May Novel Essential Information

Novel Title: Valuable Lesson

Time Setting: 2019

Genre: Life

Minimum Word Goal: 90,000

Timespan: April–July

Locations: Meadow Lake, Saskatchewan; various other communities across Western Canada

Main Character: Kingston Aizenman

Background Information:

The second-born son of a bulldogger, Kingston has had exposure to rodeo from his early days, although it hasn’t all been positive.

His parents met at a rodeo and started an affair that ended his father’s first marriage, and after five years their own union was dissolved because his father had started an affair with a different woman he met at a different rodeo; in fact, all of his father’s relationships have begun at a rodeo somewhere as he continues to travel around and compete.

Because of his father’s travelling Kingston lived with his mother until she was declared unfit to care for him, so he was placed with his father’s parents in Meadow Lake and has forged a close relationship with them.

Through his various relationships, Kingston’s father has had several children, including a brother four years Kingston’s senior who hasn’t liked Kingston since the day they met; in fact, when Kingston was young his mother could hardly leave him unattended lest his half brother take advantage of the absence to harm him.

After his parents’ divorce Kingston saw little of his half brother, but the self-defence skills he built up in those years made him a handful for anyone who crossed him — adult or child — and prevented him from being bullied in school.

Although he had good hand-eye coordination and foot speed for baseball, he caught the rodeo bug when he was twelve, which was the year his father brought him — as well as all the other children his father had sired — to the CFR to watch him compete.

Kingston’s half brother was doing high school rodeo at the time and gloated about his victories as he followed in his father’s bulldogging footsteps — which led to an altercation that didn’t endear Kingston to his father’s latest girlfriend — but even still Kingston wanted to do rodeo too.

Because of his youth his grandparents got him riding lessons instead of allowing him to try rodeo — especially because he was interested in the rough-stock bronc riding events — to start out with, but eventually he was allowed to do high school rodeo for himself.

He enjoyed rodeo not just because of the rush of riding a bucking horse, but because of the fact that a lot of his friends were involved in rodeo, including his best friend, who was heir to a stock contracting business.

Once he graduated he was able to ride the professional circuit as a novice, which he did travelling with his father and half brother — which made for an unpleasant summer to say the least.

This last year was his first season as an outright professional, and his abilities were celebrated, as was his record; it wasn’t necessarily the best record out there, but for a rookie it was quite good, and that in spite of the vehicle troubles he ran into late in the season.

Going into this season, Kingston intends to go to as many rodeos as possible featuring stock from his best friend’s dad’s herd, both because they’re good and because his best friend rides as a pickup man, meaning the two of them can hang out together — and he has no worries because he and his fellow bronc rider friend he travels with got a new truck for this season that is a lot newer than the old beater he had the season before.

Pronunciation:

Aizenman: eyezehnmahn

Novel Begins: May 1

Taken: Day 20

Word Total: 120,027

Year to Date: 390,134

Summary of Events:

Mitchell ended up speaking with Mr. Edgar for half an hour while waiting for Odessa to be ready; the conversation centred largely on the negative effects of war, which Mr. Edgar blamed for causing Odessa to be harmed. Throughout the interviews Mitchell managed to not give himself away and went unrecognised by both the Edgars, whom he learned hadn't known he was from Texas or been in the Air Force, leading him to the conclusion that someone else was the mastermind behind the framing, and the Edgars were just helping. Two days later Mitchell was woken by Kelly knocking on his door and questioning him about hearing a gunshot, whether he had a gun, and how recently he'd worn what he had for military clothing; Mitchell was frustrated and demanded to know why the questions were being asked . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

“I wanted to be sure you were innocent first kid,” Kelly said. “I wanted to be sure I wasn’t just believing you had to be innocent, but that it was the truth.”

He pried Mitchell’s hands off of his shirt and pressed Mitchell back against his own chair with something of a fatherly firmness.

It was a long, slow moment before Kelly leaned back in his own chair, his gaze locked on Mitchell’s eyes. He breathed slowly, blinking, his eyes growing more glassy until tears started down his cheeks.

“What is it?” Mitchell begged.

Kelly put a fist over his mouth to hold in a sob and glanced away for a moment before looking Mitchell in the eye seriously. “Dolly’s dead.”

