THRILLER - untitled - Writers Forum

writer_87 · 02-12-2008, 12:05 PM

Hi there. This is chapter 1 of my novel. It is so far untitled but I can tell you it is going to be a short thriler novel.

If this sounds like your thing. Please read.
(please scroll down comments for continuing chapters)

1

A sheet of sand formed what could only be described as paradise as it glistened like a winters ice. The strongest of winds couldn’t disturb a view so perfect.

As palm trees tore through the sudden breeze, the peaceful sounds of the earth were interrupted by the innocence of a child’s laughter. Never before had I experienced such bliss.

I was sitting on a powdered beach somewhere along the coast of Florida, gazing into the horizon, but in less than an hour I would be looking into the eyes of a dead girl.

“It’s beautiful. Isn’t it?” asked Teresa.

“Like the edge of the earth,” I replied. Teresa grinned before rolling over in the sand.

I broke my gaze with the horizon and began to stare at Teresa’s perfect body – curves that wove in and out, skin so smooth it seemed to sink into the powdered surface – and then I smiled.

I have learned over the past few years to appreciate what you have instead of mourning over your losses. Life is short. I know this too well.

Three years ago I was in a car crash that took the life of my older brother, Kevin Young. Police ruled it off as an accident until the next week when his daughter was kidnapped. Rachel was never seen again.

Her body was never found and the case was dropped. What more could I do? I was cursed with guilt. Everyone wishes they had done something differently. Perhaps if I hadn’t been driving that day, my brother would still be alive to protect his daughter. Nothing is certain.

Tomorrow would be Rachel’s eighteenth birthday – a chance for us to celebrate the life that was stolen from us.

“You’re thinking about her, aren’t you?” asked Teresa.

“Was it that obvious?”

She shook her head, placing a hand on my shoulder. When she eventually replied, her words were soothing, like hot chocolate on a winter’s day. “I have the same thoughts. We all blame ourselves for what happened.” She paused. “But they are only thoughts, Chris. Do you understand?”

I welcomed her advice with a warm smile before blanking the conversation and returning to the sand.

The next half hour was quite possibly the fastest of my life. Bliss turned to burn and I began to feel my skin itch.

I turned to Teresa who was now looking perfectly bronze.

“Where to now navigator?”

“I need to change before dinner,” she replied.

“Hotel it is then.”

The car we had rented was a red convertible. I had half hoped for some sort of James Bond look but instead I had settled for Starsky and Hutch. I stepped into the drivers seat and started the ignition. The car was lined with faux leather, the kind that looked impressive but gave off a dull scent of plastic.

The sights of Miami never failed to impress me. I liked it here. Somehow the environment had captured another side of me that until now, I had believed had died with my brother.

I half smiled at Teresa as we turned on to Grand Avenue. “I believe it’s my turn to choose the restaurant tonight.”

Her eyes lit up. “If you choose that lobster one -,” she finished.

I laughed as we pulled to a stop. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

As we approached the hotel I noticed that the sun had began to set. I glanced at my watch. It was now seven-twenty in the evening and my stomach had begun to growl.

In the elevator I started to hear the straining groans of however much wire was holding us up. It wasn’t the most reassuring sound in the world but I had heard worse.

The forth floor greeted us with a chime before the doors opened, revealing the sandstone hallway. I reached deep into my pockets, digging for the keys when Teresa presented them from her purse.

“Tada!” She announced. “What would you do without me?”

“Break in,” we laughed.

As I opened the door I noticed what I thought at first to be a post card floating in to the hall. It wasn’t till I had a closer glance that I noticed it wasn’t a post card at all. It was a photograph.

“What you got there, hun?” asked Teresa.

I ignored her at first. Gazing into the eyes of the strangers in the picture, I wondered what I was holding. Three children stood with smiles from ear to ear with what I assumed to be an older sister or nanny standing in the back. But I was wrong.

I had seen that smile before. Her face, although it had aged slightly, was a dead ringer.

The girl in the photograph was Rachel.

Damian_Rucci · 02-12-2008, 12:17 PM

NICE! Great, great, great. I like the story, it is impressive. The way it went from a mere feeling in the beginning, to actually seeing the ransom picture is amazing. You've got a good piece of work here. Are you working on a novel?

writer_87 · 02-12-2008, 12:45 PM

Hey, thanks! Well I'm hoping for a novel but I'm not to great at writing long pieces of work, but I'll be trying my best

Damian_Rucci · 02-12-2008, 02:49 PM

Thats good to hear

A-L · 02-12-2008, 03:14 PM

Quite good, a little humor here and there and a nice tone, i like it. Please read and comment http://www.writingforums.com/fiction...n-fantasy.html anything is appreciated.

