Inadvertently Entangled: Day 2

Word Count: 12,034

Summary of Events:

Pierson was taken by the man with the moustache and the slim man — whose names he learned were Clem and Arek, respectively — to a house, where they told him he'd be staying until they could determine how to get him out of Poland. Having slept alone in a basement room for the night, it wasn't until the following morning that Pierson discovered the woman whose home he was staying in was also hosting two Jewish families when he was invited to join the household for breakfast…

Excerpt of the Day:

As the food was passed around, conversation started, but it continued to be in the same language, which Pierson was supposing to be Yiddish or Hebrew, as it didn’t sound like the Polish he’d spoken the evening before.

The man who’d offered the prayer made eye contact with Pierson as Pierson passed a dish on and spoke in the language. Pierson was sure the man expected him to understand and reply, but he had no idea what had been said to him.

An understanding look came over the man’s face. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

The man thought he was afraid to speak.

“I don’t know what you said,” Pierson replied. “I don’t know that language.”

Everyone around the table — including the woman he recognised — startled, and many immediately looked alarmed, while the men and boys looked suspicious and defensive.

“What languages do you know?” the man demanded.

“English… and Polish,” Pierson replied. He was pretty sure those were the only two languages Uncle Ashford had known.

A scan of the faces around the table made it clear that no one was really all that inclined to believe him, including the woman he recognised and was presuming to be the hostess.

They probably all thought he was some sort of German traitor — not that he’d ever met a German with rich auburn hair such as he’d verified was still on his head in the bathroom — so telling them he was a Canadian from the 21^st century wouldn’t do him any good, and he didn’t recall Uncle Ashford sharing any stories about being accidentally mistaken as a Jew by Jews.

“There is nothing to worry about, as you said,” Pierson said — not that he was sure why, but he forced himself to look calm. “Even though I am not of your people, I am an ally and am here in an effort to help you. I care deeply for you, and am sympathetic to your plight, but, unfortunately, my ability to help you has been compromised and my life has become as imperilled as your own, thus I am here with you instead of out doing the work to help you that I would like to do. Do trust me, please. I am a friend of Clem and Arek, and they will vouch for my identity, I can assure you.”

“They’d better,” the man who’d prayed warned before taking up his utensils and starting to eat.

Everyone around the table followed the man’s lead, although Pierson could tell they were all massively suspicious of him, including his presumed hostess, who looked rather flustered.

Pierson felt badly, but nonetheless followed the lead of those with him and started eating the breakfast, which had what he felt was an appropriately Eastern European flavour to it, not that he was sure how he knew what an Eastern European flavour was, as he was rather used to North American, Hispanic, Asian, and Italian cuisines. He wasn’t even sure that he’d ever seen an Eastern European restaurant anywhere that could possibly have given him the opportunity to try Eastern European food.

Pronunciation:

Arek: ahrehk

Inadvertently Entangled: Day 1

Word Count: 6,068

Summary of Events:

Waking up, Pierson finds himself in a very old-fashioned hospital room. He soon comes to realise that somehow he's in 1943, living the experiences of his great uncle, who was hospitalised in Kraków after running away from an SS roadblock and getting into an accident, following which his car was shot up and burned by the Germans, while he was rescued by the Polish resistance and taken to the hospital. Two men whom he presumes are associates of his tell him most of the information, as even though he nearly knows his great uncle's stories by heart, he finds some parts of them hard to remember — but not as hard to remember as what happened to him in the real world that got him into the past. When it comes time for him to be released from the hospital, the men bring him fresh clothes and Pierson suffers a nearly nauseating dizzy spell when he sits up to put them on…

Excerpt of the Day:

“Maybe move a little bit more gingerly next time,” the man with the moustache said, a sympathetic and rather paternal smile on his face.

The man with the moustache helped Pierson remove the long nightshirt he’d been wearing and start dressing in his clothes, except they weren’t his clothes.

Nothing had elastics in it — not even his underwear — and the shirt, pants, and suit jacket were all even more fitted than he usually wore, and he did prefer his suits to be on the more fitted side when he had to wear them.

