The Monocle Man Read online

  Contents

  TITLE PAGE

  copyright/thanks

  dedication

  Chapter One Brookwise, NH

  2

  3

  Chapter Two Satin City Wharf

  Chapter Three England, 1919

  2

  3

  Chapter Four Brookwise, NH

  2

  Chapter Five Satin City Wharf

  2

  3

  4

  Chapter Six England, 1919

  2

  Chapter Seven Brookwise, NH

  2

  3

  Chapter Eight Satin City

  Chapter Nine England, 1919

  2

  3

  Chapter Ten Brookwise, NH

  2

  3

  Chapter Eleven Satin City

  Chapter Twelve England, 1919

  2

  3

  Chapter Thirteen Brookwise, NH

  2

  Chapter Fourteen Satin City

  The Dream?

  The Long Drive

  The Warehouse

  The Diner

  The Warehouse 2

  On The Road

  Chapter Fifteen England, 1919

  2

  Chapter Sixteen Brookwise NH

  2

  Chapter Seventeen Loch Ness, Scotland

  2

  Chapter Eighteen Beyond The Veil

  2

  3

  Chapter Nineteen The Crash

  The Trap

  The Crash 2

  The Trap 2

  Chapter Twenty Loch Ness, Scotland, 1919

  Chapter Twenty-One Beyond The Veil Part 2

  2

  3

  Chapter Twenty-Two After The Crash

  Chapter Twenty-Three Loch Ness, Scotland

  Beyond The Veil Part 3

  The Farmhouse

  Loch Ness, Scotland 2

  The Warehouse 3

  Chapter Twenty-Four Beyond The Veil 1

  The Farmhouse 1

  The Arena of Souls

  The Farmhouse 2

  Arena of Souls 2

  The Farmhouse 3

  Arena of Souls 3

  The Farmhouse/Veil

  Beyond the Veil

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  The Way Home

  The Wreck/Aftermath

  England, 1919

  Chapter Twenty-Five Epilogue

  Epilogue

  Chapter Twenty-Six acknowledgements

  About the Author

  About the Author

  Sentries of Time Sneak Peak

  Sentries of Time Sneak Peak

  The Strange Sneak Peak

  The

  Monocle

  Man

  JB Murray

  Copyright (C) 2018 by JB Murray

  Published by Indies United Publishing House, LLC

  All rights reserved worldwide. No part of this publication may be replicated, redistributed, or given away in

  any form without the prior written consent of the author/publisher or the terms relayed to you herein.

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2019905179

  First Edition published May 2019

  First eBook Edition published May 2019

  ISBN: 978-1-64456-036-5

  For Tiger…

  Rarely does a day go by when I don’t think about you my friend. The laughs… the moments of levity… the unassuming way you faced every challenge with the slightest smirk, as if you already had the problem conquered. Your companionship remains indispensable even to this day, even now that you’re gone. A brotherhood forged not only in the music we made, but in the moments of compassion and love, truth and vulnerability we shared. You were worth so much to so many of us, and I can only hope you left this world knowing how much you were respected and loved. Rest easy my friend. I’ll see you again, on the road back home.

  CHAPTER ONE

  BROOKWISE, NH

  BROOKWISE, NEW HAMPSHIRE

  Night drops in on the old New England town of Brookswise, as it is wont to do following the chill of a snowy, February afternoon. The sun has just set, casting the slightest hues of pinks and oranges that slither through the cracks in the overcast blanket of dusk. Soon, the little town’s world will be devoid of any light. The moon, in its first phase, sits a slender, hooked thing, up behind the clouds.

  It’s cold, as it should be this time of year. The temperatures dipped somewhere below freezing earlier, but it’s hardly enough to invoke a reaction from any seasoned New Englander. One might consider it a little nippy, jacket weather for certain, but no need for gloves or a scarf. Unless you planned to be out in it for some time. But that chill waned as the sun rose and took its rightful place in the heavens; as the day crept from morning to afternoon. And with it came the snow.

  The snow carried through most of the afternoon, starting before lunch, and continues to spit as the clock ticks toward dinner time. The blankets of white, pure and untouched cascade over the small town, draping over the remaining leaves, the thick needles of pine and the yellowing grass below. It cloaks the imperfections of a withering season, hinting to a sense of newness; rebirth. Winter; a never-ending love and hate relation with those who work and play in it. Though some might feel the same about summer and the ensuing heat and humidity. Either way, it bears a reminder that time is ticking. The winter is a small reprieve from the other seasons. Necessary yes, in so many ways, but all-together, just another phase of life. No big deal. Except for the Holly brothers.

