A snippet of writing from the mind of an idiot

Just because I feel like it, here's three chapters of the latest story I'm working on. There's no real context to these as they form the middle section of the first act of this story.  This is really the pivotal point for the story that sets up the rest of the adventure.

I like to take the basic conventions of story telling and play around with them. In my first ever (unpublished, crap) novel, I had a fairly traditional boy meets girl, boy loses girl structure but rather than the normal boy wins girl back third act I went more with boy hates girl and wishes she was dead and is glad when the other boy he lost her to dies horribly. That was a bit of a mean spirited story, really. Most of my stuff turns out that way. I don't write nice stuff; as my wife likes to say, "Why can't you write stuff I'd enjoy?" Sadly, that's just not me. But anyway, back to the point. This is the sequel to a novel I've already written and shopped around to a few agents without any success whatsoever. If you're wondering why I'm writing a sequel to a story that nobody is remotely interested in then don't worry because I'm wondering exactly the same thing myself. The only answer that I can give you is simply this: I like writing stories.

5 - Date Night

“Hit me again,” Sebastian ordered the barman, his speech slurred by the alcohol already flowing through his system. The barman, a young, olive skinned man with slicked back black hair, looked Sebastian up and down and shrugged. “I think you have had enough for tonight, my friend,” he said in an apologetic tone.
Sebastian glowered at him. “What are you, my mother?” he sneered. “I didn’t ask for your opinion, I asked for a drink so please, can I have another Ouzo?”
As he spoke, Dan eased himself onto the empty stool beside his brother and slapped his hand down on his shoulder. “You hanging in there buddy?” he asked Sebastian, glancing up at the barman as he spoke and making it clear with his expression that Sebastian wasn’t getting another drink.
“You could say that,” Sebastian muttered, staring down at the bar before raising his head and shooting daggers at the barman. “Of course, I’d be having a lot more fun if this asshole decided to do his job and give me a drink.”
“And that’s why you’re not having any more right now,” Dan told his brother brightly. “It’s kind of traditional not to insult your barman when you want a drink.”
“I don’t need you or him or you or anyone else telling me I’ve had enough to drink!” Sebastian exclaimed angrily, slamming his fist down onto the bar and knocking his empty glass sideways. Dan reached and picked it up, handing it to the barman. “You really don’t do being drunk very well, do you?” he said to his brother dryly.
“That’s rich coming from a guy who got demoted because of his drinking,” came the slurred reply.
“Touché,” Dan replied with a grin, “although in my defense that was a very long time ago.”
“Well, let’s just say I’m making up for lost time, then,” Sebastian sniped back.
Dan put his arm around his brother’s shoulder. “You’ve well and truly caught me up, mister,” he said encouragingly. “Let’s go sit down at our table and I’ll get us a couple more drinks.”
Sebastian let the offer sink into his addled mind and mulled it over. He wore the expression of a man trying to work out an incredibly complex equation in his head but after a few moments he nodded slowly in agreement, and Dan helped him to his feet and led him across the room to a table in the corner, where Sebastian slumped down into a wicker chair.
“Don’t got anywhere,” Dan ordered his brother, who could only mumble an unintelligible response. He walked back over to the bar. “Sorry about that,” he said to the barman in a bright tone.
“Your brother, he had a bad day today, no?”
Dan laughed. “It could have been a lot worse. This morning I thought we were all going to jail. As it is, all that’s happening is we’re being escorted out of the country tomorrow.”
“That is not so good.”
“Not when everything we’ve been working towards for the last couple of years is here, no.”
“Perhaps you will be allowed to come back when he is not so drunk?”
Dan laughed at the suggestion. “It’s not the drinking that the problem,” he told the barman. “It’s what he did when he was sober that’s the problem. Your Navy doesn’t take kindly to people stealing boats and sailing around so close to the Turkish mainland. It makes them kind of antsy, you know what I’m saying?”
“There have nearly been wars over such things.”
“Exactly,” Dan said with a sense of satisfaction, before adding, “although it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to me. All the Greeks and Turks I know are great. You all seem to get along.”
“Maybe we are too similar,” the barman answered with a grin.
Dan gave a little nod. “You might be onto something there.” He glanced to his and his eye was caught by the person at the end of the bar. She hadn’t been there a moment before, but he hadn’t noticed her come in. He glanced around to where he had left Sebastian; his brother was now slumped down in the chair and seemed to be asleep. He turned his attention back to the woman at the far end of the bar and his heart leapt a little as the two of them made eye contact for a moment. Dan quickly broke off his gaze and looked down at the bar, but a moment later he found his attention making his way back to the woman, and when he looked to where he sat their eyes met again. This time she smiled, a wide, dazzling smile.
Dan was immediately hooked. She was beautiful, and he guessed she was in her late twenties. Her skin was deeply tanned and her hair bleached blonde, both from spending too much time in the sun. She wore a short black dress and the way she sat with her legs crossed showed plenty of her long legs. She seemed completely out of place at the otherwise deserted bar.
Dan glanced around. She didn’t seem to be with anyone else, which seemed strange to him. Women like her didn’t wander around alone in Greek tourist towns out of season. He pondered that thought for a moment, and then stood up. There seemed to be only one way he would find out anything about this sudden and welcome distraction to the day’s less than enthralling events.
He casually walked down the bar towards the woman, who watched him curiously as he approached. He took the empty seat next to her and then casually glanced over at her, almost as if he hadn’t noticed she was there. “Well, hello there,” he said with a broad grin. The woman looked at him with only the slightest interest, but Dan was not deterred. “I couldn’t help but notice you staring at me from over here,” he went on, “but that’s okay: if I was you, I’d be staring at me too.”
The woman raised her eyes to meet his and her expression was matched by her tone of voice. “Is that really the best you can do?” she asked disdainfully. Her Californian accent was immediately apparent. “I’m sitting here on my own in this bar and you think you coming up to me and hitting on me with an arrogant line like that is going to work?”
“It seemed like it was worth a shot,” Dan replied, riding the insult like a heavyweight boxer sidestepping a punch, “especially since we’re both American. I’d hate for you to be drinking alone so far from home.”
“The cockiness didn’t work so now we’re trying for the sympathy vote, hmm?” came the snapped reply.
Dan blew out his cheeks. “Is this how you get all your dates? By waiting for them to come and say hi and then ripping them to shreds?”
“What makes you think I’m looking for a date?” she asked dryly.
Dan shrugged and glanced around him. “Well, let’s see,” he began. “You’re in a bar, on your own, you’re dressed up and you’re sitting up here on display for all to see, practically screaming for attention. I’d say that would mean you were looking for something.”
She gave him a wry grin. “You’re half right,” she told him. “Only it’s not a date I’m looking for.”
“What are you looking for, then?”
She gave him a measured gaze before she coolly replied, “You.”





6 - Business Proposal

“Me?” Dan asked after a momentary pause as her statement took the wind out of his sails. “You don’t even know who I am.”
“You’re Daniel Fox, the archeologist. The man who’s just passed out in the corner is your brother Sebastian.”
Dan looked at her suspiciously. “So who does that make you, then?”
“My name is Katherine Whitlock.”
Dan shrugged. “Is that name supposed to mean something to me?”
“I doubt it,” she replied. “I’m not a celebrity like you two.”
Dan laughed at that. “I’d hardly call myself a celebrity.”
“In the right circles, you are,” Katherine replied. “It’s your work that brought me here.”
The laughter left Dan’s voice. “My work?” he asked. Katherine reached into her bag and pulled out a tatty looking paperback book. Dan cocked his head to the side and looked at the cover. It read ‘Modern Myths and Fables’ by Daniel Fox. He rolled his eyes in disbelief. It was the same book Samaras had had in Athens. Seeing it then had made him angry; now all he could do was laugh at the girl.
“Oh my God,” Dan sniggered. “Please don’t tell me that piece of trash brought you all the way out here.”
“Why not?” Katherine replied. “It’s a good book.”
“It’s garbage,” Dan shot back.
“You wrote it,” she pointed out archly.
“Yeah, I wrote it because idiots like you lap that kind of crap up. Atlantis; Lemuria; the Loch Ness Monster, it’s all a load of recycled nonsense that people can’t get enough of.”
“That may be true,” Katherine replied, “but if it is, then why are you here investigating one of your own ‘pieces of crap’?”
Dan’s eyes narrowed. “What makes you think you have any idea what we’re doing here?” he asked her in a low voice.
“Oh, come now, Mister Fox, you don’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to put the pieces together.”
Dan rolled his eyes. “I think you might have got the wrong end of the stick somewhere along the line, here,” he told Katherine. “We’re on an archeological expedition. We’re not looking for Atlantis if that’s what you’re thinking. You want Graham Hancock if that’s your thing.”
“I didn’t say anything about Atlantis.”
Dan shook his head. “Whatever you think we’re doing here, you’re wrong.”Katherine held up the well thumbed book in her right hand. “Page two hundred forty seven,” she said quietly, reading the expression on Dan’s face. “You can tell me I’m wrong but I know from that look I’m not.”
Dan pushed his hands against the bar and stood up. “I’m sorry,” he said to Katherine, “I’ve obviously made a mistake here. You enjoy the rest of your evening; I’m going to look after my brother.” He turned away, not waiting for a reply, and quickly made his way back over to where Sebastian was snoring away, his head lolling down on his chest. Dan reached down and shook his shoulder.
“Come on, we need to leave,” Dan told his brother sternly, but all he got in response was a series of grunts. Dan let out an exasperated sigh and shook Sebastian again. This time Sebastian raised his arm and waved his hand as though he was swatting away an irritating fly. “For God’s sake,” muttered Dan, looking down at his incapacitated brother.
“Need some help?” came the soft female voice from behind Dan. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Katherine standing there, looking down at the stuporous Sebastian. He glared at her. “Not from you, thanks,” he said darkly, as he leant down and tried to lift his brother to his feet, but it was to no avail. The best he could manage was to push him back into his seat. Dan slumped down in the opposite chair and let out an exasperated gasp.
“I’m really not sure what I’ve done to deserve such a hostile reaction,” Katherine said as she perched herself on the arm of Sebastian’s chair and looked at Dan.
“You’re involving yourself in our business, which makes you nosey, and I don’t like nosey people,” Dan told her flatly.
“I can see there’s no beating around the bush with you,” Katherine observed.
Dan glanced around the near empty bar and then looked back at Katherine. “Look, why don’t you just go away? I’m sorry I came and talked to you. It was a mistake. I need to get my brother back to our place when he wakes up and I don’t need you making things more difficult than they already are.”
“I didn’t come here to make your life more difficult. In fact, I came here to make it substantially easier.”
“And how are you going to do that exactly?”
“I’m willing to fund your expedition and provide you with the technical resources and equipment to complete your study.”
Dan blew out his cheeks. “This is reality, lady. Strange women do not come up to guys in bars and try to buy their services. I think you’ve been watching too many movies. Now will you please just leave me alone?”
Katherine was undaunted by Dan’s unwilling response. “I want to hire you. I need your help and I’m willing to pay you well for it.”
Dan put his head into his hands before looking up at Katherine. It seemed pointless trying to argue with her anymore so he simply stated, “That’s not how we work, I’m sorry.”
“I’ve wired one million dollars into your offshore account in Jersey. You can call them and check if you like,” she added, seeing the startled look on Dan’s face. “If you get me what I want, I will wire in another nine million.”
“I hate to break it to but we’re leaving in the morning and I don’t think we’re going to be back any time... well, ever,” Dan said, his head reeling from alcohol and the sudden rush of unexpected information. “If we’re both talking about what I think we’re talking about, I can’t do a lot for you, no matter how much money you throw my way.”
“I’m aware of your problems with the Greek government,” Katherine told him. “I can help you with that. All I need is your consent.”
“And if I still say no, do we get to keep the million dollars?” Dan asked incredulously.
“Yes,” Katherine said calmly. “Think of it as a charitable donation. I’m a fan of your work and I want to see you continue.”
Dan looked up at the beautiful, mysterious woman who sat opposite him, calmly regarding him. “Are you for real?” he finally asked. “You’re not some kind of psycho stalker or something?”
Katherine stood up and looked down at Dan. “I’d advise you to check your bank account,” she told him. “If you and your brother are interested, meet me for breakfast at the Megisti hotel at eight o’clock tomorrow morning.” She gave him a little nod. “Good luck getting him to bed.” With that, she walked away, and Dan turned to watch her make her way swiftly from the bar. He looked back down to where Sebastian was snoring away in the chair opposite him, and shook his head.
“What the hell was that about?” he wondered aloud.