In fact, his socks were held on with garters which felt beyond weird against his legs, and he was glad the man with the moustache had put them on so he wouldn’t have to bend over and suffer the lurching throes of dizziness again, as he had no idea how to put them on or attach his socks, but he felt absolutely ridiculous, and he wished that elastic had been invented by 1943, as he didn’t know how he was supposed to dress himself if he had to stay in 1943 much longer.

Once his shoes were on — having been tied by the man with the moustache — he was then slowly eased to his feet by the man with the moustache, for which he was grateful, as a second wave of dizziness came over him whose severity he was confident the slow and gradual nature of the action had mitigated.

The slim man then lifted the coat off his arm and he and the man with the moustache manoeuvred it around Pierson, who slid into it easily and comfortably, fastening the familiar buttons himself.

Lifting the pocket flap, he reached into the deep, roomy pocket — even for a man’s coat — expecting his fingers to make contact with his cellphone, but he felt nothing remotely like the slim-but-sturdy case of his phone, or its sleek screen.

A check of his right pocket yielded the same. But this was his coat! He knew this coat inside and out. This was the coat he’d taken from Uncle Ashford’s effects when the family had gone through Uncle Ashford’s stuff after the stuff he’d specifically willed to people had been dispensed. His cellphone and his wallet, for sure, ought to be in the pockets, but neither were present. What had happened to them? Who’d stolen them?
“I’ll go warm the car,” the slim man said.

The man with the moustache nodded and Pierson watched him go. As soon as he’d recognised the coat he’d been confident he’d find what he needed to prove that he wasn’t Uncle Ashford, but those items had been removed, and he felt horribly disheartened.

“Once he’s warmed the car up a few minutes we’ll go out and join him,” the man with the moustache said.

“Right,” Pierson said. How was he supposed to figure out what was going on and get himself back to the present without his cellphone?

October Novel Essential Information

 Novel Title: Inadvertently Entangled

Time Setting: 1943

Genre: Historical

Minimum Word Goal: 90,000

Timespan: October–November

Locations: Kraków, Nazi-occupied Poland; Budapest, Kingdom of Hungary

Main Characters: Pierson Edwards

Background Information: 

Born the only son and oldest of two children to his parents, Pierson is the middle of five children his father has through three marriages, and the first of three children his mother has through two marriages.

His parents divorced when he was six because his mother had discovered his father was having an affair with the woman who is now Pierson’s stepmother, and Pierson spent his early childhood with his mother before choosing to live with his father as a teenager.

This led to Pierson’s spending more time with his paternal family, which includes his great uncle, who is known even to him, his cousins, the children of his older cousins, as Uncle Ashford, who is his grandmum’s sister.

Uncle Ashford and Pierson’s grandmum were born in England, with his grandmum having met his grandfather owing to his grandfather having been a member of the Royal Canadian Air Force during WWII, following which they were married and emigrated to his grandfather’s home province of British Columbia.

Since Uncle Ashford and Pierson’s grandmum, as well as their mother, were the only members of the family who survived the war, Uncle Ashford and Pierson’s great-grandmum — who died before he was born — emigrated to Canada in the 1950s to be closer to family.

Having never married, Uncle Ashford nonetheless delighted in his nieces, nephews, and subsequent generations, and often regaled them with stories of his war experiences, which included being in MI6.

Pierson, as those before him, found the stories entertaining, but as he got older he began to question if things were quite as cut and dried as Uncle Ashford — and his grandfather, who also shared stories of being in the RCAF — had always said they were.

He isn’t completely a Holocaust denier, but he does question whether some of the atrocities Uncle Ashford attested as being part of the Holocaust really happened, and particularly to the degree Uncle Ashford claims they did, and he also questions how many Nazis were actually complicit in the operation.

As a result, in Uncle Ashford’s later years, Pierson got into some discussions with him that turned into arguments in which neither he nor Uncle Ashford gave any quarter, and Uncle Ashford died at the age of 101 without Pierson having convinced him to soften his line or his having convinced Pierson to harden his.