Rowan Hart · 02-12-2008, 03:46 PM

I never read Thrillers. In fact this is possibly the first excerpt from a thriller ever!
I liked it. The pace was punchy, the content interesting and informative. I was drawn into the piece very rapidly. I can't comment on the grammar etc, nothing stood out though If I had time I'd go through it more thoroughly. I always think that for a detailed critique, go to that forum, so all I comment on is whether or not a story interested me, which this did.
Not to say I'm converted to thrillers now!
Give me some more, lets see what happens next. The hook seems to have worked for me I guess, which I suppose is what a thriller is supposed to do. Good luck and keep it up.

Damian_Rucci · 02-13-2008, 05:21 AM

writer if you ever wanna post more of this, I'll check it out a.s.a.p!

writer_87 · 02-13-2008, 07:35 AM

hey thanks. im currently writing the second chapter so should hopefully be posting that in a day or two.

Damian_Rucci · 02-13-2008, 09:05 AM

Great! I'll check it out when you do

writer_87 · 02-13-2008, 02:50 PM

Hey everyone - heres chapter 2. hope you enjoy it.

CHAPTER 2

“It cant be her,” Teresa said.

We were sitting outside an Italian Grill across from our hotel. The sun had now set leaving a watercolour effect as the light leaked into the horizon.

“Of course it’s her,” I said. “Look again.”

Teresa frowned as I forced the photograph under her nose. “I guess it could be, I mean, maybe.”

I scanned the photograph once more. She was wearing a pair of tight jeans and a low cut top. Her hair had been cut and dyed. Everything about her seemed different, but there was no doubt about it, the girl in the picture was Rachel.

“This is unbelievable,” said Teresa.

“Where did it come from?”

“Who cares, Chris? She’s alive.”

“She’s alive...” I repeated.

My mind melted in pins and needles. I couldn’t think. This photograph was about to open new doors for Rachel’s case. We could finally find out the truth about my brothers death. Was I prepared for the worst? I don’t know. But if the truth was out there, I wasn’t going to give up. Not for a second time.

My head jerked upwards as I looked at Teresa.

“Do you still have Sheriff Bronson’s number?” I was almost surprised I had remembered the name.

Her expression was vague. “I think so,” she replied. “He gave us a card.”

I had so many questions. Where had they been hiding her? What did this photograph mean? Was I to expect a ransom? But there was one question that rattled my brain more than any other. Why now?

The hotel Manager greeted us in the lobby as we waited for the elevator.

“Good evening, Mr Young.”

I nodded a smile in his direction.

I couldn’t help but think of Carl Granit. The way his teeth were stained that permanent yellow, his bushy eyebrows that showed a hint of mono brow, the way the blood leaked from his skull. It was a memory my brain wouldn’t let me forget. I blamed him for my brother’s death. I blamed him for the kidnap, even after he died. I blamed him even now, three years later. Some things just don’t change.

I still had the picture of my niece gripped tightly in my hand when we arrived at the room. I was praying for another picture, or even a letter but no such luck. Our room was as dark and bare as we had left it. No surprises.

“Here it is!” Teresa had rummaged through her purse and found the small business card of Sheriff Stephen Bronson. It was old and tattered now but you could still make out the tiny black smudges that made up his name. “I new it would come in handy.” This was clearly an understatement.

“I hope he hasn’t retired. The old dog was at least sixty.”

“Rubbish! The man was in his mid fifties, if that.”

I picked up my cell and began punching in the numbers. To my surprise, it gave me a warm sensation deep in my chest. Hope.

The phone rang once. Twice. I was beginning to get nervous. Third time lucky.

“Sheriff Bronson speaking.”

“Hello Sheriff.” I took a breath. “It’s Christopher Young.” A second passed. “From the Rachel Young case.”

“Christopher, how are you doing?”

I decided to just come out and say it. “I’ve received a photograph, Sheriff. It’s of Rachel.”

“I... Eh…”

“She’s still alive.” I still couldn’t believe what I was saying.

“And you received this today?”

“This evening, yes.”

