Against the Current

L. MacLearn Brian

Description

Four years of planning for his freedom, and one heroic moment, sets off a ticking time bomb of massive destruction in the quiet town of Mt. Clarkton, Iowa. With the help of a reporter, Summer Willow- Jeff Peyton is forced to play one last winner-take-all game against master manipulator, Matt Sinclair. Jeff needs to win this game, not only for his own survival, but to protect everyone he loves.

Sujets

• Thriller

Informations

• Publié par: First Edition Design Publishing
• Date de parution: 10 juin 2014
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781622875979
• Langue: English

Extrait

Against the Current
Brian L. MacLearn


First Edition Design Publishing
Against the Current

First Edition Design Publishing
Against the Current
Copyright ©2014 Brian L. MacLearn

ISBN 978-1622-875-95-5 Soft Cover PRINT
ISBN 978-1622-875-96-2 Hard Cover PRINT
ISBN 978-1622-875-97-9 EBOOK

LCCN 2014939213

April 2014

Published and Distributed by
First Edition Design Publishing, Inc.
P.O. Box 20217, Sarasota, FL 34276-3217
www.firsteditiondesignpublishing.com



ALL R I G H T S R E S E R V E D. No p a r t o f t h i s b oo k pub li ca t i o n m a y b e r e p r o du ce d, s t o r e d i n a r e t r i e v a l s y s t e m , o r t r a n s mit t e d i n a ny f o r m o r by a ny m e a ns ─ e l e c t r o n i c , m e c h a n i c a l , p h o t o - c o p y , r ec o r d i n g, or a ny o t h e r ─ e x ce pt b r i e f qu ot a t i o n i n r e v i e w s , w i t h o ut t h e p r i o r p e r mi ss i on o f t h e a u t h o r or publisher .
I would like to thank those who helped to make this novel possible. Ryan Dougan, Risa Wheeler, Calvin Quattlebaum, and John Neil, your insights and comments helped to make my story better—thank you! Carol Thompson, thank you for your critiques and editing. To my parents, Charles and Betty, I will always be grateful for all of your help and support. Aunt Barbara, thank you for finding the right words for me to use! Katie and Heather, your belief is the most precious gift of all!

Brian
Against the Current
by
Brian L. MacLearn
Chapter 1: All Things Must End

The two men stood facing each other. The lights of the bridge spanning the Black Hawk River gave off a dull illumination at best, not enough for either man to see the other's eyes clearly, despite standing mere feet apart. The sound of the river rushing around the footings of the bridge created a vibration, which in turn, produced a low humming sound much like a cacophony of tubas, spread out across the bridge, playing the same low note. The early summer night was moist with the humidity of the recent weather front passing through Mt Clarkton. Iowa's weather was stuck in a pattern of rain, causing the river that divided the town to push the banks to overflow.
The game between them had been played, and the rest of the pieces sacrificed, leaving only the two of them left. Exhaustion and pain being negated by the adrenaline controlling their basic instincts to conclude the game they'd been playing most of their lives. There had been too many years of conflicted and pent-up emotions eating the spirit away inside the smaller man. The larger man was obsessed with the absolute need to control the smaller man. He must put an end to the uprising and break the last remaining seed of hope in the smaller man.
The bigger man howled with a savage rage at the smaller man, his voice carrying across the river. All semblance of rational thinking was gone. The only thing that mattered was showing the smaller man who held the power, even if it meant killing him. The smaller man stood his ground. Twenty-five years of having his arms pinned behind his back and his face shoved in the dirt was going to end, one way or another. No longer afraid of the bigger man, he was ready to finish what he had started. There would be no more backing into a corner, no more worrying about the costs and the losses. It was time to do what should have been done all those years ago; take down the bully.
The smaller man treaded lightly in preparation of the attack, stepping back and onto the bridge's sidewalk. His eyes never left the bigger man's chest. His life depended on making the right assumption, and the bigger man's chest couldn't belie his true intentions. This would be his last move of the game, win or lose. The larger man charged, screaming at the top of his lungs. The smaller man's own battle cry joined in response. His cry, a piercing determination to end a lifetime of ridicule, erupted from him like a dormant volcano exploding without warning. Neither of them heard the panicked cry of another. They were long past knowing anything other than the moment at hand, the silent understanding that only one, or neither, would survive the end of the game.
Chapter 2: Yesterday
Jeff woke in a cold sweat to the insistent call of his alarm clock. Last night’s dream world still pulling at his awakening mind. A stabbing pain streaked across his forehead and nested behind his eyes. The damp feel of his sheets caused a shiver to cascade down his spine, sending another jolt of pain through his head. Taking deep breaths to ease the pain, his nostrils were affronted by the dank scent of strong perspiration. God, he was more tired now than when he went to bed. He rolled to his side, reaching out to douse the music annoyingly singing from his alarm clock. Bringing himself to a sitting position on the edge of the bed, he slid the drawer of the night table open and rummaged inside for the bottle of extra strength aspirin. Based on the nasty grip of his headache, it was going to be one of those days.
Jeff gingerly reached for the water glass on his nightstand, swallowing three aspirin with a large gulp. He rubbed his tired eyes and applied pressure where the pain collected at the bridge of his nose. Through slightly open eyes, he struggled to read six forty-two displayed in bright illuminated numbers on the alarm clock. The numbers mocked him, adding another pain prick to his head. At thirty-six, he felt seventy-six. He sighed, pushed himself up from the bed; the mere effort of standing causing him to wobble. Staggering, he made his way toward the bathroom, one hand shading his eyes from the daylight and the other arm cutting a path through the air as he crept along. He wished he had taken a half a bottle of painkillers before he went to bed. The force of his headache was directly proportionate to his personal feelings of self-worth, born from years of stress and regret. Today was the twenty-fifth anniversary reminder of the day he had given up control of his life; the day he first encountered Matt Sinclair.
~ ~
Matt slapped his meaty palm on the alarm clock, convincingly shutting off the shrill beeping sound. He forced himself to roll into a sitting position. At six-foot-four and two hundred and sixty-five pounds, he didn't consider himself grossly overweight, but even he had come to admit that his protruding stomach was winning the battle. During college, he was mostly muscular, but those days were receding away at increasing speed. He rubbed his stomach, feeling the tautness in front and the floppy lips of fat at his sides. His finely tailored shirts were already stretched to the limit. If he didn't get a handle on his weight gain, more money would be spent on a new wardrobe, not just shirts. The blame rested with his mother. If it hadn’t been for all the cookies she made him eat as a kid, he was sure his willpower to avoid sweets would be stronger.

