I've gone over the full outline of APoS and made some adjustments, but now all I need to do is write the bridges between sections already written. The spine of the story is pretty much set. But it wasn't easy, and this time it wasn't Brendan who was the issue...it was a moment I tossed into Underground Guy that's been haunting me.
And I do mean haunting. I'm locked in on this one little moment in the whole friggin' book that has jolted me in so many ways...none of it planned. This is the section --
-->And I do mean haunting. I'm locked in on this one little moment in the whole friggin' book that has jolted me in so many ways...none of it planned. This is the section --
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“Bloody hell, BOSS!” Berridge cried. “Boss, I got him! Got Hanlon.”
We all bolted over to look at his monitor.
A camera positioned across the street from the Holborn entrance showed Liam Hanlon exit with a crowd, stop at the corner to put something in his mouth, then jaunt across the street and out of sight.
“Run it, again,” Sir Monte barked.
Berridge did.
“Pause.”
He did, right at the point Hanlon fiddled with a package.
“Now frame by frame.”
“Bloody hell, BOSS!” Berridge cried. “Boss, I got him! Got Hanlon.”
We all bolted over to look at his monitor.
A camera positioned across the street from the Holborn entrance showed Liam Hanlon exit with a crowd, stop at the corner to put something in his mouth, then jaunt across the street and out of sight.
“Run it, again,” Sir Monte barked.
Berridge did.
“Pause.”
He did, right at the point Hanlon fiddled with a package.
“Now frame by frame.”
Berridge ran the video in slow motion, showing Hanlon put a white capsule in his mouth, chomp on it, slip the package back in his pocket and head on.
And I felt a sledgehammer slam my gut.
“Thornton,” Sir Monte barked from a thousand miles away. “Was there anything in the coroner’s report about drugs in Hanlon’s system?”
I remember hearing shuffling, behind me, but it wasn’t necessary. I let myself whisper, “It’s gum.”
I think Sir Monte glared at me. I only caught him in my peripheral vision because I was too locked on that image of Hanlon, bright, smiling, heading straight for -- Jesus, for his death.
“Pope, answer me!” Sir Monte snapped, cutting through the fog in my brain. “What do you mean?”
“Chewing gum,” I muttered. “He’s gonna. Meet somebody. Somebody important. Can’t have coffee breath.”
“Here’s the report, Boss,” Reg said. “Nothing about drugs.”
“Chewing gum?”
“Um -- half a packet in his trousers. Peppermint.”
“Was he still chewing it? Was it still in his mouth?”
“None noted in the report, Boss. Nothing at the crime scene, either.”
I think I stopped breathing. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the image of that doomed man. I heard the words but could make no sense of them.
“Berridge, High Holborn’s single direction there, correct?”
“Yeah, Boss.”
“Find CCTV down the next block. Check every vehicle that passes through from this point on, for the next twenty minutes.”
“Livery,” I managed to say. “Hire. Hire.”
Sir Monte seemed to look at me, again, echoing, “Yes. No taxis or lorries, just hire cars.” He nudged me and I almost looked at him. “Pope? What is wrong with you? You’re white as a sheet.”
I gasped in some air and said, “I’ve done that. Thousands of times. Pop some gum before. Before meetin’ a client. I -- I can’t -- I can’t stop -- stop thinkin’ what he -- what he’s -- ”
Sir Monte knocked me onto a chair. I landed, hard, and it jolted me enough to where I could focus on him. And breathe.
And I felt a sledgehammer slam my gut.
“Thornton,” Sir Monte barked from a thousand miles away. “Was there anything in the coroner’s report about drugs in Hanlon’s system?”
I remember hearing shuffling, behind me, but it wasn’t necessary. I let myself whisper, “It’s gum.”
I think Sir Monte glared at me. I only caught him in my peripheral vision because I was too locked on that image of Hanlon, bright, smiling, heading straight for -- Jesus, for his death.
“Pope, answer me!” Sir Monte snapped, cutting through the fog in my brain. “What do you mean?”
“Chewing gum,” I muttered. “He’s gonna. Meet somebody. Somebody important. Can’t have coffee breath.”
“Here’s the report, Boss,” Reg said. “Nothing about drugs.”
“Chewing gum?”
“Um -- half a packet in his trousers. Peppermint.”
“Was he still chewing it? Was it still in his mouth?”
“None noted in the report, Boss. Nothing at the crime scene, either.”
I think I stopped breathing. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the image of that doomed man. I heard the words but could make no sense of them.
“Berridge, High Holborn’s single direction there, correct?”
“Yeah, Boss.”
“Find CCTV down the next block. Check every vehicle that passes through from this point on, for the next twenty minutes.”
“Livery,” I managed to say. “Hire. Hire.”
Sir Monte seemed to look at me, again, echoing, “Yes. No taxis or lorries, just hire cars.” He nudged me and I almost looked at him. “Pope? What is wrong with you? You’re white as a sheet.”
I gasped in some air and said, “I’ve done that. Thousands of times. Pop some gum before. Before meetin’ a client. I -- I can’t -- I can’t stop -- stop thinkin’ what he -- what he’s -- ”
Sir Monte knocked me onto a chair. I landed, hard, and it jolted me enough to where I could focus on him. And breathe.
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This is the moment when Devlin realizes what kind of beast he's been, and the realization is tearing him apart, which is what I wanted. But it's the gum bit that gets to me. I just needed Hanlon to do something before crossing the street so threw that in because it's so simple and natural and...well, that made the moment too real for me.
This is just a book about a serial killer who's caught by a serial rapist...about as nonsensical a Hollywood style premise as you can have...but this moment...and one later, when one of the people involved hangs themself because they heard another victim scream as he was being killed and can't stop hearing it...I wonder if these bits are too real for the story.
No...they are too real...the fucking are...but I'll be damned if I take them out...
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