7 - Breakfast Brief

“I’m never drinking again,” Sebastian moaned to himself as he stared down at the glass of freshly squeezed orange juice as though the glass was filled with fresh blood.
“I think you’re still too drunk to be officially hungover yet,” Dan observed, looking into his brother’s bloodshot eyes.
They were sitting on the deck of the Hotel Megisti, overlooking the harbor. Between them was a lavish continental breakfast laid out on the table, along with fresh fruit and coffee. It was almost eight, and they had been expected when they had arrived ten minutes earlier. Sebastian leant forward, holding his head in his hands. “I think my head is going to explode,” he said feebly. Dan grinned at him and helped himself to a bread roll from the table.
“A bit of food and some coffee and you’ll soon be feeling better,” he reassured his brother.
“I’m going to be sick if I eat anything.”
“You were already sick four times last night,” pointed out Dan. “Do you know how hard it was getting you back to the hotel?”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Sebastian said.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Dan replied chirpily. “Just think, in a couple of hours you’re going to have the Greek police knocking on the door and taking you to the airport. I’m sure they’re not going to be as accommodating as this.”
“God, I hope I feel better by then.”
“Me too,” agreed Dan, “although having a million dollars sitting in our bank account helps to ease the pain of being deported.”
Sebastian looked up at his brother with a pained look on his face. “I can’t believe I missed all this last night. You make it sound like something out of a James Bond movie.”
“It pretty much was,” Dan said merrily. “Beautiful, mysterious woman approaches me in a bar with an intriguing offer and a huge pile of cash. How are we supposed to say no to that?”
“You know we aren’t supposed to leave our hotel, don’t you?” Sebastian told him. “This is only going to piss off the Greeks even more.”
“If it wasn’t for the money, we wouldn’t be here, believe me,” Dan said.
“I’m glad it attracted your interest,” came the voice from the entrance to the deck. The two brothers looked up to see Katherine standing in the doorway. She had her hair tied back in a ponytail and wore a long, flowing white dress with thin brown belt around her waist that accentuated her curves. The two brothers stood, Dan sharply, Sebastian unsteadily as she walked over to greet them.
Katherine shook Dan’s hand. “Nice to see you again, Mister Fox. I’m glad you made it.”
“Thanks for the invite.”
“I trust you checked your bank balance?”
“I did. That was very generous of you.”
“Not at all.” She turned her attention to Sebastian. “How are you feeling?”
“I’ve been better,” Sebastian replied grudgingly. Katherine grinned. “Ouzo will do that to you.” She sat down and the brothers did likewise. She looked between them. “It’s strange, you know,” she observed, “from everything I’d heard about you two Sebastian was supposed to be the level headed one and Dan more of the fool. I have to say that hasn’t been my impression so far.”
“Thanks,” Sebastian said. “I just had a bad day yesterday, that’s all.”
“In more ways than one,” pointed out Katherine as she leant forward and rested her elbows on her knees, locking here fingers together in a businesslike manner. “Let’s see if we can’t get today off to a better start.”
"How did you find us here, Miss Whitlock?" Dan asked.
"Katherine, please."
“How did you find us?” Dan repeated. He had no intention of making small talk, and Katherine quickly stopped trying.
“Through your backers,” she told him. “It wasn’t hard. People with money know other people with money. We talk.”
“You have money, then?”
Katherine arched an eyebrow at Dan. “Do you have many people throwing millions of dollars at you?”
Dan shrugged at that. “Okay, that’s a fair point,” he conceded. “I’m still not one hundred per cent sure why you did that.”
“It’s perfectly simple. I want you to find the Eye of Andromeda.”
“That’s what I thought,” Dan said despondently. “I also thought I made it clear last night that Eye is a nothing but a myth.”
“Not according to your book,” Katherine pointed out.
“I told you, that book is a load of crap. It’s a work of fiction spun around some ancient legends. The Eye is a fable, like Atlantis,” Dan said emphatically.
“Then why do you happen to be excavating in exactly the area you purport the Eye to be and why do the papers filed at the Greek Interior Ministry state that one of your objectives is to find the Eye as an artifact of historical significance?”
Dan was shaking his head even as Katherine spoke and as soon as she had posed her question he answered her back. “The truth is we were using it as a cover to excavate early Minoan temples. In case you didn’t know, there’s a lot of tension in this part of the world between Greece and Turkey. That big lump of land over there,” - he pointed out across the harbor - “that’s Turkey. If we find something big, something that could become a tourist attraction, both countries are going to want it and they’re both going to be breathing down our necks. We don’t want that, which is why we used the Eye as a cover story. Nobody takes it seriously which is why everyone was leaving us alone.”
“But the Eye is real,” insisted Katherine.
Dan shook his head. “It’s not. The stuff you’re reading is just legends, half of which I’m responsible for. The book you’ve got is the first book I ever published. It contained a chapter on the Eye and that’s where most of the rumors and stories about it come from. The fact is, I wrote that story to help sell the book. People lap that kind of thing up. It doesn’t mean it’s true. There’s no science or fact behind the story. It’s just that: a story.”
“The Eye is real.”
“You’re not getting it, are you?” Dan said with a dismissive wave.
Katherine glared at him. “It’s you who isn’t getting it,” she said firmly. “I don’t know how many time I have to tell you that the Eye is real.”
“Listen, lady...” Dan began, but he felt his brother’s hand plant on his forearm even as the words left his mouth.
“Our host seems pretty insistent that she knows something about this Eye,” Sebastian told Dan. “Maybe we should hear her out before deciding if this is worthwhile or not?”
“I can tell you now it’s not,” Dan snapped back. “She a lunatic. She might be a rich lunatic but she’s still a lunatic.”
Katherine chuckled. “This is a little bit more like what I was expecting from you two,” she said with a broad smile.
“I’m glad we don’t disappoint,” Sebastian told her, not taking his hand from Dan’s arm. “Now, what exactly is it that you know?”
“Before I begin, I need you to understand that everything I am going to tell you is in the strictest confidence and may not be used by you or any other competitor. If it is, then I will withdraw all funds from your offshore account, not just the money I deposited.”
“You can’t do that!” Dan protested.
“I can and I will,” Katherine assured him coolly. “When I enter into business with someone I expect a certain level of professionalism. If it is absent, I ensure they are suitably punished. Make no mistake about that.”
“You must be a lot of fun at kids’ parties,” Dan said dryly.
“I don’t joke about my investments, Daniel,” Katherine replied.
“You’re clearly serious about your work,” Sebastian observed.
“I am,” Katherine confirmed, “and I expect anyone working for me to be equally serious. Now, shall we get down to business?”
The two brothers glanced at one another. As objectionable as Katherine seemed, there was something undeniably intriguing about her confidence and the notion that she knew something that she clearly believed to be tantalizing.
“Alright,” Sebastian said. “We’re on board.” He felt Dan’s arm tense under his grip but he squeezed his fingers tighter before his brother could speak and continued. “Let’s hear what you’ve got.”
Katherine sat back as a smile of self-satisfaction spread across her face. “Excellent,” she said. “I’m glad you’ve seen sense. You’re going to be a huge asset.”
“I usually get people telling me I’m a huge ass,” Dan told her dryly.
“Hopefully not this time,” was the sardonic reply, before Katherine’s tone shifted to a more serious nature. “The Eye is real. You're just looking for it in the wrong place.”
“How do you know that?” Sebastian asked.
“I’ll come to that,” Katherine told him. “The Greeks built temples to honor their gods. The Eye was, or is, a temple built to worship a star, specifically Alpheratz in the constellation of Andromeda. It’s the brightest star in the constellation, representing the head of Andromeda, which is where the Greek designation for the temple came from.”
“Why would the Greeks build a temple to a star?” Sebastian asked. “That’s more an Egyptian trait, or Mezoamerican. That’s not something the Greeks would have done.”
“I don’t believe they did build it,” Katherine replied, leaning forward again and becoming more animated. “I believe they discovered it, or rediscovered it to be more precise, and renamed it. I think the real temple is much older than any civilization you associated it with.”
Dan and Sebastian glanced at each other. “Was that in your book?” Sebastian asked Dan, who shook his head slowly. Sebastian turned back to Katherine. “You said we’re looking in the wrong place? You don’t think it’s at Megisti?”
“No, I don’t. I think the sunken temple you are investigating is not the temple of the Eye itself. I think it is one of four cardinal markers related to the true position of the Eye.
“Each one of the markers is one hundred and twenty miles north, south, east and west of the temple of Andromeda, which lies at the center, forming the outline of a bright star. Megisti is the southern most marker.”
“That would put the temple somewhere smack bang in the middle of Turkey,” Sebastian pointed out.
“Yes, it would,” agreed Katherine.
“That would mean the Greeks couldn’t have built it.”
“Exactly.”
The two brothers looked at one another again, this time with a new spark of interest.
“Okay, you’ve got our attention,” Sebastian told Katherine. “Now you’re telling us you know where the Eye is located?”
“I suspect I do, and I have evidence to prove it.”
“Evidence?” asked Dan, suddenly intrigued. “What evidence?”