Thankfully, since Uncle Ashford’s death — followed shortly by that of Pierson’s grandfather — the evils of the Nazi and the Holocaust have faded from family conversation, to the point that Pierson has effectively forgotten about them.

Pronunciations:

Kraków: krohkoof

Budapest: buhdahpehsht

Under Illusion: Day 20

Word Total: 120,021

Year to Date: 810,317

Summary of Events:

Having had all the necessary surgeries on his hand unless problems arose during physiotherapy, Trace was released from hospital to go back to Spokane. Because his wounded hand was his gear-shifting hand, Bentley offered one of his appropriately licensed men to drive Trace and his load back to Spokane, while Dallis was to fly back to St. Louis with her brothers. Neither of them were eager to part, even though they exchanged phone numbers, with Dallis actually bursting into tears that Trace tenderly soothed when they could no longer put off their separation…

Excerpt of the Day:

“But we should get going,” Trace said.

Dallis nodded and started to loosen her grasp around his neck.

Before she’d fully released him, however, she looked up at his face. She couldn’t let him go without saying it.

“I love you Trace,” she whispered.

Trace looked a little surprised, and even somewhat disbelieving. Before he could say anything, however, Dallis grasped his neck in both hands and pressed her mouth against his, which she could tell also caught Trace by surprise, but he responded favourably, drawing her close to him with his hand and pressing his lips back against hers.

Dallis savoured the moment, knowing that it would very reasonably be at least a week or two before she saw him again, not to mention, it was the first time she’d kissed a man on the lips since she given Papa good-night pecks on the mouth as a little girl, and she felt that it was everything she’d hoped it would be, and more.

Eventually, however, she was forced to withdraw, mostly because she felt like her mouth was getting tired. Trace looked at her affectionately as he drew back far enough that she could see his face.

“I love you too,” he whispered. “But I’d better get going or we’re going to need a room.”

Dallis nodded and released his neck, watching as he took up the handle of his suitcase and towed it after himself to his truck, where Bentley’s man who’d be driving it for him opened the door and loaded the suitcase in before standing ready to give Trace a hand if he needed it, but Trace got up on his own easily.

The driver then closed the door and went around to the driver’s side while Trace stowed his suitcase before taking the passenger seat and fastening his seatbelt. Dallis felt fresh tears come to her eyes as Trace made eye contact with her through the windshield.

She felt an arm come around her shoulders and turned to see Javor was the owner of it. He rubbed his hand up and down her arm. She leaned her head against his shoulder and looked back at Trace, who was still looking at her, and looking like he might break down too as the truck’s engine roared to life.

Trace turned and gave the driver some instructions, it seemed, before looking back at her and not breaking gaze even as the truck slowly rolled forward, passing her and Javor, as well as Ratko and a small handful of other personnel who were in the parking lot watching it leave.

Dallis watched until the truck disappeared from sight, then she turned and buried her head into Javor’s shoulder. This was certainly not how she’d expected to feel once she’d completed her first solo job.

Next Post: 2 October

Under Illusion: Day 19

Word Count: 114,044

Summary of Events:

Bentley arranged for Trace to be taken to hospital, with Dallis accompanying him, where his hand was determined to have been quite damaged owing to the bullet's angle of entry, requiring several surgeries that kept Trace in hospital and under the influence of painkillers for a few days before he was lucid enough that Dallis could explain what had happened since to him, starting from when the shooting had all happened…

Excerpt of the Day:

“Oh,” Trace said. “Then what happened?”

“The two men holding you were loyal to Bentley, so they moved Litton and Pancho out, as well as bringing you and Bentley down to the main floor,” Journey replied. “You and I were then taken to an alley and an ambulance and police were called.”

“What?” Trace asked. “Taken to an alley?”

“Yes,” Journey replied. “Bentley doesn’t want his gang to get found out, so he had two of his men feign a gunfight and I told the police that you and I had been innocent bystanders who’d fled into the alley for refuge from the shooting, but you’d accidentally been hit by a stray bullet. As far as they know we’re boyfriend and girlfriend, just so you’re aware of that.”

Trace nodded. He liked that thought.

“Outside of that you’ve been in surgery,” Journey replied.

