Fog - Part 3/10

III – An old acquaintance, a prophecy

“Hi-” I began, swallowing, studying his face for a flash of recognition, “Do I know you?”
“I don’t think so, Ross. Can I call you Ross?” He stood now and moved to our booth with his flask.
“You can call me Ross.”
He stretched out a hand spotted with the pinkish shine of burnt flesh healed over. I took it.
“Mick Sabre.” I had heard the name somewhere, and perhaps I had seen his face. Moustachioed, creased, handsome - you don’t forget a face like that around here.

“So Mick, how do you know me?”

“I know everyone in this town, Ross. Over there is Joe Tricarico, the kids kissing are Jodie Michaels and Anders King. The family in the corner, they’re the Fiskens; they have a holiday house on the lake but are only here for the summer and the father is Mike Fisken, an agent for NFL players.” He eyed the truckers for a moment, “And them truckers, they’re all out of towners, except for Shane McGregor, the redhead. He grew up on Canary Place but he is interstate most of the time.” He took another swig. “But, Ross, the reason you might recognise me is six years ago I offered you a position as my private pilot.”

At last, I remembered. He offered me big money, I would have taken it, if Tara wasn’t ready-to-pop pregnant.
“Ah yes, I remember.”
Mick Sabre of The Sabre Company. But what the hell was he doing at Joe’s Diner?
“So how do you know the rest of these folk?”

“It’s my job, I know all 117 land owners in Little Rock.”

I was awake, yanked from a semi-doze. A dam of questions built. He must have read my expression before I got to ask any of them.
“I needed more land and we were arranging a mass acquisition. But that’s all in the past now.” His eyes shined with something, I might have called it regret, but he forced his lips back from his white teeth and his cheeks creased in a forced smile.

The diner was alive again, the truckers’ theories were getting wilder and the couple were necking. The family’s kids and mother were playing and laughing and the patriarch furiously punched numbers into his mobile phone, it appeared the reception was still down. Joe was back behind the counter talking to Sarah Griffin and a big man in an apron.

“Ross, you seem like a calm, intelligent man. So I am going to tell you something. And before I do, I want you to know it’s for your little girl.” He sucked in another gob of whiskey. “You don’t have long together. I know it is hard to hear, but trust me, hold her for now because soon she will be gone.”

“What are you saying Sabre?” If Janey wasn’t on my lap, I might have looped a fist at him.

“Ross you need to stay calm, I’m telling you this because I want your last hours with your daughter to be precious. Tell her you love her and it will all be okay. We are animals, Ross, and you need to show your love for your daughter before it takes you, before it takes her.”

“Stop right there, just stop!” I could feel eyes on me. So I gripped my anger in my fists. I lowered my voice and hunched over toward him. “You’re mad. You come here and make threats. Say another word Sabre, do it and see what happens.” Part of me wanted to see those white lips shape a word, give me enough to get him good with a right.

He rocked his head back taking another swig which seemed to abate the tense hot air that was rising between us. His eyes conceded the point and that forced-smile disappeared. I could have sworn tears were starting but they never came. He lifted himself from his seat. His boots clapped against the linoleum floor as he receded toward the back of the diner.

Blood roared in my ears. I held Janey, still in her pyjamas. I thought about Tara, she would probably still be sleeping, it didn’t matter what the time was. She slept when it was dark and woke when it was light. The clock ticked eight-thirty. My coffee cup was dry; I wanted a refill more than anything else. But I couldn’t leave Janey, not with that mad bastard Sabre here. The strange air that Rafa brought had subsided. It was still there but as an afterthought, like storm clouds moving towards the horizon. I recognised the faint whine of a siren racing by. It came stifled, almost distant and it appeared no one else had heard it.

I was waiting for Sabre. I had things to say, now that my head was clear. I wanted to tell him how he was loathed, how it didn’t matter how much money he had no one would sell to scum like him. For now, I had forgotten about the black fog, my mind instead traversed from rage to pity to loathing. And way down, displaced from my attuned psyche, the thought that Sabre knew something I didn’t lingered.