Mitchell clutched the armrests, his breathing and heart rate accelerated. He would’ve been less destroyed if Kelly would’ve thrown an anvil at his chest.

“No . . . no, no . . . no, no, no,” Mitchell repeated the word with every breath, desperation building.

“One of her actress friends heard the shot and saw a man that looked an awful lot like you getting away,” Kelly said quietly. “I saw a glimpse of it myself. The police are looking for you, you need to get out of town.”

Tears blurred Mitchell’s vision, he wanted to cry out in agony.

He felt hands haul him to his feet before Kelly squeezed him in a strong, tight embrace. Mitchell sobbed into Kelly’s shoulder, feeling weak. It couldn’t be. She couldn’t be dead. It had to be a lie.

In his mind the words Dolly had spoken two days before repeated hauntingly. She’d told him, finally told him, that she loved him, and now she was dead? It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be true.

“Someone is out to destroy you,” Kelly said. “You need to get out of town.”

He released Mitchell, who dropped to his knees, burying his face in the seat of the chair Kelly had sat in, and wept.

As he wept, his body shaking and even almost convulsing with agonised sobs, he heard the sounds of Kelly bustling about, packing his things. Mitchell screamed into the chair seat. Dolly couldn’t be dead. This all had to be the worst nightmare he’d ever had.

“Mitchell, get up, come on, we have to get you out of town,” Kelly urged, shaking Mitchell’s shoulder roughly.

Mitchell was loathe to get to his feet, but eventually he did and slipped into the clothes Kelly proffered for him. 

Kelly slung the knapsack over his back and hauled him toward the door.

“Come on, we need to get you on the earliest train out of town,” Kelly said.

“Seattle,” Mitchell said. “I need, I need to go to Seattle.”

“I’m just getting you on the first train out of town,” Kelly replied. “You’ll have to find your way to Seattle from there.”

Mitchell dabbed at his eyes and staggered after Kelly. Why did everything have to be taken from him? Why was this all happening to him?

Next Post: April 30.

Taken: Day 19

Word Count: 114,011

Summary of Events:

It took longer to shake his pursuers than Mitchell had expected, but he managed to lose them when he ducked into the back door of Walton's bar; he hid in the back washing dishes for the rest of the evening. The next morning Dolly suggested to him that he should try being a reporter again to see if he could actually get an interview with Odessa this time. He was able to make the arrangements for such a meeting and got up early so he could walk to a different hotel, from whence he was picked up by a taxi . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

The taxi pulled away from the curb and moved into traffic. Mitchell watched the scenery — mostly signs announcing businesses that weren’t necessarily open quite yet — go by as the sky gradually lightened and made the streetlights more and more redundant.

Gradually tall, square urban buildings that contained businesses gave way to housing, and not just any housing, but nice housing.

Broad streets with palms in boulevards between the directions of traffic were flanked by more palms both in front of and behind tall wrought-iron fences or Spanish-style adobe walls.

Everything was clean, immaculate, and beautiful as Mitchell was carried closer and closer to whichever house was the Edgar mansion.

The streets curved along hillsides and even though the sun was still low in the sky and not shining its fullest and brightest, it all looked quite picturesque and elite, the sort of residences Mitchell had never really seen in real life — although he tried not to show it.

After a rather long time the taxi pulled up to a pair of wrought-iron gates of elegant, curlicued shapes that filled in the opening between two long, straight, tall adobe walls. It took Mitchell a few moments to realise that the curlicues on the gates formed three letters: C, E, and M.

Because the man he’d made the appointment with had called Mr. Edgar Marion C. Edgar Mitchell presumed it was supposed to be seen as MCE.

An older man in a red-and-gold uniform sat in a gatehouse, looking sternly at the taxi. The driver looked at Mitchell. 

“What do I tell him?” the driver asked.

“Mr. Lincoln Darrow of the Dallas Star is here for his eight AM appointment with Miss Odessa Edgar,” Mitchell replied.

The driver rolled down his window and repeated what Mitchell had said to the gate guard, who checked a pocket watch.

“I will open the gate in five minutes,” he replied.

“You got that?” the driver asked, looking over his shoulder at Mitchell.

