When I'm Sixty Four

~ 1 ~

He was an ideal candidate for the process. A healthy sixty-three-year-old man named Joe Murtaugh. He was brought into St. Catharines General with an ecoli growth that had lodged itself in his spine. He was in pretty rough shape but his medical record showed that this was, other than for a tonsillectomy when he was seven years old, his first serious medical problem.

He was conscious when they brought him in and started doing all the various tests to determine what was wrong with him. Finally, the E-Coli infection was spotted and the surgeon, Dr. Lawrence Freeland was called in and an operation was scheduled. 

Dr. Freeland was one of the country’s finest spinal cord surgeons in North America. But he was also one of the majority investors in, a company called Eternus. 

Before the surgery, Dr. Freeland sat down with Joe to give him a briefing on what was going to happen to him. Joe was pretty weak from the effects of the infection and weary from all the testing that he had been subjected to. But he was lucid and he was quite an intelligent individual, a writer who had worked in advertising for quite a few years and was just recently retired and spending a good deal of his time writing short stories and poetry, which had been his lifelong passions.

Joe was also in good physical shape because his preferred mode of transportation was his bike. He didn’t like to drive, because it made him nervous, which resulted in tics that were very uncomfortable to deal with. So his wife, Donna, did the lion’s share of the driving and felt more comfortable doing that.

It was late in the day. Joe was in a bed at the very rear of the hospital. Dr. Freeland was sitting in a chair just a few feet away.

“OK, Joe, tomorrow morning we’re going to remove as much of this e-coli infection as we can safely get at. From the x-rays I have seen, the damage to your body will be minimal. So that’s good. But I would also like to talk to you about something else.”

“Okay.” Joe said.

I would like to propose something to you. It’s a process one of my colleagues has been developing for several years and is ready for testing.”

“So you need a Guinea pig.”

Dr. Freeland chuckled. “I guess that’s one way of putting it.”

“This process,” Joe said. “What is it designed to do?”

“It’s primarily designed to slow the aging process.”

“And how many more years will it add to my life?”

“Well, that’s what we’re trying to determine.”

“Are there any side effects?”

“Not that we have been able to identify over the past two years of the animal testing that has been done. But I’ll be honest with you, there’s a fair bit of difference between the human brain and any animal brain. So we’re not exactly sure. But there is nothing we have found that would put you in any real danger.”

Joe thought about it for a bit. It was a lot to take in. “So if this process that you subject me to actually works, then it’s quite possible that I could outlive my savings.”

“Yes, that’s possible. So if you consent to this process we will create a trust in the sum of one million dollars that our broker will manage for you. The million is guaranteed no matter how the market goes, and any additional revenues from that invested million will also be yours. Right now the kind of investments are talking about are currently yielding between 8 and 12% annually.

“And how would this work if I said yes to you right now?”

“Well, the surgery will give us access to your spinal cord. The process I’m talking about would simply involve injecting three grams of fluid into it.”

Joe was quiet for a while. But Dr. Freeland was a surgeon and knew this would be a big decision. So he just sat patiently.

“Are there any other conditions?”

“Only three. One, that you agree to a yearly physical, including bloodwork and monthly visits. Two, that this information does not go any farther than your wife. And finally, that you keep a monthly record of anything you are feeling that you would consider unusual and try to describe it in as much detail as possible. We will take your vitals and we can talk about how you are feeling at each meeting. I will give you complete contact information. If I have any questions, leave your number on the reports and I will call you.”

“Do you have any idea how much longer I could look forward to living?”

“That’s a tough one, Joe. You, and several others we will be testing will be setting the standard.”

“So it’s a long game you’re playing here.”

“Yes. But I believe that we will be able to have a good deal of insight after the first year.”

Joe would never admit it, but this appealed strongly to his sense of adventure.

“And you’re sure that even if it doesn’t work, it won’t damage me in any way?”

“As sure as I can be. There were absolutely no harmful side effects in our animal testing.”

“Okay. I assume I have to sign something.”

“Yes.” And he handed Joe a contract form that was written in surprisingly simple English. Joe read it three times and it said nothing that alarmed him. He noted too, that there was no indemnification clause, which meant if something went haywire he was well within his rights to sue. But the very absence of that point, to Joe at least, underscored the confidence that Dr. Freeland and his associates had in the process.

“Okay.” Dr. Freeland clipped the form to a clipboard and handed it to Joe along with a pen, which Joe used to sign the form.

“I’m putting my life in your hands, Doc.”

“We’ll take good care of you Joe.”  Dr. Freeland got to his feet and he and Joe shook hands. “I’ll see you in the morning Joe. Once you are suitably recovered I can give you the financial details and we will work out a schedule of progress review visits.”

“I’d want my wife Donna in on that. She’s the bookkeeper in the family.”

“That’s fine. And thank you, Joe. This is going to mean a great deal to our group and the medical profession in general.” 

Freeland left Joe alone with his thoughts. 

Joe was a writer, had been all his adult life and his writer’s brain took over as he lay there in the bed. He wondered if this would mean he would outlive his wife and even his children. But then he thought about how much more time he would have and all of a sudden his mind was filled up with ideas. 

He was a little concerned about how Donna would react and felt a bit guilty about signing onto something like this without her knowledge. But that was a bridge they would cross when they came to it.

