Olive Hawkins

Olive Hawkins had been privately counting down the days for over month to, what turned out to be an unfortunately bright, Tuesday in August.  She had forgotten to turn on the stove to boil the pot for tea that morning and put cat litter in Mr Darcy’s feeding bowl. Her efforts to walk a little slower to work seemed to have the opposite effect as she arrived promptly outside the library at eight-fifty, just as she done for nearly thirty years.

It was a largely unassuming building, somewhat squashed in between the small towns’ only pub and the sandwich shop that Sadie Owens had taken over when her mother took ill. If someone did not know it was a library, why they could just walk right by without ever knowing the splendour within. Although, in recent years, that splendour had been vastly abridged. Unending rows of books towering as high as the ceilings had once filled the rooms with an air of magnificence. Now many of her much loved stories were banished to the basement storage, or sold off. She herself had packed away books into boxes, to make way for such things as CD’s and Video tapes.

“Todays the day, Ms Hawkins!” Martin the Manager had said cheerily as he past her desk that morning. She had given a reluctant smile, but couldn’t bring herself to form a reply. There was nothing to do but get on with the day. Every morning she would walk up and down the aisles, replacing the books that had been returned the previous afternoon. It wasn’t a task that should normally take very long, but on this Tuesday, Olive took special care of each of the books. She placed each one gently in its correct position on the shelf and took a second to reflect on the journey that that particular book had just taken an unsuspecting reader.

During the course of the morning, many familiar faces made their way through the library. Olive had helped an increasingly frailer Mrs Palmer over to the crime section and recommended one of the few Agatha Christies novels the older lady had yet to read. When young Helen Porter came in asking for something to keep her ten year old son occupied whilst he was off sick from school, she gave the last copy a new story of another ten year old boy who went to a school for wizards, that would keep him entertained, she told the tired looking mother. She smiled and waved as she watched Mr Gilbert leave looking please with her suggestion of a book of First World War aircrafts.

It had been easy to forget what she knew the day had yet to bring. When lunch arrived, Olive took her lunch box out at her desk and unwrapped the sandwich she had made the previous evening.

“It’s just going to make things so much easier.” Olive heard the Martin the Mangers voice drift through from the small reading room. As the library remained open over lunch, she always elected to remain at her desk. The rest of the staff however took to the reading room to enjoy the comfortable sofas and water cooler. The door was always left open, so Olive usually picked up the jist of their conversations.

“I mean, no more searching through all those paper cards,” Martin continued. “And no more practically memorizing where every book in this bloody place is. Just type it in and point them in the right direction.”

When Martin had taken over as branch manager two years ago, she just knew it was going to be the end. He had all these ideas, plans to make the library run better, make everything easier. The world was becoming such an easy place to live, god forbid anyone done any hard work.

The oversized clock on the wall ticked by loudly, taunting her. Lunch was over far too quickly, and Martin the Manager bounded out the reading room with the giddiness of a little boy.

“Oh, Mrs Dawkins, they’ll be here so soon!”

And so they were.

A little after half past two, a beefy man with hair much to long for a chap of his age, presented himself with a clipboard in front of Olives’ desk.

“I have a delivery here of four-“

“Yes, yes, I know.” She cut him off and hastily got up from her desk. She was going to go and find Martin, let him deal with his delivery, but unsurprisingly Martin the Manager was already barrelling down one of the aisles towards them. To her dismay, he had apparently bailed mid-conversation with a confused looking Mr Peters. Instead of sitting back at her desk, Olive went to help the elderly gentleman choose between two Clive Cussler books she knew he had already read. She was still in prime position however, when four very large boxes were wheeled in through the narrow door way and watched as Martin the Manager pointed and babbled excitedly to the delivery men.

For the next hour or so, Olive watched on from behind shelves and surreptitiously peering over the tops of books. She caught snippets of conversations but understood very little.

“Windows 95-“

“Dial-up connection in a matter of minutes.”

