Excerpt from my novel, Redemption

 

"What the fuck do you think your doing?"

I had answered the phone using muscle memory. My body heard something ringing and reached out to answer it, before my mind could tell it, shhhh, we're asleep. I think I grunted.

"What the fuck are you doing, get out of my head. You're fucking with me and I won't have it."

More awake now. "What? Who is this? What is going on?"I was awake now and all systems started to come on line. Blinking slowly, "Misty?"

"Who else would it be? How many people are you torturing with your mind?"

"I don't.... I mean I'm not attacking anyone with my --"

"Come off it. You know damn well --"

It all came together for me in one moment. "Listen, crazy lady you need to shut the hell up. If you think the torture is bad now, maybe I'll just decide to turn your mind off. Think on that."

I pressed end on my iPhone and then turned my phone off. Less satisfying then slamming an old fashion phone down on it's receiver, but good enough."

Excerpt from my novel, Redemption

The flight is uneventful and small. Charlie and Misty split cost of a charter from Florence to the Isle of Man Airport at Ronaldsway. Custom furniture for the the headquarters of The Excalibur Project. I suspect we'll get to do all their offices if things go well. Then the four of us are off on vacation. Isle to Man to Tangier. Doesn't suck.

Everything seems a little more fragile in the air, maybe it's all travel. Leaving the place we call home tests us in ways were not tested, when at home.  Whether its geographic, emotional  or fiscal, leaving home is a test.

I feel it first in sub-pockets of old injuries. My left index finger, from a kicking accident, when I was in martial arts as a kid. My left knee, hurt playing football. A snap of pain pops up when the cabin pressure changes. All this has me miles away from the conversation Carla, Misty and Charlie are having.

Maybe I should take comfort in the fact that every journey is weaving me closing to home. That just as I leave, I'm already on my way back. But there is no comfort culled from this future knowledge. I shouldn't notice all the small crackles and pops of my body, I should give them no notice. But I hate flying and I hate not knowing where we are going, really.