“What about your brothers?” Trace asked. “You said they were in Tucson.”

“I did tell them to come as we were taken up to where we found Bentley,” Journey replied. “They ended up being hit by somebody who’d run a red light up in Tucson and their car got wrapped around a tree, but they’re fine, the rear of the car was hit, so they got another car and came down.”

“Wow,” Trace said. “They’re all conspiring together to get the load?”

“No,” Journey replied.

“But, why not?” Trace asked.

“Bentley isn’t interested in forging the alliances Litton wanted to forge with the cargo,” Journey replied. “He’s got a man lined up to drive you and your load to Spokane once you’re released.”

Trace couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Seriously?”

“Yes,” Journey replied.

“But didn’t he give you the orders?” Trace asked.

“He made the arrangements with us in St. Louis,” Journey replied. “But only because Pancho — who was with him — would’ve killed him if he didn’t. He chose us because he hoped we’d be able to help him get free of Litton, and we have, so he’s giving us extra money.”

“Oh,” Trace said. That had to be nice.

“Trace,” Journey said, reaching a gentle hand up to turn his face to look at her. “I’m not keeping mine.”

“What are you going to do with it?” Trace asked.

“I’m going to pay your medical bills,” Journey replied. “Not only here, but if you need anything further done in Spokane.”

Tears came to Trace’s eyes unbidden. He had no words. He looked away.

“It’s the least I can do,” Journey said, sounding emotional for herself. “I mean, I got you into this mess, after all. And, like I’ve said before, I don’t need it. Besides, I know you’re trying to get ahead, and you’ll probably have lost your job because of me anyways, so I might as well try to make up for it if I can.”

Trace nodded, turning to look back toward Journey, whose face was blurred in his tears. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Journey whispered softly.

Under Illusion: Day 18

Word Count: 108,034

Summary of Events:

Dallis supervised as Pancho and two other gangsters searched Trace's truck for a key to the lock on his trailer, but found none — which didn't surprise Dallis — before trying to break the lock and the trailer, but finding they didn't have the tools strong enough to do either. The blond man, very upset, had Trace taken to a room to be tortured for the truth, where Dallis was surprised to see a battered Bentley, as she followed to see what was going to happen to Trace, who continued to protest his innocence and civilian status, to the rage of the blond man, who struck him across the face with a stick in anger…

Excerpt of the Day:

“How dare you insult Litton Kane!” the man shouted.

“He’s not a gangster,” Dallis spat. “He’s just an ordinary citizen.”

The blond man stalked toward her, looking intent to use his stick on her.

Before he could get into arm range Dallis struck him with a solid kick to his ribs that caused him to crumple to the floor in pain, where Dallis kicked him a couple more times.

“How you ever got Al and Bentley to work for you I can’t begin to imagine,” Dallis spat.

“Al was never in allegiance with us,” Pancho said.

“Litton is my uncle,” Bentley said.

Dallis turned and saw Bentley had managed to get himself leaned back against a wall, although he still looked and sounded to be in more pain than when she’d entered the room.

“Paternally, obviously,” Bentley continued. “They never got along. Dad was older, more charismatic, better organised, taller, stronger.”

“Was?” Dallis asked.

“Nonetheless, Dad gave Litton a place in his gang, and a pretty good one too,” Bentley continued, ignoring Dallis’ question. “But that wasn’t good enough for Litton. He needed the power for himself, so he struck out on his own to build a competing empire, which is a little bit easier said than done, especially considering his superiority complex. So he decided to go the hostile takeover route and killed Dad, threatened to murder and otherwise destroy all the women and children in order to get Dad’s men to do his bidding, and means to sell the cargo of the truck to Mexican cartel lords he wants as allies for a smuggling operation in order to give himself greater glory than Dad ever achieved. Or so he thinks.”
“Or so I think!?” Litton shouted, surging up from his crumpled heap on the floor.

He drew a pistol from somewhere and fired it at Bentley, missing wildly. Dallis could tell Litton wasn’t aiming at all as he fired, thus only a few of his shots grazed Bentley, while the rest embedded around him.

