Today
Is my birthday!
I am seventy now.
My life is moving to a new
Level.
~~~
A Chapter a Day — 3
If you haven’t been following this story, here is the link to Chapter One.
Campus Crimes Series Book 1 — Featuring Darcy Knight, Coed Detective
CHAPTER THREE
“We’ll need to take statements from each of you, but separately,” he said, then looked across the room to where Lucas was just coming back through the window. “Luke, take Mr. Billings into the hallway, if you will, and get his statement. I’ll talk to Miss Knight in here.” That was another thing I liked about the sergeant. He remembered people’s names.
Lucas grabbed his notebook from his pocket and smiled at the janitor. “Mr. Billings,” he said, motioning toward the hall. “After you, sir.” Poor Mr. Billings was still shaking a little, and I’m sure he was glad to just get out of the room. I looked at Sergeant Harris and asked, “Is it all right if I sit down at one of the desks?”
“Sure, go ahead. I’ll be as brief as I can.” So I took a seat on the front row of student desks, and he propped one foot on the desk beside me and started entering data into his notebook.
“So you are the person who called 911?”he said, looking at me with his no-nonsense police officer face.
“Yes sir. But …” I paused because I wasn’t sure if I should tell him what I was thinking about telling him. But it was too late to back out because just the fact that I hedged made him even more determined to know what I wasn’t saying.
“Go on,” he prompted. “But what Miss Knight?”
“Well … I was just going to say that I didn’t actually call 911 immediately. I mean … I … I was so shocked to see that person climbing out the window and … well … then … to … to see ─ ” I suddenly realized hot tears were rolling down my cheeks, but I couldn’t seem to do anything about it. I swiped at my cheeks, but the tears came even faster.
To my surprise Sergeant Harris pushed a handful of paper tissues into my hand and said, “Just take it easy, Miss Knight. You’ve had a shock. Just take a minute to collect yourself and then we’ll talk.” I nodded my head to let him know I understood what he was saying and tried to mop off my face.
I couldn’t help but breathe a small sigh of relief as he stepped away from me and headed toward the hallway to check on Lucas and Mr. Billings. But just as he stepped into the hall the coroner arrived, and they both come back into the room and headed for the professor’s body. Two other officers whose names I didn’t know had been hanging around during all the proceedings, just in case they were needed, and Sergeant Harris finally had something for one of them to do.
“Phillips, take Miss Knight out to that lounge area at the end of the hallway and get her some water or whatever she needs while I finish up things in here.”
“Yes sir,” the younger officer answered and turned toward me.l Sergeant Harris looked at me as well. “Miss Knight, I’ll be back with you as soon as I can.”
“Yes, sir, Thank you,” I answered. I’m not sure what I was thanking him for, but it seemed like the right thing to say. Never having experienced anything like murder before, I had no idea what proper protocol was. And it goes without saying that I hope I never have enough experience to learn the right way to deal with it.
Once I got to the lounge area and looked at the vending machines, I suddenly realized I was parched and water did, indeed, sound like a good idea. I dug through my purse to find the right money to buy a bottle and then tried to settle into one of the hard plastic chairs to wait, hoping the extra time would help me collect my thoughts.
I naturally wanted to remember everything that might help the sergeant, but, at the same time, my mind was whirling with the question of who would want Professor Sommers dead. He was quite a congenial man, and a good teacher. Of course, I didn’t agree with his judgment concerning my recent research paper, but I did enjoy his classes and had already learned a good deal from him this term. I didn’t know any students who called him names behind his back or gossiped about him – as they did several of the other faculty. All in all, I couldn’t seem to wrap my mind around someone as quiet and ordinary as a college professor would have the kind of enemies who would shoot them in cold blood.
After about twenty minutes of that kind of thinking, I realized that my shaking had stopped. And I didn’t think I’d be doing anymore crying, but the exhaustion was about to take me over. Just as I started wondering if I could get by with leaning my head back and closing my eyes, Sergeant Harris walked in and took a chair across from me.
“All right now, Miss Knight, let’s get your statement, shall we?” Lucas joined us then, having finished with Mr. Billings, and both officers sat facing me in equally uncomfortable chairs. Sergeant Harris checked his notes and began. “Now, I think it will be easier on you and us if you just start with why you came into this building at this time of night, and walk us through your experience, step by step.”
