Austin Magazine article

If you are out and about in Austin, check out the lounge areas in banks, dental offices and doctors' waiting areas for the Austin Magazine.
One of the articles is a story about the writers' group I am in.  The story outlines how our group works and does a little bio on the members.

The fisherman stirred as Karonen hefted him onto the bed. I’ll have to hurry, he told himself. The chain and clamps, necessary to retain his guest in a controlled state until he could convince him of taking on the task willingly, were in a heap, ten feet away. He retrieved the end with the clamp and deftly placed it around the man’s ankle and clasped it shut. The key dangled from a ring on the wall several feet outside of the chamber. The man moved some more. Karonen left and returned a minute later with a pitcher of water and a glass, which he placed on the table next to the bed. He’ll be waking up soon. He backed away from the bed and assumed a position near the doorway of the chamber. A comfortable recliner awaited him there. He would wait.

Five minutes passed before Hecimovich stirred again and stretched his hands up and over his head. His eyelids seemed sticky as they opened. It took a few attempts to get rid of the gooey feeling and his vision to become operable enough to view his surroundings.

He was confused as he silently tried to make sense of his surroundings. Hecimovich slid both of his legs off the side of the bed and let his muddy tennis shoes dangle over the side. His hands gripped the bed on both sides of his legs. He looked around and spotted Karonen sitting in a chair by the open doorway of his…It reminded him of a dungeon.

“What happened to me?” Hecimovich asked in a wavering voice.

Karonen acted as if he didn’t know what to say, but finally spoke. “You’re a guest in my home. Everything will be all right.” 

Hecimovich shuddered and then said, “This doesn’t look like a home, but I’m not sure if I’m seeing things right; it looks like a cave.” He rubbed his now closed eyes with one hand. “I feel like I’m dreaming.” Hecimovich pulled his hand away from his face and appeared to look Karonen in the eyes. “Am I?”

Karonen stared back and answered quietly. “No sir…You’re not dreaming.”

For the first time, Hecimovich noticed the clamp around his left leg and jerked it upward. The abruptness of the motion and the clang of the chains startled Karonen. He jumped to his feet.

“Please, if you relax, it will be better,” Karonen said.

Hecimovich’s eyes had changed from unfocused and drowsy to wild and desperate. “You, you did this to me. I helped you, and you did this.” His head turned from one side to the other with an urgency and fearfulness he had never known. “You’ve got to let me out of here! Why are you doing this? What do you want?” Hecimovich rushed to where Karonen stood, but was jerked back by the short chain and fell forward. Pain wracked his ankle when the clamp cut into his skin. He was just a few feet away from Karonen. 

Karonen pleaded, “Please, I will explain everything, but I need you to calm down, and listen. Please, I need your help!” 

Hecimovich, who lay face down on the floor with his arms outstretched in front of him, clawed furiously at the earth, trying to get to Karonen, who didn’t move a centimeter. Hecimovich continued clawing and yelling until Karonen kneeled and brought himself too close to the fisherman’s grasp. A stab outward and Hecimovich’s hand clamped onto Karonen’s wrist with the force of an electric eel. Yelling and thrashing, and now pulling Karonen closer, Hecimovich felt a surge of adrenalin. He had the older man frightened and desperate. 

Karonen yelped, “No, wait, wait. I need your help. I’m not going to hurt you!”

“I know you won’t you bastard,” Hecimovich yelled. He almost had Karonen’s ankle in his other hand and felt more confident than ever he was going to free himself. Hecimovich had pulled Karonen close enough that he could rise to his knees and increase his leverage. Suddenly, Karonen changed tactics and launched himself forward and smashed his body into Hecimovich’s. Karonen ended on top of him and pummeled Hecimovich’s face with his free hand. The fisherman released his grip on Karonen’s wrist and tried to protect his face, but Karonen had entered the fight or flight mode and now delivered blow after blow to Hecimovich’s face. 

There was one last hurrah left in Hecimovich and he tried to kick the chain attached to his leg over Karonen and tangle him in it. Karonen pulled Hecimovich’s hair, lifting his head off the rock floor, and then smashed his head back down several times. Karonen released the younger man’s head and powered his fists again and again into Hecimovich’s face.

A section of "Murder on the North Shore"

“Oh yeah, lots of people hike this, especially this section. It’s one of the most popular. I mean, I don’t want to give you the impression it’s Hennepin Avenue busy or anything like that, but every few miles you meet people, kind of like the BWCA where you tend to meet a lot of people on the portages. Here, you see them more near the trailheads and sometimes in between. Also, one of the best parts of hiking long stretches is that you can hike off the trail to state park campgrounds or  pick designated spots  right on the trail. It’s very cool.”

