novel 88 - 25. the road

by nick nelson

part 25 of 25

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night had fallen. joe trudged down the road to the quaintly rustic train station. he carried a paper bag containing the sandwiches and bottles of water the security guard had given him back at the castle. he figured he was about halfway back to the station so he decided to stop and sample the fare. he sat down on a grassy spot beside a bend in the road. as he sat down he felt the letter in his back pocket - the heartfelt handwritten letter he had intended to deliver to sebastian dream. he had asked the security guard if he could leave the letter with him, and the guard had replied - you can leave it, but per my instructions i will just burn it. yes, joe had thought, and have a good laugh reading it before you do. i know your type. so he had kept it. he unwrapped one of the two sandwiches. it seemed to be black forest ham and gouda cheese on a sourdough roll, with some sort of special sauce. it tasted pretty good. joe finished the sandwich and one of the bottles of water. he got up and looked back at the castle, now barely visible beyond the brow of the hill. most of the lights in the castle had gone out, and now a couple more did. just like the lights of my dreams, joe thought. my dreams. and the dreams of all the other chumps and suckers and losers who thought they had a chance. who thought they could catch a break and be given a fair shot at the gold ring - who thought the pay window would stay open after the race was over and the rainbow would never turn gray and there would be a wallet full of greenbacks lying in the gutter of the last street at the edge of town before you hit the desert and the empty sky above the desert would open up and pour down rain just before you died of thirst - yes, he had always believed - always believed. the end

novel 88 - 24. the castle

by nick nelson

part 24 of 25

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the sun was setting as, after a long journey, joe approached the boundary of sebastian dream’s castle in scotland. a security guard appeared from behind a tree. he had a nasty looking weapon of a make joe, who was not a weapons person, could not identify, sling on his shoilder. can i help you? yes, i am a - a correspondent - of mister dream’s. is he expecting you? i did not send him a message telling him i was coming. in that case i can not allow you to proceed. but i know mister dream very well. i have corresponded with him for months. he has helped me out, given me advice. so have thousands of other people. that can not be possible. the guard laughed. mister dream has his ways. suddenly a terrible thought flashed through joe’s mind. does mister dream use robots in his correspondence? that is not for me to say. an even more terrible thought followed the first one. is mister dream himself a robot? you have seen his picture on line, haven’t you? and seen and heard interviews with him?’ yes, and read three biogrophies of him. i liked melissa t casey’s the best. well there you go. now i am going to ask you again to turn around and leave. it is a long way back to the quaintly rustic train station. the guard took a phone off his belt. if you like, i can call and have a snack pack of sandwiches and a couple of bottles of water brought out to you. mister dream is always considerate of his fans. i - i - this is very upsetting. do you want the snack pack and water or not? yes, i suppose so. next

novel 88 - 23. betrayal

by nick nelson

part 23 of 25

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dear joe, thank you for forwarding the chapters of your story about tucker and bradley and the painting. i like them a lot. i like them so much i am going to appropriate them. i willl take it from here. i think this is only fair, after all the encouragement and suggestions i gave you. after all, turnarbout is fair play. i trust you will not take this development in the wrong spirit. i wish you all the best in continuing your stories, both those i suggested to you and any you may come up with yourself. sincerely, your devoted friend, sebastian dream next

novel 88 - 22. murphy

by nick nelson

part 22 of 25

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i didn’t like the sound of that punk’s voice, murphy thought grimly as he went back and sat down in his chair beside the window looking out at the rain. and then it hit him. of course! the punk was just trying to get into the building. he didn’t have any friend in apartment 8 - the guy in apartment 8 probably didn’t have any friends. the punk wanted to get into the building to steal stuff. like murphy’s map! his map of hitler and stalin’s hidden treasure. murphy got up, went over the battered dresser in the corner beside the window, opened the middle drawer and felt under his socks and underwear. whew! the map was still there. to be really sure, he took the manila envelope out from under the underwear and opened it to make sure the real actual map was in it,, not something some thief had substituted. it was the real map all right. i shouldn’t be so paranoid, he thought briefly for the ten thousandth time. murphy went back to the window. the rain had slacked off a bit, but it still soothed his weary soul to look out at it. what was that? did he hear something in the corridor outside? it was hard to tell - one thing about this dump of a building - it was old and the walls were pretty thick. somebody could get murdered or have a satanic ritual in the room next door and you might not hear it. he went over to the door and listened. he could not hear anything but he could feel something. next