I took a steadying breath and, hearing my Grandma in the back of my mind saying, “Buck up, and face the music, girl,” I began: “Well, when my friend Nadia and I were crossing the campus to the parking lot, I saw that the lights were on in the admin building, and I needed to talk to Professor Sommers about my research paper. So I told Nadia I was going to come in and see if he was in his office.” When I mentioned Nadia, I couldn’t help but look right at Lucas, but he was all business, so I returned my attention to the sergeant.
“And what time was that?” asked Sergeant Harris.
“Oh, I’m not sure. Well … it must have been close to 9:00 because our class ended at 8:30, and we had stood around talking to friends for about fifteen minutes before we left the science building. And I remember Nadia saying that she would probably be in bed by the time I got home so not to call and wake her up.”
The sergeant nodded. “Go on.”
I then proceeded to tell him, step-by-step, what had taken place. When I got to the part when I looked toward the professor’s desk and saw him in that position, I stopped and added. “So that’s what I meant when I said I didn’t call 911 immediately. I was so shocked that I couldn’t really think for a minute, and then all I could think about was to yell for help from someone here in the building. The janitor came running, and as soon as he saw the situation, his first words to me were, “Call 911,” and then I realized that I should have already been doing that. But even when I tried, my hands were shaking so badly that I hit a wrong button and had to start the call over. I’m sorry I wasn’t thinking more clearly. I was just so shocked … and … scared, I guess.”
Sergeant Harris nodded again, and Lucas spoke. “That’s understandable, Darcy.” I was surprised he addressed me by my first name, but maybe since he and Nadia were starting to date, he considered me more of a friend as well. It helped me. Just that little bit of personal response made me feel a little less weird.
“Okay, now,” Sergeant Harris said, “Let’s go back over the moment when you first saw the person climbing out of the window. Think now, Miss Knight, and describe to me every little detail you can remember.”
“I think I already did, Sergeant,” I began, but we were interrupted by a woman’s loud voice from the hallway.
“What do you mean I can’t come any further? My office is down this hall, and I have every right to be here. What’s going on anyway?”
To be continued …
~~~
A Chapter a Day — 2
You’ll need to go HERE to read Chapter 1 first.
Campus Crimes Series: Book 1 – Featuring Darcy Knight, Coed Detective
CHAPTER TWO
The professor was in the chair behind his desk, but he wasn’t sitting there the way he normally did. He looked more like he had fallen down into the chair, and it was rolled far enough back that his head, which had dropped backwards, was actually touching the whiteboard behind him.
But that wasn’t what made my stomach revolt. It was the massive amount of blood pouring from his chest and soaking his blue tie and light blue shirt. I don’t know for sure how long I stood there with my mouth open, not able to move a muscle or even make a sound. I hope is wasn’t more than a couple seconds. I couldn’t bear to think that perhaps my lack of quicker action might have made a difference in his outcome.
But, finally, I came back to life and screamed – something. I think it was, “Noooooo!” But then I turned and stuck my head back out the door and yelled, “Help! Someone Help! A man’s been shot! … Help!”
At least it was words to that effect. I didn’t hear any response, so I ran a few feet out into the hallway and tried again. In a few seconds, I heard pounding footsteps coming down the hallway on the main floor, and then a voice. “I’m coming! I’m coming!”
Then feet pounded up the steps, and suddenly the janitor loomed in the hallway, struggling to run as fast as his overweight body would carry him. I pointed to Professor Sommer’s office and said, “The Professor – he’s – he’s –” I just kept pointing frantically toward the office, and the janitor finally got even with me and looked into the doorway.
“Good God!” he cried and hurried over to the desk. “Call 911! Quick!” he instructed me, and whipping out my phone, I started punching numbers. My hands were shaking so badly I punched the ‘9’ three times and had to start a second time. By that time the janitor had checked for any signs of breathing or a pulse.
“I think he’s dead,” he was just saying when the 911 operator answered. I relayed everything to her the best I could, but it was all a jumbled mess. I guess she was used to those kind of messes, because she seemed to stay pretty calm and collected. But then she wasn’t staring at a dead body with blood pouring out if it.
I’ve already told you about my conversation with her, but, finally, after what seemed like an hour — but I’m sure it wasn’t more than ten minutes — I heard what sounded like a hoard of people coming through the front door of the building, and a voice shouted, “Police. Stay where you are.”
Yep, that sounded like the cops all right, but who were they yelling at? They’d either captured some other unsuspecting student who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, or the killer had sneaked back in to get rid of me too. Well, either way, I was really glad they’d arrived.
I stepped out into the hallway just as the first two officers were making the top of the stairs. “In here, officers,” I said, trying to sound in control, but with my voice still vibrating from shock.
