Young Another Piece of the Puzzle

More Stories
1. Auflage 2020
ISBN: 978-1-0983-2598-5
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 426 Seiten

Back in March 2016, I published my first book of stories entitled FALLING INTO PLACE. In the final story of that book, readers discovered all the characters lived in the same universe. It was a shock! In November 2017, I unleashed my second book of stories: COMING INTO FOCUS. In that book, I expanded my universe even more. Some characters and story lines were mentioned in other stories. There were even a few cameos between different characters/stories. I began to weave my universe into a closer cohesion. It was a blast! In ANOTHER PIECE OF THE PUZZLE, I go further still. In this book, story lines begin to merge, characters 'team up' and the villains join forces. The suspense ramps up, the thrills accelerate and the perils increase exponentially. This is all leading up to a cataclysmic finale a little farther down the line. This is gonna be good! Come join me as my world gets more complex, intriguing and action-packed! You won't want to miss it!

Autoren/Hrsg.

Young, Scott

Leseproben

A LITTLE BIT ME, A LITTLE BIT YOU       Maximillian Mumfrey swallowed hard, looked behind him and dove off the rooftop. The wind whipped past the eleven-year-old boy’s face as he plummeted through the air, giving him momentary relief from the oppressive mid-day heat. He licked a bead of sweat from his upper lip, trying not to think about what was about to happen. He wished it didn’t have to be like this. He wished there was some other option, but he couldn’t see another way out. As he hurtled toward a partially stripped 1998 Honda Accord on the street below, Max clenched his jaw, his face etched with concentration, but his eyes full of regret. The air around him shimmered brightly before imploding with a slight crackling sound. A second later, Max was somewhere else, in a place he’d been multiple times. As he blinked his eyes, trying to regain his equilibrium, the room seemed frozen in time. The boy was in a large, worn but comfortable, light brown, Lazy-boy armchair with a wooden TV tray directly to the left of it. He straightened his body until he was sitting upright, but no matter how he adjusted himself, the boy always felt so small in that chair. A few familiar odors filled his nostrils, a mixture of jasmine, baby powder, and Lysol. It was so quiet he could hear the carbonation from a can of Diet Coke on the tray fizzling intermittently. Next to the soda was a white, Corelle dinner plate with the remnants of a turkey club sandwich on whole-wheat toast. The small, origami swan sitting near the corner of the tray caught his eye, as it always did. He smiled wistfully. The small boy looked at the oversized digital desk-clock across the room, noting the time: 1:34 PM. His smile faded as a look of profound loss overtook him. The youth bit his upper lip while scanning the modest décor and furniture, all seemingly long overdue for replacement. He’d seen it, or something very similar, numerous times over the past several weeks. Next, he espied the television. As usual, the screen showed a paused scene from a movie, but this time, it wasn’t the Bruce Willis/Ben Affleck action film, Armageddon. Instead, the frozen image featured Kevin Hart and Ice Cube. Just one a several small details that always seemed to change. After taking a moment to identify the film as Ride Along, Max looked around the room with sadness. Despite growing trepidation, his gaze stopped on a nearby end table. The boy stared at five framed pictures displayed on that piece of furniture. It showed two separate shots of a smiling bride and groom, looking so happy as they began their life together as husband and wife. Both photos showed signs of fading. The other three pictures were of the couple and their daughter. One frame said, “Baby’s 1st Birthday,” showing a happy infant with cake all over her face. Another depicted the three of them at the child’s High School graduation, Mom and Dad beaming with pride. The final picture was of the daughter holding a newborn baby of her own in the hospital. She looked so happy; the joy fairly burst out of the photograph. The pictures always spurred something in Max, a longing for the family he never had. Ever since he lost his parents and entered the foster system, there weren’t many happy memories like the ones displayed so lovingly in this place. The boy dropped his head, fighting back powerful emotions as the suffocating shame that accompanied this particular scene began to overwhelm him. Max finally heard the footsteps. With each step, his heart broke a little more. It was always this scenario, always the same predictable pattern. There was no way to change it. Every time he saw her, the pain grew. The young man wished he could leave right now, wished he didn’t have to see her again but knew it was too soon. He had to stay a little while longer, had to go through the agonizing motions. He had to let this sad tableau play out to the bitter end, or it would all be for nothing. “I got a surprise for you, sweetheart,” a woman’s voice said as she exited the kitchen, holding a small plate with a piece of