New Novella: Chronicle One

[intothep0rtal]

So I'm working on a story that's part of many short stories call chronicles. The one I'm currently working on (suitably named Chronicle One) is a sci-fi/action/mystery story about a man named David Montier, an everyday man with an ordinary life, who has a predestined mission but does not know about it yet, until he is taken by mysterious people who claim that he is a big part of the picture that shapes the future. He struggles to comprehend what these people tell him, because it all sounds impossible. Physically impossible. If you want to have a read, here's the link: http://www.freewebs.com/chronicleone

I didn't want to post it all on here because it might be a bit hefty. It's not incredibly long; I threw most of it together during school when I had nothing to do. I'd love feedback and all, and advice if you've got it!

Thanks

 

[intothep0rtal]

Updated:

Here's the latest version, i'll just post it here to save time.

“Mr. Montier?”

“Yes.”

“David Montier?”

“Yes, that’s me. May I ask who’s calling?”

“My name is Louis Sanborn, I’m with the U.S. Embassy in Spain. I was required to call you regarding a private message left by one of your contacts.”

“My contacts?” They keep track of my contacts? “I wasn’t expecting any message. Who is it from?”

“Due to the privacy of the message I’m afraid I cannot reveal the person’s identity over phone. If you would like to come down to the Embassy, I could relay the message to you.”

“Fine, I’ll…come down tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but your contact specifically requested that you receive his message before Friday.”

David looked at the red glow of the digital clock at his bedside table. 7:55. Who the hell is this contact? “Alright, I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

But before David could hang up the man on the phone said, “Oh, and I suggest you bring your cell phone, Mr. Montier.”

“Why?”

The man ignored the question. “When you get inside, just turn left and walk to the counter. Ask for a Mr. L. Sanborn.”

“Uh—”

“I’ll see you when you get here.”

Without another word, Mr. Sanborn hung up. David slowly put the phone back onto the receiver and stared at the television set in front of him, confused. He took out his cell phone and checked the time, still set to the California time zone. 4:55 AM. I could be sleeping, waiting for the weekend right now. He opened up the hotel’s room service food menu. Steak. Potatoes. He got up from the bed, put on his shoes, and reached for his coat. I’ll just grab a burger on the way back.

What David didn’t know was that he would not be coming back to Hotel Aravaca tonight.