I recognized both of the men. Sergeant Harris has been on the force at least a couple decades. When we see him off-duty, he’s always friendly and interactive with the people in town. But on duty, he is all police sergeant, and no letting down on the protocol. The younger man with him, Lucas Duran, is newer to the force. And he is a hunk. I know that doesn’t say much about his police procedure, but the simple truth is that several of the girls on campus have admitted that it makes their hearts pick up speed and sends signals to all the appropriate places in their bodies when Lucas comes on the scene.
His dad is Hispanic, and that heritage is evident in his dark skin and his luscious black, curly hair. He has to keep it short for police work, but it’s gorgeous all the same. He’s tall and has shoulders that could move a boulder with one good shove. Now, you’re probably assuming that I have a ‘thing’ for Lucas myself, but you’d be wrong. I do freely admit that he’s an eyeful and a prime catch in our county, but it’s my friend Nadia who is really stuck on him. And evidently, he likes her pretty well too, because he asked her to go with him to the charity dance our police force sponsors every year to raise money for a local orphanage. When she talks to me about him she calls him Lucas, of course, and I guess that’s why I think of him that way instead of as ‘Officer Duran.’
Well, I’m off topic again, so back to the murder scene: Both officers entered the room, and Sergeant Harris went immediately to the Professor’s body to check that out. Officer Duran started for the window to see what evidence he might find there, and by that time, the paramedics were coming through the door of the room as well. It didn’t take long to decide that the Professor was beyond help, but nothing could be done about taking him out of the room until the coroner, Mason Wells, had done his job and pronounced his findings.
One of the paramedics asked about the coroner, and Sergeant Harris answered: “He’s on his way, but he was at a restaurant in Hanover County, so he’ll still be a little while. Just stand by while we question the two witnesses, and as soon as Mason gets here, we’ll get back to your procedure.” With that statement, he turned his attention to me and the janitor.
To be continued …
~~~
A Chapter a Day — 1
In the past, I’ve enjoyed sharing new works as they are in progress — by sharing a chapter a day with my readers and getting feedback. Some of the stories I’ve finished right here on this site — all the way to the words “The End.” But some of them have served to tease the imagination and gather interest for something new that will be in the marketplace soon. So what about this new work?
Well, the truth is that I’m not sure. I’ll be posting at least 4 chapters on here, but whether I’ll go ahead and finish it as a free read or not, I’m not sure. But since this process is a good way to keep myself working on the task at hand, I’m taking advantage of it, and any feedback that readers want to give will be welcome. I’m also using this post to respond to today’s Daily Post Prompt: Inkling.
Posted below is Chapter One of the first book in the Campus Crimes Series, featuring Darcy Knight, Coed Detective. Book 1 may get an altogether different title by the time it’s ready to go to market, but for now, the series title will have to do. So let’s get this new project started.
CHAPTER ONE
“Just stay where you are until the police officers arrive,” the 911 operator said, her voice strong, her tone devoid of emotion. “Normally we’d tell you to exit the building, but since you saw the perpetrator going out through the window, you’re probably just as safe staying right there in the room as you would be outside. The officers should be with you in moments now.”
I had my cell phone on speaker so the building’s janitor, who was standing beside me, could hear the other end of the conversation. I looked at him as if to ask what he thought about those instructions. He shrugged his shoulders and looked toward the window, fear clearly evident in his face. But he didn’t have any better suggestion, and neither did I.
So I answered the 911 operator. “Okay.” My voice was shaking. Well, I was shaking all over. “Okay, and good bye, I guess.”
“No!” she yelled. Well so much for lack of emotion. “Don’t hang up!” she continued. “Stay with me. I’ll stay on the line with you until they get there.”
“Oh … okay … that’s good,” I answered, breathing just a little easier knowing I still had a bit of support, although it would have been useless if that killer had decided to come back.
If I had just accepted the ‘C’ on my research paper and gone on with my life – the way ninety percent of the other students here at Langston Point Junior College do – none of this would have happened. I’d have gone on my merry way, cruising through my college classes, probably still with a ‘B’ average, and enjoying my friends as we journeyed the path into our responsible, adult lives.
Well, that’s what we’ve been told we’re doing. Basically, we’re just sort of hanging out, waiting for inspiration to hit us and point us in the right directions for successful futures. We are attending a junior college close to home because it’s a lot cheaper – and because we’d have to have two years of general studies no matter where we went – and also because a lot of us still aren’t sure what we want to do with our lives.
