Eleven Days In Hell #7

NOTE: College has been good to me, giving me plenty of free time to write. However, it wasn't until someone sent me a PM telling me to post more chapters that I decided to continue where I left off. In lieu of doing NaNo this year (sad, I know), I'm going to finally finish what I've started. And so, chapter seven of Eleven Days in Hell.





Police Chief Kevin Bradley filed through some papers in his study. At around 6:45 that morning, a police officer from the Wilson Police Department called Kevin’s cell phone and told him that a bomb was set off under the window of the room where Arnold was being kept. No body was found, and there didn’t appear to be any disturbance in the glass pieces, so they had no idea where he was. Kevin thanked them and mulled over every possible scenario for the rest of the day. At 5:00 PM, he forced himself to not worry about it. He was going to let the officers on duty search for him; they would call him with any news.
Kevin rubbed his eyes and looked at the clock—11:06 PM. If there were any urgent news, he would have known by now. He organized the mess of papers in front of him, turned off the desk lamp, and drained the last of his mug of hot chocolate. It had been a while since he was able to sit down with a nice cup of hot chocolate; he just wished it didn’t have to be while his best friend was missing.
Kevin washed out his mug and put it in the sink. He turned off all of the lights, locked the doors and windows, and started up the stairs when he heard a violent knocking at his back door. Cautiously, he made his way to the door, and opened it. Arnold burst through, almost knocking Kevin to the ground. “You gotta help me, man!” screamed Arnold. “They’re out to get me! Hide me somewhere! Quickly!”
Kevin shushed Arnold. “My family is asleep upstairs! Where the hell have you been? I got the call today that they blew up your motel room and they didn’t find your body.”
“I had to change rooms,” said Arnold. “They knew where I was staying, and I had to get out of there.”
“How did they know?” asked Kevin.
“I don’t know, but they called that cell phone you gave me, and they called me by my new name, and they knew what room I was staying in, so I went to the front desk and switched rooms, but I thought they saw me switch, so I stayed up for three days straight so I could be ready in case they tried anything, and then the alarm clock started harassing me, and the TV was mumbling, and everything went nuts until I saw a bunch of guys outside my old motel room, and they set off a charge, and I knew they were coming back for me, so I booked it all the way back to town, and I think they were following me, because nobody in their right mind would run a hundred miles in dirty clothes, and now I need a place to hide fast!”
Kevin stood in awe of Arnold’s rambling mess. “I’d love to help you, Arnie, really, I would, but it’s ten after eleven, and I need to get to bed. I’ll pay for a motel ro—”
“Wait,” interrupted Arnold. “What time is it?”
“Ten after eleven.”
Arnold glanced to the ceiling, then said, “Damn it. Six days, nineteen hours, and fifty minutes.”
Kevin sighed. “Really? That long until you die? Arnold, you need to quit worrying about it! We’ve got our best men covering your ass, and if you don’t stay put, yeah, you will get killed! Now, I’m going to let you stay in my basement for tonight only. After that, we’re going to put you in a secured place, and you’re not going to leave until this whole thing passes. Understand?”
Arnold started to protest, but Kevin shushed him again. “You’re not leaving the basement, and you’re not leaving wherever we put you next, right?”
“Right, but I—”
“No, no buts. Get in the basement.”
“But I have to ask—”
“No questions till morning! Get in there, before you wake up my kids!”
Arnold slunk down into the basement. He saw a couch in the family room, and Kevin brought down a pillow and a few blankets. Arnold wearily thanked him, and arranged his beddings. He loosened his tie, tossed his suit coat into the corner, collapsed on the couch, and passed out.