The surgery went well as expected. They didn’t get all of the infection but what little of it was left, Dr. Freeland was convinced, could be taken care of by antibiotics.

After the surgery, Joe slept on and off for the better part of three days. When he finally woke up he felt very thirsty, but hated the hospital tap water. He called his Donna and she brought him in a couple large bottles of water and was overjoyed that the surgery was a success.

The next day Dr. Freeland came to visit him and asked him a series of questions designed to probe his mental and physical condition. Joe got the distinct impression that he was looking for the after-effects of the serum that he had injected into Joe’s spine. But except for Joe’s thirst, Dr. Freeland noticed nothing different.

The next day, Joe got out of bed and walked to the washroom where he had the longest pee of his lifetime. When he came out he sat down in the chair beside his bed.

The ward nurse, Lenore, who was on the regular day shift, walked into his room and was astonished to see Joe sitting in the chair. She changed his bedding and told him that it usually took a couple of weeks before spinal surgery patients would even consider sitting. Half an hour after she left the resident physician, Dr. Kincaid, came into the room. Joe was reading a book on his Kindle at the time.

“Well, you are making some serious progress Joe.” Dr. Kincaid said. looking at his chart.

“If you say so. I have no frame of reference for any of this. But  I have to tell you I’m feeling pretty good.”

The doctor listened to Joe’s heart and his breathing. Then he told Joe to stand up and walk across the room, which Joe did with relative ease. 

“I think you’re a lot closer to being released than we had imagined, Joe. I want to have a chat with your surgeon and we’ll see what we can do about getting you home.”

“That would be just fine with me, Doc.”

Two days later the surgical stitches were removed from Joe’s back and bandaged over.  By this time Joe was wandering the halls of the hospital, and heading down to the canteen for coffee with Donna. 

“According to your doctors, you are something of a medical miracle, Joe. Dr. Kincaid told me it usually takes almost a month to recuperate from this kind of surgery.” Donna said.

“Well, I feel pretty good, right now. Let’s hope I can get my ass back home sooner rather than later.”

“That would be great.”

“There is one thing I want to talk to you about though.”

“Okay?” Donna said. She was a little wary, She and Joe had been married for more than forty years, so she knew when he was being serious.”

‘Yeah. I gave the surgeon permission to perform a test on me, which he did during the surgery. It’s an experimental treatment that has something to do with aging. I’ll let him explain it to you tomorrow when he comes to see me.”

“What exactly does this have to do with aging?” Donna asked, more curious than angry.

“Well, it’s supposed to, if it works, slow down the process of aging.”

“And why did you sign up for this experiment?”

“A couple of reasons. It appealed to my sense of adventure. And secondly, we will be given a million dollars, which they will invest for us, but the million is guaranteed if we outlive our savings.”

Donna was blown away. “A million dollars? These people must be pretty serious, not to mention well-funded.”

 “Yeah, they are. This is just the beginning of their development into anti-aging therapies. Now I know I should have probably talked it over with you. And I’m sorry that I didn’t.”

Contrary to his perception of how Donna might feel, she simply smiled. and said, “It’s okay Joe.” She grabbed his hands. “I’m just happy to have you back in one piece.”

Two days later, Joe and Donna had a quick meeting with Dr. Freeland. He explained everything to Donna and had Joe sign a document which legalized the million dollars. He also gave Joe the card for their broker, Daniel Jamison, and told Joe he would get monthly statements on the state of his million.

Three hours later, Joe was wheeled out to his car. 

The first thing he did when he got home was take a long warm shower. Donna redressed his incision wound and then the two of them went out for dinner to celebrate.

Joe had had a good career in the advertising business, and Donna had worked as a school administrator since their two kids hit high school age. Both kids were grown and married now. Her daughter lived with her husband in Toronto. She was just beginning a career with a non-profit and taught communications at a local university. Their son, who was four years older than his sister, ran a bakery and was married with two boys. They had, just a year earlier, migrated to St Catharines and lived only a few blocks from their house in the north end.

Joe and Donna left Toronto at the height of a housing boom and had gotten an obscene amount for their house in Toronto. So they were able to buy their house in St Catharines outright, with a ton of money to spare. They were not rich by any means but comfortable enough to afford anything they needed. Joe still had a couple of freelance advertising clients but they didn’t take up much of his time. This left a good deal of time for him to devote to other kinds of writing. 

When he was younger he had written a bunch of feature-length screenplays. But that never amounted to anything. But when he got to St Catharines he found that his interest had changed and his writing became more narrative. 

He was anxious to get back to his writing after spending a couple of months being sick and stuck in the hospital. But he was also a logical guy and as soon as he sat down at the computer to write something, he felt the weight of those two months. So he wisely backed off. Donna, who was the voice of reason in their relationship, noticed that he was trying to get back into his routine and told him not to underestimate the amount of time that would take to get back to 100%.

The next morning Joe had some coffee and toast, his usual breakfast and then went out to the backyard to take care of the pool. It was mid-July, and Joe was dying to catch up with his swimming. They opened their pool in late May. But at that point he was feeling quite unwell. 

