Charles Heath's writing blog

For a story that was conceived during those long boring hours flying in a steel cocoon, striving to keep away the thoughts that the plane and everyone in it could just simply disappear as planes have in the past, it has come a long way. Whilst I have always had a fascination with what happened during the second world war, not the battles or fighting, but in the more obscure events that took place, I decided to pen my own little sidebar to what was a long and bitter war. And, so, it continues... Mayer fought the urge to panic, and then to consider giving himself up.  He remembered what the Standartenfuhrer said and knew that it was not an option. He slid back into the forest, then far enough back, stood, and ran, the thick snow not only hampering his speed but also covering the sound of his flight.  He stopped and listened for the sound of the following soldiers, but all he could hear was the sound of a locomotive and his breathing.  His heart was pounding, not used to such exercise or

Here’s the thing... Every time I close my eyes, I see something different. I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox. But these dreams are nothing to laugh about. Once again there's a new instalment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt. ... Did it upset me that Boggs was a little snarky?  Yes, a bit. We’d been friends for a long time, the sort who had stuck together at school to keep arm’s length from the bullies and work together on projects and homework.  That friendship had become more important after his father disappeared, and I believed he appreciated it. Until this treasure thing. It hadn’t been there, looking over everything.  The fact of the matter was he had been too young to understand any of it, and his mother wisely kept the extended details of her husband’s obsession away from him, and it was quite by chance he stumbled over his father’s effects in the attic. Had she destro

I'm back home and this story has been sitting on the back burner for a few months, waiting for some more to be written. The trouble is, there are also other stories to write, and I'm not very good at prioritizing. But, here we are, a few minutes opened up and it didn't take long to get back into the groove. Chasing leads, maybe ... When the room was empty and only Richards and I remained, he cut the ties that bound my hands and legs. “Bad business,” he said. I sat again and flexed the muscles that had begun to stiffen up whilst tightly bound. “I’m assuming you know a woman by the name of Jan?” I said, “She told me she was working for MI5 so I’m assuming you’re her handler.” “When she chooses to be handled, yes.  Jan is just one of her names.  She’s currently missing, and I think we now know why?” “Her work,” I nodded towards the body. “God no.  She’s charged with chasing down leads and then calling the cavalry.  We had a tracker on this chap, found him, and had him in a saf

A picture paints ... well, as many words as you like.  For instance:     And, then, the words:   ... Back at the hotel, safe and sound, I spent an hour in the shower washing away the grime and smell of the last few days in captivity. Time, too, for some thought. I knew the kidnapping wasn't part of Suzanne's fun weekend and had to wonder what it was she had in store for Madeleine and I. Was she playing matchmaker, or was she trying to find out if she would be jealous if I was seeing another woman?  To be honest, I just didn't understand her, but then, she had too much money and too much free time on her hands, a recipe, sometimes, for disaster. It was the main reason why our father expected us to work for a living and understand the value of money.  We had been brought to believe we would never get handouts, and if we wanted to inherit anything we would have to prove our worthiness. That's why I couldn't understand why my father was so keen for me to court Suz

Here’s the thing... Every time I close my eyes, I see something different. I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox. But these dreams are nothing to laugh about. Once again there's a new installment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt. ... It was only an hours’ worth of skimming newspapers, for the dates I’d discovered at the cemetery, and the month around the time that Boggs’s father had disappeared, because the date of death for Friedrich Ormiston had a familiar ring to it. They’d both apparently died in the same year, within months of each other. Of course, there was a twist. Neither of the two men’s bodies had been found, and both missing person’s cases had remained open for the specified period before being declared legally dead.  I knew that to be the case for Boggs’s father, but I had not really known the details of the circumstances. The paper had played up the disappearance of

Here’s the thing... Every time I close my eyes, I see something different. I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox. But these dreams are nothing to laugh about. Once again there's a new installment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt. ... Nadia dropped me off outside the office of the newspaper, without any firm plan for our next meeting.  I had told her I had to spend some time with Boggs’s in the light of this new information, and after some research at the newspaper.   I was hoping there would be back copies of the paper going back a long, long time. But, a few years back there had been a fire with extensively damaged almost half of the building, and I couldn’t remember if it included the paper archive.  Lenny, the recently appointed editor after his father passed on, had often extolled his plans for the paper, including recording the papers on film to preserve what he called a ric

A picture paints ... well, as many words as you like.  For instance:   And, then, the words:   Are you sure you want to do this?   It was a routine call, that a man was behaving strangely in a shopping mall.  It was passed from mall security to the local police, and then, when the man became agitated and produced a weapon, they called in the next line of police, and they called us. At the scene, I counted 12 police cars, marked and unmarked, a van, SWAT, several fire and rescue trucks, and a host of bystanders, all crowding at the barrier that was set far too close to the exit. "You don't mind if I take the lead on this one?"  Josephine had been my partner for the last six months, at first training on the job, then started taking cases.  This would be her second. "Not at all.  You're ready." It was a relief, the last event was difficult, long, and both mentally and physically exhausting, but we saved the wife and two children.  There was never going

A picture paints ... well, as many words as you like.  For instance:   And, then, the words:   Fabio at one end, Amy and guards at the other, I’m in the control room, and Benito just walked in.  Was this Amy’s master plan?  Scare the living hell out of Fabio?  Had she told Benito about Gabrielle? There were a dozen unanswered questions going through my mind, but the one at the top of the pile was, what was she doing?  The answer I least wanted to believe; was that she had been working with Benito all along. And if that was the case, and if Benito was in a forgiving mood with his son-in-law, then I might be in trouble.  My mind cast over the events leading up to getting to this place, and I could see at least three instances where it could be said she was working for Benito, or even Fabio if I wanted to go down that rabbit hole. I watched Fabio’s expression change from incredulous to fearful. Maybe I was not the target.  Yet. Just in case it was true, I deemed it time

A picture paints ... well, as many words as you like.  For instance:       And, then, the words:     Henry had about fifteen minutes to get his head back in the game.   Killing two men in what was almost cold blood didn’t sit well with him, but he had convinced himself it was necessary. Had he not, they would have shot him without hesitation. It was a world he was going to have to get acclimatised to and fast.  They were heading towards the lion’s den.  Mary had got another call, with coordinates where the call she’d made to was located.  Another unbelievably bad mistake on their part. Or, perhaps, the opposition they were up against was not that clever. Or, Henry began to consider, that this was a simulation and he was just playing a part, one that would decide whether he was in or out.  The only thing that went against that theory was the very real death of the man at the van.  We were heading towards South Ealing, Devonshire Road to be exact, and a terrace hous