“Brand new Intel Processor-“

It was all too quick. By half past four the men were packing away their tools and grinning at their afternoons accomplishments. Martin the Manager was thanking them enthusiastically and walking them to the door.

“Come and see Mrs. Hawkins, you just have try this out.”

Having actively avoided the scene for the past few hours, Olive now had no choice but to face the future.

“We’ll get a sign put up here,” Martin the Manager pointed to the wall, “It’ll say Technology Centre. Won’t that be charming?”

“Yes, charming.” Olive nodded.

“Sit down, sit down. Have a go! Those tech men were showing me around the software.”

Olive had no choice but to take the chair that he was gesturing to. Tentatively, she lifted a finger and pressed down on a letter H, and watched in amazement as it appeared on the screen in front of her. She pressed a K and that popped up as well. She had to admit, it was rather neat.

“Just watch this.” Martin leaned over her and began pressing keys. She watched on the screen as an author’s name was spelled out. “Now, hit that button there.” He was indicating a larger button that had ENTER printed on it. She pressed it and watched the screen change.

“See? There’s a list of all the books this author has written that we have in stock. Isn’t that clever?”

Yes, Olive smiled, it was very clever.

Teaser

Now college has finished, I finally have time to write for pleasure again, so I have been working on my longer project which I started for one of my classes. This is part of the same story in my previous post. I’ve been writing more short stories now as well for entering competitions, so  I will have more to post more regularly now!

The sound of the thud of her fist against the punch bag gratified Nicole to no end.

One, two.

One, two, three.

One, two.

Sweat built up on her forehead and her chest burned with every breath she took but she couldn’t stop, adrenaline was pushing her to her limit. It never registered with her at first when Glen was shouting her name. It wasn’t until he let go of the bag and stood right in front of it that she snapped of her trance, with one arm mid-swing. Glens hand had shot out and blocked her, before she followed through and smacked his collar bone.

“Nicole! For Christ’s sake!” His look of usual exasperation with her was evident. She let her arms fall to her side and straightened her stance. “You’ll be no use to me if you injure yourself now.”

Nicole turned her back to him and started unravelling the slightly bloody bandages from around her knuckles. “Well then let’s go just now, I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Not yet,” Glen through her a bottle of water and waited while she gulped it down.

“When?”

“Soon.”

“You’ve been saying that for two months now.” She scowled.

“We only have one shot at this, I have to be sure the timing is just right.” Glen scowled at her, but his expression softened quickly. “Look, I want to go back for one last trip, then it will be time.”

Nicole studied him warily. “How long will you be gone this time?”

“A few weeks at the most.”

She slumped down on the tattered sofa and felt the adrenaline run out of her. The thought of being alone still scared her, Glens trips were never something she looked forward too. “Last time you said that, you never came back for a month and a half.”

Glen sat down beside her. He took a bottle of antiseptic and fresh bandages from the table beside them and started cleaning the blood from her knuckles. She winced, but let him carry on. “You know how much quicker time goes over there, it’s hard to keep track sometimes. But three weeks, maximum, and I’ll be back.”

“It’ll be two years to the day next week that they took her. I’ve not seen my sister in two years, Glen.” Anger rose in her chest, and with no punch bag to lash out at, the tears started thick and fast. She hated herself for it, she was still weak.

“I know, but it’s barley been two days for her, she’s still there, still the same way you remember her.” He wrapped fresh bandages around her hands, and clasped them in his. “We will get her back, I will do everything I can to make sure she gets home.”

“When are you leaving?” She asked quietly, wiping her sodden face.

“Tonight.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Just train, be ready for me when I come back.”

Nicole examined her freshly patched hands. Two years ago, she had pathetically struggled as she watched Mia being dragged away. Now, she was ready to take them down, one by one.

The Interview Process

This is just a story I’ve been working on by myself. It’s not in the Glasgow Crime category- trying to mix things up a bit!

