Gerald Dean Rice's Blog, page 85

The Dark at the End

I must confess, I'm a little disappointed in myself.  Ever since reading F. Paul Wilson's Legacies, the second book in the Repairman Jack series, I've devoured these books.  Good thing Legacies was a perfect stand-alone so I wasn't completely lost and once I'd read The Tomb all the blanks were filled in.  But after that (I had had The Tomb on my shelf for a few years before buying and reading the second one).  Then I bought Conspiracies and All the Rage in paperback at a pharmacy and I waited for the rest of the paperbacks to come out.

Every year one came out and I bought and read it within 2 weeks.

I haven't even cracked open The Dark at the End.  I guess I know why.  It's the last in a long series and I'm a little sad to see it go.  Well, it isn't exactly going.  Dr. Wilson signed I think a 3 book deal to write Jack's story as to how he came to be who he came to be and I think later this year the revised Nightworld comes out with a much expanded role for Jack.

But I'll get it read.  It'll be slower, maybe my usual pace (I'm actually a very slow reader, but fast when it comes to RJ).  I'm even starting my own Youtube channel where I'll review it (more on that later).

Dead Right, ep XXIX

"I don't understand," Wenton said. "What does any of this have to do with Cara?"

She—Wenton had finally decided to refer to the thing with a more human pronoun, it made things a tad easier—had spent a half hour longer on Dwight's computer, more than a half dozen internet windows open at once as she combed information from various websites. Wenton had noted two bank accounts, what looked like some sort of conspiracy-theory forum, and several all-text websites he didn't know what to make of. Once she'd finished, she'd double-clicked on some .exe program he guessed was some sort of scrubber so there was no evidence of the questionable sites she'd been on.

They'd found a branch of his bank with an ATM as they migrated west on Seven Mile toward Woodward. The idea was to catch a cab—she'd said it was too risky to call one from Dwight's apartment—and head somewhere. Wenton was in full follow-mode and hadn't thought to ask, merely handing over the entire sum of cash he'd withdrawn from the machine.

"I knew her," she said. "We were both… working on something together." Wenton looked at her and shook his head.

"I don't even know who you are." He thought a second and corrected himself for effect. "Who you were. Why did my dead wife have any business with a dead woman."

She stopped her brisk walking and turned to Wenton. It had been work to keep pace. She was just as tall as him; they built vemans big for some reason.

"You're looking for answers. I get that. But you have to take my word for it, there's something a lot bigger than the death of a worker bee's wife."

"What does that even mean?" He seized her by the arms, a mistake not only because of the people passing by, but also she was a lot stronger than him. She didn't shrug him off, but gave a quarter smile with the corner of her mouth.

She took a deep breath, shook her head. "I've never worked well with other people. Guess I don't have a choice anymore. I was a reporter for a paper out of Washington. I got a tip from someone about a clandestine group that had begun manufacturing vemans again. I've got a few contacts at the federal level and after a few calls I finally got something other than a roadblock. I was told in no uncertain terms to back off. To just drop it." Wenton had let her go by now and she'd begun pacing. She shook her head again. "If you'd read any of my stuff you'd know I'm not that type of girl. I went back to that original phone call—the one that started me on this trip—to see what I'd passed up on. First thing was the area code. After that it was simple to research all the facilities in Detroit that had 'formerly'—" she made wiggly quotation marks with her fingers—"manufactured vemans. I didn't think anyone would be dumb enough to open shop in a facility that had formerly made them so I checked the Big Seven. Meaning, I came up to Detroit, smashed in a window and took a stroll around. The first thing I noticed was the huge blank spots where it was obvious a machine of some sort had been, but was now missing. I visited the city's building department to see if they had any information on equipment moves. All of their records for all seven addresses had been confiscated by the State. I submitted about three dozen FOIA requests and what little I got back had been heavily redacted.

"During this time, I was informed by my editor to get back on a plan to Washington. That there wasn't enough story to justify what the paper was paying in hotel and per diem costs. This was just another red flag something more was going on. I mean, subscriptions are in decline, but it was only a few years ago when I was imbedded with a troop in Afghanistan. I told him I'd pay for my own expenses and then when he demanded I return or it might mean my job I hung up. I never heard that tone in his voice. He was frightened.

"I started non-traditional searches. If they were going to stop me one way, I was going to find another. I started interviewing people who lived in the neighborhoods where these facilities were and some remember black and green trucks. I searched the web for black and green trucks and found nothing, but someone found me. People began showing up at every café, I could tell it was the eponymous them by everything about them. The way they looked, the way the dressed, how their very movements seemed to be in unison as they scanned the café, looking… looking for me, but not knowing who I was yet.

"You would have thought I would have been afraid by then, but not me. My mother always said I was too hard-headed for my own good and she was right. No, I pulled up some innocuous site and almost dared them to prove it was me they were looking for.

"But someone else connected with the black and green trucks found me. I found a contact inside. He gave me all kinds of information. About the process that made me into this—" she gestured to herself with her eyes, but didn't miss a beat—"He didn't know what they were up to, but it made him uncomfortable." She took a deep breath and looked off into the distance. Probably at the cab coming that was a block away, but Wenton guessed it was something more. "We were supposed to meet. That day is a blur, probably to do with the transfer process, but I can't really say."