Triscuit took a stab in the dark. “You don’t happen to remember meeting a young woman hiking alone? It would have been over a year ago.”

The hiker laughed. “Well, that narrows it down, but remember that woman who went missing hiking this trail alone? Well, my friends and I talked about that after it happened, and we did meet a woman who matched the description, but…who knows, could have been her, but probably not.”

“Where was she, and what direction was she going?” Hodges asked.

“Funny you should ask. It wasn’t far from here, in fact, it was just after the next trailhead, and she was going the way you’re heading now.”

“Did you ever tell the sheriff about it?” Triscuit asked.

“Yeah, we did, but we just didn’t have much information beyond what we told you so I don’t think it helped them at all. They showed us pictures of her, but none of us could be sure it was the same woman, so it probably wasn’t.”

After a little more inconsequential talk about the encounter, Triscuit and Hodges thanked the young man and resumed their hike with a little more spring in their steps.

A visibly excited Hodges took the lead and flailed his arms as he spoke. “This could be important. If this was the woman who disappeared, than we have a timeline and a location where she might have gone missing.”

“Listen, Jasper, the sheriff and the police combed this entire area looking for her and found absolutely nothing. Dozens of volunteers walked the trail, off the trail, some searching for miles beyond where she was thought to have gone missing. There were no signs of her anywhere.”

“Just like my friend, Mr. Tryton,” Hodges said.

They stopped, and Hodges leaned on a beefy, tree trunk while Triscuit stood a few feet away. He slowly pulled the Crusher from his head and mashed it into a ball. He loved that he could do that and the hat would resume it’s natural form when he opened it up again.

“These people, my friend, Seth, didn’t just disappear,” Hodges said as he mashed and then reformed the hat. “To simply vanish, does not make sense to me.”

“It does if they all ended up in Lake Superior. Because of the coldness and bacteria in the lake, they don’t ever see the surface again. Lots of people have never been recovered from the lake,” Triscuit said.

“Oh please… the theory of the man falling into the smaller lake, drifting out of that lake, to the river, down various waterfalls, and eventually settling into Lake Superior is absurd. That man was snatched by someone. And Seth, we have direct evidence that another man pretended to be him and then probably moved his car to the parking area near the lake to give the impression that Seth was drinking and drowned when he fell over a chest high barrier into the channel where the ore boats enter and exit the harbor. Ridiculous! They dragged the harbor and channel and found nothing. And the woman, did she also fall in the water and end up in the lake? Does that make sense?” His eyes were hot and determined as he looked at her.

She said nothing for several seconds, wavering in her own convictions until she spoke, “No, no; it doesn’t.” She stood still for a moment longer and then quietly said, “They could all be alive.” 

Hodges cooled down and nodded. “That is what I am hoping.” 

Next snippet, Murder on the North Shore

Karonen dragged Cassie to his truck. 

I shouldn’t have hit her so hard! Dead or relaxed weight was heavy. He knew that from experience. Lucky for him, she had made it to the road. Carefully letting Cassie down after dragging her for twenty yards, he jogged back to the truck and drove it to her. With difficulty, he hoisted her partially onto the bed of the truck, and, holding her upper body in place, he hefted the rest of her in. After shutting the liftgate, he closed the tonneau cover, quickly returned to the drivers seat and drove back to his home.

Safely back in her quarters, he waited for her to wake. An hour and a half later, she still had not awakened.

He tried shaking her, yelling her name; nothing worked. Karonen paced inside her cell. This would not do. It had been stupid of him to let her escape in the first place. Now, what do I have to work with?

It was an experiment gone bad. He had only wanted to study her reactions, her emotions, and then glean information from her after recapture.

Cassie stirred, then moaned.

Karonen’s hopes jumped. She’s going to make it! A joyous smile appeared on his desperate looking face. He went to her, feverishly arranging her on the bed as she continued to moan. She’ll be okay, she’ll be okay. He didn’t need another companion gone bad. 

The fisherman had been an error. He faulted his judgement for taking him in the first place.

Six months prior to chancing upon Miss Bandleson on the Superior Hiking Trail, he had made the mistake of taking Tom Hecimovich, a younger man than he who was strong and determined. Eventually, Mr. Hecimovich needed to be dealt with in a most severe manner. His body would never be found; Karonen was sure of that.

The palpable relief he now felt released all emotion from him. He sat on the folding chair he kept in Bandleson’s room, and breathed deeply and buried his face in his hands. Five minutes later, after resolving to trap another male, he walked over to Bandleson. 