 

The soft sound of dripping water made her aware that she was conscious. The stinging pain in her wrists and ankles told her that she was alive. She tried to lift her heavy head off her chest, but struggled. The stale smell of wet filled her nostrils, and the taste of chloroform heavy on her tongue. She strained to open her eyes, but only found blackness beyond the inside of her eyelids.

‘What the hell is going on?’ she thought to herself. The tranquiliser was making her throat sting, and she struggled to swallow. She gave a slight cough, and then all hell broke loose. A flurry of movement startled her, and instinctively she began struggling against her restraints. Light flooded the room beyond the hood over her head, and shadows became clear. Gruff voices started murmuring to the left of her and then the hood was ripped from her head, taking a clump of hair with it. The sudden light scorched her eyes; she closed them tight and began fighting fiercely against the ropes. Opening her mouth, she intended to scream, but only rasping sounds escaped her throat.

“Gag her!” A deeps man voice commanded. The hood that had been over her head was balled up and shoved violently into her mouth. “Stop struggling, you stupid woman.” And she did. She just gave up and let her body go limp. Tears fell silently down her cheeks. “Look at me.” The voice commanded, she still had had them squeezed shut. Reluctantly, she opened them as little as was possible. She first saw the foot of murky water that covered the floor, and the heavy army issue boots of the person directly in front of her. “I said look at me!” He growled, raising his hand in the air and bringing it down with all his force across her cheek. She tried to scream in pain, but she could hardly breathe. Her mouth began to slowly fill up with blood from biting the inside of her mouth, but the make-shift gag seemed to be soaking it up, not that she was entirely aware of this at that moment. She took a few long seconds to recover from the blow and then slowly raised her face towards her captor. He was fully dressed, from head to toe in black, a balaclava covering everything but his seedy little eyes. He wore a bullet proof vest over his torso, and was carrying a rifle of some sort. The room she was in was small, but two of his accomplices had also crammed in, all donning the same black gear and guns. The wall paper had long ago peeled from the walls, and most of its flakes were swimming about their feet. A single bulb swung from the ceiling.

Now she was fully conscious and aware of her surroundings, the panic and fear properly hit her. What really scared her was though, that she had no idea where she was, how she had got there, how long she had been there- in fact, at that very moment, she wasn’t even aware of her own name. Her eyes flitted quickly from her captors to her bindings, to their guns.

“Don’t even think about it, Agent Coyne.” The man sneered. “Even if you did somehow get out of this room, you are in the basement of a building full of my men.”

What was he talking about? Did he think she was hatching an escape plan? Agent Coyne? What in gods name was she mixed up with. She tried to shout through the gag, but it just translated as muffled cries. The ma stepped forward and pulled it out her mouth. She coughed a bit, and spit out a mouthful of blood at the mans feet. “Why am I here?” she pleaded, “Who are you?”

“Do not pretend that you do not know me, Ms Coyne.” She hadn’t noticed until now, but the man seemed to have a hint of a Middle Eastern accent. “You are here, because you have information I need, and you will give it to me, one way or another.”

“What information?” Her voice shook with fear. “What do you want from me?”

“Project Scorpios,” He demanded in his harsh tone. “Tell me what you know.”

“Pro..Project what?” she stammered. “Please, I don’t know anything! Please, let me go.” She pleaded. This only seemed to fuel the mans’ rage, and he hit her across the jaw with his knuckles. She felt a searing burst of pain and her mouth filled back up with blood- he had knocked one of her back teeth out.

He bent down in front of her and ran his fingertips over the area he had just punched. “You won’t be leaving this room Coyne, until you tell me what I need to know.” He said softly. She flinched at his touch, and hot tears streamed down her cheeks. He stood up straight and motioned to his men to follow. The heavy metal door locked behind them, leaving her in the blackness once again. Silently sobbing with fear and pain, she began to plan.