The sun was just climbing over the tree tops at far end of the yard. Joe hooked up the rolled-up pool cover and cleaned off whatever was floating around on the surface, Then set the pool crawler into the bottom of the pool.  Once that was underway he went into his shed and got out his bike. It was a Raleigh 7 speed that he had purchased the previous fall when his good old Supercycle ten speed finally gave up the ghost. 

He got on the bike and headed out. He wasn’t going to go far, not this soon after getting home. So he rode up to the lake, pulled up to a bench and just sat looking across to see the large metropolis of Toronto, where he had spent most of his adult life, across the wide expanse of the lake and partially blurred in the haze.

He loved sitting on this bench. It gave him a feeling of serenity that was similar to the peacefulness he felt when he was swimming or totally engrossed in writing a story.

He was also thinking about what Dr. Freeland had told him. So he turned his thoughts inward, almost as if he was meditating. He could feel nothing. He was in no pain. He was in no distress of any kind. It was like he was frozen in time. Maybe, he thought, that’s what the serum does. It slows down time as far as far as the body is concerned.

Of course, he wasn’t sure, because he figured that stuff like this would take some time to manifest in his body, especially after the shock of the surgery he’d had. So he turned his mind to other things.

He thought a lot about getting back into his routine, which included a lot of writing, a lot of riding and a lot of swimming. He had, over the past few years, given up on television and professional sports held very little interest for him as well. In the evenings he and Donna would pick something from the vast universe of the streaming services. But that too was another extreme. While network television had become increasingly mediocre and filled with insipid reality shows, the streaming universe grew in leaps and bounds, so they could easily spend half an hour figuring out what to watch. Every once in a while they would glom onto a series that had some intelligence and intrigue. But after a while, he started to notice that, in its own way, even streaming TV gravitated toward certain formulae, the majority of which were designed to feed the TV addiction rather than to tell great stories

So for the next couple of weeks, he rode a little, swam a little and wrote a little. But mostly he just took it easy. He worked hard on paying attention to his body and whatever changes he could note for Dr. Freeland.

Then one day, about two weeks after he had come home, things started happening. When he woke, he found himself almost fully awake, which was quite a bit different from his normal routine. Usually, it took him about half an hour to fully rise up from his sleep. When he got to his feet he didn’t feel the slight twinge of dizziness that he usually felt. He had a shower and quickly got dressed. His surgical wound was pretty well healed by then. He headed to the kitchen and looked at the calendar on the fridge. Donna was off somewhere doing something crafty. She was an artisan who built exquisite miniatures and made highly ornate quilts. When they had moved to St Catharines, she joined a number of craft organizations and took courses from their experts. As a result, Joe was left pretty much to his own devices for the better part of the week.

He made some coffee and toast then sat down at his computer and opened the file that he had created to report on any changes, mental or physical, for Dr. Freeland.

Day 21. Today I experienced something a little different, in that I seemed to have much more energy right out of bed, as opposed to after breakfast. I don’t know what to attribute this to, because it usually takes me a good half hour to become fully awake and aware. Still feeling quite well, no aches or pains. Another thing that I have started to notice is that I have begun to have more vivid dreams, and my recollection of them stays with me for quite a while after I wake up. I think that I will start writing them down writing them down. Today I will try a longer bike ride and see if my stamina is coming back. 

After breakfast, he got dressed, opened the pool then got on his bike and headed several blocks over to the northern end of the Welland Canal, and got on the bike path that ran along the western side. The path was fairly flat so he didn’t have to exert himself all that much. The day was warm but cloudy and there was very little wind, and even if there was a wind it was generally from the west and would blow across his path as opposed to into it. As he pedalled along had started to feel his body telling his brain that he was enjoying himself immensely. He had no particular destination in mind, and while he was riding he did a lot of thinking. Maybe a little more than usual. Ideas floated into his consciousness and took root there, but there seemed to be a bit of a logic them them. They weren’t just random thoughts. They felt like bricks laying themselves in place, one after the other. Every brick was a thought. Every thought was part of a story. He didn’t fight it or try to intellectualize it, he just let them happen, and for whatever strange reason, they stuck around.

He rode for a good two hours. One hour out and one back. By the time he got home,  he was covered with sweat and his water bottle was drained. He locked his bike in the shed and went to the kitchen where he consumed three large glasses of water. He could not remember the last time he felt this alive. It was glorious. It felt like a drug. He stripped off his clothes and jumped into his pool. The sun was high in the sky and he just floated for quite a while while the thought bricks in his head built themselves into a mansion. 

After he was cooled down, he took a quick shower, made himself a salami sandwich, grabbed his laptop and a bottle of water and got himself set up shop at the large metal table on his back deck.

He opened the umbrella on the table to provide some shade and then he started to write. Joe was bound and determined to transpose his dreams onto the page and see where it took him.

Lilli’s Story

Lilli Braithwaite could have been anything she wanted. She was just barely twenty-three, quite beautiful in a very earthy way, statuesque and a ball of energy. She was raised on Long Island, New York and her father was head of the substantially sized Braithwaite Industries, which Lilli and her twin brother, Daniel would inherit one day. Braithwaite Industries was one of the country’s and the world’s largest suppliers of motor engine parts, which, of course, in America ensured that there was wealth aplenty.

