’t allow them to stay for long. You’d hate him altogether if he hadn’t given you the most perfect son.
Soon your thoughts and feelings are out of your control, replaced by wondrous dreams. This is the first day of many that you can sleep soundly, without a nightmare, and awaken to your own personal paradise.
The End.
Hello, stranger and thanks very much for reading my novel. What did you think? I find the second person point of view can be quite pushy. YOU did this, and YOU did that, but I reckon it helps to give the reader a sense of possession about the other characters. Andy is YOUR son. I suppose, like everything else, it comes down to personal preference. The second version in this publication is written in the third person. This gave me a little more freedom to create images of scenery, and I think, because of this, the second version is more attractive but less engaging. The third person point of view is a little looser because every moment is not perceived by the protagonist; the fictional world beyond Annette’s (or Brian’s) gaze can be experienced by the reader.
There’s very little difference between the two versions (other than style), so if I were you, I wouldn’t bother reading the second half of this book unless you’ve got a few spare hours. The main reason I published both forms was to give people an option between one or the other, not to suggest anyone read both. I imagined that couples might read one version each and book clubs can read the ‘same’ book, but with extra variations to discuss. Below are some links to the things I have going on at the moment. If you enjoyed this novel, perhaps you’ll enjoy something else.
Cheers and have a great week, Dan.
Click here for my website. You’ll find my short stories, other novels and whatever else .
Click here for my crime writing blog. I only ever review excellent books, so you know everything on the blog comes strongly recommended. I also write articles about interesting true crimes, such as the essential occupation of illegal smuggling in Croatia, and stories of failed criminal attempts, AKA naughty bloopers.
Click here to read the first chapter of “The Bodies We Won’t Bury,” the novel I most enjoyed writing (this sample is the final chunk of this publication).
Email me at dan@danielnorrish.com about absolutely anything, even if you just want to tell my how much my story sucked.
ACCIDENTAL EXPOSURE
He is Brian Crown
Part 1 Accident
Chapter 1: Soon There Will Be Fire
Click here to jump to chapter 1 of the other version.
“Put on your damn seat belt!” Annette shrieks at Andy with a furious cry. The eight-year-old boy has a single moment in which to squeal the reply, “Look out!” before the terrible accident.
The sound of screeching tyres summons the terror. Then silence. Then screaming. Brian, Annette and Andy are all screaming at once and the car that their vehicle has collided with is thrown onto the safety shoulder of the highway.
The weight of the vehicle shifts rapidly as the momentum continues forward, but the nose of the car turns sharply. The two left wheels are pulled from the ground and the right side doors fall underneath to meet the road in a petrifying SMASH. The windows shatter and broken glass fills the tortured space within as the doors crimple and complain. It doesn’t stop. The roof is next to hit the earth as the car continues to roll. The steel sheet twists and fails, collapsing as the pressure builds and suddenly the tops of the seats are driven down like tribal spears in a squealing pig. A loud “FUMP” sounds over everything else as the upside-down space within the car is halved.
The top of Brian’s head is touching the roof that’s supposed to be suspended above the passenger seat; the bottoms of his legs are still pressed to the chair.
Those words tear through his mind, “Put on your damn seatbelt!” and he tries to remember the moments before.
What did Andy say? He’s just a little kid; did he refuse? Were his wife and son arguing? Yes, they were. Andy said, “No,” like an insolent, playful lion cub teasing his mother.
He said, “No.”
Oh Jesus, Andy isn’t wearing his seatbelt .
The horrible roll continues and, for a moment, the car is airborne. The rectangular form spirals through the wind and it hits the ground again on the passenger side.
Brian’s thoughts are crazed and his mind bounces between useless feelings in a chaotic frenzy. What the hell is going on? Did another car hit ours? Did Annette change lanes? Was someone driving drunk? That’s how this happens, isn’t it? A drunk driver hits you and, all of a sudden, there’s just misery everywhere and nothing can be done to stop it.
Brian feels his shoulder hit the road, shatter and dislocate. His pointless train of thought is broken and he screams even louder, driven by pain and fear as fragmented glass rattles violently over his tongue. He feels those sharp points digging into the inside of his cheek. The car slides for a moment, taking thin strips off the black ground. The vehicle absorbs the friction of the road and slows until the fourth rotation brings it level again with an almighty mechanical belly-flop.