“What the hell was that?” the necking boy started. He flipped the collar of his leather jacket up, as though that would maintain his bravado. “Was that lightening or what?” His shaky voice had the room’s attention. All eyes scanned through the plate glass panels. The fog was like heavy TV static, perhaps a little darker, and too thick to see. Then I saw something flash, subdued by the fog.

“See? Did you see that?” He was standing on the seat now; he used his hands as binoculars against the glass. It came again, others noticed, and everyone except Janey was up, bolted to the floor. Our eyes were scouting about outside. The flashes were regular and one was so close that the brightness left a negative printed on my eyes for a few seconds.

It might have been half an hour, maybe more. We all still watched the lightening but the thunder never came. Occasionally a stifled crack would sound, but never the hard bone-rocking thunder that normally comes with a close storm. And there was no rain or moisture. That was the strange thing about it, it didn't move with the slick caul of other fog.It was dry like smoke, but as heavy as fog.

People were dropping back into their seats. No one was happy to leave just yet, and Sarah was moving about with a pungent pot of free refills. For a moment I had the odd feeling that I had walked onto the set of a play. She was a mother moving amongst full-bellied children. With her apron and her ginger-nut ponytail settled loosely to the side, she was doling out mash potatoes and corned beef, or throwing wet clothes into shape and pegging them on a clothesline. But my mind quickly discarded the scene, I was in Joe's Diner and she was just a girl who babysat Janey. No one else was goggling her like me they all sat itching and weary. Not quite stressed but expectant.

An uneasy calm-before had settled, but what was the storm?

Spoiler

Next topic87438.html

On to chapter 3. Here we go.

Again, I'll mostly start out with points that I liked most about this portion of your story. Firstly, I think it's usually of great significance for a writer to pace his story out with mellow pauses in action. What I mean by this is, it's good to keep the story flowing, but to also keep the pace steady by throwing in some miscellaneous moment that is of significance to the scenes foregoing. What you did here with Ross sitting at the booth in the diner and coming across this Mick character who gets him pretty heated by the end of their conversation, I think it was an appropriately placed addition here. So nice work.

“What are you saying Sabre?” If Janey wasn’t on my lap, I might have looped a fist at him.

When you look at this alone out of context of the larger picture, some might think your character is being a bit rash by having this feeling after Mick was leaning toward speaking of his daughter. We didn't know what Mick was saying exactly either as an audience. One of my thoughts was maybe he could be speaking in a general way, like 'cherish your daughter while you have her young'. But when you really look at it, I think his reaction was indeed appropriate here, and added a bit more meaning to Ross's character. He's protective of his daughter, and takes what others say in mention of her to heart. With little details like this, you're not only adding tension to the scene but are working in favor of the two character's relationship. And I really quite like this.

I also like how you dim down the anger level that had risen in his blood. This way it doesn't seem so intense or out of place or inaccurate the way Ross was feeling. He goes from rage to pity to loathing, as if shoving Mick's words away from him and allowing his mind to press forward into other thoughts. Other more important thoughts for the whole of the story.

The following excerpts I have quoted consist randomly of nitpicks and thoughts. I usually have a few. x)

He stretched out a hand spotted with the pinkish shine of burnt flesh healed over. I took it.

The reluctance. ;]

The family in the corner, they’re the Fisken(')s

He offered me big money(.) I would have taken it, if Tara wasn’t ready-to-pop pregnant.

Also, one of my favorite random lines.

“What are you saying(,) Sabre?”

I could feel eyes on me so gripped(,) my anger in my fists, I lowered my voice and hunched over toward him.

This part had me a little confused the way it was written. I might not have even tweaked it properly because I couldn't tell if you were meaning Ross could feel eyes on him so gripped, as in eyes were glued to him, or he could feel eyes on him so he gripped his anger in his fists. o.O Maybe you could tell me which.

“Was that lightening or what?” His shaky voice had the room’s attention.