She opened her eyes and stared at him.

“Welcome back, Cassie,” he said warmly.

She closed her eyes again and turned her face away. He patted her arm and then left.

Pausing at the gate to her chamber, he glanced back, as if he wasn’t quite sure she was all right. Karonen was satisfied when he observed her move to her side; he latched the gate.

“Good night, Cassie,” he said.

Ten hours later, Cassie opened her eyes again. She moved from her side to her back. The bed she lay in was comfortable, to the point of annoyance. She didn’t want to be comfortable in her prison. Anger and despair filled her head as she ruminated about her lost opportunity for escape.

Thinking of escape again, she took stock of her functioning body parts; she moved her arms, legs, fingers, and toes. Everything worked, although her ankle and head still hurt. Cassie also noted she was not chained in any way. She was surprised, but happy for that circumstance.

Her “room” was a rock and timber chamber with a bed, a small bookcase filled with classic literature, a round, wooden table, a mirror, a thick area rug covering half the floor, a chandelier hanging from a massive timber in the center, a portable toilet, and a wash basin. A bucket of fresh water was always provided. At least it always seemed fresh. If she thought of the “room” as a bedroom, it was much larger than anything she had ever possessed. It was probably thirty feet by fifteen with a ceiling height of ten. She could put a children’s basketball court in here, or a wine rack near the folding chair, or flowers on the shelf above the bed. 

She was disgusted with herself. Don’t start thinking of this place as a home. It’s a prison!

While staring at the walls, Cassie stood, walked to the nearest one, and ran a hand along it until she had circled the room. Why isn’t it damp? It should be wet, at least a little. She pondered the question, but didn’t resolve it. During her stay of nine days or so, she couldn’t be sure, the question had never occurred to her before. It doesn’t matter. What difference would it make? 

She sat on the bed and sighed deeply, holding her face in her hands.

I can’t believe I ran right into him! Idiot.  Next time I won’t make the same mistake.

She heard the familiar sound of footsteps and readied herself for the appearance of Mr. Karonen.

“Good, you’re awake. You had a rough night so I brought you croissants, cheese, and meats. The cheese is a nice Blue Castello. It has a soft, buttery and tangy taste. I’m sure you’ll love it,” Karonen said. “And the meats are fresh from the tourist trap right down the highway. The water is from my tap, good Lake Superior water.” He smiled, and placed the tray he had meticulously arranged on the table near her bed. 

The tourist trap down the road? She filed another note in her head. Cassie said nothing, but stared at Karonen, who looked like a jovial grandfather.  She thought, What was wrong with this man?

Karonen seemed to wait for her to speak, so finally, she said it without emotion. “What is wrong with you? Why are you doing this to me?”

He flinched a little before he said, “The croissant is warm and you will want to spread the cheese on it before it gets cold. Please enjoy your meal and we’ll talk later.”

“Mr. Karonen, we need to talk now.” Again, she said it evenly, which seemed to take him off guard.

It was his turn to stare. She stared back…waiting for him to speak.

“I collected you.”

“You collected me.”

He looked away, as if he was searching for something on the wall to her left. She turned to where he stared. On the wall was the photo she had noticed before, but never given much thought. It was a young woman, not pretty, but pleasant looking.

He continued to stare at the photo as if he were immersing himself in every fine detail and extracting every scintilla of emotion he could from it.

“Who is she?” She finally asked.

“Methodist was her name,” he said.

She noted the word ‘was’.

“Do I remind you of her?” She asked.

He smiled wryly. “No,” he said, and then shook his head. The action seemed to relieve him of his absorption with the photo. “No, you are nothing like Methodist.” He paused slightly before he backed from the cell and latched the gate. “I’ll come back for your plate later.”

Cassie looked down and plucked a croissant from the tray. She spread a thick mass of the Blue Castello cheese on it, and then took a large bite of heaven. 

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Another unedited snippet from "Murder on the North Shore"

Her ankle burned; it still bore the marks of leg irons. Reflexively, she rubbed it with both hands. The night was black, interrupted only by a sliver of light from the moon. Sitting on a rock, surrounded by trees, Cassie Bandleson wondered where the hell she was. The opening in the hill that she had crawled from was several hundred yards away. Which direction? She scarcely knew anymore. 

Perspiration dripped from her face to the arm of her flannel shirt. She strained to see anything that would help her decide which direction to run, because run she must. He could return and discover she was gone. Distance needed to be put between her and her prison of ten days, twenty…she really didn’t know how long. There had been no way of telling day from night, only her sleeping patterns helped her estimate the time. Her best guess was that she had been a prisoner of the man for eighteen days.