Time had no place in this desolate room. The days and nights slipped away with her knowledge of them. This chair would be her proverbial death bed. Every few hours the guards would return, punch her, to make her bleed. They laughed at her despair, and so she learned not to scream. Her eyes were so swollen now, she had limited vision. She hadn’t eaten since she had got here, and the loss of blood was going to her head. She had to get out of this hell. She had been rubbing her bonds against the chair leg for days, and it was starting to come loose.

The door swung open and the Middle Eastern man had returned. He was getting impatient with her silence and her pleas for freedom.

“So, are you feeling talkative today, Agent Coyne, or should I leave my men alone with you for a few hours?”

She stared determinedly at the ground, and did not answer. He lurched forward and grabbed her face in his hand and forced it up, her neck snapped back with a sickening crack. He was angry, very angry.

“Well?” He persisted.

“Fuck you.” She seethed, and spat blood in his face. He turned to his guards and gestured towards her, inviting them.

He walked as far as the door frame, and turned back to look at her. “That was your final chance. Goodbye, Ms Coyne.” He disappeared through the door. The light from the hallway highlighted the lingering looks of lust on the guards’ faces, this was what they had been waiting for, and they longed for the kill. They advanced towards her, waiting for her to scream. But that fear had passed, she did not fear pain, or death, she welcomed it. But they would not just shoot her and walk away; they were going to torture her until she begged for death.

This is not the day I die, she thought, resolutely. Adrenaline soared through her body and the ropes that had been binding her for days finally fell away. She flung the full force of her body behind her fist and punched the guard closest in the stomach. Her joints were aching, and her legs felt like jelly, but the power she felt at being free gave her the strength she needed. Jumping up from the chair, she made a grab for the guards’ gun. Still bent double, he grabbed her wrist; she raised her knee to his face and caught him in the cheek, forcing his body straight up again. His gun was attached to a strap around his neck, but he had let go of it when he grabbed her, and it was dangling at his torso. She reached for it and turned it inward towards his gut and pulled the trigger. The backlash from the blast made her collapse back onto the chair. The guard was lying on the floor, not making a sound. The second guard had watched on, looking bewildered. But now, he had cocked his gun, and was getting ready to shoot. She launched herself off the chair and tackled him as he fired. She had no idea where the bullet had went, but she was now on top of the second guard on the floor, she wrestled him for the weapon, and managed to pull it out of his grasp. She pushed the hard metal against his forehead.

“How do I get out of here?” She panted. She was losing the adrenaline rush, and was becoming aware of the pain. The guard never said a word, staring at her blankly. “Tell me!” She screamed at him. But he remained silent. She heard a moan from the guard on the other side of the room and realised she hadn’t taken his gun away from him. She rolled off the guard she was on top of, taking him gun with her. She scrambled over and pulled the gun off from around the guards’ neck. She stood up pointing a gun at each of the guards.

“Get me, the fuck out of here!” She roared at them.

A blinding flash of light filled the room, her eyes burned as they adjusted. The silhouette of the Middle Eastern man appeared before her, and he was clapping.

“Congratulations, Agent Coyne.” His accent had changed; he was English, like her. “We were beginning to think you didn’t have what it takes.”

She aimed both of the guns at the man. “What the hell is going on?”

“Go on,” He coaxed, “Shoot.” And she did. And she felt the bang of both the guns go off, but the man stood there, unhurt. “Blanks, Agent Coyne, we didn’t want anyone to get permanently damaged.” He was smiling at her. She looked over at the guard she had shot and realised there was no blood. “

“I don’t understand.” She said, dropping the guns to the ground. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m your new boss, Agent Coyne.” He answered, still smiling.

“Why do you keep calling me that?”

“Because that is who you are. You applied for a position with us several months ago, and we are recruiting. This was our interview process. We have to break you down, to test you.”

“Interview? I applied….” She trailed off. And then it struck her like a bolt of lightning. “You mean your-“

“Yes, Agent Coyne.” He cut in. “Welcome to the Secret Service.”

 

©  CFS