  The two boys spend most of their time during the other seasons praying for an early winter. One with lots and lots of snow. Winter is more than just a season to them. It’s a defining mark in their everyday lives. An expanse of time reserved solely for the young and playful. And the cold? The cold is such a little thing. An inconvenience at its worst. Nothing so large a coat and a pair of boots can’t conquer. After racing through homework, the two spend their afternoons out in the white, running around, sledding; throwing snowballs at elusive enemies and fiends; building snow forts and conquering a world imagined, as only boys can. Kings of their own realm, warriors through and through. Brent the Brave, and Garrison the Grand. Though, when he was much younger, Garrison preferred the role of wizard to warrior. Now at fourteen, he’s grown out of such things, realizing the improbability of magic, even in an imagined world, and settled upon wielding a sword instead. At least, a sword carved from the branches of an old oak tree his father cut down a year before. He toiled with that branch and a pocket knife his father gave him a few years prior, whittling away until he’d made a blade fashioned of wood.

  Occasionally, Annalise, who lives down the road, ventures up to the Holly house to join the boys. Never the damsel. No. Sometimes a knight, sometimes a witch. Annalise carries herself with the confident stride of a tomboy, never embarrassed by the games they play. In the early years of their games, Garrison gave it little thought. But something changed this winter past. Annalise turned thirteen, and Garrison noticed her in a different light. He would spy her when she wasn’t looking, poised with a sword or wand in her hand, at the new curve in her hips, and the budding of her chest. Her neck seemed longer, and he spent many a night falling asleep thinking of her lips. He couldn’t say why exactly. Well, ok, maybe that was a lie. He might only be fourteen, but he was well aware what it was about those things that drove him nuts. Hormones. Plain and simple. His dad hadn’t yet had “the talk” with him, but this was 2006. Boys his age found more than enough information on the internet.

  Last year he tried talking Annalise into playing the princess. For, if he was a knight, tried and true, cou
ldn’t he win the princess? Couldn’t he at least steal a kiss? He never revealed these things to her. Never suggested the true purpose behind his request. But she was too much of a tomboy to settle for the role. He’d laugh thinking about it. He found her irresistible. She wasn’t like the girls at his school. Now entering his freshmen year, they were all, well, horrible! Sometime during the summer, the girls at school transformed into creatures he couldn’t stand. And understood less. Maybe they all got a little too much sun over the break. Maybe their brains had baked. Because over the summer, the girls that used to laugh and talk with him became more enraptured by their cell phones, their selfies and the clothes they wore. They were even turning up their noses at him now. All except Annalise. So, maybe that was what growing up was all about. He was in no rush. Let them laugh and point fingers if they caught him playing in the snow. Besides, it wasn’t only for him. Garrison also held fast to his imagination for the sake of his little brother.

  Brent was four years younger, by age at least, and younger still in the head. He suffered an accident when he was five, falling from the log pile out back of the house. When sleep alludes him, sometimes Garrison still sees the accident unfold, whether his eyes are shut tight or he’s staring up at the ceiling. Other times, the events of that day come crashing into his dreams without warrant.

  The boys were outside on one of their adventures. Their mother said she’d be down in the basement doing laundry, and asked Garrison to keep an eye on his younger brother. They went running from the house, galloping around the yard, chasing an imaginary dragon. Garrison swore he only lost sight of Brent for a second or two. He’d been hiding behind the side of the house as Brent was coming around the other side of the wood pile so they could surprise the dragon. Or at least that was the plan. But when Garrison stepped out to slay the imaginary beast, Brent wasn’t where he was supposed to be. It was far too late when Garrison spied Brent at the top of the woodpile. Brent was kneeling to get a bird’s-eye view of the dragon. Peeking out over the edge; planning an attack from above. His head turned left, and pivoted to the right, as if he were watching something pass beneath. Then Brent stood, poised for an attack. Garrison panicked, thinking his brother might try to pounce on the scaly beast. He yelled Brent’s named. Brent turned. And Garrison watched in disbelief as a larger piece of kindling slid from under Brent’s foot and sent the boy tumbling off the pile. He missed falling on the back of the ax head, the one secured in the chopping block. But didn’t miss the chopping block itself. The blood was instant and overwhelming, staining both the block and the snow surrounding it. Garrison couldn’t believe there was even that much blood in the whole body, let alone in one’s head. He screamed bloody murder. Soon after, his mother came bolting out of the side door, running over to her two sons, one standing in complete shock, the other lying limp on the ground, eyes closed, unmoving.

  Garrison was convinced he’d killed his brother. Certain the accident was all his fault. It took a long time for his parents, with the help of a psychiatrist to assure Garrison it was only an accident. That he hadn’t been responsible. But he felt responsible. Even today. It was his job to keep an eye on his little brother. And he had been the one who yelled and startled Brent from the pile.

  After what seemed like a never ending stint in the hospital, his brother came home. But he’d never been quite the same. Often a little slow. Some minor speech problems, with an occasional stutter. And he seemed… younger. That was the only way Garrison could describe it. He thought it might be a long time before Brent grew up. If he ever did. The accident stole years from the boy, years he didn’t have to offer up. And so, Garrison resolved himself in staying young also, keeping his brother company, and imagining all kinds of adventures as if he too were much younger than his years insisted.