It came again, others noticed, and everyone except Janey was up, bolted to the floor.

What do you mean here by 'bolted to the floor'? I want to think you mean something similar to glued to the floor, as in entirely still in their seats, but when I think of bolted the thought of someone heading somewhere in a hurry comes to mind. Like if someone bolted out the door, they ran out the door. See what I mean? Maybe this is just me though.

The flashes were regular and one was so close the brightness left a negative printed on my eyes for a few seconds.

This bit was again a little iffy to me. I assume you meant it left a negative print on his eyes as in his vision was still radiating a reaction. I just crossed out the 'ed', because it sounds correct. But anyway, that's about it for that I suppose. I think that where you ended chapter three was smartly done. Now the story is going to start picking up in time for chapter ten to be reached smoothly through, and you haven't even rushed any of the scenes or dialogue or anything. Fantastic work again. I feel like I didn't have too much to say here, but that's probably because I just see little wrong with this. Will of course be moving on to another few chapters soon. :]

-Smylin'

“I don’t think so, Ross,(period) Can I call you Ross?”

around here, a face like that you don’t forget in a hurry.

Worded a bit awkwardly.

“I know everyone in this town, Ross. Over there is Joe Tricarico, the kids kissing are Jodie Michaels and Anders King. The family in the corner, they’re the Fiskens; they have a holiday house on the lake but are only here for the summer and the father is Mike Fisken, an agent for NFL players.” He eyed the truckers for a moment, “And them truckers, they’re all out of towners, except for Shane McGregor, the redhead. He grew up on Canary Place but he is interstate most of the time.”

Interesting way of giving the characters names and some backgrounds. Not sure if you did this on purpose, but I feel like you did.

Mick Sabre, the richest man I may have met

May have? He's definitely met him. The way you phrased it makes it seem like the man isn't sure if he's met him. If you meant he's not sure if he's the richest he's ever met, I would suggest something like: "Mike Sabre, possibly the richest man I have ever met."

But what the hell was he doing at Joe’s diner?

I don't think you ever officially said the name of the diner, but if the name is "Joe's Diner", then capitalize 'diner' here.

“I needed more land,(no comma) and we were arranging a mass acquisition. But that’s all in the past now.” His brilliant blue eyes shined with something,

I believe you've mentioned that his eyes are blue and brilliant twice now. (Not in this chapter, but the entire story). By now, the reader should already be imagining blue eyes, so you don't need to reinforce it anymore than you already have.

The diner was alive again,

Joe, the owner, was back behind the counter talking to Sarah Griffin and a big man in an apron.

The reader knows that Joe is the owner, no need to mention it again. Another thing I noticed (as you have done this twice now) is that you write a paragraph saying what each group in the diner is doing. In this case, the bits about the family and the couple aren't entirely important. The details seem too forced. However, the part about the person punching at their cell phone, getting no reception is important. I would suggest only telling about their actions if it has important relevance to the story. Right now it's similar to a a situation where someone is sitting in a classroom and thinking something like: "A small boy is sitting at the front, picking at his fingernails, and a group of girls in the back are giggling. The kid with the dark hair that covers his face is looking out the window... etc." You see what I'm getting at, eh?

He breathed in another gob of whiskey.

I find that this is a weird verb to use when describing how he drinks. I suppose it could be used to show that he's very dependent on the whiskey, similar to how he's dependent on air. If you were getting at something along those lines, then awesome, but if you're simply describing the way he drinks it, I don't think 'breathing' is the right word. Maybe he 'sucked back another gob of whiskey.' ?

I could feel eyes on me(comma) so gripped my anger in my fists,(period) I lowered my voice and hunched over toward him.

I will kill you if you say another word.”

I find that the man is overreacting a bit. He seems like a rational guy, he should realize that the man's been drinking, and if not that, at least be skeptical. Although, he is in a stressful situation, which may be why he's overreacting, I just thought I'd say so.

Unfazed, he rocked his head back(comma) taking another swig.