“I did,” Mitchell replied.

The driver nodded to the guard and rolled up his window.

“Am I correct to wager it’s ten to eight?” Mitchell asked.

“You are,” the driver replied, checking his watch.

Mitchell nodded and stared through the windshield and the gate at the looming form of the Edgar mansion.

No lights were on inside it, nor was there anything for lights within the fence, there was only a fountain whose waters weren’t flowing and the large, hispanic-style mansion, both lit from the left by the sun, which hung still somewhat low in the eastern sky.

Taken: Day 18

Word Count: 108,008

Summary of Events:

Mitchell and his fellow workers at the shipyard were informed that Mr. Edgar had resigned his position as president of the Los Angeles branch of the CIO and had invited them all to attend a farewell banquet on the Saturday. Concerned that Odessa would be there, Mitchell was unsure whether he should attend or not, but Kelly, Walton, and Dolly all agreed he should go and see if he could get information, so Mitchell went, and enjoyed a delectable dinner. The speeches, however, proved to be many and boring, so Mitchell let his mind wander . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

Now that Mr. Edgar was resigning — heading off to unspecified business ventures that likely had something to do with Casino Adinerado and the hotel which would soon become attached to it — Mitchell might have to tender his own notice and find a different job that might avail him a better connection to the Edgars.

After all, Mitchell’s work at the shipyard had netted him far more money than information. While not a drawback to have money, Mitchell had been hoping for more information somehow.

He might have to look into getting a job at Casino Adinerado — he did know how to play several of the card games from nights when the EAFDC hadn’t met — or something, which would have the added bonus of allowing him to keep an eye on Dolly for her safety.

Mitchell wasn’t entirely sure what his next move would be, although listening to all of the speeches definitely gave him time to contemplate it. He was starting to run out of thinking to do, though, and wondered when they would move on to something more interesting.

They didn’t right away, so Mitchell scanned the head table. Mr. Edgar had given his speech first, emotionally and to much cheering. Beside him sat Odessa — who had, on sight, made Mitchell’s blood boil.

Again she had her brown hair styled fashionably in curls and was wearing an alluring red dress that was made out of satin and looked a little more formal than the one she’d worn to the event in Perry’s honour two and a half months before.

She looked beautiful, but Mitchell had to admit that he wasn’t as besotted with her as he’d been before. He harboured too much resentment for what she’d done to him now.

He was startled when she stood up, and he watched as she slipped off the stage discreetly while the speakers changed over. Mitchell wondered how many there would be as he watched Odessa make her way down the side of the room.

The table he was at was situated toward the back of the room and as Odessa approached it she looked up at him. Immediately she froze; Mitchell got a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Her bloodcurdling shriek jolted Mitchell, who initially didn’t move.

“Mitchell Becker!” she screamed, pointing at him. “Mitchell Becker!”

Everyone at Mitchell’s table exclaimed in surprise, looking at him with astonishment.

“Seize that man!” the man at the microphone bellowed.

Mitchell leapt up, knocking his chair backwards, and took off for the door, a horde of men hot on his heels, intent to catch him and likely give him much retribution for having lied to them about who he really was.

It wasn’t entirely a surprise to Mitchell that this was happening, but he was disappointed, he’d had some hope that the beard would be an effective disguise of his face and would have allowed him to get close to Odessa and maybe probe her about the incident.

Taken: Day 17

Word Count: 102,022

Summary of Events:

Mitchell and Dolly were invited by Walton to attend his family's Thanksgiving gathering, which Mitchell enjoyed to some extent, although it did make him feel sad that his own family had rejected him, and Dolly's enamour with a week-and-a-half old great-grandchild of Walton's also left Mitchell feeling a little strange. Nonetheless, the following Monday, Mitchell went to a jewelry store and picked out an engagement ring to give to Dolly at Christmas . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

The jeweller put the ring into a special velvet-covered ring box and took Mitchell over to the register, where he tallied up the bill. Mitchell paid the money and, with trembling hands, took hold of the box.

“Thank you,” Mitchell said.

“You’re welcome,” the jeweller said. “Have a good day.”

“You too,” Mitchell only just remembered to reply.