Arnold’s dream that night was greatly disturbing. He was thirteen again, and his father was getting ready to go into town to pick up some groceries. “I’ll be back in a bit, Arnie,” his father said. “Be sure to help your mother out with supper until I get back.” Arnold watched his father pull out of the driveway, and drive toward town.
In reality, Arnold returned to the house and helped his mother, but he was inexplicably braver in this dream, so he followed the car into town with superhuman stride—he was walking like he normally did, but somehow he was able to keep up with the car. He followed his father all the way into town, and watched him as he bought the groceries needed for supper than night. On the drive back home, the sky turned an eerie shade of green and orange, and Arnold continued to follow his father. Even though he stopped walking, he was still able to keep up with the car.
His father stopped at the stop sign at the intersection before the highway. Arnold floated in front of the car and stood in his father’s line of sight, but his father seemed oblivious. He looked left, he looked right, and was about to pull into the intersection when a semi-trailer truck broadsided the car on the driver’s side. Arnold flinched at the sound of crunching metal scraping against metal, shattering glass spilling onto the road, tires exploding and shredding as the car slid sideways down the road.
Arnold levitated toward where the car slid to a halt, and watched as his father—a huge gash above his eyebrows, his left arm dangling by a flap of skin, the femur glistening white protruding from his right leg—struggled to exit the car. Screams of “Oh God! Oh God!” filled the air as his father, trapped in the wreckage, strained to get up and out. The semi-trailer truck was long gone—it was like the driver didn’t even notice he hit something. Smoke poured out of the hood, and gasoline leaked onto the pavement. His father managed to pry his left leg loose, and started to work on his right. Blood poured and squirted everywhere, and it was enough to make Arnold cringe, but there was something oddly riveting about it, like watching a wolf in a trap gnaw its own leg off.
Arnold’s father tugged and yanked at his right leg with his only working arm, and shrieked in extreme pain as the protruding bone crashed into the steering wheel. If Arnold was a complete entity at that point, he would have told his father to not move, and that he would call the police to report the hit-and-run. But Arnold was a ghost, watching his father cry in pain, his face growing paler, his body growing weaker. His father retched and coughed, blood spilling onto his clothes and onto the floor. Arnold felt sick, but he couldn’t rip his eyes off of the sight he was seeing. His father managed to pry his leg free of the wreckage, and panted in relief. Any normal person would have stopped there, and prayed to God to kill them now, but Arnold knew his father was a resilient person, and his proof was in the fact that his father was now hobbling toward the nearest farm house.
Arnold watched as his father, bloody and battered, hopped on his only good leg toward a house about a mile away. The loss of blood didn’t faze him, nor did the fact that his left arm would fall off at any given moment—he continued his trek to the farm house that was in his sights. Arnold slowly paced along with him, and instinctively reached out every time his father stumbled. His father had hopped only twenty feet before he collapsed, but Arnold knew that it was twenty feet farther than anyone else would have gone.
Arnold watched as his father gasped for air—for life—on the ground. He stared into his father’s eyes as they grew cold and blank, and listened as he gasped out short sentences, to himself or to God, Arnold didn’t know.
“My wife… I love you…” his father gasped. “Rachel… daughter… I love you…”
Arnold knew what was coming next: the only thing his father loved more than farming or reading was being around his family. His wife and kids meant everything to him, and now he was saying good-bye for good.
“My son… Arnie…” his father gasped.
“Yeah, Dad?” said Arnold.
Arnold’s father turned and looked Arnold in the eyes. Arnold knew that his father couldn’t see or hear him, but chills ran down his spine as he made final eye contact with his father, who beamed with pride.
“Arnie… treat Mama right… stay out of trouble…”
Tears welled up in Arnold’s eyes. “I will, Dad,” he said.
“Arnie…” his father whispered. “Come closer.”
Arnold leaned closer to his father, and watched as the last wisps of life floated from his eyes. “I… love you… Arnie.”
Arnold barely managed to choke out the words, “I love you, too,” before his father sighed his final breath.
Arnold had always wanted to be there when his father died—maybe it was guilt that he was still alive and had never given him a proper farewell—and now that his wishes were fulfilled, he desperately wanted not to know. His whole life, he had wondered the exact happenings of that evening, and now he knew: his father was killed by a reckless driver who didn’t even stop.
Emotions churned inside of Arnold. He felt rage against the driver for being so careless; he felt grief for his father’s passing; he felt guilt for still being able to walk, talk, breathe, live; he felt shame for not having helped him sooner; he felt worry for how he knew his mother would feel in a few minutes.
Arnold wept for his father. It was a strange feeling for him, growing up in a time when men didn’t show emotion. He looked up to his father, who could have cut off a limb and still be asking what was for dinner. But his father cried today. He cried because of the pain, he cried because of the wreck, but most of all, he cried because he knew he would never see his family again.
And because of this revelation, Arnold cried.
It was a strange emotion he had never felt before, but it felt good. It felt like a heavy burden had been lifted off of his shoulders, and that somehow, everything would be all right. His father died in front of his eyes, and the pain felt so new, but the hot tears streaming down his face were a release that he had never known before. Everything that had ever been bothering him now washed away by the simple act of crying.
This is good, thought Arnold. I’ll have to remember to do this again.
His thoughts were jarred by a blaring horn coming up behind him. The semi-trailer truck had returned, but once again, the driver failed to pay attention. Arnold stood up and jumped around, waving his arms, hoping that the driver would be able to see him, but he didn’t. The semi bore down on him at full speed, and Arnold braced for the moment when—