“You have the aim of a Stormtrooper,” Trace said.

Immediately Litton whipped around and fired with a similar wildness at Trace, except that his bullet made a more significant contact with Trace than any he’d fired at Bentley had, as blood immediately started flowing down the back of Trace’s hand and a look of significant pain came over Trace’s face.

Dallis immediately drew her gun and fired two shots, one into Litton’s gun-holding hand, the other into his hip, prompting Litton to crumple to the floor in pain. She then turned to Pancho, whom she saw had his gun out as well.

She shot his gun out of his hand and then fired a second shot into his shoulder before turning to the men holding Trace, who both immediately raised their hands, releasing Trace, who crumpled to the floor, clutching at his hand. 

Under Illusion: Day 17

Word Count: 102,045

Summary of Events:

Trace was disheartened to not reach Tombstone — where he'd hoped to be able to escape with the help of locals, and especially law enforcement — before being required to turn onto the next part of the route to the ultimate destination of Fairbank, a ghost town, where they met the gang leader, whom Dallis was surprised and wary to observe wasn't Bentley, or Al, although he did look like a relative. Both of them were rather astounded that the gang leader seemed to think Trace was also a gang leader, although Trace was grateful to merely be herded into the backseat of a car instead of shot as he'd feared. Dallis, however, was forced to endure the company of the gang leader, whom she didn't like at all, as they drove to Nogales, with a gang member driving Trace's truck after them to a warehouse, where the gang leader wanted to inspect the load…

Excerpt of the Day:

They walked up to a loading bay, against which the rear of his truck’s trailer was pressed, the overhead door that sealed the bay having been raised out of the way. Two men were standing by the closed doors waiting.

“Why isn’t it open?” the blond man demanded.

“We don’t know this lock,” one of the men replied. “It doesn’t have a keyhole.”

“What?” the blond man snapped. “Pancho!”

The grey-haired man walked up to the door and examined the lock critically for a long time.

“What is it Pancho?” the blond man demanded. “You know locks!”

“My guess is that it must be some sort of an electric lock,” the grey-haired man — Pancho, apparently — replied.

“An electric lock?” the blond man asked. “What is an electric lock?”

“That’s the only way I can figure it,” Pancho replied. “I would suppose that some sort of electronic, or maybe even magnetic, charge is required to be applied to the lock before it can open.”

“You don’t even know!?” the blond man demanded, sounding upset.

“No,” Pancho replied. “I didn’t realise there was such a thing as keyless, buttonless locks.”

“Even my lock expert hasn’t seen a lock like this,” the blond man said. “Why are you my lock expert?”

“Because I know locks,” Pancho replied. “But surely our driver has the key, even if it is not a key by convention.”

The blond man turned and looked at Trace. “Where is the key?”

“I don’t know,” Trace replied.

“You have to have the key!” the blond man snapped.

“I didn’t load the trailer,” Trace replied. “I don’t even know what’s in it. I just know it’s loaded, and that the load just about maxes out my GVW limit.”

The blond man scoffed profanely. “You, of all people should know what’s in your truck and how to access it!”

“I’m not a gangster,” Trace replied. “I’m just an employee of ESM. I know nothing about what they do.”

The blond man shouted his profane disagreement, stalking toward Trace, which revealed he was hardly taller than Journey. “I will not be lied to!”

“I’m not lying!” Trace exclaimed.

Forcefully the blond man slapped Trace. “You will not fool me!”

“Seriously?” Journey asked.

The blond man whipped around to look at her.

“You seriously believe he’s a gangster?” Journey asked.

“Why wouldn’t he be?” the blond man demanded. “He had gangsters protecting him.”

“What?” Trace asked.

“How do you know?” Journey asked.

“My men know what gangsters look like,” the blond man replied. “Every single man they liquidated was a gangster.”

“What!?” Trace exclaimed. He wanted to exclaim further in his disbelief of what he was hearing, but he didn’t know what to say. All of the men in all of the black cars that’d been following him around and forcing him around were gangsters? Was that why he’d never been told what he was doing? Because he worked for the front of a gang?