He clutched the ring box in his hand tightly all the way back to the hotel. Only once he’d closed and locked the door did Mitchell dare crack the lid of the box open and look at the ring, which sparkled prettily against the black velvet lining.

Mitchell removed the ring and tested to see if it fit on any of his fingers. He found it only got about halfway down his littlest finger. Looking at his whole hand with the ring seated in its somewhat awkward position, Mitchell had to admit that it looked rather small, and suggested that his hands were rather large in comparison to Dolly’s.

Hearing footsteps in the hallway, Mitchell quickly removed the ring and shoved it back into the box before hiding the box in the dresser drawer with his few spare clothes.

He doubted anyone from the hallway would be able to see inside and tell that he had a ring box, he also doubted anyone would think that a person staying in the cheapest hotel in town would be able to afford any exceedingly expensive jewelry, but yet the ring still felt special and precious to him, as it symbolised just how much — in two months — he had grown to love Dolly and desperately hoped that she would be willing to become his wife.

Admittedly, Mitchell felt some fear within himself that Dolly wouldn’t accept the ring and wouldn’t want to be his wife, but he hoped that his fears were unreasonable, after all, when he’d asked Dolly on Friday if she ever wanted to have a baby she’d said she did, although he hadn’t asked her again what she thought about marrying him, considering that the last time he’d asked she’d suggested that she would be too much of a burden for him.

Mitchell hoped he would be able to convince Dolly otherwise and would be met with a ‘yes’ when he asked if she would marry him. If she refused him at Christmas, then he would ask again toward the end of January, then the end of February, and so on, until she finally told him she would marry him, even if it was so that he would stop asking her.

Until then he was leaving the ring in the drawer with his clothes, where it would be safe from any and all prying eyes that might think it would be a good idea to take from him the greatest symbol of affection he’d ever desired to give to anyone, in spite of the fact that it wasn’t as expensive as other pieces of jewelry.

Taken: Day 16

Word Count: 96,061

Summary of Events:

Mitchell learned from one of his coworkers over lunch that there was a letter for him at the post office — not that his coworker knew that the letter belonged to him because he employed an alias — and fetched it. As he'd suspected, it was from his parents, but its contents were not expected at all; reports of the faked assault on Odessa Edgar had reached his hometown, and his parents informed him that, as a result of his behaviours — as alleged by Odessa — he was not welcome home for Thanksgiving, or any other time for that matter . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

Know also that your siblings and their spouses are in one accord with us. They also will not welcome you into their homes. They have no desire to associate with you in your baseness.

If you wish to see any of us again — and we pray you do — then it is imperative that you humble yourself before God, who knows what you have done and will hold it against you for eternity if you do not humble yourself, and repent of your sins before Him, for He is not an unforgiving God, and if you genuinely seek His forgiveness He will not withhold it from you.

Do not attempt to lie to us. We know how you live, and we will be able to tell whether you have genuinely repented before God or not, and only when we see that you have admitted your wrongdoing to He who knows all things — even the secrets and mysteries we will never know — will we, too, follow the example of our God who forgives, and forgive you, and welcome you back within our home, as the lost son who has now been found.

Our prayers continue for you, that your soul would be counted among the saved, and we pray that the young woman will find it within her heart to forgive you as well.

Do not forget that we love you, but understand that it is because we love you that we must do this. Love may not keep any record of wrongs, but that does not mean that it absolves them without repentance. We will forgive you when you repent before God, but not before then.

May God bless you and have mercy on you,

Orval Becker

Mitchell felt numb as he stared at the pages. Tears flowed down his cheeks, but he didn’t really feel them, the deep, sore ache of his breastbone was much more acute. The story had reached all the way to Texas, and what was worse, Papa and Mama believed it.

They believed that he’d left Odessa bleeding, wounded, and traumatised; they believed that he was a criminal.

Mitchell let the letter fall to the floor and dropped his face into his hands. His body convulsed with sobs of the deepest anguish and pain he’d ever felt. He had never felt such a deep pain in his life as he felt now.

His family had completely rejected him; what’s worse, they’d rejected him entirely on falsehoods. They had believed the lies that had been smeared all over him.