“Arnold! Wake up!” shouted Kevin. He reached down and grabbed Arnold’s shoulder, and nearly fainted when Arnold woke up, flailing and screaming.
“Are you all right, Arnie?” Kevin asked after a moment.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Arnold said, gasping for breath.
“Well, you crashed here on the couch and have been sleeping for two straight days.”
Arnold’s eyes grew wide. “What day is it today?”
Kevin glanced at his watch. “August 31,” he said. “12:14 in the afternoon.”
Arnold flopped back onto the couch. “Five days,” he mumbled to himself. “Five days, six hours, and forty-six minutes.”
“You don’t need to worry about that,” Kevin said. “We found a great place for you, honestly. No one is going to be able to get at you, you’ll have round-the-clock guard service, and you’ll be able to live a full and happy life.”
Arnold looked up at Kevin with pleading eyes. “Really?” he asked.
“Of course,” said Kevin. He flopped a new set of clothes on the coffee table next to Arnold. “Now, get dressed. You have to look good for where you’re going.”

Thanks, I love this story!


hope you post more soon.



notify me when you do please

This is a great series you've got going on here, and I like the part where Arnold has the flashback/dream to his father's death, even if it didn't make any real sense. How can he remember something he never even saw? Or was his brain just working overtime with his imagination going wild? I didn't find any spelling mistakes here, but then again, I didn't look for them. Keep writing, this is good.

well this one was good like the others! write more and let me know when you do please!

the only thing I didn't understand was the bit about his father. Like Cobra says, how can he see something that he never saw?
and was this a dream or a vision or what? that part of the story was a bit confusing!
but it was still good!

Hello, Roon again! Nitpicks, as usual, come first!

No body was found, and there didn’t appear to be any disturbance in the glass pieces, so they had no idea where he was.

There may not be disturbances in the glass, especially if he got out another way.

Really? That long until you die? Arnold, you need to quit worrying about it!

*splutter* that long until you die? This, to me, screams I wish you’d hurry up and go. Also, how can he stop worrying dying?

“You’re not leaving the basement, and you’re not leaving wherever we put you next, right?”

And if there’s another assassination attempt?

“No questions till morning! Get in there, before you wake up my kids!”

‘til I think, a till is something quite different. Also, before you wake my kids? This guy has had a near death experience, and he doesn’t want to talk about it?

He saw a couch in the family room, and Kevin brought down a pillow and a few blankets

They have a family room in the basement?

He loosened his tie, tossed his suit coat into the corner, collapsed on the couch, and passed out.

There are lots of commas here, also, he wouldn’t pass out unless there was a reason, say he went to sleep.

Arnold’s dream that night was greatly disturbing. He was thirteen again, and his father was getting ready to go into town to pick up some groceries. “I’ll be back in a bit, Arnie,” his father said. “Be sure to help your mother out with supper until I get back.” Arnold watched his father pull out of the driveway, and drive toward town.

You need to start a new line for the speech, even in a dream. Also, I thought at first, oh no I sense info dump, but it was well, done so… erm well done!

In reality, Arnold returned to the house and helped his mother, but he was inexplicably braver in this dream, so he followed the car into town with superhuman stride—he was walking like he normally did, but somehow he was able to keep up with the car.

Braver? He’s following his dad to the shops… you don’t have to talk so much about the walking, we’ve all had dreams like that. Also, looooooooong sentences again! You like them don’t you?

Even though he stopped walking, he was still able to keep up with the car.

Again, we don’t want to know about how he walked, or didn‘t walk.

but there was something oddly riveting about it, like watching a wolf in a trap gnaw its own leg off.

Odd image to use. Say he just couldn’t look away, in a sick way, it was almost riveting, something like that, I don’t know. The wolf thing just seems an odd image.

If Arnold was a complete entity at that point, he would have told his father to not move, and that he would call the police to report the hit-and-run.

Not to move, sounds better. Also, we know he can’t affect anything, why do you try something like:
Arnold wanted nothing more than to call an ambulance and tell his father not to move, but frustration coursed through him as he stood, rooted to the spot, unable to move. I know that’s not fantastic, but you get the idea, make it seem like a dream.

But Arnold was a ghost, watching his father cry in pain, his face growing paler, his body growing weaker.