Lilli breezed her way through two private schools and Vassar College in upstate New York, where she obtained a Master's degree in fine arts, with a major in American Lit. Her parents, Marcus and Fiona, had high hopes that Lilli would attend the Harvard School of Business and study Business Administration. But Lilli had no interest in the automotive business, even though she would inherit part of one of America’s larger automotive supply companies one day.

After completing her degree at Vassar, Lilli decided to take a year off, which had just begun, and moved into her family’s Manhattan apartment on Central Park West and 71st Street. From there she hiked and biked around the city, watching and recording observations in her formidable brain and noting many in a journal she had started right after high school. 

Lilli had no idea what she wanted to do with her life at this point. The only thing she knew for sure was that she wanted to write. She quickly got the feel for the city’s pulse and saw the highs and the lows from the safe distance that only real wealth can provide. It was obvious to no one but Lilli that she was searching for something, but had no idea what that could possibly be. 

He wrote like this for nearly three hours until the back door opened and Donna stuck her head out to say hi. He returned the ‘hi’ and scrolled to the top of the page he was on. He found that he had written exactly one hundred double-spaced pages. 

He scrolled back up page by page to be sure that was what he had actually done and sure enough, it was. He started to read it and it told the of a young girl fresh out of college who could have done anything she wanted, but more than anything wanted to be a writer. As the story moved along, she met a guy, in a bar of all places. They slowly fell in love and moved in together. Piece by piece young Lilli started to figure out what kind of writer she would be. In a conversation with one of her neighbours, she found that her neighbour’s story was fascinating, and told part of the story of the city where she lived. When he got to the end of what he had written, her character, Lilli and her boyfriend, Ethan, had decided to move in together.

Joe wasn’t so much tired as he was satisfied. For almost two months his mind was nearly blank. He laid in his hospital bed and watched Mexican telenovelas on his iPad. He didn’t have a single thought about writing. In fact, he didn’t think about much of anything. And now, here he was pounding out about a hundred pages in the space of a few hours. He made a note to write that down for Dr. Freeland as well.

A few minutes, Donna came out with her bathing suit on and jumped in the pool. Donna was a backstroker, whereas Joe did the breaststroke. Throughout the good weather, she would do thirty or forty lengths a day and he would do about the same. Today, However, Donna just bobbed around with a floaty toy and her sunglasses on. Joe came over and sat on pool steps

“So how was your day?” Donna asked.

“Good. I rode all the way down to Glendale and back.” Joe said.

“Wow. That’s quite the ride. Are you feeling OK?”

“Yeah, and three hours ago I sat down and started a story. I think it’s gonna be a novel because I got a lot done and I’m pretty sure it was just the first part.”

“So what happened to easing back into everything?”

Joe shook his head. “I don’t know, Hun. I just got on the bike and went, then sat down at the table and went. I was really focused, and yet none of it tired me out. It’s strange.”

Donna didn’t say anything. But there was a tiny little alarm bell ringing in her ear.

“I’d love to read what you have done so far.”

“I’ll email it to you. It’s pretty solid, even if I do say so myself.” 

Joe went into the house, changed into his trunks and joined Donna in the pool. He was strongly tempted to start swimming lengths, but restrained himself, choosing to just float as peacefully as he could. After a while Donna started doing her lengths, Joe moved out of the way, laid back on his air mattress and closed his eyes. A few minutes later he was dreaming. He knew he wasn’t asleep, because he was conscious of Donna swimming, himself floating and the afternoon sun beating down on him. But it was exactly the same intensity as the dreams he had been having for the last few nights. And it was telling him more of the same story. 

Joe had a strong temptation to open his eyes and flip off the air mattress, but for some reason he could not explain to himself he simply laid there and let it all unfold in his brain. 

That night, after they watched a little TV and Donna had gone to bed, Joe went into his office and opened his laptop. He started writing and by about 3 am he had done another hundred and eighteen pages. 

After brushing his teeth, he fell into bed and almost immediately sunk into a deep sleep, complete with technicolour dreams. He slept until 11 the next morning and headed downstairs. He put on some coffee and read a note from Donna that she had gone to a stitching group in the nearby town of Beamsville and would be back in time to take him to the hospital for his monthly meeting with Dr. Freeland.

Joe made some coffee and toast and sat down at his computer. Three hours later he had transcribed the dream and whatever it was he was writing was now well over three hundred pages. 

He made a note of this in his Dr. Freeland file. Then he emailed a note to Donna that he would ride himself and at about 3:15 he stopped reading, printed out his notes to Dr. Freeland, then got on his bike and rode out to the hospital which was at the western end of the city and a good hour’s ride. But it was a beautiful day and the ride was an ornate zig-zag through residential streets.

The doctor, of course, was running a bit behind, so his nurse did Joe’s vitals for him and pronounced him in good health. He then sat down and waited, pulled out his Kindle and continued reading the David Baldacci story he had been reading for the past few weeks. He noticed that he was reading less now that his brain was working faster. He was literally crawling through this book. It was almost like he wasn’t interested but it had, in his mind at least, nothing to do with the book itself.

Dr. Freeland showed up about five minutes later and invited Joe into his office. He sat down and spent a few seconds getting himself squared away, doing whatever surgeons need to do to feel squared away.