It was raining when David walked out from the warmth of the hotel. He regretted parking his car so far away down the lot. When he got there, he hunched to get into the small Ford, started the ignition, and drove off toward the Embassy. As he was driving, he fumbled around in his jacket pockets looking for his cell phone. He found it and couldn’t help realizing what an odd request it was that this Sanborn Embassy employee would ask him to bring his cell phone. How would he even know I had one? Though he figured it was all right to imply such a thing; who doesn't own a cell phone these days? As the rain softly pattered on the windshield, David was reminded of home. It was raining when he left his wife and daughter and when he arrived at the airport, awaiting a fellow colleague, whom, for some reason, never showed. They were supposed to fly to Spain for their business meeting, and when his colleague didn’t arrive, David became worried and a little frustrated. The boss probably decided to send someone else and failed to call me, David thought as he passed a lone silver Sedan sitting idly with its lights off. Unless this message left for me is from him…
David pulled up to the Embassy, eager to have some light be shed on the situation. At the entrance a bulk, dark skinned man stood at attendance in front of the thick glass doors. He wore a plain brown suit and had his hand conspicuously resting on top of a .44 caliber pistol, encased in a loose-fitting holster on his left hip. David walked up and showed the expressionless man his passport. Without saying anything, the man studied the picture, then David’s face, and opened the massive doors with the swipe of an encrypted passkey on an electronic pad, allowing David entry. After passing the hiss of the steam-powered doors, David walked in and immediately felt a sense of heaviness.
The room was large and square with a high ceiling and dim lights that accented the lush carpets and rosewood walls. After taking in the mass of the room, David remembered what Mr. Sanborn had said. He looked left and saw a large counter, matching the wood of the walls, and behind it sat a young, brown-haired woman smiling tenderly as David approached the counter.
“May I help you… Mr. Montier?”
David furrowed his brow in confusion. “How––?” He looked down just beneath his jacket’s breast pocket and saw that his nametag was still clipped there from the previous night’s conference. “Oh…” He blushed and forced a smile. She smiled back. He laughed at thinking what Abby would say if she were right next to him. He spoke softly for some reason; maybe the room’s atmosphere suggested quiet tones. “I was told to ask for Sanborn, uh––Mr. L. Sanborn.” The woman’s smile dimmed a bit and she looked confused.
“Ah!” A man walked energetically from a door just behind the woman. “You must be Mr. Montier!”
“Uh, yes.”
“Please, come with me. I’ll take you to our conference rooms and we can talk.”
I’m just here to pick up a message, David thought. Regardless of his impatience, he followed the Mr. Sanborn, as he was about 20 feet ahead of him already, walking quickly towards a destination unknown to David. “So, when did this contact leave me this message?”
He apparent ally ignored the question. “Here we are.” They arrived at a blank white door with a brass doorknob. Odd, considering the rest of the building’s d?cor. Sanborn opened the door and extended his arm, “After you.”
After me? David was surprised to see that Mr. Sanborn walked in with him. Don’t you have a message to give me?
Sanborn closed the door behind him and gestured to one of the large, green, cushioned chairs surrounding the rosewood table. “Please have seat.” David pulled the heavy chair toward him and slowly sat down. Sanborn remained standing. “May I see your passport?” David reached for his passport in his left jacked pocket, not taking his eyes off him. Sanborn took the passport from David’s hand and flipped open to the identification page. “You are David Lucas Montier, born 7/14/22?” It was more of a question than a statement.
“Yes, that’s right,” David replied.
Sanborn scanned his face, as if looking for a trace of a lie. After a long pause, he extended his hand toward David. “May I see your cell phone please?” David took out his cell phone and placed it in Sanborn’s open hand. He took it, flipped it open, and snapped it in half.
“What are you doing!?” David jumped up out of the seat but instantly regretted the action. Out of nowhere, a sharp, cold pain ran up and down his spine, knocking the wind out of him. As he stood there, he arched is back, trying to get into a position that would allow him to breathe. But just the opposite happened: something slapped against the lower part of his face, covering his mouth. A hand, maybe, but it was very cold. Sanborn was still standing in front of David, watching the scene, his face expressionless. David’s writhing produced more discomfort. What’s happening! His focus on the pain in his back was shifted to the hand thwarting the flow of oxygen to his lungs as it clasped tightly over his mouth. He tried to turn or move or react but his vision became clouded and blurry. He noticed he was on his knees, unable to support his own weight. The hand withdrew from David’s, mouth but it was too late. A soft ringing echoed in his ears as he fell to his side, watching the room dim to shadows, then slowly fade out.



“Don’t tell me you’re having doubts? I mean…it’s a little too late for that, you know?”
The two men were sitting around the small wooden table, drinking from their green bottles, talking underneath a dim bulb.
“I’m not having doubts. I’m just unsure about how the decisions are being made: hastily.”
The man with the black hair and dented nose put his feet up on the table. “That’s having doubts.” He took a sip from his bottle.
“No, it’s just having an opinion.”
“A doubtful opinion.”
“That doesn’t even make any sense.”
“Yes it does.”
“No it doesn’t.”
“Look, you know Sanborn. For two years now. You should know that he takes all things into consideration and never makes a decision that has not been thought through entirely.”
“These are different circumstances.”
“How so?”
“Well… we’re depending on a fate that we can’t see clearly; we’re basing our efforts on readings. It just won’t all add up to the right sum in the end, as I see it.”
“See, now you’re doubting again.”
“It’s an opinion!”
“I doubt that.”
“You––!”
The cell phone on the black haired man’s belt rang. He swung his feet off the table and stood up to answer it. “Yeah.” He listened intently as he paced the room. “Alright…good…where are you now?…Yep, things are pretty much set on our end…okay, we’ll be waiting,” He hung up, returning the cell phone to his belt clip. “They’ll be here in two minutes.”
“Did it work?”
“They wouldn’t be coming back empty-handed.”