There are a few exceptions, of course. Carl Miller is a computer nerd who has already developed his own brand of software, and he knows – well, we all know – he is on the rise to fame and fortune. Eddie Wistkowski, better known as ‘Math Brain,’ has such a high grade in calculus and trig that the teacher can’t even figure his average like normal people’s. Eddie is destined for a high level job with the space program and has actually been interviewed by the big guys in that arena who do the scouting for future recruits.
People don’t hear about that kind of recruiting much. It’s mostly the sports stuff the public knows about. But scouting does go on behind closed doors for other occupations too. And Eddie – he’s the real deal when it comes to figuring out anything connected with math components – and he’ll go a long way.
There are a couple girls in my class who know where they’re going in life – other than into some good-looking man’s arms, of course. One of them is Deidre Vernon. Now that girl is bent on law in a big way, and she’s already had her application accepted at Harvard. She intends to work for the U.S. Department of Justice. I hope she makes it. Frankly it makes me tired just seeing her work so hard even now.
The other serious-minded girl is a friend of mine, Keesha Bradley She’s a strong Christian and the leader of our campus Bible club. Keesha sings like an angel and plays three different instruments. She’s a natural with all kinds of music, and she’s determined to use her talents to spread the Gospel.
But except for those four people, the sophomore class at Langston Point Junior College is just sort of winging it right now. And speaking of ‘now,’ I’ve got to keep my mind focused. Here I am, Darcy Knight, college sophomore, tied to a chair in a storage room in the basement of the campus fitness center. Waiting. For what, you might ask.
Well, if I believe what my friend Keesha always tells us – that God hears our prayers and will come to our rescue — then I’m waiting to be rescued. But if Keesha’s not right, I may be waiting to have my life snuffed out just like ─ No, I’m not even going there in my thoughts. My blasted stars! I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid. Why couldn’t I have just been satisfied with that dratted ‘C’!
I guess since I’m going to be here a while anyway, I may as well explain the situation. Here’s how it all started: I was walking across campus with Nadia Falkner, my best friend. We were on our way to the parking lot when we passed the administration building, and I remembered that Professor Sommers had an evening class, so I thought he might have stopped by his office afterwards. The ‘C’ he’d given me on my research paper had been causing me indigestion ever since he’d handed it to me in class that morning, and I decided I’d try to talk him into changing it.
“Why don’t you wait until tomorrow?” Nadia asked. “You’re tired, and he’s tired tonight. You’ll have a better chance to talk him into something when you’re both fresher, and you’ve had a night to think about things.”
I shook my head. “No. I have to do it now. If I don’t, I’ll not be able to get any sleep.”
“It’s just a ‘C’! It’s not the end of the world,” she said.
“But I’ve started this year with a good strong ‘B’ average. This could really mess it up if I happen to get another ‘C’ later on.”
“Well, then don’t get another one. Come on. Let’s go home.”
“No, you go on. I’ll head home as soon as I talk to Professor Sommers.”
“All right, but I think you’re silly for doing it tonight. I’ll probably be asleep by the time you get in, so don’t call me to tell me about it, okay?”
“Promise,” I said and veered off to the sidewalk leading to the Admin building. To be honest, it’s sort of a creepy building at night. There are lights on, of course, but since the college is into saving money, they keep the lights to a minimum, and when faculty are using a hallway, they turn on the lights, as well as the lights in their own offices. But any hallways not in use are left dark. I saw the janitor’s big rolling service cart outside one of the rooms on the ground floor, and I could hear him cleaning that room.
Professor Sommers’ office was on the second floor, and I took the steps – hoping the exercise would help settle my nerves. I didn’t have an inkling of how seriously my nerves were going to be disturbed within the next few minutes.
My blasted stars! How I wish, now, I’d listened to Nadia! I know that’s the stupidest phrase ever – my blasted stars. I have no idea what it means. But my grandmother always said it when she was shocked or angry, and she taught me to use that phrase when I really wanted to say – well, you can probably guess a couple of the things I’d rather have said. Anyway, out of deference to her, I adopted her pet cuss phrase, and now, here I am at nineteen – four months from turning twenty – still using it.
I’m rambling again. Okay, back to the important stuff. When I got to the second floor, the front half of the hall was dark, but the back half – where Sommers’ office was – had lights on. I could also see light coming from his office. When I got to the door, it was standing open about three-fourths of the way. I paused long enough to take a deep breath and clear my throat; then I stepped in and lifted my hand to knock on the opened door – just to be polite.