Or, you could skip the comma and change it to: "rocked his head back and took another swig."

He wore a white shirt under a black suit.

I think if you were going to mention this, you should have done it earlier in the story. I've already started to imagine him in jeans and whatnot - you know, the whole cowboy getup. A suit just doesn't seem fitting.

because if it was still dark she would still be sleeping.

There are probably better ways to word this. I see what you're getting at, but it came out awkwardly.

It was still there(comma) but as an afterthought, like storm clouds moving towards the horizon.

the thought that Sabre knew something I didn’t,(no comma) lingered.

“What the hell was that?” the necking boy started. He flipped the collar of his leather jacket up, as though that would maintain his bravado(period)

His shaky voice had the room’s attention.

The fog was like heavy TV static(comma) perhaps a little darker, and too thick to see.

The flashes were regular and one was so close that the brightness left a negative printed on my eyes for a few seconds.

But the thunder never came.

I would connect this sentence with the previous.

Occasionally a stifled crack would sound(comma) but never the hard bone-(?)rocking thunder that normally comes with a close storm.

And there was no rain, no moisture in the air.

Fog is, in a nutshell, moisture.

and Sarah the babysitter was moving about with the coffee jug in hand, ready with a round of free refills.

I feel like you remind us too often who people are. Have a little more faith in your readers.

As I have read about 5 chapters (and reviewed 3), I can say that your writing is consistent throughout (and I'm guessing that it will continue to be that way). Nice work as always. I shall review more chapters tomorrow! Ciao

He offered me big money, I would have taken it, if Tara wasn’t ready-to-pop pregnant.

This is a very crude image, and from what I’ve seen of Ross, it seems a bit out-of-character.

“It’s my job, I know all 117 land owners in Little Rock.”

Write out numbers.

I was awake, yanked from a semi-doze.

This makes it sound as though he’s just woken up, but he seemed pretty much awake before.

His eyes shined with something, I might have called it regret, but he forced his lips back from his white teeth and his cheeks creased in a forced smile.

Repetition.

The diner was alive again, the truckers’ theories were getting wilder and the couple were necking.

I think that first comma should be a semi-colon. I think.

My coffee cup was dry; I wanted a refill more than anything else. But I couldn’t leave Janey, not with that mad bastard Sabre here.

Why not take her with hi up to the counter?

I had things to say, now that my head was clear. I wanted to tell him how he was loathed, how it didn’t matter how much money he had no one would sell to scum like him.

Calling Sabre “scum” and using words like “loathing”, it makes it sound like Ross has hated this guy for ages, but he seemed pretty friendly with him until he started getting cryptic.

It might have been half an hour, maybe more.

This feels like a non sequiter. Half an hour since what? Until when?

---
Yay! Action! Well, kind of. I’m in two minds here, because part of me wants to point out that no real conflict until the third chunk in isn’t very hook-y, but part of me doesn’t agree. I guess it all depends on how you read it, and I know you said this isn’t really meant to be read in chunks, but the thing is that I am reading it in chunks. >_< I don’t know. Ignore me.

-twit

Mkay.

Tension's definitely building again here, after that little recess that was chapter two. The cowboy is kind of a picnictime anxiety-booster - really, you can tell from the very moment you mention him that he is someway, somehow in the middle of the whole predicament, or at least that he knows much more about what is going on than anyone else. He's the kind of person that makes readers prop up in their seats, makes them cling to every word that sprouts from his or Ross's mouths, lets them burrow ever-deeper into the story. He's like the beacon of a lighthouse at night: the lighthouse knows where the land is, but Ross and the readers are still out in the storm, trying to navigate the waves.

There are some instances when the conversation seems to lumber away from what could be described as relevant. Such as when you go into how Mick was going to hire Ross to be some pilot or whatever. Unless that turns out to be significant later on in the story, I think you'll be safe to water things like these down and only describe them briefly. Otherwise it becomes a distraction.

