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Stream of consciousness Sunday: The Accumulator, part twenty seven…

I wonder in which direction Linda G Hill is going to take us with her prompt for today’s SoCS post, so that we can discover what happens next in this continuing story. Let’s find out together, shall we?

” “man.” Use it as a word by itself or find a word with “man” in it. “

Hmm, easy enough…

The Accumulator, part twenty nine.

Scene: The darkened interior of a parked car at night. It is two weeks later.
There is a man behind the wheel of the car, dressed in dark clothes and a black woollen cap, he is studying the house across the street through a pair of compact binoculars. 

As he lowers the glasses and studies a folder on his lap, we barely have time to wonder who he is before the picture is replaced for a few seconds by;

and we have our answer.

The director now provides us with a mini backstory sequence, introducing us to this unexpected new character, who…

…checked the time and shifted in his seat, trying to ease the ache in his back as he reviewed what he knew about this latest, desperately urgent job they needed him for, and right when he’d managed to schedule a couple of weeks off to unwind and play a bit of golf, too, so it’d better be really bloody important, or somebody was going to be getting an unsanctioned visit when they weren’t expecting it.

It wasn’t like he needed the money or anything, he was doing quite nicely thank you very much, but saying no to The Department, no matter how exemplary your service record, was never a good idea and “retired” usually meant something far more terminal when it came to severing your contractual obligations with them.
So Carlisle maintained a cordial relationship with his unofficially former employer and carried on a perfectly legitimate career in private security, on the understanding that, should the need ever arise for his services, he would return to work as a sub-contractor for the duration of the job, subject to the usual terms and conditions, of course.

He didn’t usually bother about the “big picture” when he was called in to do these last minute rush jobs; he’d just turn up, eliminate the sanctioned target, clean up if that was part of the job, make a nasty mess if that was required instead and dispose of anything that needed disposing of.
Then he would go back to his comfortable life in suburbia, fleecing stock brokers for extortionate security consultations, raking in easy money fitting burglar alarms for paranoid golf widows, sheltering in their gilded cages while their fat cat husbands screwed around with their secretaries.

He’d heard some crazy shit about this job on the grapevine and you would have needed to be deaf and blind to miss the news of Felix Braithwaite’s horrific death at the hospital, so Carlisle didn’t think a few sensible precautions were a bad idea, before he went strolling in there and found something he wasn’t equipped to deal with.

Frankly though, he thought all these rumours about strange powers and secret projects was just so much bullshit, to distract the authorities from whatever The Department were really up to. A good story for the papers to get their teeth into, some sensationalist opium for the sheeple, a sleight of hand trick, nothing more.

Still, people who he wouldn’t generally credit with much in the way of imagination had told him things you would need a lot of imagining to come up with, stuff you’d think was stupid if you saw it in a horror movie, so he’d have to play it by ear.

*****

Patrick allowed the edge of the kitchen blind to fall back into place and turned to look at Cathy, who was watching him with an anxious expression.

“You’re right, yes, there’s somebody parked a little way down on the opposite side of the road. Can’t make out who it is, but it doesn’t look like the police to me.”

Cathy looked even less happy at this news than she had been when she’d noticed the car earlier.

“Well we know what that means, don’t we?”

“Yes, they’ve finally managed to track us down, we need to get ready to move.”

“That sounds like a very good idea, mind if I tag along?”

Patrick and Cathy both spin round in shock at the sound of the voice, coming from the door to the living room.

“Don’t look like that, I’m not going to bite, aren’t you going to offer me a drink before we go?”

Howard Grainger, aka Subject:Beta, grins cheerfully at them from the doorway, as the screen fades to black.

***********

To be continued (using next week’s prompt)…

#SoCS

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The Haggle

The Haggle

A romantic theme and an exotic setting for my final reblog today, from The Tavern Thoughts…

thetavernthoughts

The phone begins to ring at night. He can hear the rain pelt on the window sill. He knows it is not a normal call. It is an emergency. It’s weird how emergencies tend to happen at night. It was almost stereotypical. Rainy night and a damsel in distress. Rohit Mehta is smiling ear to ear. This is his moment and he knows it. He lets the phone ring for a while patiently. Eventually the phone stops ringing but he does not care because he knows she will call him again soon. Almost on cue the mobile starts ringing again.