Structuring an unstructured mind is like nailing a cat to a sail in a hurricane

The problem with having an overactive imagination is getting it to stop.  I can be walking along when I have a great idea, concept, lyric, line or something that flashes across my mind.  It's so great it puts the proverbial spring in my step as I let it run free and grow and build and I think 'I HAVE to get this down, this is amazing'.  Then something happens - someone speaks to me, a child punches me in the groin or a car tries to run me over (all have happened) and the great idea evaporates away before it has time to fully form in my memory.  It's a pain in the arse.

That said, a lot of idiocy and madness does survive that initial germination phase and makes it to a scrap of paper, a notebook, the back of a hand or any other place I can get it scribbled down, just enough to prompt the thought again when I look back at it later so that the idea is not lost amongst the noise of the world.

Even with all the loss, I still splurge out more ideas than I can realistically turn into worthwhile work.  This includes stories, songs and often just throwaway lines that I put on Twitter or to a lesser extent Facebook.  I've always written stories, even from a young age.  A couple of things stick in my mind from that period. Both involve the same English teacher, Mr Milner, who taught me at Oaklands School in York.  He must be dead by now, but he had a huge impact on my life, even though he doesn't know it.  In return, I never gave him back his copy of To Kill A Mockingbird.

My first memory related to his teaching - oh no, wait, there's three, not two - was when we were given a sheet of paper with a series of drawings, depicting a guy who gets a motorbike.  We had to use them to tell a story.  I sort of cheated, because I cut the page up, rearranged the sequence of pictures and turned one of the characters into a policeman reporting on the untimely death of the lead character at the end of the story.  Mr Milner wrote on it 'This is a work of the highest standard, well done.'  That stuck in my head because a) he was right, it was good and b) I didn't get why nobody else did the same thing.  It just seemed obvious to me.

Memory number two was a story about a raft.  I wrote it from the point of view of someone walking through a forest a spying on another person building a raft.  Mr Milner started reading that one out in class, much to my horror.  At that point I realized that I don't crave attention or validation for my writing.  I know when something works and when I doesn't.  I don't need other people telling me that.  If I let someone read something it's because I've gotten it to the point where it's progressed far enough to be presented to an audience.  That doesn't necessarily mean its the finished product.  That said, I do take onboard people's suggestions.  When people read my story I want them to find plot holes or any deus ex machina moments that need extracting and replacing with decent story telling.  I don't have a problem with that but generally by the time I have gotten to the point of letting someone read my work, such problems can be fixed with one or two lines of exposition.

Memory number three was a comment he put on a story about a deranged general trying to blow up a neutron bomb.  He wrote at the bottom - 'hugely entertaining, worthy of Jeffrey Archer!'  At the time I thought that was a compliment, but there will be more on that story later...

So that sort of brings me on to the point of this post.  I have a lot of stories in development, but a lot of them are pretty closely tied together.  In order to keep track of this, I need to set out a diagram of where they all fit together.  Apologies for the formatting:


Brotherly Love

                                                    Valiant Shield

Satisfaction                                Ghostwalker                                                      
Sympathy for the Devil               Ghostwalkers
                                                                                 Infinite Diamond
                                                                                 The Eye of Andromeda          Scorpio
                                                                                                                                  Northstar
                                                                                                                                  Nemesis

Okay, I have more than I thought, that's actually eleven books.  Given the length of book I seem to write, that's about a million words.  Seeing as I do at least one complete rewrite per story, that brings it up to over two million words worth of effort to complete all these stories.  Now you see why I see having too much imagination as being a bit of a curse.

Bear in mind that most of these are not written out in full, and that million word target is probably more around the three hundred thousand word mark at the moment.  In fact, only Satisfaction and Ghostwalker are completed to a reasonable degree, with Infinite Diamond close behind.  Brotherly Love has an outline and a few passages.  Sympathy for the Devil has a start and a premise.  Ghostwalkers has a premise.  Valiant Shield is based on the story Mr Milner likened to the work of Jeffrey Archer, and is little more than a basic pitch.  Infinite Diamond is the story I'm working on at the moment and is about half way through being rewritten. The Eye of Andromeda has an outline, as do the last three.

What links Valiant Shield through to Nemesis is one character.  He's called Nathan Hayes and in some of the stories he's a relatively minor player, whereas in others he takes centre stage.  The overarching span of these stories is really about his career, although you wouldn't see that reading any one of the stories.

The stories on the left don't involve Hayes and are a standalone little stories told from the first person point of view.  This is by far and away the easiest and laziest way for me to write, because I'm basically writing in my voice as I see it and hear it in my head.  If a character doesn't know something then they don't know.  I don't need to go away and research a subject or try to describe something I barely understand myself.  It really is much, much easier writing like this.  It's pretty much the same voice I use to write this blog, only it's fictional.  That's why when I start trying to publish, I'll be using thes stories on the left.  That way if I fail, it's at minimum damage to myself.  The other reason is to retain creative control.  I know where I want the rest of the stories to go and how I want them to fit together.  If I publish one of them without securing that creative control, it would run the risk of buggering up the overall structure that I have in mind.

The rest of the stories are very much more conventional fiction writing and range from thrillers through to straight action stories, mostly with a slight fantasy/sci fi element, although I don't include characters with names like Jxxfrkk or Gilfard the Great or anything like that.  It's a little more grounded writing than that, I like to think.  I do tend to write pretty visually and of course I think about how these stories could end up on film.  I'm also realistic though, and I know there's pretty much a zero chance of that happening, since they would be expensive to make.  So for now they will exist as novels, although another thought has occurred to me.  Being very visual stories, they could do very well as graphic novels.  I think the sort of stories I write could work in that medium and be marketed to the sort of audience who would pick up a graphic novel in the first place.

The only problem is that, like most things in life, I have no idea where to start.

The last thing I'm going to write about rewrites - for now...

Well, I have finally completed rewriting my story Ghostwalker.  I began doing it in November 2010, and due to some events along the way (moving to America, getting married, that sort of thing) I took my time going through the story.  As it is now, it's hovering somewhere around the 78,000 word mark, which qualifies it as a short novel.  And yes, I'd like to try and get it published.

Looking back over the various iterations of this story, I noted a couple of things.  The details of the story have changed, developed and evolved so far that the rewrite I did turned out to be just that - I would estimate that there's no more than fifteen per cent of the story that remains as it was in the previous version.  Saying that, it's hard to place exactly which version is which.  At no point in the past did I have a fully completed manuscript; rather I had bits and pieces linked together by the odd instructive paragraph explaining the events.  Even so, the previous versions of the story ran to 120,000 words and then later 100,000 words.  So it's safe to say that a lot of extraneous details and events have been removed to tighten the pacing and tell the core story as swiftly and succinctly as possible.

I'd say that when writing a story, less can very much be more.  It all depends on the type of story.  If you want to write an elaborate, multi-stranded story with lots of richly defined characters, then wandering over then 100,000 word mark makes sense; indeed, it's essential.  If, on the other hand, you're trying to write a fast-paced, exciting thriller then that sort of word count just drags things down and slows the pace to little more than a grind.  I do find that if something is painful to write, the chances are that it's going to be equally painful to read.  It's the same with movies - why make it 150 minutes when you could have told it in 105 instead?

The one thing I have noticed though is that despite the many changes to the story, it remains fundamentally unchanged.  It has a beginning, middle and end that are unchanged.  The events take place in the same sequence.  The denouement is pretty much the same.  What has changed is the details of how characters move around, and how they interact.  Whereas before it was a plot driven story, I hope now that events unfold because that's how those people would really act in those situations.  Of course, it's still a thriller, so people do find themselves in some improbable scenarios.  I just hope nobody reads it and thinks 'Why on earth did they just do that?'  If they do, then it's going to be back to the drawing board.

But for now, I can relax a little and not think about this story, until I get it proofread at least.  Any takers?