But before I could knock, I realized there was a dark-clad figure climbing out of the window, straight across from the door, onto the fire escape. My eyes locked onto him (or her – I couldn’t tell), and for the briefest moment, our eyes met. It was just a split second, and I couldn’t have told you what the face looked like at all. Because in the next instant the figure was outside and rushing down the fire escape stairs.
That’s when I finally came to my senses enough to realize I hadn’t said anything, and Professor Sommers hadn’t said anything to me. So I turned my head slightly to the left to look right at his desk, and I suddenly lost all my breath – and almost all my dinner.
To be continued …
~~~
Why is WordPress De-Railing Our Readers?
What is it with WordPress’ sending readers to a page that is NOT OUR ACTUAL BLOG SITE? Have you noticed that when you see the posts in your Reader, and click on the post title, WP does NOT take you to the post on that person’s blog? They take you to a generic page that has the post you’re looking for — and even the blog owner’s gravatar — but it’s NOT their actual site.
If a blogger clicks on the words “Visit site,” they get taken to the site, but if they click on the post itself, they do not.
Why on earth do we put so much time and attention into making our sites look exactly like we want them to look, and have widgets set up a certain way, etc. so people will notice specific things on our site — and why choose a specific theme or particular colors, etc. — if readers ARE NOT GOING TO SEE THEM????? The logic is inscrutable.
You’ll notice the use of capital letters. It’s something I tell all my creative writing students to avoid doing. And the fact that I’ve used them is indicative of how aggravated I am. I asked WP about it in an e-mail, but no answer. So I decided to vent right here. Whew! I feel better. 🙂 🙂 🙂
Daily Post Prompt: Inscrutable
~~~
Belated Goodbye
“This was your family’s restaurant?” Erica asked.
I nodded, silent, reliving that horrible night: My fiance Haydn’s pushing me into the cellar and commanding me to keep silent, no matter what.”
Erica understood. “You never saw him again?”
I shook my head. “Two survivors said he’d been captured. But I never could find out.”
“Look!” Erica grabbed my arm. “Someone’s in the upstairs window — looking at us.”
“Some scavenger,” I said, brushing away tears. But then I looked more closely, catching my breath. “It can’t be,” I whispered.
“What?”
“It’s him!” I waved frantically: “Haydn!”
He waved, smiled, and in the same moment, vanished. I looked at Erica. Her shocked face assured me I hadn’t imagined him.
“Finally … after all these painful years … we’ve said goodbye.”
Friday Fictioneers writing challenge
~~~
Trash Talk — I Need to Monitor Comments
Just want to let my regular readers know that I’m going to have to start monitoring and approving comments for the foreseeable future. I haven’t done that since the very first year of this website. I’ve allowed people to comment freely, and I’ve had almost no spam or unacceptable trash in those comments. However, the past two weeks I’ve had a number of totally off-the-wall and trashy things posted in my comments section — things totally unrelated to the post itself.
So, although 99% of my visitors are still very dependable when it comes to reasonable and polite comments, I don’t want to give opportunities for these few “crazies” out there to post things that would confuse or even offend readers in general. As most of you know I am not a “politically correct” journalist, so the problem has nothing to do with political correctness. It has to do with comments that are ludicrous or trashy — or are obvious attention grabbers in order to lure people to the commentor’s site. I think it’s time I put up a shield and start standing guard for a while.
Sorry about this change, and I hope those of you who comment for the right reasons will continue to comment a lot. I’ll try to stay on top of approving them as quickly as possible.
~~~
Six-Word Saturday — 1/20/17
Is this what Winter dreams about?
photo by Terry @ Visions Seen
~~~
Don’t Blink
“Remember, Ronnie. Don’t blink. If you blink, it’s all over.”
Those words pounded through my brain right before I took a seat in front of the webcam, preparing to look into the eyes of the most evil scientific mind on the planet. But I knew I had to cleanse those words from my brain. My expertise in the field of mind control and the organic manipulation that can emanate from it kept me from allowing those words to have power in my psyche. What I had to do instead was forget about the suggestion of blinking all together and focus on my opponent instead.
Liam Sigurdsson was well-known for his advanced studies and experimentation in mind control. But he hadn’t been heard from for three years. News media speculated about him, but the only thing anyone knew for sure was that he was holed up in a home he’d built for himself and his staff in Iceland.
Four days ago, all of that secrecy came to an end — a dramatic and terrorizing end. Sigurdsson suddenly came out of hibernation with the news that he had managed to plant powerful bombs in the capitals of six major western nations. He further stated that they were set to go off at exactly the same time unless he got complete cooperation from the UN, and each of those individual nations in making him supreme dictator over their entire geographic areas.