“Hello” he says softly after a pause.

“Rohit!” She exclaimed relieved.

“Breath Meera. Take a deep breath” The sobbing begins.

Meera walks out of the gate her mobile clutched tightly in her hands. The rain pelting on her makes her skin glow despite the gloomy mood. Tears roll down her…

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Posted by on March 16, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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Reblog: Waiting on accidents

I like discovering new styles of fiction writing and there is something quirky and yet accessible about the way Stephen Baird spins a yarn.

Check him out with this post from his blog, Ordinary Handsome…

Ordinary Handsome

Me and Son Gundy are sitting in our lawn chairs, right here at the intersection of Yellow Road and St. Maggie’s. It is cold and it is snowing, and it’s only ten degrees. We lifted these chairs from Goodwill because no one was foolish enough to buy them. The manager – that would be Joe Bodine, him from over on Hiatt Street next to the old Courthouse – he helped us load them in the back seat, folded them proper so they wouldn’t get snarled. They’re decent enough chairs for when you’re sitting in the cold, waiting on accidents.

We pass a Thermos back and forth, and it’s filled with black coffee and Gram’s Special: two parts brandy and one part never-mind. We watch the cars slide through the intersection, brake lights flashing, but no pavement to grab hold because of the ice. The cars sometimes slide sideways, slide up…

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Reblog: Body Part Bags (and the Parts That Come in Them)

Part two of this reblog from Reflections From The End Of The World, this time featuring the writing of the very talented Mr Todd Mayhew…

Reflections from the End of the World

body part bags.jpg

By Todd Mayhew

My chair is pulled out a little from my desk and there’s a brain on it. It’s lumpy and dark red—so dark it’s almost black, and its curves have white worms of light reflecting on them from the lamp above. It’s been there ever since last month when I called the police and told them that Ellie the elderly lady next door was cutting people up into little meat cubes and hiding them in her kitchen cabinets, and the police came and yelled at me because that turned out not to be true.I told them it was an honest mistake, that it was dark and shadowy when I saw her moving around in there and maybe she was just chopping up the zucchini for the bread she baked for me and brought over right before I called them. I said that I was very sorry and that…

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Posted by on March 13, 2017 in Blogging, Fiction, Guest spots.

 

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March of the Internet Nobody, day thirteen: Reblog week…

I’ve been trying to vary the content in this, my month of daily posting and I thought a good way to really mix it up would be to feature writing by other bloggers.

Happily, only this morning I found a post from some old friends, who I’ve been looking forward to reading new material from for some time, so their blog gets the first guest spot.

But there will be two more today and another three each day this week, so you might have 15 new blogs to follow by Friday, how cool is that?

Another reason for this literary largesse is that I have been so busy recently that I have barely had time to go through the dozens of e-mails I get each day, most of which bring notifications of blogs I follow. This has left me with a terrible case of blogger’s guilt, since I always feel I should reciprocate when you lovely people visit Diary of an Internet Nobody and leave your fabulous comments (I’m probably just setting myself up to feel guilty about the blogs I fail to mention this week, too, but that can’t be helped) so I hope this helps compensate in some small way for my temporary absence from your various corners of the blogosphere.

So the next post you will see, in just a few minutes, will be from Todd and Dustin and their new blog, Reflections From The End Of The World, I hope you’ll show them (and my other guests this week) some love.

Thank you for your attention.

 
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Posted by on March 13, 2017 in Blogging, Fiction, Guest spots.

 

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Stream of consciousness Sunday: The Accumulator, part twenty six…

The first of two posts today, so SoCS might be somewhat shorter than usual, we’ll just have to see what prompt Linda G Hill has provided me with, to continue this story;

” “short.” Use it any way you’d like. “

Pretty straightforward, for a change…

The Accumulator, part twenty six.