Ghostwalker Chapter Three

The four of them stepped from the warm car and out into a cold, clear night.  Their breath hang in the air as they stretched their legs, grateful to be off the road.
Mel headed for the front door with her mum in tow, leaving Dan and Trevor to collect the bags that filled the boot.  Dan watched Mel wistfully as she chatted with her mum.  He wondered if she knew how gorgeous she was.
“How are you doing?” Trevor asked from the back of the car, noticing where Dan’s gaze was directed.  Dan looked at him and gave a non-committal shrug.
“Okay, I guess,” he said.
“Do you want to give me a hand with the bags?” Trevor asked, gesturing to the boot.
“Yeah, sure,” Dan answered. Trevor passed him several carrier bags from their shopping spree, and then a suitcase.  Dan realised that Mel must have been back to her parent’s house to pick stuff up that afternoon.  She would have seen his house.  That thought chilled him more than the cold night air.
“Come on, you two, it’s freezing,” Mel called from the front door.  Trevor shut the car boot and they walked up to the house.
“We can put the stuff upstairs,” Mel said, letting them into the hallway and shutting the front door behind them.
The house was smartly decorated, belying the mundane exterior.  The hallway was painted in pale tones with cherry flooring.  There were pot plants by the front door and on the landing.  Rising up the cream carpeted stairs were four black and white prints of the Manhattan skyline, two with the World Trade Centre intact.  Dan liked the fresh, simple look, a million miles from the rustic idyll he had pictured.
Mel led the way up the stairs, followed by Dan and then Trevor.  Dan tried to keep his eyes fixed on the small of Mel’s back and not any lower, although it was hard to ignore the tight jeans she had on; it was an awkward moment, not helped by a disapproving cough from Trevor.
They reached the landing and Mel pointed out the spare room where her mum and dad would sleep.  Trevor took their bags in there, and then Mel led Dan down to the end of the landing.  She opened the door and said in an apologetic tone, “Welcome to the penthouse.”
It was a tiny little box room.  Half of it was filled with stacks of cardboard boxes and piles of old magazines.  There was a folded up camping bed propped up against the wall.  Dan reckoned that when he lay down he would have been able to touch the opposing walls with his head and his feet.
“It’s not much, I know,” said Mel, “but it’s the best I can do at short notice.”
“It’s more than I could ask for,” said Dan gratefully, as she opened a built in cupboard fitted above the stair well and pulled out some bedding.  She smiled as she handed it to him.
“Anything for an old friend,” she told him as she pulled out the camp bed.
“Hey, we’re not old yet,” he replied, putting down the bedding and helping her flatten the bed.  He picked up a couple of sheets and between them they made the bed as they talked.
“I’m older than you,” she pointed out.
“Not by much,” Dan reminded her.
“Four years, mister.  They count.”
“No, you look really good.”
“For my age, you mean?”
“No, that’s not what I meant.  What happened to the skinny girl I used to know?”  She was still slim, but she had developed curves in the time she had lived away from home.  She was seven inches shorter than him but her build made her look taller.  Her long dark hair wasn’t straight like he remembered her as a child but now fell in soft curls.
Some things hadn’t changed though.  She still had the same smile that could make his heart skip and the same dazzling green eyes that felt like they would burn into you if she looked at you for too long.
“She grew up, and out,” answered Mel.  Dan nodded in agreement.  It was strange; they hadn’t seen each other for so long, and yet they had slipped back into the old banter with such ease it was as though they had never been apart. 
A couple of minutes later they had the bed made and Mel gave it a pat of approval.
“Come on,” she said, “let’s go and get you something to eat.”
“Can I get a quick shower first?” Dan asked.
“Yeah, of course,” Mel said.  “The bathroom’s right there.”  She pointed to the door at the opposite end of the hallway.
“Thanks,” said Dan gratefully, “I’ll be right down.”

Half an hour later, Dan was sat at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, holding a mug of tea that Maggie had just handed to him. He wore a clean sweater and sweatpants, courtesy of their detour into Tesco, and had cleaned up the cut on his head the best he could.  His black eyes were starting to fade; he healed quickly and he knew in a couple more days they would be barely noticeable.   Mel was sat opposite him.
“You don’t actually look that bad,” she said, looking at his forehead.
“I’m pretty sure I’m going to have a scar,” he answered.
“That’s kind of cool, though,” Mel said.
“Melanie!” snapped her mum, from behind Dan, but it didn’t bother him.  Mel had a point.
The kitchen was small, but nicely decorated, in line with the rest of the house.  It had been fitted with a cherry worktop and white units; the walls and floor were covered in matching slate tiles.  Dan liked it, partly because it looked fresh and smart, but mainly because it was nothing like the kitchen at his parent’s.  That was only other kitchen he had ever sat down in and drank tea.  Maggie sat down next to Mel.
“Where’s Trevor?” Dan asked her.
“On the phone,” she replied.  “Work.”
“Work?” Mel asked. “It’s Friday night and it’s nearly midnight.  Who’s at work at this time?”
“Ah, that’s the price for marrying an accountant,” Maggie answered.  “They never stop.  There’s always something going on somewhere in the world.  I think it’s helping him get along, you know, under the circumstances.”  Dan knew Trevor was a little more than an accountant; he was a financial director for an engineering company.  He had never struck Dan as the type to want to put his feet up.
“I do like what you’ve with the place,” Maggie went on.
“Thanks, mum,” Mel answered.  “It was a bit of a dump when we got it, but I’ve done a lot to it, so I like it.”
“Who’s we?” asked Dan.
“Steve, my ex,” she said, with a hint of bitterness in her voice.
“Oh, right,” said Dan.  “I didn’t realise.”
“It’s alright.  Like I said – he’s the ex.”
“So you have this place to yourself?  That can’t be cheap.”
“It’s not easy,” admitted Mel, “but Mum and Dad help, and I’m not going to be taken for a ride by anyone.”  She smiled at her mum, who nodded appreciatively.
Maggie had said nothing throughout the little exchange; instead, she watched the two of them together.  She didn’t share her husband’s apprehension about Dan.  He seems too nice to be left to the wolves, she thought, and if he and Mel get on well, then so much the better.  After all, nobody’s perfect.  Dan continued the talking to Mel, oblivious to Maggie’s observations.
“I can see that,” he said to her appreciatively.  Mel reached over and gave his arm a little squeeze.  It was not much; hardly anything in fact, but it said more than any words could at that moment, especially as she left her hand in place.  Dan turned to speak to Maggie, trying to ignore Mel’s warm touch on his arm.
“Is Trevor okay with me being here?” he asked her.  She raised her eyebrows.
“Of course he is,” she said, slightly defensively.
“He just didn’t seem to be too happy about it at the hospital, that’s all.  I don’t want to impose.”  Mel snorted at the idea.
“It’s not him you’re imposing on, it’s me, and I don’t mind you being here one bit,” she said tartly.  “Dad’s always worrying about something or other anyway.”
“Mel,” said Maggie, rebuking her.
“Well, it’s true,” Mel replied.  “He won’t want me getting mixed up with trouble over here,” nodding at Dan.  Dan felt his face flush.
“For God’s sake,” Maggie said, chiding her daughter, just as Trevor walked into the kitchen.  They all looked at him, wearing the expressions of guilty children caught stealing biscuits.
“Have you been talking about me?” Trevor asked dryly.  It wasn’t meant as a joke, no matter how lightly he tried to make it sound.
“Don’t be silly,” said Maggie, a little too quickly.
“Is there any news?” asked Mel, deftly moving things on.  Dan gave her another appreciative glance.  Trevor leant back against the kitchen side.
“There’s a couple of meetings I’ve managed to put back to later next week,” Trevor began, but Mel cut him off.
“Not about work,” she said, speaking to him like he was an idiot.  “About… you know...” she stopped speaking, and instead tipped her head towards Dan a couple of times in a none too subtle gesture.  Despite the sudden dread of what the reply might be, Dan couldn’t help but smile.  Trevor caught on.
“Oh, right,” he said, clearing his throat a touch too melodramatically.  “I called a couple of people down the street.  There’s not much going on now as far as they can tell.  They seem to be making what’s left of the house structurally safe, but no-one seems to know if they’ll wait until Monday before carrying on.”
“That makes sense,” Dan said.  “I wouldn’t want anyone else getting hurt.”
“No, quite right,” agreed Trevor.  “Apparently there’s still a lot of forensics people there.”
“Forensics?” Mel asked, frowning.  “What are they doing there?”  Trevor shrugged.
Trying to figure out what happened,” Dan answered.
“Looking for evidence, if you ask me,” said Trevor brusquely.  There was something in his tone that sent a chill down Dan’s spine.
What are you thinking, Trevor?
“Hopefully they’ll get it sorted out quickly,” Mel said.
“Yes, then we can all get back home,” Trevor agreed.
“Most of us,” Dan said quietly.
“I’m sure you’ll find somewhere soon enough,” Trevor replied.  There was no warmth in his voice.
“He can stay here as long as he needs to,” Mel answered.
“Is that such a good idea?” Trevor said.  His question was answered by a pregnant pause.
What did you just say? Dan thought. Trevor’s tone of voice was making him angry.  He stood up.
“Look Trevor, I know you don’t like me being here, so if it’s that much of an issue to you, I’ll just go, alright?”
“No, you will not,” Mel said to him, standing up as well.
“I know what this is about,” Dan continued, ignoring Mel.  “I know you don’t want me near your daughter, and hey, who can blame you?  But right now, I really do not need this.”  His trembling voice rose as he spoke.
“That’s enough, Trevor,” Maggie warned.  She looked furious.  It was a fury Dan shared.  All of a sudden he wanted to hit Trevor, hard.  He wanted to hurt him.  He took a step towards him.  Trevor sensed the turmoil that was engulfing Dan.
“That’s quite a temper you’ve got on you, Dan,” Trevor remarked.
“Dad!” exclaimed Mel angrily.  She knew exactly what he was doing; she just couldn’t see why.
“Trevor!” Maggie snapped.  “What on earth are you thinking?”
Yeah, what are you thinking, Trev?  Do you know what I’m thinking right now?  Do you know I want to smash your stupid face right in?
“I’m sorry,”  Trevor said to everyone, sounding anything but.  Dan opened his mouth to speak, but Mel took his hand and spoke for him.  “I don’t believe this,” she said furiously.  “You’re totally out of order.  Dad, I want you out of here right now.  Dan, you come with me.”  She stood up and rounded the breakfast bar, dragging him out of the room.  Maggie turned angrily on Trevor as they left.
“What the hell are you thinking?” she lashed at him.  “That boy’s just lost his parents.”
“I know,” he replied.  “And the fact is he’s the obvious person who stands to gain from their deaths.”