Brian and Annette sit quietly beside each other for a moment. The only sounds they make are the uncontrollable whimperings of shock. Someone is weeping, but Brian can’t tell if it’s himself, his wife or his son.
The damaged horn and alarm system suddenly ring out to break the silence in a late, mocking warning. Other cars have barely managed to swerve and survive the monstrous incident and the vehicles now sit askew and twisted on the road like huge, discarded pieces of garbage.
“Annette?” Brian manages to cough and a few drops of blood fly forwards through the space in front of him, where a windshield used to be. Rain falls softly on his knees and he realises the soft water dropping from the sky is rinsing urine, and blood, from his trousers.
“I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fi-” Annette repeats faintly, then she stops. Brian can still hear her breathing, but when he turns his head to look, the muscles in his neck pull on broken bones. Unimaginable pain shoots across him and he feels the agony in strange, distant places; there’s a stinging on the top of his skull and throbbing in a kidney. He screams some more and a torrent of tears mixes with the splattering of blood on his chest.
Brian moves his head slowly back to face forwards. He sees several cars have parked quite close and people are running towards him. He can tell by their frantic sprinting and the terror in their faces that he’s in real trouble.
Oh no. Brian’s mind moves to Andy. Oh no, please God no.
“Andy!?”
No reply.
Despair spreads through Brian’s body and it’s so complete he feels the misery swimming in the juices of his belly. He can’t move.
Am I broken?
Crippled?
He has no way to check the back seat. Every mirror is webbed with cracks and every pane of glass is either shattered or completely missing.
“Andy!”
Brian forces his body to ram through the torture and try to twist so that he can look behind himself. He rotates half way to the right and stops to inspect Annette. His eyes quickly scan her skin, searching for any sign of serious damage. She has shallow, dark cherry coloured cuts and scratches all over, but Brian doesn’t see any injury bleeding profusely. Annette’s long, golden hair is matted into slender cakes of dark gore. Short, rapid little puffs of air are leaving her nostrils and a thin red stream slowly flows from one cheek. Annette’s head is tilted forward, resting on her chest. Her hazel eyes are closed and Brian would sacrifice his own sanity just to see that little touch of green to left of the right pupil.
“Andy!” he calls out in desperation as his destroyed shoulder pushes against the seat belt. He continues screaming in agony and frustration as he fails to twist any more.
“Calm down, help is on the way,” a voice instructs. Brian looks forward to see an older man in a suit standing a safe distance away. Behind him, a woman cries hysterically on her mobile phone .
“Help!” Brian begs as he fails to undo his seatbelt with fingers that are probably broken.
“Help me!” the more he screams, the more petrified the well-dressed coward looks and Brian can see this first arrival isn’t going to approach the crippled car.
“I’m here man, what do you need?” another voice asks. This one is close and Brian can tell it’s coming from just outside his window, but a hunk of twisted metal is jutting down from the roof to obscure his view.
“My belt. Get it off. Get it off!”
“OK. OK.”
Brian can hear someone banging and tearing at the door, cursing in failure.
“This door is useless!” the man yells; dread is beginning to taint his tone as well.
Panic swells up in Brian like foam in a dropped can of beer.
He says, “Through the windshield. The glass is blown out. Come through the windshield,” trying to stay calm.
A huge Maori man in a white singlet leaps onto the bonnet then drops down to his stomach. He tries to reach inside without leaning on the rim of broken glass in front of the dashboard. Brian has to bite his lip to hold his tongue when he sees the Maori wasting time trying to be careful. He watches this saviour sniffing around intensely. Then Brian notices the pungent stench as well. Is it brake fluid, oil or petrol? It’s almost certainly a combustible concoction of all three.
Soon there will be fire.
“Andy?” Brian calls out again as he says a useless prayer to himself.
“She’s fine,” the saviour says, “Your wife will be OK.”
“No. Not her. My son. How is my son?”
The Maori leans a little deeper inside, reaching for the buckle.
“No, it’s a woman, a grown woman. You’re here with a lady.”
“The boy in the back! ”
His long, dark fingers have almost reached the clasp as he shifts forward a little, leaning gently on the shards erupting from the dashboard with his chest.
He says, “No, you’re going crazy. You’ve hit your head. There’s no one in the back.”
