All who read this, please don't hold back on your opinions. I'll be posting the entire novel soon, so consider this a preview.
Chapter 1
West Ireland, 10:48 P.M.
David Emerson stared out his bedside window, watching the rain splattering and trickling down the glass. Thunder vibrated the room and lightning swept across the rolling green hills, now a greenish gray in the deepening night.
David sat with his laptop balanced at the edge of his knees, the keyboard untouched for nearly twenty minutes. At the moment, the storm stole more of his concentration than his essay on global warming, which, judging by his thick wool sweater and the chilly gale blowing against the downpour, didn’t seem to be an issue here in Ireland.
David sighed and idly tapped his finger on the mouse pad. A flash of lightning burst through the heavy clouds, revealing a mound of castle ruins sitting ominously atop a nearby hill, the castle’s stark form silhouetted against the black sky.
Such isolation.
David knew his roots were here, among the Irish, but his real home would always be the US. He pressed his head against the cold window and daydreamed about his neighborhood in rural Pennsylvania, where he at least had a few friends, and where his neighbors consisted of more than just a few shepherds wandering the countryside.
Father had purchased this small cottage and 1-acre lot about a year ago, when his feverish longing for his own parents’ homeland was at its peak. It was a great way for the family to spend some quality time together, father said. But, truth be told, neither David nor the rest of the household liked it here. In fact, David’s mom and his sister Mindy made it a daily habit to gripe over the fact that the closest village was nearly twenty miles away. And only one road, narrow enough for one vehicle, led there through the countryside, with constant stops for woolen pedestrians who bleated their way across the roadway.
David yawned and closed his laptop. Though he’d been fully awake not that long ago, the continual rush of wind and insistent patter of rain was quickly lulling him into a state of drowsiness.
These long days of unremitting rain and gloom were becoming monotonous beyond words.
Thunder clapped and resounded, followed by a blinding flash of lightning.
David leaned forward and was instantly alert. Through the blinding flash, he was certain he’d just spotted a dark object dropping out of the clouds, homing in on the castle ruins below.
David shut his eyes against the assaulting light, glimpsing the falling object for only a second. When David opened his eyes again, the world was again cloaked in darkness.
He sat there, waiting for another lightning bolt to sweep its luminous arm over the impenetrable sky. A few minutes went by, but the only lightning now were minor, short bursts in the upper atmosphere, which revealed little of the land below.
David thought back to the mysterious object he’d seen, and in retrospect, it had appeared to be a large bird diving downward like a missile – straight from the heart of the clouds. Most likely, though, it was a floater, imprinted on his vision from the intense light hitting his retinas. Or maybe a piece of debris picked up by the high winds.
No, a piece of garbage caught in such high winds wouldn’t be shooting down with such a straight projectory. And how curious that this thing seemed to have the castle as its destination.
With this weird sight niggling at his brain, he couldn’t help but dwell on the abounding rumors concerning the castle’s history. The locals claimed that Daniel McGinley, the last person to own the castle in the late 18th century, had taken his life on the south wall, the very wall facing David’s bedroom. McGinley, though wealthy and lacking nothing materially, had given to despair over a life of solitude and friendlessness. Fetching a long rope stashed away in the gable which once stood behind the grand estate, the man tied the rope into a noose and placed it around his neck. Tying one end of the rope to his bed, he then flung himself from his window and hanged himself. As the story went, McGinley’s maid found the body the very next day, the corpse already having been picked clean by vultures and crows, though David considered this aspect of the tale dubious, at best.
Sometime last week, when he and his mom had paid the local village a visit, a scruffy looking vagrant with alcohol reeking breath had elaborated on the story even more, boasting that the maid had seen enormous rats building a nest in the skeleton’s bare rib cage. David didn’t believe a word of it; he was twelve years of age, after all. But his rationality still didn’t prevent his overactive mind from producing H.P. Lovecraft-like visions of a hideous, rotting skeleton hanging out the castle window when he stared at it during the dead of night. And when David’s fantasies really became carried away, he swore, at times, the skeletal remains raised its head up, pausing to study David across the expansive hillside
Turning from the window, David shuddered and urged his mind not to travel that route.
Another yawn escaped his mouth. Sliding his laptop under the bed and setting his alarm clock for morning, he decided to call it a night.