To prove his innocence now was an even more desperate endeavour. He had to prove his innocence so that his parents realised that they’d been lied to by others.

Taken: Day 15

Word Count: 90,018

Summary of Events:

Mitchell bought Dolly a new dress — as well as a new suit for himself — with a bonus he received for his efforts that saved the life of the crane operator, and took Dolly out to a special dinner to thank her for all she'd done for him since September. Hiding inside from a serious downpour of rain at work, Mitchell chatted with one of his coworkers and decided to bring up Perry's name to see what he could learn . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

“I really only know one,” Mitchell replied. “He’s actually from Los Angeles here, influenced me to join a union to work, and he also encouraged me to come here to Los Angeles too.”

“Hm,” Jokes said.

“Do you know him?” Mitchell asked. “His name’s Perry Gay.”

Jokes furrowed his brow. “Perry Gay.”

Mitchell waited patiently for more as Jokes contorted and stroked his face contemplatively for several minutes.

“I know that name, but I don’t know where from,” Jokes said.

“A party was held in his honour recently,” Mitchell said. “That’s where that young soldier roughed up Mr. Edgar’s daughter.”

“No, I know it from somewhere else,” Jokes said. “I know it from somewhere else.”

Mitchell nodded and waited patiently as Jokes seemed to be striving quite hard to recall where he knew Perry from. Mitchell had to admit that he felt encouraged to think that someone knew Perry from something aside from what he’d been in the papers for — much less knew him at all.

“He . . . he . . . was blonde,” Jokes said.

“Yes,” Mitchell replied.

“And his nose, I remember his nose,” Jokes said. “His nose was very straight and skinny and, looked like it could be painful to run into.”

“Yeah,” Mitchell agreed.

“High hairline too,” Jokes said.

“Yeah,” Mitchell replied.

“Eualia,” Jokes said.

“Isn’t that his wife’s name?” Mitchell asked.

“Yes,” Jokes said. “I think she’s the secretary of the CIO.”

“Oh,” Mitchell said.

“And Perry just came back from the war, didn’t he?” Jokes asked.

“That’s why they had the party for him,” Mitchell replied.

“He was the one who was teaching Russian lessons,” Jokes said.

“Russian lessons?” Mitchell asked. “As in the language?”

“Yes,” Jokes replied. “I don’t even know why Russian lessons were being offered, but before he enlisted he was teaching Russian.”

“That’s interesting,” Mitchell said.

“And I think everyone who completed the course got to go on a trip to the USSR,” Jokes said.

“Expenses paid?” Mitchell asked.

“Yes,” Jokes replied. “All expenses paid.”

“Who took those lessons?” Mitchell asked.

“I don’t think any of them work for the CIO anymore, or if they do they don’t work around here anymore,” Jokes replied.

“You think they might’ve moved to the Soviet Union?” Mitchell asked.

“Why?” Jokes asked.

“Because you haven’t seen them again,” Mitchell replied.

“I guess that is a possibility,” Jokes said. “But still, why would they move to the Soviet Union?”

“I don’t know,” Mitchell replied. “I’ve only been here about a month and a half.”

Jokes nodded. “It’s strange. But that’s where I remember someone by the name of Perry Gay from. He taught Russian lessons to interested members.”

Gazing out the window, Mitchell nodded, his mind racing with this new piece of information and the main thing that it yielded him: a solid connection between Mr. Edgar and Perry.

It wasn’t just that they both lived in Los Angeles and were both Communists, but they both worked — past or present — in the CIO, suggesting that they would’ve met and known each other to some extent.

Taken: Day 14

Word Count: 84,141

Summary of Events:

After accompanying Dolly for all of her auditions, Mitchell and Dolly went to visit Walton at the bar and discovered Kelly there looking in much better shape than before; Mitchell learned Kelly was now a milkman, and Kelly also offered to help Mitchell learn more about Marion Edgar when Mitchell expressed discouragement at his lack of progress. Mitchell was working as an extra body in the removal of part of a ship's propellor that'd broken when the crane lifting the part fell into the dry dock; somewhat reflexively Mitchell took control of the situation before Marion Edgar himself and the yard foreman arrived . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

“What all happened here?” Marion demanded, his voice clear and sounding rather refined.