In the living room, Dan was sat with Mel on the sofa.  He was sat with his hands clutched together, head bowed, and she had her hand on his shoulder comforting him.
“Don’t take any notice of Dad,” she said softly.  “He can be a bit of an idiot sometimes.”
“No wonder he didn’t want me to come here,” said Dan, staring at the floor.  “Not if that’s how he feels about me.”
“Me and Mum don’t think like that,” said Mel, trying to encourage him.
“I should never have come here at all,” Dan replied.  “I need to go back and see my doctor.”
“Not tonight,” said Mel gently.  “It’d be too late by the time we got back to be of any use to anyone.  You stay here tonight and I’ll take you to the station first thing tomorrow morning.”  He looked at her.
“I’m about as welcome here as the plague,” he said.
“You are welcome in my house anytime, Dan Ryan,” she assured him.  “You let me worry about everything else.”  He considered her offer for a moment, and then nodded.
“Thanks, Mel,” he said.  “You’re being really good to me, you know.”  He was looking into her eyes as he spoke, and her gaze was fixed on him, full of compassion and tenderness, something he now knew he missed more than he realised.  Maybe it was the circumstances, but he felt so open and vulnerable to her it was as though she could have swallowed him up with her gaze.  Just at that moment, when Dan realised he was sitting there staring at her and saying nothing, there was a knock on the living room door and Maggie came in, followed by Trevor.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she said.  “Trevor’s got something to say.”  He shuffled awkwardly, glanced around and then he spoke to Dan.
“I just wanted to apologise for speaking to you like that just now,” he said to Dan.
“Okay.  Forget it,” replied Dan quickly.  He had no intention of getting into a conversation with the man.
“Yes, well… I’m sorry for thinking what I think.” 
That’s a pretty weird apology.
“Dad…” Mel said.  Dan knew she was thinking the same thing as him.
“No, come on, let’s be fair,” he said, cutting her off.  “Why would you be want me anywhere near your daughter, given my track record?  But I think you’re forgetting I’ve just lost my parents.  No offense, but the last thing on my mind is Mel.”  He looked at her.  “Don’t take that the wrong way.”
“It’s fine,” she smiled, happy to see him barking at her dad.
“We know,” Maggie said, but Dan cut her off.
“Yeah, you do, and Mel does, but I don’t think Trevor here does.  What do you reckon Trevor?”
“I reckon you’re right,” came the measured response.
Damn right I’m right.  I know you think I’m not good enough for your daughter on any level.  I know you’ve always thought that and I know you’ve made sure you kept her as far away from me as possible.
Mel reached over and put her hand across Dan’s shoulder, but her touch caused him to stand up, push her away and stride out of the room.  Mel stood to follow him, but Maggie stopped him.
“Let him go, love,” said her mum.  “Give him some space.”
“But he’s distraught,” said Mel, tears in her eyes.
“Yes, and no wonder,” said her mum, glaring at Trevor.  “As if today wasn’t bad enough as it is.”   
“Yeah, well done Dad,” snapped Mel.  “Wading in with your size nines.  Why can’t you just keep it zipped for once?”
“I’m only saying what everyone will be thinking,” answered Trevor defensively.
“God, no wonder I got out when I could,” Mel snapped, and stormed out of the room as well.

Dan shut himself in the bathroom and slumped to the floor, sobbing with his back against the bath.  It was all too much for him.  He wanted to get away from these people.  Ignoring Decker’s advice had been a huge mistake.  He had let a moment of ridiculous lust get in the way of grief and common sense and now he was trapped in an unbelievably awkward situation, a situation compounded by his lack of memory.  He wanted to remember his mum and dad but all he could see in his head were fragments, nonsensical moments of white noise.  He knew Decker had said that was normal, but it felt like it was slowly driving him insane.
He reached for a length of toilet roll and blew his nose noisily.  The pain in his chest that had been sitting there all day was not subsiding.  He gritted his teeth, banging his fist on the side of his head, as if it would somehow help unlock his forgotten memories.  It did nothing but make his head hurt, and he slowly slid to his left, falling down onto his side, where he stayed laying curled on the floor, in a foetal position, clutching at the toilet paper.
There was a knock on the door.  Dan ignored it, but a moment later it opened anyway.
“Hey,” Mel said softly.  He didn’t answer her, so she stepped over him, shutting the door behind her, and sat down on the edge of the bath.
“Sorry about Dad, I really am,” she said, looking down at him.  “He’s just… just… a dickhead, I suppose.”  Dan snorted at that, and looked up at her.  His eyes were swollen and red. 
“What is happening to my life?” he asked, croakily.  “It might have been shit before, but at least it made some sort of sense.  I mean, I know what I had wasn’t exactly anything special, but compared to this…”  He tailed off again.  Mel tried to find something to say that would help.
 “Why don’t you try and get some sleep?”
 “You sure you’re just not trying to keep me out of the way of your Dad?”
“A bit, maybe,” she admitted.  “But can you blame me?  He’s not exactly behaving himself and you’re in no state to put up with his antics.  I think he’s just feeling a bit protective.”  Dan gave a little nod.  She was probably right.
“Come on,” she said. “I’ll put you to bed.”  She held out her hand and he sat up and took it a few seconds later, letting her help him to his feet.  She led him out of the bathroom and down the landing to the box room.  She had set a little lamp down beside the camp bed, giving the room a snug, cosy feel.
“Get yourself to bed,” she ordered. 
“Thanks, Mel,” he said, genuinely grateful.  “You’re being really good and you don’t have to be.”
“It’s nothing.  It’s just nice to see you again, even if it is like this.”  For a fleeting moment he thought about asking her to stay, but shot the idea down immediately.  Instead, he said goodnight to her and then shut the bedroom door.
He lay down on the bed and turned off the lamp.  The murmur of conversation rose up from beneath him.  He couldn’t make out what was being said but it sounded like an argument, one he wanted no part of.  He closed his eyes, wondering what the morning might hold in store for him.  Quicker than he realised, the mental fatigue of the day swept over him, and within minutes he was asleep.

He was standing in his parent’s living room.  It was exactly how he remembered it from his childhood, and his mum and dad were sat on the old sofa they had sold years before, the one he had ripped when he was eight.  Both of them looked pale and gaunt, staring into the distance, not seeing him standing there.
“Mum?  Dad?”  he tried to say, but no sound came out of his mouth.  It was like his voice was stuck in his throat, choking him.  He tried to move towards them but found he couldn’t.  Then, as he watched in increasing horror, flickering flames appeared in their laps, and rapidly spread across them, engulfing them both.  Suddenly they were screaming, but they didn’t move, they just opened their mouths and screamed.  He leapt forward, trying to help them, but the heat forced him back.  He tried again, and this time the fire leapt to his sleeve, and spread at an uncontrollable rate up his arm.  Almost instantly he was engulfed in flames, and the searing pain made him scream in agony.  He could smell his skin and hair burning away as he desperately flapped at himself, falling to his knees.  Through the orange flame, he looked up to his parents, still unmoving.  His mum’s gaze flicked down, and for a brief moment she stared straight into his eyes.
He woke with a start.  His heart was thudding against his ribcage.  He was still lying on top of the camp bed, fully dressed.
It’s just a dream, it’s just a dream, it’s just a dream.
He took deep breaths, trying and failing to clear the remnants of the dream from his mind.  He looked round the room.  Mel had left an alarm clock next to the bed.  The green numbers on it gave the room an eerie glow.  He squinted down at the display.  It was only one o’clock.  He had been asleep for less than half an hour.
He sat up, thinking of what he had just seen in his dream.  It had been horrible.  His mum and dad had been burning in agony, and he had been powerless to help them.  It made him worried. 
Is this what sleep’s going to have in store for me from now on?  Will I see them like that every time I close my eyes? 
He shook his head.  That wasn’t how he wanted to remember them.
For the next three hours he sat on the bed and tried to drill down into his forgotten memories.  Time and again he tried to retrace his steps from the previous night, but he could remember no more than at the hospital.  The gaping holes in his mind were frustrating him, but the more he tried to remember, the fuzzier everything became.
It’s a natural defense, that’s what Decker said.
Some defense.  It protects me by sending me crazy.He tried to turn his thoughts to something else.  The only good thing he could think of was Mel.  As soon as he started to think about her though, he was racked with guilt, and pushed those thoughts out of his mind as well.
Eventually, fatigue moved in to attack him again and a little after four o’clock in the morning he drifted back to into a dreamless sleep.  The last thought that crossed his mind before he passed out was that his parents had been dead for a little over twenty four hours and that he would never see them again.

Ghostwalker - chapter two

It was just after one o’clock in the afternoon, and Dan was sat in bed looking down at the plate of food that had been presented to him for lunch.  Once upon a time, it had resembled bangers and mash with peas and gravy.  Now it looked liked something that had passed through the digestive system of a cow.  Dan picked up his fork and pushed half a blackened sausage through the watery mash like an icebreaker surging through the Arctic chill.
“Are you going to eat that or just play with it?” Mel asked, with a half smile on her face, watching him from her seat at the corner of the bed.
“Even if this was a medium rare sirloin steak covered in  peppercorn sauce, I don’t think I could eat it,” Dan replied miserably.
“You need to eat something, Dan,” Mel told him sternly.  “The nurse said so.”
“It’s her job to say that,” Dan pointed out.  “Besides, I bet what she eats doesn’t look like this slop.”
“No, probably not,” Mel agreed.  She was glad to see a bit of the old spark she liked in Dan creeping through.  She had spent the morning with her parents, but after a few hours in their company she had been reminded why she lived so far away from them.  She had wandered back down to Dan’s ward just as the nurse on duty had been handing out the food and she had offered to help Dan with it.
Dan pushed the fork away and let it drop on the plate.  It clattered down and made Mel jump.
“Hey, now,” she said.  “That’s not the attitude.”  She brought her chair to his side, sat forward and picked up the cutlery and began sawing into the sausage.
“I’m not a complete invalid, you know,” Dan said, watching her.
“Really?” she replied.  “You do a good impression of one.”  She lifted the chunk of incinerated sausage to Dan’s mouth.  He stared at her with his mouth firmly closed.
“I’m not going anywhere in a hurry, remember,” she said.  “I can do this all day.”
“I’d like to see you try,” Dan replied through gritted teeth.  A few moments later he begrudgingly leant forward and tugged the sausage off the fork, chewing it slowly.
“That’s better,” Mel beamed.  “For a minute there I thought I was going to have to go and find that doctor again.”
“You really don’t have to do this, you know,” Dan said.
“Maybe I just want to,” Mel answered, attacking the sausage again.  “How does that doctor know you, anyway?”
“Decker?” Dan said, receiving another piece of sausage.  He was starting to enjoy having this personal service from Mel.  Mel nodded.
“Yeah, you seemed like you knew him pretty well.”
“You could say that,” Dan said.  “Remember a few years back when I was getting into a lot of trouble at school?”
“How could I forget?” Mel replied.  “You were Dangerous Dan back then, you know?”  Dan laughed scornfully at that.  It was a nickname he had hated.
“Yeah, well, mum and dad....” he tailed off for a moment, his gaze going distant.  Mel stopped cutting food and looked at him with sympathy.
“Tell me, Dan,” she said softly, wanting to keep him occupied.
“They were obviously worried about me,” Dan continued, his voice cracking as he avoided her gaze.  “They tried all sorts of stuff.  I always hated all that counselling crap.  But Decker was different.  He didn’t treat you like a patient; more like a mate or something.  He was actually friends with my parents from way back before I’d ever met him.  My dad made me go and see him.  I really didn’t want to but it was totally different with him.  The first few sessions” - as he said the word he formed quotation marks with his fingers - “we just spent fixing up old motorbikes.”
“That’s cool,” Mel said.  “My parents drive me nuts even now.”
“Yeah, mine too,” Dan said.  “Well, did.”
“I’m sorry, Dan,” Mel said, putting down the fork and touching his hand.  Her skin was warm and smooth and soft.
“No, it’s okay,” he said, taking a deep breath.  “I guess I’m going to have to get used to it.”
“It’s horrible,” Mel said sympathetically.
“Yeah,” Dan murmured.
“I’m glad you turned out okay,” Mel said appreciatively.  “You were trouble for a while.”
“Thanks,” Dan grinned at her.  She put the knife back down on the plate next to the fork.
“I think you’re going to have to fend for yourself for a little while,” she said.  Dan visibly sagged.
“You’re going already?” he asked.
“Yeah, I really need to go back to mum and dad,” she answered.
“Oh, okay,” Dan said, not even trying to hide his disappointment.
“I’ll come back later,” she told him.  “They would kill me if they knew I was here.”
“Why?” Dan frowned.
“Dangerous Dan, remember?” Mel said, standing and leaning over him to give him a kiss on the forehead.  It felt like the kiss of an angel to Dan.  He realised that they didn’t know she’d come to see him; in fact, she’d probably promised them  that she wouldn’t.
“I’m not dangerous,” he said softly.  She looked down at him, her face close to his.
“You always will be to them,” she told him.  “See you later, trouble.”