Finally, he said. “So Joe. How’s it going?”

Joe reached into his bag and pulled out a sheet of paper on which he had written out as much as he could.

Holloway took the sheet, scanned it, and then laid it on the desk in front of him

“OK, so that’s for the files. I want to hear it from you.” he said.

Joe took a deep breath and blew it out. “The best way to describe it is that for the past four or five days I felt like I was running in a hundred-yard dash. My mind is clicking along at a mile a minute, but at the same time, I’m able to retain the vast majority of what’s going on in there and write it down. It’s manifesting itself in the form of a…I think a novel, which is actually something I have never written before. It’s very strange. It’s not upsetting or exhausting. It’s just…fast.

“My body feels great, I’ve done long rides and semi-long swims which are my main forms of exercise. I have these incredibly vivid and detailed dreams. And like I said, my recall is excellent. I’ve been a professional writer since I was in my early twenties, so I know what my pace is. This is much more elaborate and much quicker. That’s the best way I can describe it.”

Dr. Freeland leaned back in his chair. “OK Joe, that was excellent. And I’ll tell you, this is everything we hoped it would be. What’s happening is that your brain which is being constantly fed from the serum, is becoming stronger, more responsive and healthier. Your body will soon follow suit, if you can understand that. Everything you have described tells me that the serum is working. In your case, it’s making you more productive and improving the tools of your trade which are your intellect and your thought processes. It is, in fact, making you a better writer, or at the very least, a more prolific one. What do you think about what you have written so far?”

Joe didn’t answer right away. Then he said “You know, it’s weird. At first, I thought it was strange. This story I’m writing is about a young girl in New York City who was right out of college. This is not something that I would have ever thought about writing, you know, before. But at the same time, I am very comfortable with it. The pages just seem to fill themselves, and when I read them back, I see can myself in her in a weird way.”

Dr. Freeland leaned forward with his elbows on his desk. “I am so glad I asked you to participate in this trial. I’ll be honest with you, the other three subjects were almost completely unable to articulate what was happening to them. But Joe, you know exactly what it is. I can’t tell you how helpful this is.”

“Am I alright?” Joe asked and he was quite sincere.

“Yes, you are. In fact, you’re more than alright. You are the living, breathing verification of this project.”

“But you have no frame of reference for the long term effects of this.”

“That’s true. But the inventor, who has been testing this on human subjects for more than a year, has found no significant changes from the time the serum takes effect. So I would say you’re pretty safe.” 

Joe thought about that. “Can I ask a dumb question?” 

“Sure, although I doubt it will be dumb.”

“What’s the long-term objective of this whole thing?”

Freeland took a deep breath. “Well from a medical point of view, it means that the serum will help people stay healthier, live longer lives and be more active throughout their entire lives. From a commercial point of view, we are hoping to be able to ultimately create a product that people would use in much the same way as they take vitamins. But that’s a little way down the line. Because that means we need to be able to formulate it so it gets to the brain through the bloodstream, as opposed to the spinal fluid.”

Just then Dr. Freeland’s assistant entered his office and put down a report on Joe’s mini-physical. The doctor looked at it closely, then put it down on his desk.

“OK,  Joe, you are as healthy as a horse. Keep your notes up and we’ll see you in a month.”

Joe and the doctor both got to their feet and shook hands. “Thanks, doc.” Joe said as he turned to leave.

“Just keep doing what you’re doing.” Dr. Freeland said.

Joe nodded and closed the door behind him. 

On his way home, he stopped off at The Farm Boy store 4th Avenue and picked up a couple of things that were on his shopping list, then headed down Martindale Road, over the highway and into Port Dalhousie, which was the next neighbourhood over from his. It took him a good hour and a half, but it was a much more leisurely ride and it was a beautiful day. 

By the time he got home, he had just enough time for a bit of a swim before he and Donna headed out to their son Daniel’s house for dinner and an evening of the kind of glorious madness that two young boys can turn it into. 

He talked a bit about what he was writing, because everyone in the family was concerned about how he would come out of the surgery for the infection that had laid him so low. They were all happy that he was well on the road to recovery, and the night just rolled along. They got home at about nine that evening. Donna said she had some stitching to do in the basement. So he gave her a kiss, then flopped down in front of the computer. 

He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He kept his breathing calm and steady slowly but surely the story came back to him. And he started to write. Two hours later he stopped because his head told him that he was finished.

He was too tired to read everything over so he simply headed to bed with his Kindle. Donna came up sometime after midnight. 

“How did it go?” she asked.

He took a deep breath. “It’s finished. Or at least I think it might be.”

“How many pages?”

“A little over four hundred.”

“In five days?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s pretty fast.”

“Yeah. I wonder if it’s actually any good. Guess I’ll find out tomorrow when I start fixing it.”

“ Maybe you should take a day off.” Donna said. “Give yourself some space and a little objectivity.”

“That’s not a bad idea.”

They snuggled for a while but both of them were dog tired and the lights were out ten minutes later.”

That night, Joe didn’t dream.

~ 2 ~

Even though he was very curious to re-read what he had written, Joe agreed that maybe some time away from it would help him look at it more objectively. And since it was the weekend he just busied himself with doing stuff around the house. The pool always needed taking care of, and the cement around it was overdue for a power wash, which he also did. He and Donna went shopping and had themselves a nice steak dinner. 