“Oh my.” I had taken him by surprise. “Where are you just now?” He asked.

“Florida, I’m on vacation with my wife.”

“And this picture, was it sent to your hotel?”

“It was under our door.”

“What’s the address?”

I waited for him to get a pen and gave it go him.

“I can drive down tomorrow and be there sometime tomorrow evening at the earliest,” he said. Those were his last words before the line went dead.

A-L · 02-13-2008, 03:02 PM

Please write more!

Damian_Rucci · 02-13-2008, 03:59 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by writer_87

Hey everyone - heres chapter 2. hope you enjoy it.

CHAPTER 2

“It cant be her,” Teresa said.

We were sitting outside an Italian Grill across from our hotel. The sun had now set leaving a watercolour effect as the light leaked into the horizon.

“Of course it’s her,” I said. “Look again.”

Teresa frowned as I forced the photograph under her nose. “I guess it could be, I mean, maybe.”

I scanned the photograph once more. She was wearing a pair of tight jeans and a low cut top. Her hair had been cut and dyed. Everything about her seemed different, but there was no doubt about it, the girl in the picture was Rachel.

“This is unbelievable,” said Teresa.

“Where did it come from?”

“Who cares, Chris? She’s alive.”

“She’s alive...” I repeated.

My mind melted in pins and needles. I couldn’t think. This photograph was about to open new doors for Rachel’s case. We could finally find out the truth about my brothers death. Was I prepared for the worst? I don’t know. But if the truth was out there, I wasn’t going to give up. Not for a second time.

My head jerked upwards as I looked at Teresa.

“Do you still have Sheriff Bronson’s number?” I was almost surprised I had remembered the name.

Her expression was vague. “I think so,” she replied. “He gave us a card.”

I had so many questions. Where had they been hiding her? What did this photograph mean? Was I to expect a ransom? But there was one question that rattled my brain more than any other. Why now?

The hotel Manager greeted us in the lobby as we waited for the elevator.

“Good evening, Mr Young.”

I nodded a smile in his direction.

I couldn’t help but think of Carl Granit. The way his teeth were stained that permanent yellow, his bushy eyebrows that showed a hint of mono brow, the way the blood leaked from his skull. It was a memory my brain wouldn’t let me forget. I blamed him for my brother’s death. I blamed him for the kidnap, even after he died. I blamed him even now, three years later. Some things just don’t change.

I still had the picture of my niece gripped tightly in my hand when we arrived at the room. I was praying for another picture, or even a letter but no such luck. Our room was as dark and bare as we had left it. No surprises.

“Here it is!” Teresa had rummaged through her purse and found the small business card of Sheriff Stephen Bronson. It was old and tattered now but you could still make out the tiny black smudges that made up his name. “I new it would come in handy.” This was clearly an understatement.

“I hope he hasn’t retired. The old dog was at least sixty.”

“Rubbish! The man was in his mid fifties, if that.”

I picked up my cell and began punching in the numbers. To my surprise, it gave me a warm sensation deep in my chest. Hope.

The phone rang once. Twice. I was beginning to get nervous. Third time lucky.

“Sheriff Bronson speaking.”

“Hello Sheriff.” I took a breath. “It’s Christopher Young.” A second passed. “From the Rachel Young case.”

“Christopher, how are you doing?”

I decided to just come out and say it. “I’ve received a photograph, Sheriff. It’s of Rachel.”

“I... Eh…”

“She’s still alive.” I still couldn’t believe what I was saying.

“And you received this today?”

“This evening, yes.”

“Oh my.” I had taken him by surprise. “Where are you just now?” He asked.

“Florida, I’m on vacation with my wife.”

“And this picture, was it sent to your hotel?”

“It was under our door.”

“What’s the address?”

I waited for him to get a pen and gave it go him.

“I can drive down tomorrow and be there sometime tomorrow evening at the earliest,” he said. Those were his last words before the line went dead.

pure amazing, though not as much suspense as the second chapter, it does give a good insight to the characters feelings and introduces another character.

writer_87 · 02-14-2008, 12:00 PM

CHAPTER 3

That night I couldn’t sleep.

I thought about waking Teresa, but there was something so beautiful about the way she slept. It would be like making that first footprint on an untouched beach. It just didn’t feel right.

When I slipped out of bed, my feet were embraced by the softness of the hotel carpet. It was new. I looked over to the desk where I had left the photograph and saw it glowing a faint red from the light of the clock that lit the room. It read twenty to twelve. Still early.