By the mid-afternoon, Dan had been examined by a couple of different doctors, both of whom had remarked how lucky he was to have so few injuries.  Their words had bitten into him as he had thought about his parents but he had not let them know how he felt.  Instead he chose to escape his ward and start wandering around the hospital.  His nurse scowled at him for trying, but Decker arrived before an argument could start and offered to walk with Dan.  Shortly thereafter they found themselves outside in an small ornamental garden, sheltered from the bitter wind.  They sat on a bench facing a large fountain.  In summer it would have been a lush sun trap, colourful and filled with life.  In October, it was cold and grey; their breath hung in the air as they talked.
“I can’t believe they’re gone,” Dan said.
“I know,” Decker answered.  “It’s always a shock when someone is taken away so quickly.”
“Two days ago they were alive, just living their same old life, and now...”
“It’s never an easy thing to come to terms with.”
“Do you know what’s upsetting me most?”  Dan asked.  Decker looked at him, waiting for him to continue.  Dan stared down at the ground as he continued to speak.  “It’s not that their dead.  I mean, everybody dies, don’t they?  It’s not even that I didn’t get to say goodbye to them because really how many people get to do that?
“It’s that I’ve achieved nothing in my life, and all I’ll ever remember is that they were disappointed in me.”
“That’s not true, Dan,” Decker started to say but Dan kept talking.
“Look at me.  I’m eighteen.  I’ve got no job.  I’ve barely got an education.  I’ve done nothing with my life.  I’ve got no home, no family, no money, nothing.  All I’ve got a is stupid cut on my head.  What sort of legacy is that?  They must have hated me.”
“That is most certainly not true,” Decker said.  “They loved you.  It was them that put you in touch with me, remember?   They wouldn’t have done that if they didn’t care about you.”
“I just feel like I’ve wasted my life so far and they’re never going to get to see whatever it is I do.”
“Then make that their legacy,” Decker said.  “Make something positive come out of this.”
“Do you know I’ve got less than a thousand pounds in the bank, and that’s only because I got eighteen hundred quid on my eighteenth birthday.”
“That’s not a measure of your worth, Dan.”
“No, but it’s a pretty damning indictment of me, isn’t it?  All I have is what they gave me.  That’s it.  I’ve been so horrible up to now and it’s taken this for me to really see it.”  Decker didn’t answer that immediately.  He knew there was more than a grain of truth in what Dan was saying.  Dan knew it too.  “Thanks, doc, your silence speaks volumes.”
“This could be an opportunity for you to really prove yourself, then,” Decker said encouragingly.
“How?” Dan answered in an exasperated tone.  “You know what, I was thinking before we came out here I’m going to have to organise their funeral and sort out what happens with that house and everything else.  I haven’t got a bloody clue how to do any of that but I bet you anything it’ll cost more than a thousand pounds.  I can’t even afford to bury my own parents.”
“I’ll make sure you get help with that,” Decker said.
“I don’t want your money,” Dan answered miserably.
“I’m doing it for them as much as you,” Decker answered.  “They were my friends, remember.”
“Okay,” Dan conceded, grateful for the offer of support.  “That would really help because I have no idea what to do.”  Decker patted him on the back.
“That’s better,” he said.  “Come on, let’s go inside.  It’s freezing out here.”
Dan nodded, and they got up and went back into the hospital.  They turned left and began to walk down the corridor towards Dan’s ward.  Their footsteps echoed on the polished floor as they walked and Dan was hit by the smell of the place – the smell of santised suffering.  It made him feel physically sick.  Decker saw the look on his face and spoke quickly.
“I don’t want you to be alone at the moment.  I can get you discharged from here; you’re well enough for that but I don’t want to leave you hung out to dry.  Is there anywhere you can go tonight?” he asked.  “Friends you can stay with?”
“Not really,” said Dan.  “I was going to call my Uncle Chris and see if I can stay there for a few days but we aren’t exactly close, you know.”
“I know,” Decker said.  Dan had talked to him about his uncle before, and he knew that Dan hadn’t seen him in over ten years.  Thrusting Dan into an alien environment like that didn’t seem like the best idea to him.  “I’ll tell you what,” he began, but he was cut short by a woman’s voice from further down the corridor calling out, “Danny?  Is that you?”  They both looked up and saw a plump, grey haired woman.  Dan recognised her immediately.
“Maggie?” he called back , slightly startled.  It was Mel’s mum, his parent’s next door neighbour, and his mother’s best friend.  His surprise was not from seeing her; Mel had told him she was at the hospital.  It was because of her appearance.  Everyone who knew her laughingly called her Hyacinth Bucket, which was an image she was more than sporting enough to play up to.  But standing there in the hospital, wearing a dark dressing gown and with her hair barely combed, she looked anything but the image of suburban perfection.  Her face was streaked with tears and she was clutching a tissue, which she dabbed at her tear-stained cheeks.  Stood with her was her husband Trevor, a rotund man with a bald head and a pepper-pot moustache.  He looked as equally dishevelled as his wife.
Maggie came tottering down the corridor towards Dan and when she reached him she threw her arms round him, hugging him tightly; it was a show of affection that caught Dan slightly off guard.  He didn’t find it a pleasant experience suddenly being clutched tightly against this woman he only knew civilly, and he was unsure how to respond.
“I’m so happy to see you in one piece,” Maggie said warmly.
“Yeah, and you,” he agreed, his body tense in her embrace.
“Oh, we’re fine really,” Maggie answered, looking up at him.  “You know doctors; they wanted to check us inside out before giving us the all-clear.  You’re the one who’s got the worst of it.”
“Not as bad as Mum and Dad.”
“I’m so sorry, Dan,” Maggie stuttered, starting to cry again, dropping her head again.  Dan brought his hands up gingerly and placed them on her back, holding her awkwardly, his expression registering his discomfort.  He had never seen Maggie like this.  The only occasions he had ever spoken to her had been in his mother’s kitchen, and that had always been the same polite but stilted conversation over a cup of tea.  Now she was an entirely different proposition, and he wasn’t sure how to deal with it.
“It’s alright,” Dan told her.  “It’s not your fault.”  He hugged her a little more tightly, and as his awkwardness began to dissipate he found himself trying and failing to fight off his own tears.  He bent his head and they stood there crying into each other’s shoulders, not caring about anyone else around.  Trevor and Decker stood back awkwardly, glancing at each other but giving Dan and Maggie their moment of grief together. 
It was Decker who finally broke the moment up.  “I was going to offer you somewhere to say tonight, Dan,” he said.  “You can stay with me for a few days if you like.”
“Nonsense,” said Maggie, wiping away her tears and effortlessly slipping back to her usual brusque manner.  “He can come and stay with us.  He wants to be around people he knows at a time like this.”  She knew just as well as Decker that Dan had no-one else to go to.    “He knows me,” said Decker, firmly, “and he couldn’t possibly impose on you under the circumstances,” he continued, driving home the point.  Dan found himself agreeing with Decker.   
“Yeah, I mean I’m not sure I want to go there right now, you know?” he said bluntly, wincing at his own sharp tone as soon as he said it.
“I know exactly what you mean,” Maggie replied. “I don’t want to go back there, either.”  Dan looked slightly abashed, but she continued quickly.  “We’re going to stay with Mel for a couple of days.”
At that thought, Dan’s face lit up.  There was a surge of emotion in Dan’s chest totally at odds with the anguish he was feeling.  It was inappropriate and it suddenly sent Decker’s offer of hospitality reeling back against the ropes with a killer blow.
“Sure, okay, I can come with you guys,” said Dan, a little too obviously.  He looked to his doctor.  “I mean, is it okay for me to leave?”  Decker nodded.
“I’ll see to the admin side of things, don’t worry.  But I think you should come with me.”
Dan found that the thought of spending a few days staying with Mel was rapidly overwhelming his grief, and that realisation brought with it a sudden surge of anger - anger at himself for even thinking about her, or his own selfish needs, at a time like this.  He clenched his fists, not knowing how to deal with the bizarre mix of emotions churning inside him.  Wherever they were headed, Trevor, who was all too aware of Dan’s interest in his daughter and none too keen about the prospect of them getting reacquainted, intervened.
“Maybe you should go with the doctor, Dan,” he suggested.  His cool tone immediately doused the flames of Dan’s inner turmoil.  Dan knew full well that Trevor didn’t want him anywhere near Mel.
You’re still Dangerous Dan to them.
Decker, sensing a chance to regain his footing in the emotional tug of war that was unfolding, leapt into the fray to side with Trevor.
“I really must insist…” he began, but Maggie cut right across him.
“He’s coming with us, and that’s the end of it,” she said, directing the statement at everyone in the vicinity in a tone that was not to be argued with.  There was a moment’s awkward silence.  Dan broke it.
“Can we just get out of here?” he asked her.  The maelstrom of confusion and emotion whirling round in his head was beginning to overwhelm him.  If he stayed any longer, he felt sure he would end up going with Decker.  He didn’t even know why; but if they weren’t going to let him see his mum and dad, then he wanted to be as far as way as possible from the hospital, and as close to someone who would be able to distract him from his grief.  Somehow he didn’t think Decker would do that as well as Mel.  He wondered if he shouldn’t feel like that, but he did and that realisation brought back the sickening wave of guilt again.
“I really do think you should come with me, Dan,” Decker said, quite forcefully.  “I’m not sure you’re ready to go anywhere else.”
“I’ll be fine, doc, really,” said Dan, sounding almost happy.  Decker winced at the colloquialism but Dan barely noticed and continued to jabber away.  “Actually, I think it might help.  You know, get me away from here; take my mind off it.”  He was talking much too quickly.
Mel was the reason he wanted to go with them, and everyone standing there knew it.  There was no other good reason to go against his senses and do what he was doing, but he didn’t want to even admit it to himself, never mind to Decker.  He knew how well Decker knew him, and how easily he could pick apart his thoughts.  Decker wasn’t going to give in so easily though.  He spoke earnestly, trying to reason with Dan.
“You don’t need to run away, Dan.  I can give you the support you need at this time, personally and professionally.  I really don’t think they can.  I’ve dealt with this situation before.  They haven’t.  Please, come with me.”
Dan looked at him, taking in his words.  True as they may have been, the thought of that girl was enough to blunt the sharpest of hooks, and he shook his head.
“Sorry, doc,” he said, sounding genuinely apologetic for a brief moment.  “I’ll be in touch, okay?” he said, holding out his hand.  Decker reached out and shook it and smiled, but it was not a happy smile.
“Okay.  Just call me if you need to talk.”
“Sure thing,” said Dan, and looked to Maggie.
“I’m ready when you are.”