Cassie stood. Trying to ignore the pain, she stumbled through the dark, brush tearing at her clothes, rocks smashing into her knees, and tree branches swatting her head. My God, I’ve got to make it out of here! Run! 

Her legs pumped her forward as her steeled heart ordered her body to move, and move quickly. She extended her arms and hands in front to protect her face from all obstacles, seen and unseen. Cassie didn’t wonder how her body could take this punishment; when you are running for your life, you don’t care. You just… move.

She pushed forward, the forest seeming to rise up against her, tearing, clutching, ripping at her clothes. And then she fell and tumbled, slamming into trees and boulders before coming to rest at the bottom of a ravine. Breathing heavily, she slowly tried to move her limbs, first her arms, then legs. She laughed. All’s well.

Hearing the rumble of some sort of vehicle in the distance, her hopes rose. Go that way. She literally pointed with her left hand and unconsciously limped toward the sound, but more carefully now. Take it slow.

Following the ravine, which seemed more like a cut in the hillside, she knew she was descending; her momentum was always downhill, even if she couldn’t see well, she could feel it.  The shallow walls of the ravine gave her a sense of being protected. She even started to believe it.

Voices! She heard voices; she was sure of it. Picking her way toward the sound, she was able to tell it was from a radio talk show, playing much too loudly. Maybe it was a couple of kids parked, making out, whatever, they were going to get a surprise from a beaten up, struggling hiker. She smiled as she worked her way closer.

She stood in the shadows, observing, looking for signs of life from the pickup. It was getting later. The radio talk turned to jazz. No kids would be listening to jazz. She turned and melted further into the forest, sneaking a worried peek back at the truck. The dome light was on. Someone had opened the door. She started moving away faster and breathing harder. It was him! Soon she was flailing at branches and running, her heart pounding so hard she thought it would burst from her chest. 

A tree branch caught her in the eye, causing an involuntary scream to mini-erupt from her mouth. Tears came quickly. Hysteria was near as she realized he might have heard the cry. Now, nearly blind in one eye, lost in the night, body aching, she calmed herself as best she could and limped away… until… a flashlight beam illuminated her. Hysteria took full hold, and she turned the other way, screaming, crashing through the brush and trees with the beam of light partially showing her the way until she emerged on a gravel road.

Thunderous footsteps were close behind. She screamed as loud as she could and turned to face him. She flailed her arms and struck out forcefully. The light enveloped her, and pain wracked her head as she went down, crying…and then darkness.

Return to Insula (beginning passage)

Isabel, Kellan’s ninety-year-old mother, dabbed her eyes with a red, checkered handkerchief and cried openly.  Kellan watched.  He felt dead; as cold and dead as Gabe who lay in the cheap pine box he was displayed in. An hour from now, Gabe would go up in flames.  He had always let it be known that he wanted to be cremated and his ashes spread across Insula Lake in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area.

Kellan and Jack, his brothers, would make it happen.  The preparations had already been completed.  Gear and food had been packed.  Tomorrow morning the brothers would load Gabe’s ashes into a hefty bag and stuff them into their camp pack.  

Jack stood next to Kellan, nudged his brother and nodded toward Mavis Telluride, an old girlfriend of Gabe’s.

“They’re coming from everywhere,” Jack said.

“Gabe had a lot of friends across the states.  He was one of a kind.” Several seconds passed before Kellan added, “People remember someone like him, I guess. Friendly, but dangerous.”

Jack laughed, not out loud, but between the two of them as they stood in the receiving line.

“Billy Bobtail didn’t know how dangerous,” Jack said. And then, “At least Gabe took him down with him.  I’m glad of that.”  

Bobtail had been shot with Gabe’s revolver; blood and guts spread over Gabe’s chest, stomach and the tree hut he lived in. The sheriff said it appeared as if they had fought. Gabe died of a knife wound to his chest.  

The authorities pieced together the likely scenario. Bobtail had recently been released from prison and tracked Gabe to his hut in the woods. They theorized his intention was to exact revenge over the incident in the Boundary Waters two years before. A fight ensued and both men died at the hands of the other. It was a neat and simple conclusion; one the surviving brothers had no reason to doubt.

Visitors finally approached them. They shuffled their feet and began shaking hands with the friends and family who were paying their last respects.

Tomorrow, the brothers would load Gabe’s ashes into Kellan’s Ford Escape and the three of them would head for Insula Lake.