I watched Teresa as I slipped on the pair of jeans I had been wearing earlier that day before leaving her a note saying I had gone for a walk but it didn’t make any difference, I new she wouldn’t wake up. When I lifted the photograph, I took one more glance before sliding it into my back pocket whilst my mind darted through the questions I had been trying to avoid.

Outside I was greeted by the buzzing of crickets.

I began to have new thoughts about the photograph. I wondered if it was just a hoax, some sort of sick joke. There was no way to tell - only my heart new the truth.

There weren’t many places to walk to so I headed for the beach. It was more than a few blocks away, but I didn’t exactly have other plans at that moment so I chose to walk it anyway.

I headed past the statue of the soldier at war. I was half debating what war it was from when I felt it. It was coming from my pocket.

The vibration was weak but strong enough to feel through clothing. Reaching in, I felt the cell phone that I had almost forgotten about as it began to play “Here Comes the Sun,” by the Beatles.

The caller was ‘Anonymous’ so my first thought was Teresa.

“Hello?”

“Uncle Chris?” The voice was panting.

“Rachel?” Suddenly the world went silent. “Rachel, is that you?” I paused.

“They can’t be trusted!”

“Who, Rachel?” I took a moment to breath. “Where are you?”

“Help me!”

It was then the dial tone interrupted as the phone flashed midnight.

“Rachel!”

writer_87 · 02-14-2008, 06:04 PM

CHAPTER 4

Kyle Macintyre was pronounced dead at 5:16AM. The time of his actual death would never be known.

Detective Anthony West had been first on the scene. Standing up, he sighed as he stared at the kid. He hated being the one to call it.

The teen of no more than twenty lay sprawled in the dirt beside a silver Nissan Titan 4x4 that West would soon discover was stolen.

Moments later a team from the Crime Scene Unit arrived to exam the body. It didn't take them long to announce that the cause of death had been from the three gunshot wounds that covered his clothing in blood. Two of which had entered his left lung and a third that had burst an artery on his right leg. Kyle Macintyre had bled to death.

“Get his family informed immediately. I want his face on every newspaper and news channel in the state!” Demanded West. “If there's a witness I want to speak with them now!”

“You might want to take a look at this.” It was Detective William Howard. Howard was a large man, a rugby player in his youth, turned detective. However large he was, it was West that brought fear into the criminals. He was brutal, a real hard ass.

“What you got?” asked West.

“Tracks.”

West raised an eyebrow as he approached the strip of dirt that was now being sealed off. He bent down for a second to get a closer look at the shoe print.

“It's a girl.”

* * *

“Well this confirms your pictures real, I guess,” said Sheriff Bronson as he stepped out of the car.

It was now 8:15PM and I was getting restless.

Teresa approached Sheriff Bronson. “We need to find her!” she said with tears in her eyes.

“I understand that.” He leaned against his car and began to give me a suspicious look.

“I don’t think you do,” I interrupted. “We need to find her now! She was demanding my help last night. She could be dead now for all we know.”

I new it wasn’t the Sheriffs fault but my frustration was just pouring out.

"Calm down. Loosing our tempers isn’t going to help us find her.” He was right. “Direct me to the lobby and go wait for me in your room. I have a few things to check first.” I was done arguing so I forced Teresa to comply.

Half an hour later there was a knock on our door. Teresa answered it.

“Sheriff Bronson.” She moved aside as the Sheriff walked in waving an old video cassette and demanding a television.

The TV was already on so we inserted the tape and took our seats on the bed. To my amazement Teresa and I appeared on the screen. It was yesterday morning.

“Security cameras,” Teresa whispered.

Sheriff Bronson hit fast-forward on the remote as guests from our neighbouring rooms whizzed by. It took a moment before he clicked pause on the teenager that stopped at our door. He was wearing baggy swim shorts, a vest and a pair of grubby trainers. When I saw what was in his hand I new he was the one.

“The photograph!” I announced.

Sheriff Bronson gave me a look before rewinding to a point where he could see his face.

Teresa gasped at the sight. “It’s him!”

“Do you know this boy?” asked the Sheriff.

I quickly interrupted. “He was just on the news two minutes ago. Kyle Macintyre. He’s dead.”

A-L · 02-18-2008, 08:05 AM

That's good really suspensful, hope to see you post more.