Our usual
guest blogger, Carrie L. Lewis, is sick, so December’s crit winner kindly agreed
to share his revision.
(Scroll
down to December 13 for his entry, and back up to December 14 for my critique.)
You will
see a big difference in the pace of
the opening 1,000 words. In 1212RS’s initial entry, his 1,000 words end with
Benny starting his journey. In the
revised 1,000 words, Benny reaches
his destination.
Chapter 1
The jangle
of the bedside phone jarred Benny awake. Before he could mumble a greeting,
angry words hissed from the receiver.
“I suggest
you listen, Mr. Wilks,” said a whining, sibilant voice. “I will not repeat
myself.”
Crank
call? Yeah. That’s probably it.
“I’m
calling on behalf of an old friend. He has information you need and wants to
meet with you immediately. I assure you, it’s very important that you attend
this meeting.”
“Wrong
number, bub.”
“Your
friend Tommy wishes to discuss events that happened in Chicago, many years
ago.”
Benny’s
thumb halted before it reached the “end” key. Air drained from the room, and
dread tightened around his throat. “Who is this?”
“Don’t
interrupt me, Mr. Wilks. We have no time for questions. Consider this call an
invitation–and a warning. Be at the corner of Crichton and Emerald at 1:20.”
The line
went dead.
For a
moment, Benny couldn’t breathe. He blinked, trying to clear his head. But the
call still made no sense.
There was
no way Tommy wanted to see him. Because Tommy died fifteen years ago.
There had
to be a mistake.
But one
word from the call plagued him, preventing his pulse from settling back into
its strong, slow rhythm.
Chicago.
Sweat beaded on Benny’s face despite the cool air.
After his best friend’s death, he’d left Chicago behind.
Left his life behind. Sworn never to return.
Was that a mistake?
Worry rolled in, a storm of long-ignored memories
that threatened to keep him awake all night.
No, he hadn’t made a mistake by leaving. Because yes,
Tommy was dead.
Benny no longer knew anyone in Chicago. No reason to
worry about anything going on in that city.
Yet, how could he ignore the phone call?
He rolled
out of bed and padded to the dresser to grab some clothes. On the way out he
snatched up a shoulder bag crafted from a single piece of weathered walrus hide
and covered with hand-tooled designs. Then he opened the door and scanned the
hallway.
It was
probably nothing, but as he looked over his shoulder, a line from one of his
favorite childhood TV shows came to mind: “My Spidey senses are tingling.”
One deep
breath later, he reached the back stairwell and started down the first of three
flights. He passed his weathered Honda Accord without slowing.
No need to drive. He could walk the eight blocks to Crichton and Emerald with time
to spare. And on his terms. The caller may know Chicago, but Seattle was Benny’s
turf.
A gust of cold air slapped his cheeks. Physical shock
dissipated the effects of the earlier mental one, leaving him sensitive to
every sound, every hint of movement on the darkened streets.
A cold
drizzle began to fall. He resisted the temptation to turn up his collar,
embracing the slight sting of the droplets on the back of his neck. Eyes and
ears adjusted quickly to the night.
As he
continued east on Campbell, Benny raked his memory. Had he heard that hiss on
the phone before? It didn’t sound familiar.
But he had
to be sure. So he forced his mind through the past, dredging up memories of men
with whiny voices. By the end of the third block, he was certain. He did not
know the caller.
Two more
blocks passed before he saw another soul in the darkness. At the corner of
Campbell and Garnet, a beefy man stood under the awning of a closed restaurant,
sending a text message.
Their eyes
met with the wary acknowledgement common to men who cross paths at night: I’m
not looking for trouble, and you won’t get any unless you start it.
Trouble.
Can’t shake that thought.
He was headed
somewhere dark and nasty. Delridge was not a bad neighborhood. But danger
lurked late, even in the nicest places.
Was he
being foolish? Inviting trouble? Probably. Yet
curiosity and an indistinct sense of dread pushed him to keep walking.
His hands
trembled in anticipation and anxiety. With some effort, he stilled their
movement and quashed the urge to walk faster.
No need to
hurry. He would reach the intersection several minutes before the deadline
without rushing. Plenty of time to plan his next move.
He would
calmly observe, then decide, then act.
At the
last apartment house on the sixth block, the rain stopped. The air, thick with
moisture despite the cold, warned that the precipitation had not ended. Just
wandered away for a while and would return.
Two blocks
from the rendezvous, Benny felt a pull in his gut–-instincts pealing a warning.
Something
wasn’t right. But what? After five years in this neighborhood, didn’t he know
the fastest route to the intersection?
Yes. And
that was the problem.
Was he
taking the best route? Fastest and easiest, yes. But the best? What if he was
walking into a trap?
The
simplest path lay one block east to Emerald, which blazed with lights, and one
block south to Crichton.
He liked
simple solutions. They worked.
But not
tonight. A part of his brain that hadn’t spoken up in years would not allow him
to take the obvious route.
So now
what?
He turned
south on Ruby, a residential street that even in bright sunlight did not
warrant its namesake. Benny crept down the middle of the tree-choked lane with
no street lamps, navigating by the chancy landmarks of a porch light on one
side of the street and a TV in a window on the other.
In less
than a minute, he stood behind a tree on Crichton, about ten yards west of
Emerald. Eight minutes early for the rendezvous.
Bark
scraped his cheek as he snuck a glance toward the intersection. Lit by four
streetlamps, the scene held no secrets. But it still made no sense.
A musk ox
sprawled in the center of the intersection.
Thank you,
1212RS, for sharing your revision. I like how you quickly moved Benny out the
door in your new beginning, and then built tension by s-t-r-e-t-c-h-i-n-g out
his journey to his rendezvous.
Blog
reader, did you catch some of the other changes 1212RS made?