The next morning he went for a long ride down along the lake, and when he came back he decided to have a read through what he had done. To say he was astonished was an understatement. There was the usual share of mistyped words, but the narrative flow and the detail of the piece were something he had not expected. He was a good writer, but this was way beyond anything he had ever done before.

When he finished fixing all the typos, he emailed a PDF of it to Donna and asked her to read it. She spent the better part of the next day doing that. A little after four in the afternoon, she walked into his office and sat down on the spare chair. Joe turned to look at her.

“Are you sure you wrote this? Because I‘ve read a lot of your writing over the years and this, this is really different. And by different I mean beautiful.”

Joe just looked at Donna, “I know. It surprised the hell out of me after I read it through. That’s why I wanted you to read it.”

“The question is what are you going to do with it?” 

Joe was an advertising guy. He didn’t know much about the publishing business, but he did know enough to realize that he needed to find an agent. Someone who would get the best publishing deal they could. He also knew that, because almost all of the novel was set in the United States, he should probably be looking there. Or at least find someone here who could represent it in the US.

The only person he knew who had made it out of advertising and onto the literary side of the writing industry was a copywriter he used to work with a few years back. His name was Dave Treadwell. He dug through his card file and found Dave’s card. Dave Treadwell was writer of cop thrillers and had done several books over the years, which Joe had read and really liked. Joe wasn’t sure if he was able to make a living doing that or if he did it along with some freelance. But Joe gave him a call all the same. 

Treadwell picked up on the third ring. “Dave Treadwell.”

“Hey Dave, it’s Joe Murtaugh.”

“Oh wow. Joe Blow from Kokomo. How the hell are you, man?”

“I’m doin’ fine. How about you?”

“Can’t complain but sometimes I still do.”

“You still writing cop thrillers?”

“Oh yeah. I’m on my tenth one. Have three optioned. That’s where the fuckin’ money is, Joe.”

“Aww, that’s good to hear.”

“So what’s up?”

“Well, I’ll tell you. I’ve written a novel. It’s a character piece. Nothing like you’re doing, and I was just looking for a little advice about what I should be doing to get it, you know, in front of some publishers.”

“Huh. So it’s a character piece. What’s it about?”

“Basically it’s about a girl from New York City who wants to become a serious writer, and all the stuff she has to go through to make that happen.”

“Okay, sounds like a real novel. Is it your first?”

“Yeah, I wrote it rather quickly and was surprised at how well it turned out.”

“Well, we were copywriters and that, in my opinion, is the toughest kind of writing to do well.”

“So when you got started, did you find an agent?”

“Yeah, sort of. I kinda lucked out because the girl I was living with at the time, her best friend was with one of the biggest agencies in the country. She took me on ‘cause of her friendship with my girl. But then she saw the work and plowed the field and got me into the US market. I’ve been doin’ nothing else ever since. Crank out one a year. pulling in the low six figures. Just out of curiosity, how long did it take you to put your book together?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

“About a week.”

“A week?”

“Actually, about five days.”

“Jesus Christ. And you’re sure it’s not a bag of shit?”

“Sure as I can be.”

“Hold on a sec.” Joe could hear some clicking of computer keyboard keys. Then he came back. “My agent slash publisher. Her name is Julie Strong. Allied Artists 416 245-7000. Very smart, knows the business inside and out. She’ll be brutally honest with you, Joe. So if it’s not everything you think it is, she’ll hand you your ass on a platter.”

“That’s fine. And I really appreciate the info. If this works out I owe you dinner. I can tell by your number, you’re still in Toronto.

“Yeah. I was seriously thinkin’ about moving to the US but the whole fuckin’ country’s is a combat zone. No place for a peace lovin’ Canuk.”

“Well, thanks again.”

“Good luck with Ms Strong. Let me know if anything good happens.”

“Will do.”

Joe disconnected. He then got on his computer and looked up Allied Artists. It was a multifaceted talent agency. They handled literary writers, screenwriters, voice talent, actors and directors. He found Julie Strong’s bio, she handled both screen and literary writers, because of the natural crossover. Joe wasn’t sure whether his book would make a good movie or series. But he also didn’t know enough about how that whole business worked. He was just hoping that he could get his story in front of someone with some industry clout and from the sound of her bio, Julie Strong was one of those people. 

Donna went over the original Pages file of the story again and found a few more typos. After a couple of hours she pronounced it as clean as it could be. Joe thanked her and picked up the phone. He had never really been shy about cold calling and in his mind this was no different than looking for writing jobs in advertising. He had rehearsed what he wanted to say, but knew that the conversation, if one was at all possible, would go in whatever direction it would go. 

After about a 30 second wait, Julie Strong picked up the phone. “Hello, this is Julie, how can I help you?”

“Hi Julie, my name is Joe Murtaugh. I am an old friend of one of your clients, Dave Treadwell.”

“Hmmm. So how do you know Dave?”

“We worked at the same agency for a few years. Doyle Dane and Bernbach.”

“Yeah? I used to work at McCann before I got into this business. So did Dave tell you I have a bit of a soft spot for advertising people?”

“No, he didn’t mention that.”