He was just going to undress and change into his pajamas when something caught his attention outside. He switched his lamp off, removing its reflection from the window. He squinted, his eyes roving through the shifting rain and swaying grass. He swore he’d just seen movement out there.
A powerful flash of lightning pulsated behind the clouds. The hills and castle ruins winked into existence again. But something new was there. Making its way down the hillside, seemingly oblivious to the raging storm.
David was taken aback. He gasped and involuntarily leaned back from the window.
There was a person out there!
A short, stocky person by the looks of it, casually walking, as though they were strolling down the beach on a nice sunny day. Or maybe David was misconstruing the whole thing. Maybe the person couldn’t move fast because they were weak from exhaustion. Or maybe they were just plain inebriated, which was the most likely of possibilities. Whoever they were, to be out in this chaotic weather at this time, they were either lost and in trouble or totally insane.
Upon closer examination, David surmised that this short stranger was either a child or a midget.
Or maybe a leprechaun.
David dismissed the absurd thought as easily as it had come. Too much time allowing Ireland’s folklore to get pounded into your head resulted in superstitious musings.
Not that David required any assistance in that area.
Again the lightning struck.
The short figure was now increasing its pace, drawing closer to the cottage.
Goodness, should he lift his window and see if he or she needed help? What if this was some maniac? One that would lunge at the open window and attack him at the first opportunity.
Jumping from his bed and hurrying into the hallway, he decided he should tell his father. When a troublesome situation arose, father usually knew exactly how to handle things. That was the funny thing. One comment or look from mother could make father fly off the deep end, but whenever a severe crisis came their way, father often mustered a rock solid composure to face it with. The rare moments when he did crack under the strain of dilemma, of course, was when he was interrupted from his work.
Coming to the door of his father’s study, David braced himself for the rebuke he would receive for interrupting father. He lifted his hand, hesitated, then knocked lightly.
No response.
He tested the doorknob, found it unlocked, and cracked the door open halfway. Carl Emerson, his father, was exactly as he’d expected to find him. Hunching over his desk, father’s face was hooked to the computer like a druggie getting a high from the screen. His fingers flew over the keyboard, breathing life into the first draft of his newest novel.
David knocked lightly again, but a rattling clap of thunder covered the noise. He waited, then cleared his throat.
Father paused, ran his hands through his curly red hair, then turned to stare at David. Father rolled his eyes and rubbed his forehead, as though massaging away a headache. “David, this better be important.”
David again cleared his throat. “Ah, dad, it kind of is important.”
“Kind of?” Father poked his face back into the screen.
David was hesitant. “There’s someone outside.”
“Next time, I want you to knock first. You know it’s inconsiderate to just barge in like that.”
“I did knock.”
“Oh, sorry,” father said curtly, “I didn’t hear you.”
Father resumed his writing.
“Look, dad, you have to listen to me,” David persisted, “there’s someone outside!”
Father slowly turned his attention back to David. “Someone outside?”
“Um, yeah. I saw them out my window. They’re heading for the cottage.”
Father got up. “David, why in blazes would someone be out in this kind of weather?”
David had a feeling father would doubt. “I don’t know,” he replied simply.
Father followed David into his lightless room. Nudging his glasses to the bridge of his nose, father peered out the window. A jagged lightning bolt painted itself across the sky, brushing its blinding light over the land below. David held his breath as father fixed his gaze on the hill.
A few seconds went by.
Then a full minute.
Father finally sighed and lifted his glasses back into place. “Look, I don’t see anyone.”
“There was someone out there,” David said desperately. “I know there was!”
“It could have been an animal.”
David hung his head low and stared at the floor, embarrassed. “Ah, I suppose. But I’m certain it wasn’t.”
“Well, if someone were wandering around in this storm, in desperate need of shelter, I assure you they’d be pounding on our door by now. And I don’t hear anyone pounding, do you?”
David shook his head.
Father patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t take it hard, son. Sometimes, our minds play tricks on us.” Father moved to the doorway. “You’ve probably been keeping your mind out of the real world too long. Every time I see you, you’re either doing homework or poking your nose into a National Geographic magazine. You know, kids your age should be playing sports, video games, and taking an interest in girls. Not writing extensive theses on the eco system.”
