Author Topic: Den Of Lost Causes (next 800)  (Read 944 times)

Offline HeidiC

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Den Of Lost Causes (next 800)
« on: May 13, 2007, 01:03:16 AM »
Hi Heidi,

Just noticed by accident that you'd added this to your original post. If you're going to post more of your story, make sure you put it in a new topic - otherwise people won't see it and you'll miss out on comments. Most members are unlikely to revisit topics they've already commented on and there's no way of knowing that you've put another part of your story up for critting ...


Thank you all for your pointers. I will take them on board.

Just wanted to add a further part of the first chapter where the second lead character is introduced. It's 800 words long.

Falon Crowley stood beneath a black umbrella peering into the window of the car parked in the overgrown lot. She looked up when she heard footsteps.
   “Don't look at me like that,” Rhys unlocked the boot and removed a  holdall.
   “Like what?”
   “Like you want to extract my intestines with a rusty pick-ax.”
   “I would never dream of it, Rhys. A sharp knife would be easier to wield.”
   “You know, I'm glad we're not sharing a room.”
   They walked towards the house, Rhys trying to muscle in on the shelter beneath the umbrella. At least he had taken the  heavy overnight bag from her in the parody of a gentleman.

   “Dr. Derian Haimes. Falon Crowley." He introduced her to the man sat in the lounge. "I'll take the bags up to your rooms.”
   The first thing Falon noticed were his eyes. Green with flecks of yellow and brown like gorse littered heaths. Like beautiful, treacherous Dartmoor with it's heather-bound banks she would roll down with her father, dizzy and laughing and diving back up to the top for another go.

   “Drop the doctor part,” Derian smiled. “It makes me feel like a fraud.”
   “You're a parapsychologist?” she asked.
   “That's right.”
   “You chase ghosts?”
   “Not exactly. I study the paranormal from a scientific standpoint. I have a psychology degree and everything. It's quite grown up.”
   She laughed easily. Began to relax.
   “This is... quaint,” she surveyed the decor with a grimace.
   “I've stayed in worse,” he told her. “Spent one night in a Symonds Yat pot hole. A damp one at that.”
   “Doesn't sound too bad.”
   “That's what I thought when I got the invitation to investigate until  I learnt,  in caving terms, a damp cave is anything where your head still comes above the water. This one,” he smiled engagingly, enjoying the memory, “had the most magnificant waterfalls. Spectacular, though I spent the whole night needing to pee.”

   Their eyes connected and she experienced a similar sensation to the one she had as a child rolling down the banks. A roiling in her stomach that was far from unpleasant. Her eyes dropped to his lips. She forced them back to his face but the action had been noted.

    Keep focused
. Age old words flooded into her head  which brought to mind a snippet of a girl shooting tin cans lined up on a wall with a BB gun. Unfortunately Falon had a habit of unheeding the advice.

    Derian was slightly older than her, she guessed early thirties. He had a nice smile; warm, comforting and mussed light brown hair. A wet camel-coloured suede jacket was draped over one of the radiators and he wore  a hooded sweatshirt with the University of Leicester emblem.

   “The cave, the one I told you about, is supposed to be haunted by a group of pot-holers who got stuck down there during a freak storm. Rainfall reached staggering proportions raised the underground stream level so it was impossible to pass through – they hadn't brought diving gear – died of hunger.”
   “That's terrible,” she said. “I don't believe in ghosts, if they existed, there would be more than a few haunting me.” Falon repressed the image of dead faces, of bullet holes blossoming blood through fabric. Of her finger poised over the trigger of a gun whilst the smell of cordite filled the room around her.

   “Oh they exist.” Derian assured her.
   “Isn't it your job to be speculative?”
   “I've compiled quite a bit of evidence actually and well... there's something else.”
   “A mystery,” her eyes narrowed alluringly.
   “Not for long I'm afraid. It's the reason I'm in on this project.”
   “Yes. Project Close Case. Raif Harborman's little brainwave.”
   “You know him?”
   “Don't you?”
   “Other than he's a detective come out of retirement to head this team, no.”
   “He has more to do with Rhys than me. I get the impression he took Rhys under his wing, father figure you know.”

   As if on cue a tall and imposing white haired gentleman leaning on a cane appeared in the doorway. With him was a  younger man whose expression showed  barely concealed distaste.
    “I see you two have been getting acquainted,” Raif said as they both sat. “This is Detective Inspector Jesse Rauche.”
   “Hello,” he held up a hand and pulled his mouth into the facsimile of a smile.

   Falon read body language and his said quite firmly he did not want to be there. No, more than that. That he did not belong there,  not with a group of charlatans and jailbirds. 
   “Why don't we get things started.” Said Raif.
   “Can I go on record as stating that this is a complete waste of time.” Jesse dumped the contents of an envelope onto the table.
   Derian gasped at the sight of the glossy images which  spilled out.  Falon held firm against the disturbing snap shots. She had seen worse first hand.

« Last Edit: May 17, 2007, 06:03:16 AM by Symphony »

Offline jimmyboyglue

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Re: Den Of Lost Causes
« Reply #1 on: May 14, 2007, 11:30:29 PM »
i like it so far, hope it gets freaky. dont keep us waiting too long
Run from reality

Offline HeidiC

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Re: Den Of Lost Causes (next 800)
« Reply #2 on: May 17, 2007, 08:28:14 AM »
Thank you Symphony.

I wondered if this was what I should do but I didn't want to start a thread unnecessarily.