“Well I do. Three of the writers on my roster are ex-agency people. I like them because they know how to take criticism and even more importantly they know how to fix things that need fixing. So what’s your story, Joe Murtaugh?”

“I have a novel that I’ve just completed and I’m looking for someone to represent me, because what I know about the literary world could fit on the head of a pin.”

Julie chuckled. “Well, that’s a refreshing change. Usually, the would-be writers I talk to seem to have it all figured out. So score one for you. What’s you’re novel about, very briefly?”

“It’s about a girl in New York. A rich girl who wants to do something meaningful with her life, and decides to be a writer.”

“But you just told me you didn’t know much about the business.”

“I don’t know much about the literary business. But the girl in my story doesn’t go that route.”

Julie said nothing for a few seconds. She was thinking. “So she does this all herself?”

“Well she has a little help. But she’s not writing books. She’s doing something completely different. She starts by interviewing older people in her apartment building, and writing their stories, you know what they did in their lives, in some cases how they got to America. She takes these biographies and creates a web site where she publishes them herself. All the while, she’s becoming a better writer and eventually she becomes a bit of a crusader for the environmental movement. All she wants is for her life to have meaning and use the money she has do that. It’s a bit more complex than that, of course.”

Another long pause. “You say this girl lives in New York. Do you know New York?”

“I’ve been there several times. It’s a great city.”

“So tell me about how this idea came to you.”

Joe hesitated a bit then said. “Well, it was a dream I had. I have the ability to remember my dreams in great detail. Not sure where that came from. It’s just there.” Joe was, of course, lying his ass off.

How long is it, this story?”

“Close to 100,000 words.”

“That’s a pretty serious length.”

“Well, that’s what it took to get the story down.”

“Have you ever written anything this long before?”

“No I have a couple dozen short stories, that I wrote while I was in the business. But nothing on this scale.”

“So you’re not in the business any longer.”

“Not really. After our kids grew up and split, my wife and I decided to get out of Toronto and moved down to Niagara. We live in St Catharines up by the lake. It’s actually close to where I grew up in Fort Erie.”

“Hmmmm. Well I’ll tell you. I like the sound of it. And since you used to be an advertising writer, I know at least it won’t be a pile of shit.”

“It sounds like you have to wade through a lot of shit.”

“Nature of the beast. Everybody thinks they’re the next big thing. But you can’t find the gold without a lot of digging. So we dig.”

“I don’t know whether this is the next big thing or not. I just want to know if it’s as good as I think it might be.”

“Your humility is endearing, Joe. Tell you what. What’s the title?”

“Lilli’s Lost & Found” Joe said and he could hear her typing. 

“I’ll send you a document that I will sign that ensures I will share this with no one without your permission.” Julie said.

“Fair enough.” Joe said and gave Julie his email address. 

“Send me a PDF and I will read it. Can’t promise I will do it right away but within say a week to ten days and I’ll get back to you. That work for you?”

“Works just fine, and thank you.”

“No promises, OK?”

“Dave told me that you're pretty much a hardass. So any advice you can give me will be most appreciated.”

“OK then. If the doc I send you is OK, just send it back to me along with the manuscript and we’ll go from there.”

“OK and thanks again.”

Julie disconnected. and then Joe did too.

Two hours later, Joe had sent off a PDF version of the manuscript to Julie Strong in Toronto. An hour after that, he received a notification from Julie that she had received it and to sit tight.

As he turned around to get out of his chair, Donna was standing at the doorway. 

“Well that was fairly painless.” Joe said.

“Let’s hope it stays that way.” Donna replied and disappeared down the hall.

That afternoon, Joe got into the pool and started to swim. He got up to about thirty lengths, which was the longest he had been able to go so far when he started to feel the fatigue set in. He then floated out to the middle of the pool and stared up at the clouds, wondering what was going to happen next. He closed his eyes and just let his body float in the cool water. 

After a while, Joe didn’t know how long exactly, he started to see something in his mind’s eye. 

It was a desert of some sort and there were two large black SUVs driving along. They came to a hill and pulled over. Two soldiers got out of the front SUV. One of them was carrying a pretty substantial-looking rifle with a large scope. Together the two soldiers scrambled up a hill where they spied a small building that appeared to be made of clay. Beside the building sat an armoured SUV with a man in robes, sitting behind a large gun mounted on the back of it. Another man walked around the building. He was holding an AK 47 rifle, slung around his neck. He stopped at the truck and talked to the other man. The soldier with the gun on the hill took aim at the man in the truck and fired a shot which hit him in the chest. He then very quickly fired a second shot which hit the other man in the side. Both men were dead. The two soldiers waited to see if there was anyone else down by the small building.

Joe then opened his eyes and caught the glare of the sun. “What the fuck was that?” He said to himself. 

Donna was sitting under the gazebo reading a book. “What did you say, Joe?”

Joe swam over to the side of the pool. “I just had another dream.” And he explained it to Donna. 

“It’s quite a bit different from your first one.”

“Yeah it sure as hell is.”

“You think it’s another novel?”

“I don’t know. Guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

Joe didn’t have to wait long. That night he dreamt some more of the vision he’d had that afternoon in the pool. And for the next three nights he dreamed and for the next five days he wrote in three-hour and four-hour stretches until the whole story was complete in his computer. He titled it, Killshot.