The President of the United States, as well as the leaders of the other five nations — Canada, England, France, Germany, and Italy — had all tried to reason with him. But to no avail. That’s when the President called me in.
I’m Ronald Bridgeport, American scientist and mind control expert. I’ve made some amazing discoveries concerning mind control and using the mind to manipulate the body. Those subjects used to be considered part of the paranormal fringes of science, but my work has proven that they may have some very genuine, solid scientific foundations. I’ve won my share of awards for my research and for being able to prove a good many of my theories over the years. I’m well known internationally, of course, but not held in the kind of scientific esteem that Sigurdsson has acquired over the past couple decades.
Two days after Sigurdsson’s brutal announcement, I found myself sitting at a conference table across from several leading congressmen and two of the most celebrated scientists of our day, with the President just to my right at the end of the table. The heaviness in the atmosphere of the room when I’d entered had caused me to take a seat without saying a word. There was a bottle of water in front of me, and I reached for it because my nerves were so stressed that my mouth was already dry. As I swallowed a couple mouthfuls of water, the President cleared his throat and spoke.
“Ronnie, I’ve known you for years now, and I can say without reservation that you’re one of the coolest men in a crisis that I’ve ever met. We need that cool head today.”
I looked at him as he spoke, and I could see the tension in every fiber of his body. “What can I do for you, Mr. President,” I asked.
“You’re aware of the world-wide threat coming from Liam Sigurdsson,” he said in a half question.
“Yes, sir. I’ve been following the news coverage of the whole thing. Is there more to it?”
“Well, for the most part, the news media have let it all out of the bag, but the one thing we know that the news boys don’t seem to is that you and Liam Sigurdsson have a long history.”
I nodded. I wasn’t sure how much the President knew, but I was willing to bet he had all the data at his fingertips. Such was the nature of our government surveillance and investigative forces.
He continued: “I understand that the two of you competed in a number of scientific projects during graduate school and then competed for two prestigious international awards in later years.” He looked at me with a question in his eyes.
“That’s correct. He won exactly half of those competitions in our school years, and he won one of the awards after we were both in our professional careers.”
“But you won the other award, which he coveted very badly, and you went on to be selected for the position as head of the Bon Homme Mind Manipulation Project that got world-wide acclaim.”
“Yes, sir, but I don’t see what that has to do with this situation,” I said, honestly confused.
“We know from dealing with the man that Sigurdsson — although a genius in his field — is also mentally deranged. And he has the largest ego the world has ever known. He doesn’t believe he can be defeated — well — let’s say he’s evidently convinced himself that he cannot be defeated — ever again. The only competition he’s ever had that brought him defeat has been with you.”
The President looked me in the eye, and I did the same to him, but I didn’t speak. He continued: “So, playing on that theme, we’ve managed to infiltrate Sigurdsson’s privacy enough to suggest to him that if he wants the whole word to believe that he’s worthy to rule the six major nations in the world that have been the bastions of freedom and democracy until now, he needs to be able to defeat his greatest peer once and for all.”
My mouth fell open slightly, and I’m sure my eyes must have bugged out, because the congressmen and scientists across from me — who had remained totally silent up to that point — began to shift in their seats. I could literally feel them holding their breaths.
Finally, I found my voice. “I still don’t understand. You want me to do some kind of combat with Sigurdsson? Something physical or scientific or what?”
“We’ve offered him a challenge in his field of expertise,” the President answered. “We’ve challenged him to pit his mind-control and biokinetic abilities that he’s so proud of against yours. And whoever wins that battle will determine what happens with the bombs.”
I just looked at him. Looked him in the eye. I couldn’t look away. Inside my head, I could hear myself screaming “What! Are you crazy!” But I couldn’t speak a word out loud. I just looked at him. And the other people in the room held themselves so rigid waiting for my answer that I could feel the tension from the other side of the table.
I finally spoke — in a surprisingly quiet voice: “And what did he say to your challenge?”
“He agreed.”
Again, I could hear shocked questions pounding through my head, but I didn’t speak them out. As I sat there silent for a few moments, I realized that I wasn’t really surprised at all. Liam Sigurdsson was deranged. It’s true he was a genius. So was I for that matter. In fact, we had exactly the same IQ. But the man could not live with a challenge to his ego. He felt compelled to rise to such a challenge, and he wouldn’t even think beyond that feat to what the possible repercussions might me. Of course, he was not even entertaining the idea of failure on his part.
“And you think you can actually believe a man who is so deranged, Mr. President?”