David groped for a feasible argument. “But I’m a writer. Just like you.”
“And I’m proud of that, I really am. But I’m a responsible adult, you’re not. My writing provides for you guys financially. It’s a living, not a hobby. You need to break away from your current interests for a while and embrace your childhood. You know what I’m saying?”
David nodded. “Okay,” was all he could say.
No sense in arguing.
“Good. Now it’s getting late. Better get some rest.”
David said nothing.
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” David spoke quietly.
As father left, David silently chastised himself for getting father involved. Whenever father was around, he made sure to make David feel inferior. Better to leave father a recluse with his writing, where he belonged. Where David often preferred him to be.
David switched his bedroom light on and idled toward his dresser, up to the cage of his pet tarantula, Hairy. Lost in thought, David stared closely at Hairy, who lay lazily on his back, molting. David wished he were as content in close confinements as Hairy. Back home, David at least had ways to get away from his family. Away from father’s condescending nature; away from father’s and mother’s constant bickering; and away from Mindy’s relentless harassments. But at least Mindy entombed herself in her room for the greater portion of the day, thank heavens.
The only one in the family David actually admired and looked up to was his older brother, Timothy. Though Tim could be a bit self-absorbed at times, he was the only one willing to give David a listening ear when David couldn’t talk to his nerdy, science-whiz friends. Moreover, Tim was fun to be around and embraced life to the fullest, facing every challenge with a sense of humor and mischievous buoyancy. In many ways, David longed to be like his older brother.
Something bumped into the side of the cottage, and David jumped. He remained still and waited for another bump to arise, but all he heard was the ghostly moaning and shrieking of the wind outside. Most likely, a piece of debris had hit the cottage. But David couldn’t shake from his mind the thought of the person he’d seen, possibly in duress, trapped in the raging elements.
David couldn’t help himself. He could not let the matter go.
The porch would be drenched and slippery, so he traded his slippers for a pair of sneakers. He didn’t want to step outside alone, but he doubted father would humor him again and be dragged from his Den of Creation, as he liked to call his private study. No, David would have to step out on his own, but only for a brief moment. He would scan the surrounding area, call to see if someone answered, and if nobody revealed themselves, would retreat back indoors.
He nabbed his flashlight and headed back into the hall. Passing Tim’s room on his way to the kitchen, he heard Tim furiously beating his punching bag, his mind wrapped up in the world of boxing. Having earned some sport scholarships in school, Tim hoped to fight – punch by punch – his way into the world of professional boxing, an aspiration which seemed to make father’s face shine whenever the subject was mentioned.
David never saw father’s face shine upon him as it did with Timothy.
David raised his fist to the door, ready to knock. He was tempted to see if Tim would accompany him to the porch. But no, that was ludicrous. He was a young man fully capable of watching after himself. Besides, all he planned on doing was stepping out for a quick peek.
Carl stared at a blank screen, his focus veering from his novel to David. He worried about the boy. David was too meek and soft. He also lacked the proper objectives for his age. Heck, he was so passionate about nature and the environment, he socialized with plants and his pet tarantula more than he did his friends. Carl could picture David on his first date, imitating the mating call of some exotic animal.
Carl pushed the disturbing thought away. He had to switch his mind back into writing gear. He was confident his current techno-thriller would ascend to the New York Times best-seller list, as his previous works had. But he would need better concentration during this tension-filled vacation if he were to whip his book into tip-top shape by the end of his publisher’s deadline.
This was only wishful thinking, however. As the door behind him creaked open, he knew he would probably gain no reprieve from interruptions tonight. He exaggerated a sour expression on his face and turned to find his wife Laura standing in the doorway, dressed in her white nightgown with her arms crossed.
“Yeeees?” He said.
“Carl, I heard you and David speaking in the hallway. What’s going on?”
“Nothing’s going on. David saw an animal out his window.”
“So David yanked you from your writing just because he saw an animal out his window?”
“He didn’t know what it was, so he wanted a second opinion,” Carl threw in more than a hint of annoyance to his voice.
“Well, he sounded upset. Is he all right? I mean – ”
“Look, I don’t know!” He twisted in his seat to face her. “You’re his mother. Why don’t you go ask him?”
“No need to get testy. I’m asking you because I don’t want to bother him if he’s settling down for the night.”
