Chapter 1

Chapter 1

A Chapter by Wesley V Harney

Fishing For Worms-Chapter 1

“But this is the last time!” “Agreed, now off with you.” “Yes sir.” And just like that I trudged of into the night, leaving behind my perfectly cozy home with its fireplace and warm meal. Into the night, ironic I said to myself, brushing a branch out of my way. It seemed only moments ago I was sitting down to a lonely dinner of pop tarts and a left over burrito from Chipotle and thinking to myself “At least I’m not out there.” Then of course came the knock, I’ve gotten used to that sound, it is always the same. Three rapid taps and then silence. I’ve learned not to ignore it, the last time I did Mr. Holden had sent in his goons. They tore up my house, breaking my xbox and tracking mud all over my plush white carpets. The yonkers! So now I always drop what I am doing and answer the door. Always the same ominous glare and snide greeting. “Evening Jerry, I trust you aren’t busy.” “No, sir please come on in” I am only trying to rest from your last escapade. And always he enters, looking over my home with a well practiced eye. Well practiced at finding faults in everyone else’s poverty. Its only a small place,one bedroom, one bathroom, one kitchen (why would you need more than one?), one living room. One everything. To Mr. Holden an abundance of things is a sign of wealth, especially if you have more than one of everything. The man has 13 bathrooms, aside from the gardener, bodyguard and house keeper he is the soul occupant of his home. That is just way to many bathrooms, if I had that many everytime I needed to use one I would feel as if I was in someone else’s home. After looking my home over and giving me a once over, no doubt noticing my pjs, he blurted out “I have a job for you Jerry.” He also always called me ‘Jerry’. That isn’t even my name. “Jerry, I need you to retrieve something for me, a very important something.” “Mr. Holden I was just about sit down to dinner, can it not wait?” “Of course it can not wait Jerry! Why in the name of Zeus’s bolt would I wait on you?” Another thing I’ve learned, never attempt to answer his “retorhical” questions, that will only lead to a swift kick and the butt end of his cane in your mouth. “I need it taken care of instantly; my dear nephew Larry” “Louis” “What?” “Your nephew’s name is Louis” “Is it? Fancy that. So Louis, I do beseech you Jerry do not interrupt, has disappeared, gone running off like the fool boy he is, now go at once and bring the buffoon on home.” I waited for me further details, there were none. “But this is the last time” “Agreed, now off with you.” “Yes sir.” Now I knew, we both knew quite well that this was not about to be the last time. So after Louis I went, or rather off in a direction that Louis may have taken.

You would think that my military experience would make this easy, I would just have to land nav from the cabin, find Louis and return home to my meal and quiet evening. The flaw? In the army we knew where we were going and which way to go at that. Louis has a tendency to wander off, he told me once that he was a secret agent for the New Government Towards Freeing The Fool From The Burning Wreckage. Nice title. NGTFFFBW is not hard to say in conversation at all. However for a “secret agent” Louis was on this particular evening not very impressive at hiding his tracks. I found his footprints at the edge of the western fence. The indent was small but I had taken great pains upon returning to the Holden Estate to memorize everyone’s day to day habits, after Louis’ first escapade into the wild blue yonder that was the other side of the Holden Estate and onto the property of the US government, also known as Hagerstown Maryland. I was more than glad a few times to have memorized Mr.Holden’s prints, so that if I was returning to my cabin after an afternoon stroll and came upon his prints followed by that very pointy cane I could double back and wait in the barn for him to give up impatiently and storm back to the house.
Louis’ tracks led into the woods. Great! Why Louis would go in there at NIGHT! I may be a grown man (19 is a grown man right?) and a soldier but the dark still freaks me out, all those noises and shapes. The Spooks. Thats what we called them in my platoon. The guys who would spook at anything, giving away our location and really pissing off the commander.
I took a huge breath (one that would make even the big bad wolf blush) and stepped into the woods, an owl hooted over head and squirrel darted past my feet. Not a good start. Walking in the dark is hard enough but add the terrible terrain of the woods with its branches, roots and creepy crawlers, its a pain in the a*s. If Louis was anywhere in the vicinity he knew I was coming.
Traipsing through the woods for an hour is no fun. I kept tripping roots for the first half hour and when I finally got my night eyes, I had to double back to find the tracks again. Louis seemed to not really care that anyone might follow him. His pattern was not much different than that of a stampeding elephant. Rushing in one direction, suddenly at the sight of an obstacle jerking to the left or the right and then there were the branches, they were everywhere (Yes, yes its the woods but not like that, more violent) he was crashing through he woods, ripping branches out of his way as he ran. This is when I started to worry. Bad drug trip? Has he finally gone nutty? Or is something really actually wrong. I started to run too, following the trail of broken branches, bushes and scattered animals. My adrenaline started pumping like a car engine at a hundred miles an hour. My heart beating against my chest screaming, my lungs. My lungs hurt like hell! Damn you Corporal Yates! Why did you start me on the cigarettes? Cigarettes? You have to be a smoker to know that smell, it came riding on the breeze. That sweet scent curling up your nostrils, bouncing off nerves and rippling up into your brain. I sighed. Wait! Why do I smell cigarettes? Is somebody other than Louis out here? Follow the scent MONROE!
Do you ever have that one voice that springs into your head when you need to do something? I do. Mine is the voice of Drill Sergeant Reaver. That obnoxious sound blasted my ears like a wrecking ball. Follow the scent. Well, he’s right.
I waited until my directional senses were back in tune, the breeze was rolling in from the right. Crouching low I maneuvered the terrain, making little to no noise. Go easy Monroe. Listen to your surroundings wait for the right moment and move. It only took me a few minuets but with the adrenaline pumping it felt like hours and then I saw it, the orange glow. Moving in closer, taking cover behind a tree stump I watched as a tall man in a dark coat leaned over something laying on the ground. Please don’t be Louis. He pulled something from the heap on the ground, it flashed white in the night, paper. What the hell is going on? Flicking his cigarette onto the heap in front of him, he executed a perfect about face. Great, a marine. The marine walked off into the night. Waiting sucks. But if the army taught me anything it taught me to wait, always wait, learn what you can before acting. For all I knew the heap on the ground was just a pack of some kind, left behind by some hikers. But what was a marine doing in these woods at night? Watching the ‘pack’ with one eye and using the other to check my surroundings, making extra sure that the Dark Marine was gone. I would have waited longer but the ‘pack’ moved. My adrenaline started pumping faster, subway fast. Straining to see through the night, waiting for my night mare to come true.

© 2010 Wesley V Harney

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Great chapter. Needs a little polishing mostly just spacing things out to flow better.

Posted 14 Years Ago

1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

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Added on April 7, 2010
Last Updated on April 7, 2010


Wesley V Harney
Wesley V Harney

Hagerstown, MD

My name is Wesley, duh. I was born and raised in Senegal, spent a little time in the army and now I am living in Maryland working in a book store of all places. Write because I am drawn to it, I canno.. more..