The cab pulled to a stop at the curb and they climbed inside. "If you're wondering where we're heading next, it's to him, my contact. I have to know if he's the one who betrayed me or if something else happened."

Good News and Meh News...

The good news is also the meh news.  Each subsequent episode of Dead Right will be longer than the others preceding them.  The meh news is the entries will only probably be once a week.  This next one will be a page-and-a-half.  As I get revved up, the next will probably be longer.  I was able to do a page a day at some point (just a tad busier now).

Marvel's Dark Tower

I've read all of the Dark Tower series save for the last 2 books. My 4 year old got me a Marvel comic of the Dark Tower series. I confess, I don't really know much about these. Are they cannon to the books? Do they retell the story just with pics? What am I getting into here?

Blog and Short Story

Okay, so last night I stayed up really late. I put myself under a deadline to finish a short story and I wanted to get Dead Right rolling again. I'm not going to do a new entry every day for it, but I will do twice a week with longer entries.

 

That being said, I'm thinking about the book of shorts. 30 is a lofty goal for me at this point and considering there are other projects I want to be working on (2 major ones for this year) I think I may just do Tales from an Apartment and release them in volumes as I write a certain number of them. That'll reduce the price of each and I'll probably combine them all into some huge volume at some later date. I'm telling you, I have a bunch of stories in mind. In fact, when it's all said and done, it may be well over thirty shorts. More on that as time draws nigh...

Dead Right, ep XVIII

Dell had never worked out a day in
his life. He owed his slender physique
to watching what he ate—mostly—and genetics.
So when he'd gone jogging with the mayor and a few key constituents on a
photo-op, he wasn't surprised to be struggling to keep up with a man easily
fifteen years his senior.

Added to it, his bell was still a
little rung from getting slugged by the veman earlier in the day. He'd managed to get the report from his email
read while waiting in the ER, but had had to re-read several sections over
because he found it difficult to concentrate.

But concentration wasn't a problem
now. He felt his brain jiggle with each
step and a stitch had appeared in his side.
He wished his attention could drift off and his body would go on
auto-pilot. But Dell was nothing if not
determined. The doctor had told him his
nose wasn't broken, but he was mildly concussed and that he should be off his
feet for the rest of the day. But no
sleep for the next twenty-four hours.

The first thing he wouldn't
do. The second, he wouldn't do
alone. Under ideal circumstances, he
would call his girlfriend. But the
present circumstances found him without, save for the one he could not dump.

She worked for the City Clerk and
they'd gone out on a few dates. She was
cute, maybe even hot, but she had this fiercely determined streak about her
that was a turn-off. Not that a woman
with a little drive was a bad thing.
Dell liked a woman with independence.
But Seree was something different.
Different name, different woman.

But she was probably all he'd have
tonight. Dell was worried about his
brother and just like that, he realized.
Todd. Dell quickly checked his
watch. A quarter passed three. He was fifteen minutes late and
counting. As career-driven as he was, he
couldn't leave the kid in the lurch. No
time like now to acknowledge his shortcomings.

"Sir! Sir!" Dell called to the mayor. The older man turned back to him, barely
slowing as Dell stopped. "I think I
pulled a hamstring or something." Dell
bent over, propping his upper body up with locked elbows and hands on knees. "I don't want to slow you guys down."

"Go on, son," the mayor said, with
that twinkle in his eye. He was probably
enjoying being physically superior.
"I'll catch you in the office tomorrow morning bright and early."

Smug
bastard, Dell thought, with no real meaning behind it. Give
those knees another five years or so.
Then you'll be a slob like the rest of us.

The mayor, he security detail and
the three men no one had bothered introducing Dell to slowly disappeared. He knew he should have been worried about the
veman's message to him, but wasn't. He'd
talked his way in with Nibor and Co. and was certain he could talk himself out
of this minor situation. But it wouldn't
hurt for him to stay somewhere else for the night with Toddy. Maybe his own apartment, considering Wenton
had promptly skipped out. Nah, they'd be
watching there too. Maybe he'd pick up
Toddy and go over Seree's place for the night.

The thought made perfect sense to
him.

No GoDaddy for Me...

I've intimated in the past that I intend to eventually move my site to a place that will have all the bells and whistles I need. GoDaddy.com has really been the only place I've considered because… well, they're really the only ones I know of. But now that I've found out about this SOPA (Stop Online Piracy Act) thing going before the legislature and GoDaddy's support of it (which has since been renounced) I'm not sure where else I should look.

At first, I wondered why anyone would be for online piracy, but once I read what the bill intended to do—holding websites like Facebook and Youtube accountable for pirated material being uploaded to their sites, it reminds me of a law I don't think is fair in its feasible application. There's a federal law that allows your property to be seized if it's used in an illegal activity. What that means is, if you let your buddy drive your car and he gets pulled over and is found with drugs on him your car can be seized and not returned to you even if you didn't have anything to do with the drugs.