Scene: An underground hospital car park at night. It is 36 hours ago.

As we see the lights of a vehicle approaching down the entrance ramp, the camera moves so that our view is partially obscured by a concrete pillar, making it clear that our POV is that of someone who doesn’t want to be seen.

A car comes into view, turns into a parking space close to a door marked Stairs and after a few seconds, the driver’s door opens and a middle aged man in the uniform of a hospital orderly gets out. He walks to the rear of the car, opens the boot and removes a sports bag, where he seems to be searching for something. As he leans over, looking into the bag, our POV moves from our hiding place and rapidly advances on the unwary man, who senses someone behind him at the last minute and begins to turn round.

He’s too late; we see a hand reach out, grip his shoulder at the base of his neck and the man collapses heavily against his car, jerking once or twice before laying still. 

The hand’s owner looks around, checking he is still unobserved and in the process, catches his reflection in a car windscreen. Now the director pulls one of his favourite tricks and zooms in on the reflection, so that we can see it is the man formerly called Howard Grainger, now simply known as Subject:Beta; but when the shot widens out again we are no longer seeing the world from Howard’s perspective, we are once again passive observers in his story.

Howard bends down and quickly removes the unconscious man’s clothes, then heaves him unceremoniously into the boot and closes the lid. He changes into the uniform, stuffing his own clothes into the sports bag, which he throws onto the back seat and locks the car with keys he found in the man’s jacket pocket, before checking his reflection once more and heading for the stairs.

Scene: A busy ICU nurses station.

We see a number of uniformed police being briefed by a senior officer, while doctors, nurses and porters talk in hushed tones, occasionally glancing over at the dramatic activity taking place in their hospital. The news of Subject:Beta’s dramatic escape is beginning to filter through to the hospital staff and rumors are already starting to spread, so everyone is far too busy gossiping to notice one more orderly, coming through the door from the stairwell and slipping into Patrick’s room.

We see Howard/Subject:Beta enter the room from overhead and close the door quietly behind him. He stands there, silently watching the sleeping figure for signs of movement, then he moves to the side of the bed and fingers the handcuff chain, smiling to himself.

“You have the answers, don’t you, Mr mystery man?”

When Patrick doesn’t stir, Howard leans over and places a hand on his cheek. Patrick’s body stiffens slightly beneath the smooth white sheets, but otherwise he appears to remain peacefully asleep. Howard closes his eyes and his face takes on a look of concentration; a frown creases his forehead and he tilts his head to one side as though listening to something only he can hear, then he smiles again and opens his eyes, lifting his hand from Patrick’s cheek.

“I have to go now, I think they’re tightening up security since I absconded,” he rattles the cuffs again, “and it looks like they’ve got you secured for a while. But I think it’ll only be a short time until you’re better now and you seem the resourceful type, I’m sure we’ll meet again soon.”

The man who The Department had created and christened Subject:Beta opens the door and looks out into the corridor then, with a last glace back at the bed, he slips out and the door closes behind him.

Now the shot tightens, slowly pulling us down towards Patrick, until his sleeping face fills the screen. 

Nothing happens for maybe fifteen seconds, then, imperceptibly at first, the deeply drawn lines on Patrick’s face seem to soften and the hollowness of his cheeks appears less pronounced, his hair is already a shade darker and he continues to look more like his former self, as the scene fades to black.

**********

To be continued (using next week’s prompt {which can now be found HERE})…

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Stream of consciousness Sunday: The Accumulator, part twenty five…

Time to continue this strange tale, as part of SoCS, this week using the inspiration provided by Linda G Hill and this prompt;

” “project.” Use it as a verb, a noun, or both. “

Right, let’s get this show on the road…

The Accumulator, part twenty five.

Scene: The nurses station of a hospital ICU. It is two days later.

The camera executes a slow, dramatic 360° pan around the bustling lobby as we see; a circular reception desk staffed by civilian administrators and nurses, a team of paramedics rushing past with a stretcher, a group of doctors consulting medical charts, a seating area where anxious relatives wait for news of loved ones and, incongruous amongst all the white coats, two uniformed and armed police officers, standing guard outside a private room a little way down one of the four corridors that converge here.