I have some nitpicks for you! I'm going to...refrain from correcting grammar, but I will say that there were quite a few rough patches in this area. If you want to, go ahead and contact me and I'll provide you with a more comprehensive nitpick review.

He stretched out a hand spotted with the pinkish shine of burnt flesh healed over. I took it.

Not especially eager to shake Mick's hand, I'm assuming? I think you should say a little something about that.

At last, I remembered.

"At last" makes it sound almost as if Ross is identifying his recollection, to an extent, with only his own, introspective thought process, because the phrase implies that he had been nearing epiphany on his own for some time now, and attained remembrance only through means of this gaining of proximity. But it was Mick's words that reminded him, yes? So try supplanting "at last" with something more immediate, like "instantly."

I just rambled about something that wasn't even that important, didn't I? Oh well. I do that.

ready-to-pop pregnant.

This kind of stuck out to me; I think it might be best to rework your description here.

“It’s my job, I know all 117 land owners in Little Rock.”

You should write out numbers. It looks more professional.

The diner was alive again, the truckers’ theories were getting wilder

Just pointing this out. Your edit of last chapter replaced the truckers' theories with baseball talk.

“Stop right there, just stop!” I could feel eyes on me. So I gripped my anger in my fists. I lowered my voice and hunched over toward him. “You’re mad. You come here and make threats. Say another word Sabre, do it and see what happens.”

I can understand why Ross said this; I can sympathize with his initial anger. But later he also admits, in a way, to himself that Mick is most likely right. But...wouldn't curiosity eventually bloom from this as well? If he thinks Mick is correct, then wouldn't he want to know why he's correct, too? I mean, if someone who seemed to be extremely knowledgeable came up to you and told you that you were going to die, wouldn't you want to know how? So you can, I don't know, prepare, or fight, even?

And there was no rain or moisture. That was the strange thing about it, it didn't move with the slick caul of other fog.

"And there was no rain or moisture" is describing the storm. "It" in the next sentence refers to the fog. Two different things, yeah?

Okay. Good work and all that.

-Kafka

Hai! I bet you thought I'd never get around to these, but I'm determined to catch up on all my reviews this month!

Line By Line

1.

“It’s my job, I know all 117 land owners in Little Rock.”

You can't have numbers in dialogue! He's saying them so how's he saw it? 'One one seven' or 'one hundred and seventeen' or 'a hundred 'n seventeen'.

2. I think your MC is too quick to misunderstand Mick. I didn't get a threatening vibe from him at all so for your MC to suddenly be thinking of punching him, I was a bit like woah, where'd that come from? It felt to me like Mick was just talking in general at first and all the evidence we have of his character suggests he's a nice sort of guy. He offered the MC that job one time and he just seems pretty chill and friendly. I can understand the MC getting riled up/ creeped out by his later sentence though, when he clarifies that they just have a few hours together. But not before that.

Dialogue

I'm not sure about some of the dialogue in this section as I was finding it hard to follow how much the two men know each other and who exactly they are. It was pretty interesting at first, when Mick was explaining how he knew everyone, though he maybe picked out a few too many examples. One or two would have been enough, three max. I think you cover like seven or eight so maybe cut that down a bit and flesh out the details of the ones you do use. After that though, I felt the conversation about him being a land owner was really forced/ not properly supported. There wasn't enough of a reaction from Ross to tell us what that means or whether the realisation of who this is was a good one or a bad one. We get to find out he offered him a job one time which Ross turned down because his wife was pregnant? Now that I found odd. Surely he'd be more likely to want some extra money with a baby on the way?

So I just felt you could have been a bit tighter and more compelling there.

Overall

Some good descriptions going on and I like the new character. I think you're maybe a bit too obvious about him knowing things that the others don't and I think you point things out for us a bit too often, like the fact he looks like he might be going to cry. It would be better if you made it more subtle or more mysterious. That's pretty hard in our day and age since we've come to expect characters like these, but I'm sure you'll think of something!

Other than that, the story is moving on nicely. There's a good calm feeling here without neglecting the storm entirely. Good work.

Heather xxx