My Novel: Chapter 1

RUNNING:

I love walking. If I say this enough it may become true. Forbidden to run until the day I die, I'm honestly trying. And what if I do break the rule and run? I could easily spontaneously break my neck. No pleasantness there, so I'm walking. And I'm trying to figure out how to get my playlist to sync with my walking pace and keep my pace from syncing with my music. That's hard stuff, you know.

WRITING:

My most memorable rejection letter for one of my manuscripts arrived bearing 4 words:

not for us. thanks

I loved the caps and punctuation from a professional. I basically replied to my office walls, "Yikes! If this signifies their competency, they're not for me. I'm running away, and fast!"

As a result, and because so much down time has passed since that amusing day, I've decided to publish one of my novels in my blog. Yes, here! For free! As I do, I hope to learn a few things to make reading it here easier for you. Since I don't know those things yet, bear with me, and if you know something that might help me out (and you), let me know. I'm all up for learning and trying. But first just a little info. (Skip this if you can't wait to read chapter 1...)

To date I've written about 10 novels. Yes, 10 real, true, full length novels. I've taken literature, communication, English, physics, chemistry, creative writing and other classes, and even graduated from Weber State University in the meantime. Some classes related to writing, and some not. Afterward I've taken writing workshops, attended conferences and taken specific writing courses. I've been published twice: once in The Ensign magazine (prior to any writing classes), and in a literary annual (see previous post). I felt pretty honored to get both of my submitted stories published because only two submissions per author were allowed. I've considered expanding both of those short stories into full novels, and would have fun doing it. That's enough blah, blah, blah on that!

I've also submitted several manuscripts for publication, and to date have received nearly 100 rejections. Some agents and companies received a full manuscript, others a query letter, and some the first chapter. 

For the novel I'm sharing in this blog I received back a nice letter. The publisher stewed over my manuscript for 18 months before telling me they liked the ideas, but thought I should find a ghost writer and resubmit. What!?! A ghost writer! That guided me toward workshops and more classes and more query letters and additional rejections. During the whole process I discovered I was truly a bad writer, but good news: I could become better(if I plunked down my class fee...). Nearly 5000 reams of paper (three dozen grown, mature  trees, I'd reckon) and 30 ink cartriges later, here is one of my volumes in cyberspace!

Why the picture of pizza you ask? I like pizza. So, curl up with your reader, pizza if you'd like, icy Dr. Pepper (to stay awake--or because you like it), and a soft pillow. I hope you enjoy Secrets at Midnight by Leona Palmer Haag.

*I own the copyright. No copies of this material or the concepts and ideas may be used or made without written permission by the author. (That's me...)

Secrets at Midnight

Chapter 1

The barrel of a gun pressed against Natalie’s forehead and her captor’s voice echoed like thunder through the dim cellar. “You seem to want to die.” As the reverberations settled she held in laughter. Never had she considered death a viable option, and there was no need to start now.

The man leaned in, his nose resting inches from hers. His free hand grabbed her chin and thrust it upward. Her eyes focused on the moldy ceiling laced with rotting timbers and unkempt silver threads abandoned by spiders. His voice sank to a whisper. “Just like Mr. Williams.” His fingers dug into her skin as he shook her head, making webs and mold meld into a menacing mass. He released his grip and straightened, exuding confidence and exposing darkness where teeth once resided. Kicked out by someone who had the power to do it? she wondered. But that thought fled as the man’s words sunk in like a hot knife piercing her chest.

Pete dead? Every smile and interaction shared between them flashed through her thoughts in one mixed conglomeration of light and dark mingled with every conceivable color in between, combining with heights of joy, depths of fear and overwhelming moments of trust. The flash of life gained and lost faded until it became a tight core of aching. Losing Pete meant all they’d shared was gone except disjointed sketches of memory. The bitter core pulsed and surged until it shattered deep in her heart. It simmered and spread, moving toward the surface.