SOPA would essentially be like this. It isn't reasonable to expect Youtube to know that any particular video was uploaded without the uploader having the requisite rights to that video. But the government seems intent on policing the internet someway somehow and it's really only a matter of what form of encroachment it will eventually be.

But let's stop this one at least.

In the meantime, I won't be going to GoDaddy for my domain. I know they've reversed their position, but it's more symbolic of my being against this legislation than against the company itself. I may be convinced at a later date to migrate there, but not right now.

The Second Death of Timothy Moseley, ep 3

Tim rolled his eyes. He'd never believed in any such thing, but he held his tongue.

"Do you really think there's only one soulmate? People's spouses die all the time—should they just sit around and never remarry? How would you be here? Remember, your father is your mother's second husband." Tim was glad he'd thought of that. Felicia's mother had gotten married when she was nineteen and her husband had died in a car crash less than a year later.

"I guess not." Felicia let him pull her hands from her face. She stared at him and for the first time it seemed like she was really looking at him. "You smell."

He smiled and she smiled back.

"Thanks, I guess."

"I know what you're trying to do," she began. "You can't really say it, though. I was prepared for this, either way." She walked into the living room and Tim followed her. "I didn't really know if I'd be able to bring you back and I just thought, 'If I can't bring him here to me, then I'll go there to him!'"

The smile dropped from Tim's face, but it beamed on hers. Felicia unlocked the door.

"No matter what, we'll be together. We're meant to be together."

"Felicia, no. Let's talk. You can't do this, anyway. I'm still here."

"I probably could have held you together for a good five years or so. I figured by then I'd be ready to let you go and then I could've counted the days until I died too. But when I'm gone, you'll probably fall apart in a matter of months, maybe even weeks."

"Felicia—" Tim took a step toward her and she held up a hand.

"I have a gun. If you chase me, I'll blow my brains out. I have pills and I can make it easy. Quiet. But you won't stop me."

"Please, no."

"I know you love me still." She threw the door open. "That's why you lied to me about the other side. You didn't want me to try to follow you. Always thinking of me." Felicia blew him a kiss and stepped out the door. "God, I love you."

He tried to step outside, but there was something about being out there that frightened him. It was completely foreign to him. The light, the air, the sounds.

Eventually, he shut the door. There were muddy tracks on the carpet from where she had dragged his coffin in. However she'd managed that. He stepped past it and crashed in the chair he'd awakened in. There was something thick that oozed from underneath his eye.

He didn't move for a really long time.

Yesterday was My Birthday...

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The Second Death of Timothy Moseley, ep 2

"But you're
better now?"

"Yes,
you're here now." She looked into his
eyes again and he saw the thing he couldn't put his finger on before. Felicia had lost a piece of herself
somewhere. The woman he'd fallen in love
had teetered on the edge of sanity and was looking for him to pull her back.

But he
couldn't do that.

"Felicia,
what did you do… how did you bring me back?"

She smiled
and barked out a laugh. "It was no easy
task, believe me. I looked up every book
on the occult, researched human physiology—I even had to figure out some of
this stuff for myself. There… there
wasn't enough of you left—" she shook her head—"I had to use other things to
make you whole."

The thought
of his body not being entirely his body was skeevy, but he pushed back the
feeling to deal with his wife.

"Felicia,
thank you. Thank you for bringing me
back. I know that had to have taken a
lot from you."

"What," she
said. Her eyes had gone flat. Crazy or no, Felicia had always been
perceptive. "What are you, trying to
push me off? Do you have something
better to go do?"

"Honey, I'm
dead. I mean, look at me. How are we supposed to have a life?"

"I've
thought about all that, Tim." She reached around him and pressed him
against her with a handful of butt. "All
of it."

The thought
of intimacy with a warm, living body disturbed him. And it bothered him even more that it appealed to her. The thought was disgusting. It was wrong.
Even if he were capable of the mechanics of sex, he had no desire to
inflict that upon the woman he had loved for so many years.

"Felicia. No."

"What do
you mean?" She was hurt. The rate her emotions were changing sealed
Tim's opinion on her sanity. "You don't
want me anymore?"

"It's not
that. I'm dead. Even if I could, it's not right."

"Why do you
want to leave me already?" She pushed
him away and wiped something slick on her jeans.

"I don't
belong here. I need to go back."

"How
could—in the hospital, you clawed for every possible second. Now you're a-okay with not being alive?"

"Yes." He shrugged.

"What's-what's-what's
over there, huh? What's over there
that's better than me?"

"Nothing. There wasn't anything at all. It was a complete absence of anything at
all?"

"So you'd
rather be nothing than be with me?"
Felicia covered her face with her hands and wept.

"I'm
sorry. I just don't belong here. It's not you—it's not."

"You won't
even try."

"Baby, I
ran out of try in a hospital bed." He
wrapped his arms around her and held her close.
"Do you know what I remember?"
She shook her head. "You—holding
my hand 'til the very end. I appreciate
that."

"Can you
take me with you?"

"You don't
belong, Felicia. You're alive—you
should… you should grieve and get over me."

"I can't
get over you—I can't! You're my soulmate."