He’s not a ghost, it’s his imagination working through his past. Also, I wouldn’t mention the paler face thing, it doesn’t really add anything to the description.

Arnold felt sick, but he couldn’t rip his eyes off of the sight he was seeing.

I think you want something more like, he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

His father managed to pry his leg free of the wreckage, and panted in relief.

Tense change, then he panted in relief, I think would sort this, or and pant in relief.

Any normal person would have stopped there, and prayed to God to kill them now, but Arnold knew his father was a resilient person, and his proof was in the fact that his father was now hobbling toward the nearest farm house.

So many commas. I would make this into two sentences.

Arnold watched as his father, bloody and battered, hopped on his only good leg toward a house about a mile away. The loss of blood didn’t faze him, nor did the fact that his left arm would fall off at any given moment—he continued his trek to the farm house that was in his sights.

Large sentence again. I don’t know why he would be doing this, if his arm is about to fall off. Surely he would just wait for another car? Also, you don’t give a reason for his resilience. It seems more like stupidity to me.

Arnold slowly paced along with him, and instinctively reached out every time his father stumbled. His father had hopped only twenty feet before he collapsed, but Arnold knew that it was twenty feet farther than anyone else would have gone.

He only got twenty feet, you made it seem further. Also, he couldn’t reach out in the dream.

Arnold watched as his father gasped for air—for life—on the ground.

The hyphens distracted me, I would just use commas.

Arnold knew what was coming next: the only thing his father loved more than farming or reading was being around his family. His wife and kids meant everything to him, and now he was saying good-bye for good.

Why mention farming and reading, just say the one thing he loved more than anything else, we haven’t heard anything about his love of farming and reading before, maybe if it had been mentioned I could understand, but it hadn’t.

Arnold’s father turned and looked Arnold in the eyes. Arnold knew that his father couldn’t see or hear him, but chills ran down his spine as he made final eye contact with his father, who beamed with pride.

This was such a touching moment, it shows a little humanity in the guy we thought was just a policeman, dedicated to his job.

“Arnie…” his father whispered. “Come closer.”

Thought you said he couldn’t see him?

Arnold leaned closer to his father, and watched as the last wisps of life floated from his eyes. “I… love you… Arnie.”
Arnold barely managed to choke out the words, “I love you, too,” before his father sighed his final breath.

Again, loved it!

His whole life, he had wondered the exact happenings of that evening, and now he knew: his father was killed by a reckless driver who didn’t even stop.

Erm, it was a dream, he doesn’t have special powers…

Emotions churned inside of Arnold. He felt rage against the driver for being so careless; he felt grief for his father’s passing; he felt guilt for still being able to walk, talk, breathe, live; he felt shame for not having helped him sooner; he felt worry for how he knew his mother would feel in a few minutes.

Odd punctuation. Very long. You need to be careful of this, you do it a lot.

was a strange feeling for him, growing up in a time when men didn’t show emotion.

Just because they don’t show it, doesn’t mean they don’t feel it.

He looked up to his father, who could have cut off a limb and still be asking what was for dinner.

Umm, is this because he was trying to prove something? Didn’t like this bit.

But his father cried today. He cried because of the pain, he cried because of the wreck, but most of all, he cried because he knew he would never see his family again.

Very good, emotive, brilliant.

And because of this revelation, Arnold cried.
It was a strange emotion he had never felt before, but it felt good.

He’s never felt upset before? He can’t have never cried.

This is good, thought Arnold. I’ll have to remember to do this again.

Okay, you don’t ‘remember’ to cry. Also, he’s dreaming about crying, not actually crying…

Okay, apart from the flaws mentioned earlier, this was fantastic, seriously! My favourite chapter yet! We finally see some depth in your character! This is what I was talking about earlier, such emotion was revealed, I’m so glad I got to review this, it was incredible!

Overall so far:

You need to work on character development in earlier chapters, we only really know a little about Arnold, everyone else is really 2dimensional.

Scenery, we never know what anywhere looks like.

Character appearances, we haven’t a clue what anyone looks like.

Your tone improves along the way, as does your instilling of the mood.

Your writing style is brilliant, you put an original spin on something that could be a cliché.

Well, your realism goes a little downhill in the middle I fear, but this chapter was by far my favourite, maybe the first… hmm, top 2! You grabbed me right from the start, it really is a wonderful story, and very well executed. Congratulations on such an achievement! Let me know when the next chapter is up!

~ Roon