The man sneered. “Mr. Washington did it himself—neatly and quickly—more humanely than necessary.” He paused, and she clenched her fingers into her palms until they screamed in reply. “But he saved you for me.” His head shook and he clucked his tongue. “And to think you trusted that man. Now, I understand Washington is considered a good man—when he’s on your side.” He chuckled. “But sides are so hard to distinguish sometimes, and lines are easily crossed as alliances change.”

Fury sputtered before it changed directions as it raged through Natalie’s blood. She’d trusted Washington from the moment they’d met—but he’d betrayed her to the stinky slime seated in front of her—and killed Pete?

“I presume you’re willing to bargain now, my dear? Talk and you’ll earn freedom.” The man leaned forward and grinned, presenting himself as patient.

Freed, Natalie would track down Washington and eliminate him. But with men such as her captor, promises were hallow and talking would earn her nothing. She shook her head. “I, I’m sorry, but I have nothing to say,” she whispered.

“Ah, but you do.” The man tapped the gun against her forehead, a horrid thump, thump thump. “It’s in here, ready to come out,” he coaxed. “A few names? A few places? All for freedom. And maybe a new alliance, my dear?”

With her wrists secured in her lap by multiple layers of duct tape and her feet strapped in the same manner, Natalie could do nothing. Nothing, but use her tongue, her voice, and share secrets. And she had her brain. Her mind. Her essence. More tape circled her waist securing her to a flimsy wooden interrogation chair facing evil personified.

“Usually I’m not messy,” the man, who had identified himself as Mr. R, said. “But today I’ll make an exception—I’ll leave evidence.” He leaned closer. “DNA. You know what that is, don’t you? Proof you were here and I finished my job.” His fingertips whisked together indicating the hefty sum he’d receive, and revealing his deception. He pushed the gun barrel down the bridge of her nose and lowered it to her lips, collecting a scarlet smudge in the process.

Natalie contemplated the man’s possible favorite forms of violence and matched her abilities to avoid them. Her hands rebelled against the tape, but wrenching failed to provide freedom. The man laughed at her efforts and slammed his weapon upward, jerking Natalie’s chin backward. Her eyes shut and she caught her breath before it could escape in a scream. “One bullet from this angle—” The man snapped his fingers and her eyes jerked open. “That quick and it’s over, pretty lady. Over forever.”

Pulling her emotions tightly together—rage, betrayal, revenge—Natalie focused, forcing her mind to slow down. To pick and pry apart everything. Analyze and reanalyze her situation, each word, each nuance, each breath. Her perception heightened, overlooking nothing. Nothing. Not the sheen on the man’s forehead. Not even the pink scar running from his right ear to beneath his collar.

“You’re not the jumpy type, not even a twitch,” Mr. R said while his fingers pestered the gun handle. Puffy skin surrounding his eyes buried them deep in his face. He wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist, then wiped that dry on his thigh. “You’re looking the Red Devil in the face, sweetheart. Consider yourself honored.”

Natalie knew no one faced the Red Devil and lived to tell, let alone describe him. But she doubted this man was the infamous Mr. R as he claimed, or the Red Devil, although a new idea formed. Could the two drug lords actually be one? She had many names herself, interchanging them as necessary or to suite her purposes.

“Torture,” the impostor said. Pulling her thoughts back to her situation. His jowls flopped as he pushed his nicotine-stained smirk closer. “I have favorite techniques.” He inspected his gun, pulling the clip out and shoving it back into place with a solid click. He laughed. “There’s a bullet calling for you, but first, let’s play. Before the game ends you’ll tell me exactly what I must know, Miss Holtz.”

Over-confident and over-bearing—traits Natalie detested—joined the list she’d begun mentally compiling the moment she’d found herself detained. She added overly-careless. If given an opportunity she’d capitalize on the faulty mix and flip things around. The gun moved again, inching downward, a sure sign the cat and mouse game had begun—and would soon reverse. Distractions always changed destiny.

“I have the power to set you free. Start begging whenever you’d like,” he sing-songed.