Mitchell held out the notebook open to the first page, all of which were marked by bloody fingerprints from his hands and grimy fingerprints from other men.

“A report in duplicate and all witness statements,” Mitchell replied.

“And who are you?” Marion inquired, looking rather disdainful.

“Parker Newton, sir,” Mitchell replied. “Pardon the mess, I had to use something to stop the bleeding before the medics arrived.”

“Why didn’t someone call me?” Grover demanded. “All of the sudden I hear an ambulance and I see it leaving!”

“I’m sorry sir,” Mitchell said. “I was down in the dry dock, I don’t know that there’s a telephone down there or I would’ve made sure someone called.”

“And who put you in charge?” Marion inquired sternly.

“Well, I just took charge, sir,” Mitchell replied. “I knew the crane operator would’ve died if I didn’t act and no one else was moving, so I moved.”

Marion looked at the notebook carefully, holding it with his fingertips as he read and turned the pages.

Grover looked at the pages intently as he stood beside Marion.

Mitchell felt uncomfortable, hoping that no one would be upset at him for what he’d done, seeing as he’d sort of ended up going back to England. After all the events were rather similar to when one of his comrades’ engines had died and he ended up crashing his plane into a stand of trees.

He’d escaped in better shape than the crane operator, but in that situation Mitchell had similarly just taken control and led the charge to not only extricate his comrade, but clean up the wreckage entirely and have the plane deconstructed into parts that could be selvaged for other uses and parts that were so ruined all they could be used for was melting down and remaking.

“Rather comprehensive,” Marion said. “Have you dealt with accidents before?”

“Yes sir,” Mitchell replied. “A friend of mine was in an accident a couple years ago, less severe, but still, I ended up organising the efforts to get him to a hospital and clean up the mess.”

“How long have you been with us?” Marion asked.

“A month sir,” Mitchell replied.

“He’s the mechanic in replacement of Palmer Tellier,” Grover said.

“Then what was he doing in the dry dock?” Marion asked.

“We don’t have enough mechanic work to keep him busy,” Grover replied. “So we send him to do odd jobs where we need an extra body.”

“Raise him to six months wage,” Marion said. “That sort of valour cannot go without reward.”

Mitchell startled. A raise? Just like that? At least he wasn’t in trouble.

Taken: Day 13

Word Count: 78,238

Summary of Events:

Mitchell went to the bar after work and chatted with Walton a bit about Dolly, but other patrons served to hamper the conversation by calling Walton away. Mitchell gave Dolly the second instalment of money to repay her for giving him everything she had so far thanks to his having received a second paycheque. Mitchell and Dolly had Saturday brunch together during which Mitchell was frustrated by Dolly's insistence that she wasn't beautiful and would be a burden if he were to marry her; he then accompanied her to an audition where he ended up playing the role of a boy proposing to her as the girl where the director actually complimented their performances . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

“So where to next?” Mitchell asked Dolly once he caught up to her.

“I don’t know,” Dolly replied morosely.

“He complimented you,” Mitchell said.

“That’s only because you were there,” Dolly said. “You were the one he liked.”

Mitchell sighed. What was he supposed to do with this girl?

He was startled by a shrill scream and looked up to see a blonde young woman with brown eyes and a disconcertingly familiar face looking at him with horror.

“Last I checked that wasn’t how you say hello Mavis,” Dolly said tersely.

“Who is that?” Mavis asked.

“Parker Newton,” Mitchell replied, offering his hand and thickening his accent.

Mavis looked at him warily for a few moments before taking on a snobbish carriage.

“Oh, I mistook you for someone else,” she said snippily, not touching his proffered hand.

“Oh,” Mitchell said. “And you are?”

“Mavis Rollins,” Mavis replied haughtily. “You aren’t trying to take my part as Susan Bennett are you Dolly?”

“If it’s your part then why’s there still a lineup?” Mitchell demanded.

“Because he hasn’t realised it’s my part yet,” Mavis replied.

“Maybe it’s Dolly’s part,” Mitchell said.

“She has no experience being in love or in movies,” Mavis replied. “I have both.”

“If my Mama wouldn’t have raised me better I’d slap you right now,” Mitchell spat.