Matt shrugged his shoulders, rolling his neck as he readied himself to push off the bed. As he stood, almost kid-like, he let go an especially long, loud fart, grinning when he heard Angela groan. He chuckled watching as she rolled onto her side, moving as far away from him as she could. Five-plus years of marriage, and he wondered why he still shared a bed with her. It wasn’t out of love or respect, and it wasn’t because of her rosy personality. His eyes took on a look of disdain as he continued to stare at her. As long as Angela Voight shared his bed, then Jeffry would always see it in his eyes and in his smile, Angela belongs to me.
~ ~
Summer Willow sat in her well-used, cherry red, 1996 Pontiac Grand Prix. She had her doubts that the old girl would make it to two hundred and fifty thousand miles. It had admirably carried her through college, and her years as an underpaid, and under-appreciated, television reporter. She grimaced at her reflection in the review mirror, internally listening to her father’s voice reminding her she was her own worst enemy. She tuned him out as she said aloud, “I get to speak at the ‘Women’s Conference’ at Bracken College, while Ms. Jessie “big boobs” covers the prestigious press conference at Sinclair Innovations.” Just how had Jessie Donaldson, a recent hire at KGXR in Cedar Rapids, moved up so quickly was a heated topic of conversation at work.
Summer had been fighting within herself ever since she could remember. It didn’t help that she was a blend of Native American Sauk, from her father’s side, and extra-stubborn Irish from her mother’s side. “ Damn it ,” Summer mentally scolded her reflection, adding, “ I know , hard work and dedication are what matter .” She loved her father, Harold Bear Trap Willow, and she pictured him laughing at her. Summer gazed up at the red light. It was taking forever to change to green. Since no one else was around to listen, she spoke to it. “Sometimes winning is all that matters. No one cares if you work hard and try to do it the right way, because there is always someone who manages to maneuver to the head of the line by their looks or their lack of scruples.” She was a conundrum within herself, a champion for fair play and effort mixed with a desire to eradicate her challengers. At five-foot-eleven, she was nicely proportioned, but she would never admit to being beautiful, pretty, charming, and so on. She would always be just plain Summer. Taking a quick look at herself in the visor mirror, she noted the dark complexion and black hair inherited from her father and the smaller nose and softer facial features from her Irish mother. "No doubt about it, I'm a fireball," she sighed under her breath. "Now, if I can just get out of my own way, who knows what I might accomplish."
~ ~
When Jeff looked into the mirror, there was one thing he just couldn’t make himself do—look directly into his own eyes. He was too ashamed to. He also couldn’t recite to his reflection all the wonderful and positive things that he had ac