He nodded his head. “We’ve secured a mediator that is acceptable to both Sigurdsson and to us. Sigurdsson will give him the details concerning the bombs, and the mediator will be locked away in a secure place until the contest is over. When he’s notified of the winner, he’ll either turn the information over to us … or … in the event … ” He stopped and took a deep breath. “In the event that Sigurdsson wins, the mediator will simply hand the information back to him.”
I took a deep breath as well. And the men and women on the other side of the table finally took one too. A few of them leaned back in their chairs, obviously glad the worst of the story had been related. I glanced at them and then back to the President.
“And when is this challenge supposed to take place?”
“Tomorrow at noon.”
“And how long does it last?”
“Until one of you blinks.”
“What?” I shook my head to clear it, certain I’d heard wrong. I glanced at the people across the table, saw shock on their faces as well, and realized they hadn’t been told the details yet either. So I looked back at the President. “What did you say?”
“The contest will last until one of you blinks. That’s the challenge. Both you and Sigurdsson have developed a large following for your research and proven theories in the areas of mind control and organic manipulation. That’s the arena he wants to defeat you in. To prove that he has developed in those areas to a much higher degree than you have. So that’s the challenge he has chosen to accept. You’ll sit and stare at each other via webcam, and whoever blinks first … loses.”
As wild and off-the-wall as the whole strategy sounded, I couldn’t refuse my commander-in-chief. Besides, what other option did we have? We could send in military power and annihilate Sigurdsson, but we couldn’t shut off the bombs. So I went home to “get some rest” — the President’s words — not mine. That was about 7:00 last night.
As I prepared for bed, I found myself going over in my mind the Bible story I’d known from childhood about David and Goliath. I picked up my Bible and began reading the story again. It was inspiring, to say the least: a young, apparently defenseless, youth standing up to the biggest bully of his day — and winning. To be sure, there had to have been some supernatural help involved.
So as I lay my head on my pillow, I whispered, with all the vulnerability of a child, “Lord, it seems the fate of the whole free world is resting on my shoulders — or rather on my eyelids — tomorrow. Sir … I’d just like to say … I could sure use some of the same kind of help that You gave that shepherd boy.”
That brings us to this morning, 11:50 eastern time, when I took a seat in front of the webcam set up at the White House. I had requested that I be left in the room alone once the camera came on. So everyone else began filing out, and that’s when the President leaned over to me, gripped me by the shoulder and whispered, “Remember, Ronnie. Don’t blink. If you blink, it’s all over.”
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Share Your World 1/15/18
To participate in “Share Your World,” visit Cee’s website for the details.
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Question # 1: Complete this sentence: I’m looking forward to….
Heaven
Question # 2: What is your favorite comfort snack food?
Chocolate chip cookies
Question # 3: What was one of your first moneymaking jobs (other than babysitting or newspaper delivery)?
Working in an ice cream stand
Question # 4: What inspired you or what did you appreciate this past week?
As a writer and a creative writing teacher, I am constantly on the alert for really good advice on writing of any kind. I don’t want to hear cliches and worn-out rules that don’t really get to the meat of how to write better. So when I come across fellow creators who are truly genuine and transparent about their craft and how they use their gifts for that craft, I stop and listen, and, inevitably, I’m inspired. I had that experience this week when I watched an interview with author/teacher Marion Roach Smith. I’ve included the link to that video here in case some of my readers who are also writers might like to check it out.
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Snow Day
““““`While just sitting here looking at the snow — and one of the fattest cardinals I’ve ever seen — I thought I’d reblog this poem from my “Ahyoka” site. I wish I could have gotten a picture of that cardinal. He was well-fed indeed.
Snow day — thanks to the weather
I hibernate with pleasure
And watch the birdies as they graze
On bounty I’ve laid out to day:
Whole grain bread in pieces small
And oats that can be shared by all,
Then crackers sharp with garlic taste
And graham crackers too — no waste.
I watch the shadows on the snow
Shifting as the sun moves slow
And contemplate my quiet day:
A gift of extra time to pray.
Tomorrow when this snow is gone,
It’s back to work and carry on,
But while I have this time of ease,
The birds and I are quite at peace.
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Silent Sunday – 1/14/18
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Having Church at Home Today
Our roads were way too icy to get out and go to church this morning. My church is about 30 miles from my house, and if I could have gotten to the major highway that is part of my route, I’m sure it would have been clear. Unfortunately my own road and the other local roads are still slick as snot, and travel didn’t seem wise.