Mavis recoiled in arrogant horror.

“Dolly doesn’t need to be a buxom blonde in order to get her name in lights,” Mitchell said. “Being blonde ain’t the only way to be beautiful. In fact, she may be even more beautiful because she ain’t blonde.”

“Ugly women end up in the movies too,” Mavis sneered.

“Why you–” Mitchell cut himself off and moved in to slap her.

Mavis screamed.

Mitchell stopped himself, but stood toe to toe with her.

Staring hard into her dark brown eyes, Mitchell swore. “Dolly’s had enough . . . refuse fed to her all her life she don’t need you adding to the pile!”

Mavis looked at Mitchell with shock and horror before turning and stalking off.

Mitchell looked at Dolly, who looked unimpressed.

“She ain’t the only one who talks to you like that, is she?” Mitchell asked.

“No,” Dolly replied. “But I can take care of myself.”

“I don’t care,” Mitchell said. “I can’t stand by and let you be talked to like that.”

Dolly looked mostly unimpressed, but Mitchell was pleased to see that there was a small glimmer of appreciation in her eyes.

Glancing toward where Mavis had gone, though, Mitchell felt a little bit of disturbance. Why did he recognise Mavis’ face? Why did she strike him as so familiar?

Taken: Day 12

Word Count: 72,012

Summary of Events:

Mitchell was struggling to figure out why one of the trucks he was tasked with repairing wouldn't start, and had been for over a day already, but was relieved to take a break for lunch and talk with his coworkers about Marion Edgar again, although this time one of his coworkers actually brought up the assault allegations as a whole, commenting that he was tired of hearing about them . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

“Why are you tired of it?” Mitchell asked.

“Because I think they’re trying too hard,” Nelson replied.

“To do what?” Mitchell asked.

“Keep it in the papers,” Nelson replied. “I mean, it’s been, what, three weeks since that happened?”

“Something like that,” Jokes replied.

“And yet here it is, still front-page news with nothing really more to be said about the story,” Nelson said. “It’s like they’re bound and determined to make this Sergeant Becker kid out to be worse than Hitler.”

Mitchell nodded. He certainly felt like he was being portrayed as one of the most evil of evil men, and yet he’d fought on the good side during the war.

“It’s as if they mean to drag his name through the mud so long and hard that his name becomes one with the mud,” Nelson said. “It’s ridiculous. They didn’t even talk about Hitler like this.”

“Have they talked about any other criminal like this?” Mitchell asked. “Or purported criminals?”

“Not that I can remember,” Nelson replied.

“The whole thing with Marion’s daughter coming to visit, though,” Bertie said. “That is the thing that still sticks with me. I haven’t heard anything about her being in town before, but here she suddenly shows up in town and creates front-page news without a suggestion that this is the first time she’s been in LA since the divorce.”

“How bad was the attack?” Mitchell asked.

“It doesn’t sound like it was all that bad,” Nelson said. “No one’s mentioned her having any bandages or scars from it.”

“Oh,” Mitchell said. “Then why are they still talking about it? Is the trial happening?”

“No, I don’t think the trial’s expected to happen until next year sometime,” Nelson replied. “Besides, I’ve heard nothing about Sgt. Becker’s side of the story; it’s almost as if he disappeared off the face of the earth or something like that. The only time he’s talked about is in the sensationalist articles about how Marion’s daughter’s recovering.”

“What does he look like?” Mitchell asked. “This alleged culprit?”

“I don’t really know,” Nelson replied. “In most of the articles — no matter the publishing paper — he’s described as fat and generally ugly, with it even being suggested he’s somewhat old, but yet he’s also described as a young man, and the one article said he was handsome and muscular, a typical young GI.”

“Seeing as he’s a soldier you’d hope he’d look the typical young GI,” Jokes said.

“Especially when he’s only a Sergeant,” Bertie said. “It’s not until a soldier gets to being a General, hyphen or not, that they get fat and rather complacent.”

“Yeah,” Nelson agreed. “So it can’t really be said what he looked like. No one seems to actually know.”

“Interesting,” Mitchell said. 

“It’s just a strange case,” Nelson said. “The whole thing has inconsistencies and unexplained, unanswered questions.”