While I normally put in a lot of internal links to previous, related posts here, I won’t be doing that for what I hope will be thirty NaNoWriMo posts. If you have jumped into or stumbled onto this story in mid-adventure, there are plenty of other ways to navigate around the site to find previous installments. Actually doing so is left as an exercise to the student.
Can’t stay up too late writing tonight (famous last words if I ever heard them) since I’ve got to get up & get moving on Sunday morning to watch my beloved KC Chiefs. Of course, I say this knowing that the average time that I’ve posted the previous twenty-two of these is probably (I haven’t actually calculated it) about 23:50 or later. It’s a process that really kind of sucks in many ways, but it seems to be producing many words, so if it ain’t broken, don’t fix it, I guess.
It is an interesting experience. I noticed it about eight years ago when I had to write reports and papers for my MBA program. I would dread it, procrastinate, panic, and then out of nowhere be “in the zone.” It is truly almost an out of body experience when it’s the good stuff. I start writing, I get hooked back into the story, the twists and turns, the characters and their personalities — and suddenly it’s two or three hours later and there are many words there. I’ve heard authors describe that at conventions, but I didn’t understand until it happened to me.
Not that you can get it to happen every day. At least half the time (like tonight, so far) it’s work, an exercise in staying focused while also trying to watch (well, more like listen, the television is behind me) the Kings hockey game. (Still 0-0 in the second period.) No out of body experience, no possession by my mortal flesh by my personal muse, no golden river of sweet, perfect words flowing through my fingers like high-voltage electricity. (Hey, that wasn’t a bad image!) Nope, some nights it’s just grind it out (just like the Kings), keep working, don’t give up, play one game at a time, just be happy to be there, and good Lord willing, it will all work out. (Thanks, Crash!)
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Tom saw that Ellen was waiting for him to get in the SUV before she got in. As soon as he was in and the door closed, she climbed in herself and started speeding off across the parking lot, leaving Margaret behind. Tom noticed that no one else had buckled their seat belts. Apparently that was another law that this group was above. He briefly thought that it would be easier for him to jump out of the SUV with the seat belt off, but realized that if he was going to do that, he never should have gotten into the SUV in the first place.
Tom buckled his seat belt and settled back for the ride.
Burly Dude #1 had been watching him from the front seat since he got in. Burly Dude #2 sat next to Tom and just looked straight ahead, but Tom suspected that he was capable of moving very quickly if necessary, whether he was staring at Tom or not. Neither said a word, and no expression crossed their faces.
As Ellen pulled drove through town, Burly Dude #1 pointed at the camera Tom held and held out his hand for it.
“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced,” Tom said, holding on to the camera. “I’m Tom. And you are…?”
Burly Dude #1 snapped his fingers and pointed again at the camera, holding out his hand. The finger snap sounded like a rifle shot in the quiet.
“We’re going to be like that, are we?” Tom was filled with a wild abandoned now that he had taken this leap of faith. Or maybe it was hysterical panic. Either way, he wanted to maintain some tiny shred of control. If he could manage to piss off these clowns in the process, so much the better.
“What about him?” Tom asked, nodding his head toward Burly Dude #2. “Does he have a name?”
Burly Dude #2 turned to Tom and leaned across their seats. He firmly grasped Tom’s arm with his left hand and grabbed the camera with his right. While Burly Dude #2 wasn’t holding on to his arm hard enough to be actually hurting him, he was holding it firmly enough to make it quite clear to Tom that it was an imminent option. Tom opened his hand and released the camera.
Burly Dude #2 handed the camera to Burly Dude #1, who put it in the SUV’s front seat center console. He then turned back to watch Tom. Burly Dude #2 had already turned to stare straight ahead again. Neither had uttered a sound.
Tom was too nervous or too stupid to shut up. “So much for them. Ellen, are you and I going to chat while you drive?” Tom asked. “If not, can you get something on the radio? Anything except for those radio televangelists, I can’t stand them.”
If Ellen had even heard him, she gave no sign. The awkward silence stretched onward.
“Okay, I give up. Turn on a radio televangelist, but try to find one with a real Southern accent, not one of those fake ones.”
Ellen continued to ignore him. The Burly Dudes could have been robots for all of the emotion and movement they had shown after taking the camera. Tom thought the robot theory might not be totally out of the question given how bizarre this whole affair had become.
Tom thought about continuing to be a smart ass in order to be a thorn in their sides, but it wasn’t clear that it would do him any good. They knew he wasn’t happy with the situation and being annoying wouldn’t inspire them to cut him any slack. So he shut up.
Tom realized he had better stop being reactive and start trying to be proactive. In other words, might be better off spending this time figuring out what he was going to say, what he was going to ask, and how he was going to handle this mess. He hadn’t planned on this being a suicide mission. He still didn’t.
It would help if he knew who these people were and what they were up to, but he didn’t. He only knew Aunt Annie, aka “Dahlia”, was with them, that Ellen had lied to him and fled when she found out he was looking for her, and their cult or organization had gone to tremendous trouble to hide their tracks and not be found.
On the other hand, Tom ran through his memory of his conversation in Colorado with Ellen. That was probably all they knew of him. There was always the possibility that with all of their tech and resources, they had better high tech toys than Jason did, in which case he was totally screwed. That could become obvious really quickly.
Until it did, Tom had to assume that they just saw him as a pest trying to find his aunt for reasons they didn’t understand or care about. He hadn’t mentioned Jason at any point, or the invisible thing in his house, or the fact that he and Jason were aware of the massive cover up of their secret lair. He would have to be careful not to let any of that slip.
As they drove Tom tried to keep track of where they were and how they were getting there, but he soon gave it up as futile. He didn’t know the area or the streets or the landscape well enough to follow anything. He could tell that they were heading north out of town. Soon they were on a two-lane state highway in what looked like the middle of nowhere.
As Tom tried not to be too nervous, he couldn’t help but fidget a bit. It was tough to find a comfortable position when you might be going out to the middle of nowhere to occupy a shallow grave. He didn’t really think that was where he was headed just yet, but that could just be denial at work.
As he shifted and crossed his arms at one point he felt something hard inside the left sleeve of his ski jacket. He immediately realized that it was the spare GPS tracker that he had palmed from his backpack. He didn’t have much time to figure out what he was going to do with it, and he would only get one chance.
Fortunately, at the moment it wasn’t obvious there was something up his sleeve. The down ski jacket that he was wearing was bulky and the tracker didn’t show as an obvious lump. But unless he did something, had some sort of plan, as soon as he took the jacket off the tracker would fall out. That would be bad.
(Chapter Nineteen to be continued)
We Love The Stars Too Fondly 