cake. The boy knew all too well who she was: Mrs. Angela Mumfrey, “Angie” to her friends and family, beloved spouse of 64-year old Max Mumfrey of Springfield Gardens, New York. “I found a sugar-free recipe and made you some dessert,” the woman said as Max silently mouthed the words along with her, having memorized them over the past few months. As usual, the woman gasped as she turned the corner. This time, she didn’t drop the plate. Max marveled at this added, subtle difference while thinking to himself, here comes the- “Aaaaaah!” Mrs. Mumfrey screamed. “Who are you? What are you doing here?” The old woman looked around the room, her lips trembling. “What have you done with my husband? Where’s Max?” “Take it easy, Mrs. Mumfrey,” Max said gently, putting his hands out in front of his body, trying to calm her down. “How do you know my name?” Angie yelled, her face turning to anger. “You tell me what’s going on here, and you tell me right now!” “Please,” the boy said with a pained expression. “Please, sit down, and I’ll try to explain.” The older woman’s face softened, her entire body relaxing as she finally took a good look at the boy in her husband’s favorite chair. Something about the young man’s face seemed so familiar. It was the way his lips drew back into that unmistakable grimace, the way his forehead and eyebrows moved when he looked at her. It was almost as if…as if… “Max?” Angie said softly. “Is…is that you?” Mrs. Mumfrey placed one hand over her heart as she reached for the nearby standing table with the other, placing the dessert dish next to an ornately patterned, oriental vase. “Yes…and no,” the boy said. “My name is Maximillian Mumfrey…but…I’m not your Max.” “I-I don’t…I don’t understand,” Angie said. “How-?” Young Max shifted in the chair uncomfortably. This part he hated the most. No matter what he said, it never did any good, and it never got any less gut-wrenching. Still, it was necessary, if only to waste a little more time, until he could go back from where he came. Angie’s hands trembled as she took a step toward Max, causing the boy to react. “No!” he said forcefully. “Please, don’t come any closer. It’s for your own safety.” “What’s happened? Please tell me, Max,” Angie pleaded, tears filling her eyes. The young boy’s heart ached as he tried to steel himself against the onslaught of shame, guilt and regret building inside him. “Your Max will return in a moment,” he said, stealing a glance at the digital clock again. It said 1:37. “I’m sorry…I didn’t have a choice. I…I needed to escape…I-I…” “Escape?” “They…the monsters…they were…” Max said, looking away. Angie looked at him with a mixture of caring and confusion. “What are you-?” “It’s not important,” Max said, turning back. “It’s not…I don’t…” Max looked Angie in the eye, trying not to lose control. “Listen…I have to tell you…I’m sorry but…” He broke eye contact, unable to get the words out. “What? Tell me what?” Angie yelled, suddenly frightened. “A few minutes ago…Max…he…Max had a heart attack,” the young boy said stoically. “He died instantly. He’s…he’s gone.” “But…but…no…no, no, no…he just…just had a check-up…they said he was doing better…” Angie mumbled. The boy winced. “Just remember, he was already gone,” Max said, realizing the futility of what he was saying. He sighed loudly. “I’m sorry, but I had no other way. I-” “What do you mean?” Angie said as the clock turned to 1:38. The young boy concentrated, closing his eyes tightly as a single tear escaped from the right orb, streaking down his cheek. Suddenly, the easy chair was bathed in a shimmering glow, causing the distraught woman to shield her eyes. When the brightness subsided, she saw her husband in the chair, his body badly mangled, with his neck at an impossible angle and bones jutting from his shins and forearms. The face she loved so much was almost entirely obscured by blood. Angela Mumfrey screamed. Young Maximillian opened his eyes, frantically looking around to see if they were near, and his gambit failed. Realizing he was alone, that his pursuers were gone, the boy took a deep breath and gingerly climbed down from the now-crushed Honda Accord roof. He knew once they saw the older Max was dead, they would’ve considered their mission accomplished. Since this section of the Bronx consisted of mostly abandoned buildings and rundown drug dens, it was unlikely anyone saw what happened even at this time of day. If anyone had seen something, no one was likely to have called the authorities. As he moved away from the car, he relaxed a bit, confident the switch had worked once more. The boy looked back at the impact left by the elderly Max Mumfrey while casually feeling the back of his jeans. He felt something wet on his thighs, and when he raised his hand, it was bright red. The sight of his counterpart’s blood snapped him into hyper-awareness, and the suddenly paranoid boy knew he had to get out of there right now. Max pulled up his hoodie as he began walking away, keeping his head down and his hands in his pockets. With each step, his tempo increased, trying to quell the panic in his chest. As soon as the boy turned the corner, he took off like a shot, running as fast as his legs would carry him. A...