A while ago, I had an idea for a new novel. It was prompted when I saw someone who looked just like someone else.
In fact, the resemblance was so uncanny that I was just about to say hello when I realised it couldn’t be who I had thought it was.
As ever, my mind leapt into overdrive. Ripples is the result.
This is the first long story that I’ve written since Where’s Lizzie? in November 2023.
On the 10th of July this year, I had just under 9,000 words written. Then I had a burst of inspiration. Since then, I’ve written over 55,000 more words. The story is just about complete as a first draft.
It needs some work, but I’m keen to get some eyes on it.
It’s now available as an unedited beta-read. That means that there may well be typos and grammatical errors in the manuscript.
Here’s a glimpse of the start. The download link for the full story is below the extract.
Chapter 1.
Everyone is about three square meals from disaster, or so they say. It was certainly true in my case, a series of events beyond my control had sent me spiralling from a good job and a smart house to living on the streets. I did what I could to survive, tried to keep away from being too much of a criminal and spent my time wondering if my life was ever going to go back to what it had been. It was a quick route down; once you were there, when everything had gone, it was an almost impossible task to climb back up again.
Then, after I had spent nearly three months surviving day-to-day, everything changed.
I found the body when I was searching for food. It was in one of a line of dumpsters. They were in the service alleyway behind the food court at Henderson’s Mall. The corpse was head down among the half-eaten scraps, used paper plates and slimy lettuce leaves. I first saw a shoe, then as I tugged at it, I revealed a leg. I shovelled the rubbish off it, discovering what looked like a large knife wound in his back and dried blood soaked into the expensive jacket. The face bore a startled expression, a last look of fear and pain etched onto the features.
When the initial shock had worn off, I did what any self-respecting hobo would do and searched his clothes. The fact that this was a body, the inanimate remains of a living person, didn’t bother me. I’d seen a few dead people in my time. Knives were different, they meant muggings. That was an occupational hazard in this part of town. I had to move quickly, I didn’t want people to think it was my doing. Or become another victim, whilst I was bent over and vulnerable.
I wasn’t expecting to find anything of value as I checked the pockets. The most I was hoping for was a handful of coins in a trouser pocket, maybe enough to get a hot coffee. Sure enough, I found some coins and transferred them to my care.
I searched on. I discovered that the wallet was still there. That was a surprise. And it was stuffed with cash. There must have been over a hundred thousand in various notes. The little compartments held a selection of charge cards and memberships. I could make a few credits selling them, there was a man who hung around near the old expressway bridge who’d give me a fair price.
If that was a plus, the I.D. card was a revelation. Looking at the picture was like looking in a mirror. If I had smartened myself up a bit, it could have been me. The home address was a short walk away. The I.D. card would open the door. It would start a vehicle, if Dominik Lind owned one. Living where he did, he probably owned several to choose from.
There was a letter, too. In a bloodstained envelope. Encoded on e-stat, it had been Q-faxed from Jellico, one of the more prosperous planets. Jellico was a long way from here, in distance and so many other respects.
The e-stat was from a legal company called Lockwood and Chen. It suggested that if Mr Dominik Lind of Manaus City, Balash, were to call them at his earliest convenience, he might learn something to his advantage.
The e-stat could be wirelessly linked to Dominik Lind’s phone for a secure response. But the receipt icon hadn’t been activated. That meant Dominik had never got around to acknowledging the message. He hadn’t called back before he’d ended up in the dumpster.
There was no phone or personal data hub in his pockets. Why would whoever had killed Dominik have taken them but left the wallet and the letter? It seemed improbable, perhaps they were somewhere close? Maybe they were deeper in the dumpster.
I had to look. I shoved the wallet and letter into my coat pocket. Gritting my teeth, I leaned over a bit further. I sifted the contents as far down as I could and was about to climb in when I heard a voice say, “Warning, vehicle reversing.”
Perhaps Carlos shouldn’t have done what he did next, because as he learns more, he just gets deeper and deeper into trouble.
Until there’s really no easy way out for him.
If you’re happy to read it for me, you can get your copy by clicking the box below. Whether you like it or hate it, please let me know your thoughts.
It’s been dumped, just another victim of a robbery gone wrong.
When he sees what’s in the dead man’s wallet, he thinks that his life could be about to change for the better.
All he needs to do is pretend to be the dead man for a few days, on a planet where nobody knows him. If he can do that, untold wealth will be his.
Things are never that easy, and everything’s connected.
Dominik Lind had enemies.
Now they’re his.
If you want to know more about this or anything to do with my writing, just drop me a comment. Until next time,
Happy reading.
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