They met Mel by the front entrance of the hospital; she had pulled her Golf up outside and ran in to find them.  Trevor chastised her for parking on double yellow lines outside a hospital but she ignored him, until he insisted on driving ‘to show her how it’s done’.  That led to a brief argument which Trevor won.
“He’s always doing this,” Mel muttered to Dan as they clambered into the back seat.  “He thinks it’s his car.”
“It is my car,” Trevor said, looking at her in the rear view mirror.  “You aren’t the registered owner; you’re only a named driver on my policy.”
“Dad, the car lives with me.  It’s my car.”
“Not in the eyes of the law, it’s not.”
“For God’s sake,” Mel muttered as they pulled away from the hospital.  Dan glanced out the window as they drove up to the main road.  The sign next to the junction read Chase Farm Hospital. 
I’m in Enfield, he thought.  It made sense; it was the nearest A&E hospital to his home.
“Are we going straight to my house?” Mel asked her dad.  “Only Dan hasn’t got any clothes or anything with him.  Can we stop somewhere on the way?”
“There’s a Tesco Extra on High Street,” Trevor answered.  “We can stop there.  We need to fill up anyway.”
“Is that okay?” Mel asked Dan.  “I just figured you’d need a few bits, that’s all.”
“I haven’t got any money,” Dan said quietly.
“Don’t worry about that,” she said firmly.  “I’ll cover you.”
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Yeah, it’s the least I can do,” she answered.
“Thanks, Mel,” he said gratefully.

Darkness had fallen before they left the supermarket.  The Friday rush hour traffic was heavy, and their slow progress led to long periods of silence in the car.  Maggie had tried to keep conversation going but eventually gave up.  Mel offered to drive for a while to give her dad a break but he refused.  Dan got the impression that even if both of Trevor’s legs had been cut off, he still would have insisted on staying behind the wheel.
As they drove northwards, Dan leant his head on the window and watched the dark, sodium-lit world rush by.  The bass rumble of the road brought back the memory of car journeys with his Mum and Dad when he was a small boy.  They seemed to take forever, and he would entertain himself by waving at passing cars, or pretending to shoot at them, imagining himself to be a gunner on an old bomber and the other cars were attacking fighter planes.
A sudden, horrible image filled his mind.  His Mum and Dad, lying wide-eyed, open-mouthed, pale, cold and dead, awaiting their post mortem, ready to be cut open like carcasses in a butcher’s shop.  The thought snapped him upright and left him trembling.  He was starting to regret leaving the hospital without seeing them.  He had walked away without fighting to see them.  He wanted to go back, but he knew he couldn’t.
Forget it - Trevor would never say yes.
He felt Mel give his hand a squeeze and he looked at her.  She was looking back at him sympathetically.
“You okay?” she mouthed to him.  He nodded back.  She knew he was anything but okay, but she left it at that.  It was not the right time or place to push him.
The journey to Mel’s was slow, the Friday night traffic compounded by bad weather.  It was nearly eleven o’clock by the time they pulled off the A1 at Norman Cross and headed into Yaxley, just south of Peterborough.
“I can’t wait to see what you’ve done to the place,” Maggie said to Mel as the turned onto her road.
“Don’t expect too much,” Mel warned her mum, and then said to her dad, “It’s the next one on the left.”
“I know,” said Trevor, sharply.  “I have been here before, remember?”
Dan took in the surroundings.  They were on a non-descript street, the name of which he had missed as they turned into it.  It was lined with semi-detached houses that were decorated with wheelie bins outside the front doors and satellite dishes peppered over the dirty brickwork.  Dan felt disappointed; he had imagined Mel in an old farmhouse with sheepdogs running in and out and chickens pecking around in the yard.  He had pictured her living with a high flying lawyer who drove a Range Rover and had a guffawing laugh.  That image quickly dissolved away as Trevor slowed and pulled onto the driveway of one of the better maintained houses.  There was a general sigh of relief from everyone in the car.
 “Well, here we are,” said Trevor.

Ghostwalker - Chapter One

This is the opening to my novel Ghostwalker.