After completing a full circuit of the lobby, the camera glides down the main corridor until it reaches a door marked Stairs and as we draw level the door opens and we see Cathy, dressed in her nurse’s uniform, cautiously look both ways down the passageway then duck back inside. A second later the door opens again and Cathy re-emerges, this time with a little more difficulty as she is pushing a wheelchair. 

Cathy leaves the chair by the door to the stairs and walks to the nurses station where she makes small talk with a couple of orderlies while making herself a coffee in the small kitchen area. After a few minutes one of the orderlies looks down as a beeper goes off on his belt, checks the message and nudges his colleague. The pair drain their drinks and toss the cups in the trash before leaving as Cathy glances at her watch before turning her attention to the police sentries.

Having studied their routine for the last two days, she’s fairly confident that…Yes, here he goes…one of them will go on a lunch run to the canteen, Cathy’s one window of opportunity.

Not even waiting for him to reach the bank of elevators, which will take the policeman down the two floors he needs to get to the canteen, Cathy hurries back to where she left the wheelchair and quickly ducks through the door into the stairwell. This time however, the camera goes after her and we follow Cathy, crossing the landing and unhesitatingly punching the red EMERGENCY button next to the fire escape, immediately setting off the hospital’s alarm system.

She goes to collect the wheelchair and heads quickly but calmly back to the lobby, turning the corner to see the single police sentry looking concerned and alert, hand on the butt of his sidearm as he scans the corridor for danger. 

Cathy keeps walking and smiles nervously, slowing down as she passes him, nodding back the way she has come.

“Some drama going on down there, I expect that’s where you friend is, is it?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Oh it’s none of my business, of course, I just thought that since you were on your own, maybe your partner was dealing with the security breach.”

“Security breach?” 

He seems unsure, but the alarm still sounds and hospital staff are going through emergency procedures, so he comes to a decision and looks at Cathy.

“You’re the one who treats him aren’t you?” He jerks a thumb at the closed door he’s guarding and she nods, “Keep an eye on him, don’t let anyone in, I’ll be two minutes.”

Without waiting for a reply, he sprints off towards the lobby and vanishes round a corner, which Cathy takes as her cue to proceed. She opens the door to Patrick’s room, pushes the wheelchair inside and we watch the door slowly swing shut. 

The camera remains steadily focussed on the closed door for about fifteen seconds, during which time we see a couple of nurses walk past, then the door opens and Cathy appears, pushing a figure in the wheelchair. It is apparent to any casual observer that the patient has suffered terrible injuries, since his entire head is swathed in bandages, with only small slits for his eyes, nose and mouth and with the hands tightly bandaged it suggests they are a burns victim.

Cathy wheels her silent charge along the corridor to the elevators, where she stands waiting for what feels like forever, her heart pounding in her chest, until the doors slide open and she pushes Patrick inside. 

The shot stays fixed on the elevators and we see Cathy and Patrick facing us from inside the one on the left, as the doors on the right also slide open. We see the second policeman stepping out of the right-hand elevator, carrying a tray of food and drink and he steps out into the corridor as the doors of Cathy and Patrick’s elevator slide closed.

The scene cuts to the interior of the elevator, where we see Patrick standing up and tugging at the bandages on his hands, as Cathy unwraps the ones from around his head. Cathy then pulls a doctor’s white coat and stethoscope from the back of the wheelchair and Patrick shrugs into it just as the elevator stops and the doors open onto the ground floor reception area.

Leaving the wheelchair and the pile of bandages in the elevator, they stroll casually across the lobby towards the main entrance and step out into the sunshine, where Cathy lets out a sigh of relief. She takes Patrick’s hand and turns to him as they walk quickly away from the hospital.

“So, what now?”

“Now? Now we have to put a stop to Dr Felix Braithwaite’s final science project.”

**********

To be continued (using next week’s prompt {which can now be found HERE})…

#SoCS

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