I am almost ashamed to admit it, but I totally forgot to write the next segment of the Short Story Thursday series last month. Here is the fifth installment.
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The ringing of the bedside phone brought Adam Marshall out of a fitful sleep. Sleep came only in bits and pieces now, three days after his narrow escape from Samuel Bennett. Whatever sleep he managed to get was plagued by nightmares, punctuated by moments of panicked awareness that reminded him that it wasn’t just a dream. The nightmare of the situation was all too real.
Adam had kept quiet during the past three days. Once he had gotten out of Maine, he traded the Mustang for a Honda Civic. The seedy car salesman fit every stereotype that exists for his profession, right down to the beady eyes and breath that smelled like bad coffee. The Civic enabled him to blend in with traffic more than the Mustang would have. Adam staked out a hotel next, choosing a dingy, rattrap of a place called “Sleepy Time Suites” on the outskirts of Portsmouth. He registered with cash under a fake name, reserving a room with a clear view of the parking lot.
Before moving his luggage into the room, Adam picked up some groceries. Knowing that Bennett could track his cell phone, he switched it off while he was still on the Maine interstate. He removed the battery from it and hid it in the glove compartment of the Civic. He remained in his room standing watch by the window overlooking the lot, only leaving his post to sleep and to use the bathroom.
The incident at the shipping lot seemed like a lifetime ago. He had checked the newspapers for any reports of it but nothing could be found. The sounds of the gunshots that night were loud and had echoed harshly off the surrounding buildings. In that relatively quiet part of town, surely someone had heard it. The influence of Samuel Bennett seemed to be widespread, giving him a blanket of power that Adam hoped he could stay ahead of.
Bleary-eyed but awake, Adam picked up the cradle and answered it. “Hello?”
“Adam? Is that you?” It was Ellen.
How could that be? No one should know I am here.
“Yes, it’s me,” Adam said quietly. “How did you get this numb-“
“Adam, are you in some kind of trouble?” Ellen broke in. Her voice wavered and broke. Her fear and panic came through clear on the line. She stifled a sob, and sniffed lightly.
“Ellen, are you okay?” There was a heavy pause on the line. “Ellen?” he asked louder.
“Adam?” Ellen asked again. He could almost feel her trembling. “There’s someone here who wants to speak to you.”
There was a shuffle of noise as the phone was handed over.
“Mr. Adam Marshall. I trust you are doing well.”
Bennett!
Adam found he couldn’t speak, his breath caught thick in his throat. He moved his mouth wordlessly, and heard the slow, smooth glide of metal against metal and the telltale heavy click of a bullet being chambered. In the background, Ellen screamed.
“I think we need to talk.”
Adam had kept quiet during the past three days. Once he had gotten out of Maine, he traded the Mustang for a Honda Civic. The seedy car salesman fit every stereotype that exists for his profession, right down to the beady eyes and breath that smelled like bad coffee. The Civic enabled him to blend in with traffic more than the Mustang would have. Adam staked out a hotel next, choosing a dingy, rattrap of a place called “Sleepy Time Suites” on the outskirts of Portsmouth. He registered with cash under a fake name, reserving a room with a clear view of the parking lot.
Before moving his luggage into the room, Adam picked up some groceries. Knowing that Bennett could track his cell phone, he switched it off while he was still on the Maine interstate. He removed the battery from it and hid it in the glove compartment of the Civic. He remained in his room standing watch by the window overlooking the lot, only leaving his post to sleep and to use the bathroom.
The incident at the shipping lot seemed like a lifetime ago. He had checked the newspapers for any reports of it but nothing could be found. The sounds of the gunshots that night were loud and had echoed harshly off the surrounding buildings. In that relatively quiet part of town, surely someone had heard it. The influence of Samuel Bennett seemed to be widespread, giving him a blanket of power that Adam hoped he could stay ahead of.
Bleary-eyed but awake, Adam picked up the cradle and answered it. “Hello?”
“Adam? Is that you?” It was Ellen.
How could that be? No one should know I am here.
“Yes, it’s me,” Adam said quietly. “How did you get this numb-“
“Adam, are you in some kind of trouble?” Ellen broke in. Her voice wavered and broke. Her fear and panic came through clear on the line. She stifled a sob, and sniffed lightly.
“Ellen, are you okay?” There was a heavy pause on the line. “Ellen?” he asked louder.
“Adam?” Ellen asked again. He could almost feel her trembling. “There’s someone here who wants to speak to you.”
There was a shuffle of noise as the phone was handed over.
“Mr. Adam Marshall. I trust you are doing well.”
Bennett!
Adam found he couldn’t speak, his breath caught thick in his throat. He moved his mouth wordlessly, and heard the slow, smooth glide of metal against metal and the telltale heavy click of a bullet being chambered. In the background, Ellen screamed.
“I think we need to talk.”
---
Stay tuned for the next installment later this month!
11 Comments:
I'm not sure I can take these installments. I'm just not that patient, but I can't help reading them.
Sincerely,
Killing me softly in Cleveland
I am intrigued and off to read the previous installments!
It's about time! My retention level is about five minutes, you know.
Good job once again, man.
I'm just wondering, do you write these each week or have you written ahead - good job man.
How long does it get to be a short story for? Because if you're writing a novel, these are actually "chapters."
oh no - it sounds like Ellen is in trouble.
good job, suspense is a bitch!
MIT Mommy: There will be another installment in about a week, so you don't have to wait too much longer.
Bee and Rose: Hope you enjoyed them!
Lola: Sorry. I suck.
Tony: I generally write each one in advance. It takes about an afternoon to do it, because I want to make sure it ties in correctly.
Miss Grace: I think 5,000 words is technically a short story. This will surpass 5k with its next segment.
A Reason 2 Write: Doesn't it?
Maggie May: Thank you! And yes, she is.
uh....write sooner next time. But well done, as usual!
Moonspun: I already have the next section ready to go up next week.
Well it's about time. Some of us don't have lives and live for this shit!!!
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