  The Holly brothers follow tradition today, like any other, and upon finishing homework, set out into the white for a new adventure. Garrison wants to stay inside and master a few of the new video games he’d gotten for Christmas, but Brent insists, as Brent often did on days like this. Their mom tells them not to be too long, as dinner is in the oven and their father should be home early tonight. This is a surprise to all, not just given the weather, but the fact he was almost never home early.

  The boys toy with several ideas for an adventure, but fail to settle on one. Brent follows Garrison out the front door and soon gets lost exploring, forgetting himself in the newly fallen snow. Their small home sits amid what seems, to boys of that age, a never ending forest. The trees closest to the house, are old overgrown things. A couple maple. A few oak. They stand tall and sentinel, like guardians of the world below them. Further out, the wood grows more dense, laced with the same kind of maples and oak, dotted here and there with the white bark of a few birches. Brent often noted aloud to anyone who would listen, his fascination with the birch, and how the black marking on the bark looked like tiger stripes. Past the surrounding maple, oak and birch, stretch an endless wood of pine. They’d grown long and tall over the years, their lower trunks bare of any foliage, their uppers creating a blanket of needling green which blot out most of the sky, especially this time of year when the cloud cover was thick. This design lent itself to the endless depth of the wood. Close to the house, the few large trees provide shade here and there, but let the sun through. But further from the house, the wood grows dark, and darker still the deeper one went. Spooky? Especially at night. Garrison spent many a night, sitting up in his room after the family went to bed, at the window, trying to peer through the darkness and discover something, anything. But once the sun set, the veil remained till morning.

  This is one of those afternoons. Nearing dinner time, what little sun could be had slips lower in the sky, and the murky dark creeps up on the Holly house. There aren’t too many nights when they would go out and play following dinner this time of year. In the summer, things are different. The sun slept less, and the shadows took longer to set. But this isn’t the case now. And that’s why Garrison concedes to the adventure.

  He watches his brother for a moment, as the boy takes step after step, the white climbing above his knees, a look of fascination on his face. Garrison wonders how his brother, with his broken head, perceives such sights. Everything looking so fresh and new. One could almost argue, when there was new snow fall, even the looming dark of the wood appeared less intimidating.

  Garrison decides to let his brother be. Brent seems content at just looking; wandering about. So he doesn’t press the boy to play a game. Of course, it’s also growing too late to take on a true adventure. He wanders from Brent and sits on the front porch. His mind ponders what Annalise might be up to at the moment. Was she running around in the new snow? He doubts it. Maybe she’s sitting by her bedroom window, watching it fall? Maybe she’s wondering what he’s up to! He should ask for her number. He really should. Well, he technically already had it. They’d been friends for years now, their parents long having exchanged numbers. But that was different. He hadn’t asked for the number. Would it be any different? He thought it might! And what if she said no. Well, now this was a whole other world he had given no thought to. She might say no. And then what? It would crush him! They wouldn’t be able to continue their friendship in the same way. The friend he’d grown up with; had plenty of sleepovers and shared family trips with might be lost because of it. She’d stop coming round and their parents would wonder what had transpired. He’d have to confess the situation to his mother, and how he had ruined everything. My god! Maybe he should just keep this crush to himself?

  Garrison sits there thinking these thoughts, his face making silly expressions with every new one that pops into his head. Across the yard, his little brother watches. Brent laughs inwardly at his big brother. Silly faces. Silly, silly Gary! The faces make him laugh. Brent tries to make those faces as well. He wishes he had a mirror so he could see if he’s doing them right! They feel right. They feel funny. He thinks Gary would laugh if his brother could see him. Inside he laughs again
, before launching the snowball he’d been constructing in his hands at his brother, who, taken by complete surprise looks pissed! Oh no! Gary’s mad! Brent worries, but Gary’s face softens, and he smiles at Brent. He’s not mad! Not mad at all!

  “Oh!” Garrison says as he stands. “Oh, you’ll get yours!”

  And with that, Garrison bends down and collects enough snow to construct one of his own. Soon, the war is on. Snow flies in all directions. It starts toward the front of the house with Garrison taking the high ground once he’s made a small collection of snowballs. He climbs on the front porch taking shelter behind the lawn furniture his father never put away; the furniture his mother still nags him about. Brent cries out a “no fair” as each snowball he throws goes crashing into the patio chair, leaving his older brother unscathed. What rubs Brent the wrong way most, is not only that he can’t hit Garrison, but every so often when his big brother pops up and tosses a snowball, his position makes it hard for him to miss. Brent huffs as he misses his next couple of throws, and takes a few on the chest in return. Two more collide into his back as he turns to retreat. Brent slides behind the side of the house, taking cover and making it impossible for his brother to hit him. He waits. Soon, Gary will have to leave his fort and take the offensive. He peeks around the corner a time or two, allowing Garrison to see him clearly. With any luck, his older brother will assume that’s where he’ll try to stay hidden. Brent knows it’s only a matter of time before Garrison will skulk around the side of the house in pursuit. This war is far from over. There is far too much snow for it to end this early. The snow will fly until their mother calls them for dinner, or their father. But they’ve not yet seen the headlights to their father’s SUV come down the long, winding drive. And so, it’s game on!