Sure his confidence was peaking, Natalie released her first assault—one simple whimpered word, “P—please….”

He snickered horse-like and tumbled toward stupidity. “You don’t want to play?” She made no response as his gun continued marching, reaching the edge of her blouse and working on the top button.

“N—no,” she whispered. 

The demon before her chuckled, his ample stomach quivering. “Now we’re getting somewhere, sweetheart. I love fear. When it takes over I smell it. You reek.” He placed the gun on the rough cement at his feet and sanded his palms together.

Bracing herself, Natalie wished she knew when—

His massive body slammed forward and the chair shuddered. Flabby hands circled her neck, wrenching her upward as the edges of his ruby ring dug into the base of her scalp. “Too bad you’re tied up,” he growled.

Natalie found flesh between her teeth and clamped her jaw. The man howled and whipped, trying to release himself, but she had transformed into a wild cat intent on her prey. They spun a dizzying arc before smashing in a brutal tangle of man, woman and chair, with her shoulders, elbows and knees smashing and writhing on the hard cement. Banning reactions to the assault, Natalie’s mind pushed toward the weapon inches from her fingertips. She lunged to close the gap, but the man’s fingers clasped it first. True thunder rang through the cellar. Echoes reverberated into silence. Natalie grabbed a jagged breath and the man moaned.

Using her fingernails like dull razors, Natalie worked on the sticky tape surrounding her wrists. One acrylic tip snapped off, exposing a rough edge—a perfect tool. Moments later her hands broke free. She clawed at Mr. R—his hulking body beyond flinching now—and found a pocket. Her fingers flew through fabric folds before finding a treasure. She yanked out a loaded key ring, something only slightly inferior to a knife. Shoving aside the oppressive weight pinning her legs, she sliced multiple layers of tape. Freed, she grabbed the loose gun and sprang up only to falter in pain. She grabbed her side, her fingers pausing when they struck raw wood. She gasped and held the fibers in her fist for a moment before yanking loose a wooden chair rail. It clattered from her slippery grip and fell to the floor. Pressing her hand to her side, she took a steadying breath and hobbled to the door. Resting her ear on the wood, she listened.

Silence.

Natalie released her side and watched a single red drop fall from her fingertips to the cement. She wiped her hand clean on her linen skirt and shaking, she grasped the bolt. “Please. Please open,” she thought more than whispered. She slowly pulled, one millimeter as a time, with her side screaming under the strain. Her touch felt metal silently grating against metal until the door hung free.

Free!

Natalie sucked in a deep breath, raised the gun, and slowly exhaled. Freedom existed beyond the door, but not immediately behind it. She stooped and picked up the bloody chair rail before her fingers tightened on the latch and she tugged. The door burst inward sending Natalie spiraling to the hard cement and launching the gun across the cellar along with her makeshift club. They clattered to a stop against Mr. R’s feet. Semi-automatic weapons wielded by masked gunmen poured through the narrow opening like swarming wasps. Encircled three and four people deep, their cold barrels sought her, pressing her shoulders and ribs, and pinning her heart to the floor.

Shrugging a wisp of dark auburn hair from her eyes, Natalie hung her head, witnessing blood streaming from her knees. Her blouse was ruined and her skirt could never be clean again. Like a clumsy school girl skipping too carelessly down the sidewalk, she’d fallen. Fallen. She’d become a shadow of glory that might never rise again.

End Chapter 1

Please watch for chapter 2 in the next few days. Email, call, text, comment and bug me if the next installment doesn't come soon enough for you... I'm editing once again as I'm installing, so bug me so I keep it up. Believe me, after the 100th edit, I do get a little bored at times and want to create a new character and write something new.

Please do me a favor. Comment after each chapter with one word or one sentence. Keep it simple. Example:" Bored to tears," or "huh?" or "Who is this Washington guy? Do I need to remember him?" or "Suspense is great, but your punctuation stinks." Skip praising me, and comment on the book or theme or whatever, or needle me to reform myself and take another writing class. Thanks! Thanks! Thanks!