Then to make matters worse, my heater in my car stopped working this week. But by the time I realized it wouldn’t work, I didn’t have time to get it into the shop before the snow and ice got here. However, in lieu of going to service (and preaching, which I was scheduled to do this morning) I spent good time with the Lord anyway in prayer and His Word. And I will undoubtedly do that more later today as well.
But just in case a lot of my friends out there are in the same predicament, I thought I’d share a couple of the short Bible lesson videos I’ve made this past year. They are part of my Know the Word; Experience the Power series of messages, produced by the ministry God called me to establish several years ago: Radical About Jesus Ministries. Hopefully, they will encourage and energize your faith today, and you won’t miss being at church as much.
WHEN YOU HAVE THE WORD, YOU HAVE THE VICTORY
BUILDING UP OUR RESISTANCE
Have a happy day. Jesus Christ loves you!
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Weekend Coffee Share – 1/13/18
Hi, fellow coffee drinkers. Well, to begin with this week, I need to confess that I am not drinking coffee as we have this little chat. I’m actually drinking a glass of beer. Does that count??? Now, I’m not a big drinker, and I never drink alcohol of any kind if I’m driving. But I do enjoy the occasional glass of wine or beer. And today — with my sandwich at lunch — beer just seemed like the winner.
I’m also enjoying the first day of sunshine that we’ve had in a week. Of course, I’m not going out in it, since the temps are frigid, and the ice on the roads is still really bad. I imagine the major highways are clear, but getting to them from our local and side roads is the challenge. But I don’t have to go out for anything today. I stocked up a few extra supplies so that I could hunker down if necessary.
Now tomorrow is a different story. I’m supposed to do the sermon at church in the morning — actually it’s the second part of the sermon I began last Sunday — and my church is about 30 miles away. Sooooo — I’m going to have to do some more praying and planning about travel tomorrow.
To make matters more difficult, I’ve been having trouble with my car heater as well. It’s been working only about half the time. That wasn’t a serious problem last week when it was in the 40’s and 50’s. But this week with single digits at night and in the wind chill during the day, it’s a sort of — uh — well, maybe a big — problem. There are a couple church members who would come to get me, but I don’t really want them to have to do that, so I’ll have to make some decisions within the next several hours.
The sun on the ice and snow is pretty, and it has lifted my spirits enormously. I’ve even manged to write two poems today and about half a chapter of a book I started several months ago and have had a hard time continuing.
After I lost my best friend back in August in a very tragic accident, I had a very difficult time getting back into my creative mode. Not only was he my best friend, but he was also my best editor and often a source of great inspiration and terrific creative ideas. We were a really good team, and I have several novels on the market to prove it. But, as I’m sure you can imagine — and perhaps some of you know by experience — when half of a team is deleted, the spirit of the remaining half of the team is sorely damaged. During this time, I’ve been able to express myself only in poetry, and I even began a brand new website devoted to poetry in order to set that creativity free. But I have not been able to write on any of my novel projects during these four and a half months. But at last, this week, I have experienced a breakthrough of sorts, and two novels are beginning to feel the positive effects of that breakthrough.
Well, that’s probably enough sharing for this week. I can see by the clock that in another hour, I’ll probably be ready for that cup of coffee and maybe some cookies — or fruitcake. And, by the way, why is it that fruitcake seems to get a lot of bad publicity? I love fruitcake. And mine’s almost gone. I hope I don’t have to wait until next Christmas to find some more.
Oh, one more thing. I discovered something interesting about birds this morning. With all the ice, I wanted to help the birdies find food, and since I don’t keep a regular bird feeder, I went to my bread and cracker supplies. I have quite a few birds that visit my yard, and often two families of birds that live in my Blue Spruce tree in my front yard. This year I’ve had mockingbirds, cardinals, blue jays, blackbirds, and another kind that I don’t recognize.
I put out some bread and some graham crackers, but then I discovered an old box of garlic and chive crackers. I decided I’d give them a try as well. The smaller birds didn’t bother with those garlic crackers. They ate the other things, but a large contingent of blackbirds came swooping down and really dug into those garlic and chive crackers. They were gone in no time. So now I know — and I can put it on record — that blackbirds like garlic and chive crackers. A friend of mine who’s very knowledgeable about birds said the big birds will eat just about anything. So I just might go in there and see what else I need to clean out of my cabinets. 🙂
photo courtesy of seagul @ pixabay.com
Join “Weekend Coffee Share” at eclecticali.
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Painful Electrical Charge
Static:
Bane of winter.
Each time I take off coat
Or hat. Or slide across car seat.
Ouch! Ouch!
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The Happy Wordcrafter 