novel 88 - 21. desperation

by nick nelson

part 21 of 25

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tucker pressed the button again. nothing. he knew as surely as he knew that he was going to die some day that bradley was gone and had taken the painting - the 230 million dollar painting - with him. but he pressed the button under the mailbox to the left of bradley’s. nothing. he tried the button under the box to the right of bradley’s. yeah? a surly male voice answered almost immediately. um - i wonder if you could help me out? no. get lost. please. i am trying to contact my friend in apartment - in apartment 8. i know he is in there but he wion’t answer. maybe he doesn’t like you any more. not my problem. i am afraid he might have hurt himself. that is not my problem either. bradley gave up. i am sorry i bothered you. the surly voice did not answer. i will try one more thing, bradley thought. he tried the door to the stairs and elevator. it opened! he did not want to use the elevator - the surly man might hear it and he had not liked it anyway when he and bradley had taken it earlier. he began climbing the stairs to the fourth floor. next

novel 88 - 20. bradley

by nick nelson

part 20 of 25

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when bradley took his picture and left his room and started walking, he had no clear idea of where he was going or what he wanted to do. this was the story of his life. * when bradley was a little boy, he did not like television or video games as much as a normal human child, and spent hours staring at the walls or looking out the window wondering what was going to happen to him when he grew up . his high school guidance counselor suggested he become an artist. bradley accepted this, and enrolled in art class. the teacher liked the art he submitted, especially the art produced for him by his older sister, who aspired to become a doctor and had no interset in art herself. bradley learned to copy his sister’s style and his art continued to find favor with his teachers even after his sister left home to go to college and medical school. bradley was admitted to the college of international art and was a star pupil there until he fell in with a bad crowd and took to cloud nine. next to illegal substances, bradley’s biggest problems were women, who would not leave hm alone, and paranoia, which an interdisciplinary counselor suggested he might have inherited from an ancestor in another dimension. in addition to the females who flocked around him like moths around a flame, bradley was also surrounded by coterie of male sycophants and flatterers. among them was a young man who was the laziest student in the class, and the heir to a once vast but now almost completely depleted fortune. his name was tucker underwood. next

novel 88 - 19. second thoughts

by nick nelson

part 19 of 25

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what am i doing? tucker thought morosely, as he trudged through the rain and wind. what am i thinking? i must have let the sight of the painting affect my mind. wrap the painting in newspaper? even under ordinary circumstances? there must be a better way. he had been so afraid he would miss his chance at the painting that all his common sense had gone out the window. he should go back to bradley’s room, tell him he would be back the next day, with a box or whatever to pick up the painting. to seal the deal, he would give bradley his money they had agreed on and then go home and get a good night’s sleep. he turned around to go back to bradley’s building. as soon as he did, all his fears returned. bradley had seemed so suspicious and paranoid! all his, tucker’s, own fault, for making him suspicious. but too late now. there was one logical way out - to get rid of bradley. easy to say. but did he, tucker, after a lifetime of watching movies and tv shows in which smooth noir heroes and villains casually disposed of people who stood in their way as easy as lighting a cigarette - he could use a cigarette himself now, after all those years - did he really have it in him to “get rid” of bradley just like that? and with what? where would he get a gun? he had known some people who claimed to know a guy who knew a guy who could help him out in this regard. but how many years ago? did he have anybody’s phone number who might help him? and out of nowhere. at this time of night? as these thoughts were running through tucker’s head. his feet were propelling him back into the teeth of wind to bradley’s apartment. he reached the apartment building, and went through the front door into the tiny lobby. in the stuffy but warm lobby, he realized how wet he had gotten in the rain. he pressed the buzzer to bradley’s room. next