Friday October 24th

Dan Ryan awoke in darkness and pain.  For the first few seconds of the rest of his life, he was lost in the amnesia of deep sleep, unable to form a clear thought of where or when he was; then slowly, thoughts began to coalesce in his mind, dragging him towards a reality he was ill-prepared for.
He was lying in a bed, but it was not his own.  He looked from side to side, trying to find his bearings, but the room he was in was shrouded in darkness, and moving his head brought fresh waves of pain.  It took several minutes for him to make out the outline of a curtain surrounding his bed and a drip hanging beside him.  He knew then that he was in hospital, but he had no idea why.
What’s happened to me?
He wondered if he was experiencing the after-effects of being incredibly drunk, but the throbbing headache that had woken him felt like no hangover he had ever known.  As he lay there, he became aware that it wasn’t just his head that hurt; his entire body was aching.
What the hell happened to me?
He tried to sit up, but found he couldn’t; the effort too much for him.
“Help,” he said weakly, but no answer came. 
It was eerily quiet.  He couldn’t tell who or what was beyond the curtain that had closed him off from the world.  Morbid thoughts began to spill into his mind.
Maybe I’m in a morgue.  Maybe I’m dead.
He wiggled his fingers and toes, and turned his feet from side to side.  Even such small movements brought on a feeling a tremendous fatigue.  I’m probably not dead, he thought to himself. I’m not paralysed, either.
He had no sense of time.  He tried to estimate how long he had been awake but couldn’t tell if it had been two minutes or an hour.  Several more times he tried to sit up and failed, feeling as though he had been beaten to within an inch of his life.
“What the hell is going on?” he muttered to himself, breathless from his exertions.  He stared up at the ceiling, divided into squares of white polystyrene insulated tiles, and desperately searched his mind for the last memory that would explain what he was doing there.
Nothing came.  He went back to basics.
My name is Dan Ryan.  Daniel James Ryan.  Ten nine eight seven six five four three two one.  I am eighteen years old.  My birthday is July nineteenth.  Today’s date is...
“What is the date?” he said aloud, then added, “Never mind the date, what day is it?”  He shut his eyes, screwing up his face until all he could see was an explosion of stars and swirls of lights dancing before him.  He opened them, and the grid of tiles swam back into focus.
“Think, man, think,” he whispered to himself.  He searched back through his clouded thoughts, trying to grasp for the last tangible memory he could make sense of.
Rain.  Rain hammering heavily on his bedroom window.  It was a sound he loved, equally comforting and exciting.  It had been dark then as well; he has watched clouds illuminate with a sheet of lighting and had counted the seconds one two three until the heavy rumble of thunder caught up.  He had been lying in bed then too - his own bed.  But when was that?  Last night?  Last week?  Years ago?  He couldn’t remember.
“Dan – dinner’s ready in a minute.”  It was his mum’s voice, calling up the stairs.  He’d sighed heavily, annoyed just by the sound of her voice.  Why couldn’t she leave him in peace for just five minutes? No doubt she would want him to go and put the rubbish out, in the middle of the pouring rain, like she was incapable of doing it herself.  Why was it always him that ended up with the crappy jobs?  He hadn’t answered her, containing his resentment and frustration.  He hated being cooped up at home with his parents.  They drove him mad. 
These memories were filling his mind, but there was no context to them.  When had they happened?  They felt recent, but he couldn’t place them.
He fell back into a dreamless sleep and when he awoke, it was daylight.  Now there was the sound of activity on the other side of the curtain; the rustle of sheets; coughs forced out from dry, uncomfortable throats, and further into the background the sounds of a day coming to life – the distant murmur voices, doors opening and closing – the sounds of normality.
“Hello?” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper.  A few moments later the curtain was drawn back by a large black nurse in a royal blue uniform.  She smiled down at Dan.
“Good morning,” she beamed, artificially happily.  “How are you feeling today?”
“Where am I?” Dan croaked.  “What’s happened?  What’s going on?”  The confident smile on the nurse’s remained in place as she answered.
“You just rest for a minute, dear,” she said soothingly.  “You’ve had a bit of an accident.  Now you’re awake you need to see a doctor.”
“I don’t remember being in an accident?” asked a bewildered Dan.  The nurse picked up his chart and scribbled a note on it.
“We’ll soon fix that,” came the same soothing reply, as she clipped the chart back onto his bed before repeating her mantra: “Just rest for now.”  She stepped back and pulled the curtain shut again, shutting him off the rest of the ward.  He listened as she tended to the man in the next bed; Dan quickly discovered that his neighbour was an elderly man with a broken leg who had also been awake for half the night and wasn’t afraid to complain about the fact.  The nurse continued around the other beds, but Dan ceased paying attention and instead closed his eyes, focusing on  the vast black hole where his memory had once resided.  He tried to picture himself in the accident that had apparently landed him in hospital, but there was nothing there - no sounds of screeching brakes, no sense of falling, just a blank, black nothing.
This is bollocks, he thought to himself.
Shortly after he became aware of someone on the other side of the curtain, trying to be quiet and not disturb him.
“Who’s there?” he called out.
“Hey,” replied a soft, female voice.  “How are you feeling?”  It was a voice Dan recognised instantly, even though he hadn’t heard it for several years.
“Mel?” he asked, surprised.  There was a shadow of movement on the other side of the curtain, and then it was drawn back by Melanie Fisher.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.  He hadn’t seen Mel for over four years, when she’d left Cheshunt to go to Peterborough University.  She leant over the bed and looked down on him with concern on her face.  Dan couldn’t help but notice how beautiful she looked, and how much more curvaceous she seemed since he had last seen her, but her next words drove those thoughts from his mind.
“I’m here because of mum and dad.  They’re in here as well.”
“What?” Dan asked, alarmed.  “Why?  What the hell’s going on?”  Mel’s eyes widened slightly.
“Don’t you know?” she asked.  Dan looked at her pitifully.
“I can’t remember anything,” he said, before a chilling thought suddenly etched itself upon his mind.  If Mel's here, if her parents are here, then...
“Where’s Mum and Dad?”  Mel looked unsure what to say, and looked around the room as if some invisible person was going to provide her with an answer.
“I should get someone,” she said quietly.
“Mel, tell me what’s going on,” Dan pleaded.  “Are my Mum and Dad okay?”  Mel was still avoiding his gaze.  That was all the answer Dan needed.
“What happened to them?” he asked.  She looked at him and he saw tears in her eyes.
“Dan,” she answered, her voice wavering.  “I’m sorry, they’re dead.”  He stared at her with a waxwork expression.
“You what?”  There were a million screaming questions exploding in his head in that moment, but those were the only words he could force out.
“I really need to get someone,” she said, looking around the ward again.
“Don’t go,” he pleaded, suddenly afraid to be on his own.
“I’ll be right back, don’t worry,” she replied, stepping back and closing the curtain behind her.  Her sudden departure made Dan incredibly angry.
Don’t worry? he thought furiously.  You just told me my parents are dead and you say don’t worry?  What a stupid thing to tell me!
He lay staring at the ceiling, numb with shock.
Dead?  How?  What’s going on?  Why can’t I remember anything!
He balled his hands into tight fists, squeezing them until his knuckles were white.  Anger swept over him in waves.
How can this be happening?  Why them?  Why me?  What the hell is going on?
“Why can’t I remember?” he said out loud.  Nobody answered him.  “Sod this,” he muttered to himself.  He pushed back into the bed with his elbows and forced himself upright.  It felt like there was a tremendous pressure on his chest and seemed to take every ounce of strength in his body to move.  By the time he was half sat up he was sweating.  He looked down and saw that he had his arms on the bed sheet and that he was pinning himself down.  He moved his elbows back, clear of the sheet and immediately was able to move more freely.
“Dickhead,” he muttered to himself.  He  leant over to his left, grabbed for the curtain and pulled it back.  It slid back with a swish.  The old man on the next bed looked across at him with surprise.
“Hey, young ‘un,” he said.  “You don’t look like you should be up.”  Dan ignored him.  The old man looked about four hundred to Dan.   What did he know?  He looked past the old man to the window behind him.  He could see his reflection in it.
He didn’t recognise the face looking back at him.  It looked like something for a campaign poster for domestic violence.  He was used to seeing a handsome face with green eyes and dark blonde hair.  Now he was looking at two black eyes, decorated with a big cut over his left eye and topped off with scrapes and bruising all down the left hand side of his face.
“You look like shit,” he said to his reflection.  He studied himself, looking into his own eyes.   Behind them was the answer to his wreck of a face.
“What happened to you?” the old man in the next bed asked.
“I wish I knew,” Dan answered.
“What’s all this, then?” came a bossy voice.  It was the nurse, frowning heavily at Dan from a bed across the room.  “Get back in bed now, young man.”
“I don’t want to,” Dan said, but the truth was he didn’t feel in any state to go anywhere; he just didn’t like the idea of this woman telling him what to do just because she was wearing a uniform.
“I’d do what she says if I were you,” came a man’s voice from behind the curtain.  It was drawn back and Mel was stood there next to a tall, white haired man in a pale grey suit.  Dan recognised him instantly.
“Mr Decker?” Dan said, surprised to see his doctor standing there.  “What are you doing here?”
“I’m on call today,” Richard Decker answered.  “When I heard what had happened I came in.  Your lady friend let me know you’re awake.  I’m glad to see you.”  As he spoke he helped Dan back into the bed.  Mel and the nurse stood back as he swept the curtain back around the bed, leaving himself and Dan in the artificial isolation it provided.
“What’s happened?” Dan asked.  “Mel said Mum and Dad are dead?”
“I’m sorry, Dan,” Decker said, placing his hand on Dan’s shoulder.  The doctor’s voice had a rich, soothing voice.  “It appears that there was a gas explosion at your house last night.”  Dan reached up and touched the wound on his head.
That explains one or two things.
“How did I survive if they didn’t?”
“A stroke of luck, by all accounts,” Decker replied.  “From what I’m told, your house has been pretty much destroyed, and there’s damage to several of the other houses in the street.  Your friends’ parents are here too getting checked over but I think they’ll be fine.”  Decker looked Dan up and down, assessing him.
“You picked up a nasty cut on your head but that’s about the worst of your injuries.  It’s amazing there’s no broken bones.  They’ve already run blood tests and there’s no sign of carbon monoxide poisoning.  You really are incredibly lucky to have gotten away so lightly.”
“How can I be lucky when they’re dead?” Dan asked bitterly, and then added. “I can’t remember anything.”
“Don’t worry, that’s normal,” Decker reassured him.  “You’ve had a nasty whack on the head and suffered a major trauma.  Memory loss is associated with both.  It’s nothing to worry about right now.”
“I wish people would stop telling me not to worry and to relax and that everything will be okay,” Dan snapped.  Decker didn’t reply; instead he let Dan continue.  “I can’t believe what’s going on,” he murmured.  “Tell me this is a bad dream and I’m going to wake up in a minute.”
“I wish I could,” Decker said, then asked a little more firmly, “Do you know what day of the week it is?”
“It’s Thursday, isn’t it?” Dan answered quickly before frowning.  “No wait.  Maybe it’s... God, I don’t know.   I can’t even remember that.”
“What’s the last thing you do remember?”
“Rain,” Dan said.  “My mum calling me for dinner.  After that, waking up here.”
“It’s Friday morning,” Decker said.  “I’d say you have temporary amnesia, which is what I would expect for someone in your position.  You appear to only have lost a day, which is good news.”
“Will I get my memory back?” came the frightened response.
“Possibly,” Decker said gently.  “We’ll have to wait and see.”  He looked at Dan sympathetically.  He had known this young man for over five years, and his parents even longer.  It was hard to remain professional when he had to see someone he knew suffering.  He had seen too many people in similar situations for his liking, but the wave of emotions that he knew were coming did not always come in the same order or at same time. Grief, anger, guilt and resentment; each would take their turn in assaulting Dan’s senses.  Decker tried to find words to ease the young man’s anguish.
“They both died in their sleep.  They would’ve known nothing about it,” said Decker.  Dan took a long time to answer, and when he did his voice was bitter.
“That’s what you reckon,” he spat out in a quiet seething voice.  The truth was starting to swell up in him, like a distant scream.  They were dead, and nothing he could do or think or feel could change that unalterable fact.  He shook his head in disbelief. 
“How can they be dead when all I’ve got is a bump on my head?”  Dan found himself circling to the same question.  “How does that work out?”
 “I don’t know yet,” Decker replied.  “There’ll need to be an investigation.”  Dan looked at his doctor, the tears running down his cheeks, shaking his head in increasingly desperate denial.  Decker squeezed Dan’s shoulder in sympathy.  “I know what you must be feeling, but there was nothing that could have been done.  They wouldn’t have suffered.”  Dan shook his head.
“Why did it have to happen to them of all people?  It doesn’t make sense, they were always so careful!”  His tone of voice went from quiet reasoning to indignation as he spoke.  Decker replied in a calm manner.
“These things are never fair, Dan.”  Dan stared back at Decker.  He had to blink back tears to see the doctor.
“Can I see them?” he asked.
“We’ll see,” Decker replied non-commitally.  Now was not the time to tell Dan that he’d been brought to the hospital to formally identify his friends.  He preferred that Dan waited until they’d been examined and had been cleaned and dressed and made presentable.
Dan was already picturing their injuries, their, cold stark bodies lying side by side on mortuary slabs, probably in the same  hospital he was in.  He hated the thought, and forced himself to replace it with the happiest thoughts he could – snapshots of childhood, and his Mum and Dad’s laughter.
“Can I get you anything?” Decker asked quietly.  Dan shook his head. 
“I just want to be on my own,” he mumbled, his voice wavering.  Decker gave his shoulder another squeeze and let go.
“Okay,” he said.  “The nurse will be around if you need anything, but I’ll check in on you through the day.”  Dan didn’t reply.  Decker regarded him for a moment and then pulled the curtain back and stepped out, closing it behind him.  Dan heard Decker and Mel speaking in whispered voices for a moment, and then he heard their footsteps as they walked away and left him.