“If you were so concerned when you heard us, why didn’t you just come out right away to begin with?”
Laura scowled, her eyes taking on a look of disgust. Oh Lord, here it comes, Carl thought.
“You see, this is typical!” She objected. “I can never open my mouth without being at fault for something,”
“Well, he’s your son,” Carl emphasized the words. “It wouldn’t hurt you to give him a little attention now and then.”
“Oh, yeah, and you just lavish him with all sorts of attention, don’t you?”
“Well, you certainly have more free time than I do!”
“Do I?” She challenged.
“Yes. With my writing career, I barely get a break. The last few days, I’ve done nothing but take calls from my new agent. Tell you what, he exasperates me to no end. The guy’s a downright idiot! He probably couldn’t even take a whiz without calling to let me know about it. And you should hear some of his opinions!”
“No one’s stopping you from switching the phone off.”
“Laura, that would be completely irresponsible.”
“Well, don’t bellyache to me about your hectic schedule when you’ve chosen to be where you’re at now.”
“Okay, fine, but the same applies to you, too. Look what you’ve chosen. We’re so financially set from my last few novels alone, that you don’t even need to work full time, plus work your buns off at home on top of things.”
“I try to keep things organized for our family’s sake.”
“Yeah, but let’s face it, you give our furniture more care than you do our children.”
“Oh, give me a break!” She threw her hands up. “I’m too tired for this. All I wanted was to know how David was doing. Not get my head chewed off the moment I step into your little sanctum here.”
“Well, I get tired of your never ending criticism. You point your finger and blame, blame, blame, telling me what all my shortfalls are and how they affect our family, but the truth is, you’re no less guilty. You work overtime and then come home and do nothing but occupy yourself making sure we have the picture perfect house: straightening up every crooked nick knack that enters your peripheral vision, eliminating every microbe and spot of dust, spending hours on meals that should only require short preparation. And we all know you do it to avoid interacting with your own family. You do it for yourself, not for us.”
“Oh, please.”
“I’m just telling the truth. Don’t come in and chew my head off when you’re no better than I am.”
“No better than you,” she said derisively. “That’s the funny thing, Carl. You never deny that you have issues, yet I’m always the one to blame.”
“You’re right. Give me an A for honesty, because at least I’ve never been in denial about my problems.”
“But I am?”
“Look, we’ve had this conversation way too many times, don’t you think?”
“I’m not the one who starts these little discussions of yours, Carl. You’re the one always up for an argument.”
“You don’t seem to mind a good argument once we get started.”
“Yes, I sincerely enjoy them, don’t I Carl?”
“Look, enough of this. My main point when you first entered was, don’t barge in –”
“I didn’t barge in!”
“Fine, you didn’t barge in. Don’t walk, tip-toe, sneak, or however you came in and ask me how David is. Why don’t you go ask him yourself how – ”
She waved him off and slammed the door, mumbling some insult as she stormed down the hall.
Well, excuse me, Carl thought.
For the second time, he returned his mind back to the empty screen. He tried to envision neat and clear-cut prose lining itself across the whiteness, but nothing came. He cursed himself for never locking his door. But either way, if Laura wanted to invade on his private domain, she would not relent until he unlocked his door and allowed her in.
Laura, that hypocritical woman. She could never nag enough or cause others enough guilt to be satisfied. Even though she herself passed her days in relative aloofness and emotional isolation.
Carl forced his fingers to the keyboard, hoping to at least have half of his newest chapter completed by early morning. In this latest chapter, the antagonist of the story, who happened to be a weapons specialist for the Pentagon, breaks into a top-secret lab and steals a prototype for the governments newest killing device – a small, satellite-like dish that emits unique, inaudible sound waves which rapidly cause madness in the human brain. Once affected by this undetectable signal, the victim is most often driven to insanity and, consequently, suicide. What perfect way for the villain of Carl’s story to eliminate his disloyal, adulterous wife without leaving behind a single clue of his involvement. Indeed, he would accomplish the deed and have the weapon returned to the lab before anyone would know of its disappearance. He would commit the perfect murder.
As Carl typed out his plot of scheming and revenge, he wondered how much of a writer’s imagination was indicative of his or hers true inner longings and desires.
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