The story was basically about the Marine shooter who, along with his teammates, discovers a large cache of Taliban heroin, jewels and money. They stash everything and get rid of it in neighbouring Pakistan. He uses part of his share to procure a new identity and when his hitch is up he comes back to the States and moves to Richmond Virginia with close to a million dollars in the bank. Here he meets a woman who he falls in love with and gets involved with a plot to assassinate the leaders of several influential right-wing anarchist groups at the behest of the US government.

The story told itself in just under 400 pages, and like Lilli’s Lost & Found, it was complete and, except for the typos, almost flawless.

After he had completed it and given a copy of it to Donna to read, he went for a long bike ride up the canal and tried to figure out where the hell these things were coming from.

The answer was obvious, at least on the surface. They were the product of the serum that was making contact with core of his brain. Every day, he found himself feeling better and better, stronger and stronger. Every night he had vivid and logical dreams and almost total recall of them. His life was literally turning into something he didn’t recognize. But it wasn’t unpleasant. It was just…different.

After the second novel was completed, he wasn’t sure what to do about it. So he did nothing. If he called Julie Strong he was afraid that she could consider him either a nutbar or a prankster. So he just sat tight and went on about his business.

Nine days after his initial conversation with Julie Strong, she contacted him and asked him if he would be willing to come to a meeting in Toronto. Joe agreed and they set a date for the following Monday at 11am. This would get them into the city and out without having to deal with the hard-core parts of the rush hour. Julie didn’t mention anything about the manuscript and Joe wasn’t sure if they was a good or bad thing.

~ 3 ~

They decided to drive to Burlington and take the train in, since Julie’s office was located on the lower part of University Avenue, which was only a few blocks from Union Station.

The drive from St Catharines to the train station took about 40 minutes and the train got them into Union Station at about 10:30 AM. From there it was only a ten-minute walk to the offices of Allied Artists. So they took their time and arrived five minutes early. They sat in the busy reception area and watched people come and go. Finally, a woman came out, greeted them and then showed them to one of what looked to be several meeting rooms on the floor.

Julie was pouring herself a coffee from a large urn. She was small in stature, blonde and quite beautiful. Introductions were made and everybody sat down. Once they were seated with coffees in front of them, Julie picked up the phone and dialled a number. A minute later a man in a tan suit entered the room. He introduced himself as Jason Fry, the CEO of the agency. He looked to be in his early forties. His hair was long and light brown and he wore glasses that had no rims. He was your typical high-end urban hipster.

Jason got a coffee and sat down next to Julie who had a printout of the manuscript in front of her.

“OK.” Julie said. “We obviously didn’t ask you to come all the way here to tell you to take a flying leap.”

  Joe and Donna both smiled. “So why did you ask us to come?” Joe asked.

Julie took a deep breath. “I’ve been doing this a long time. I have maybe read 2000 manuscripts. Some were good, some were outstanding, and a lot of them were just garbage. But this is the first time I have ever read one that is…well, damn near perfect.”

“Perfect?” Joe asked.

“Not perfect in the absolute sense. But perfect in the sense that I gave this to two of our best readers as well, we simply could not find anything we would want to suggest you change. It flows beautifully. It’s written simply and passionately. It’s everything we look for in a novel of this kind.”

Joe was stunned. Donna was too. They looked at each other and then back at Julie and Jason across the table. “Well, I felt it was pretty good. But…wow. I don’t know what to say.”

Julie opened a file and pulled out a contract form. “This story has a tremendous amount of potential. Both as a book and as a cable mini-series. We would like to represent you and take this story as far as we possibly can.”

“What do you mean by that?” Joe asked.

This time it was Jason who spoke. “Allied is an international company we have offices here, in Vancouver, LA, New York, Miami, London Paris and Rome. When we publish this, it will be distributed simultaneously in all those markets. So we would like to sign you to a three-book deal, and act as your representatives around the world.”

“So you would publish the book yourselves?”

“Yeah.” Jason said. “That’s how it works here. We are a one-stop shop. To be honest, the publishing industry brought this on themselves. Many of us who have been in the game for a while got tired of banging our heads against the wall with unimaginative publishers. So a bunch of us got together and formed Allied Artists. 

“In just ten years, we have become one of the most profitable companies in the literary and commercial broadcast world. We have deals in place with Netflix, Prime, Disney, Paramount, BBC, Telenova and about a dozen others. The books we promote go on to be both best sellers and either movies or mini-series. But the best part of all is that it’s very profitable all around, especially for you.”

Joe just smiled and shook his head. “Well, that makes this a whole different ball game.”

“Yes sir, “Jason said. “It most certainly does. Julie can discuss all the details with you. But I will say this in parting. This is a very valuable property. And I guarantee you, you will not get a better deal than the one we will offer you.”

Jason got to his feet and shook hands with both Donna and Joe, then left the room.

Julie slid the contract across the table. “If you want to take this to an entertainment lawyer, please feel free. The terms are very simple. Fifty percent of all gross revenues for us. That will cover the printing, distribution and promotion, the remaining fifty percent is for you. We have pricing formulae all worked out for both the hardcover, paperback and digital products. 

Julie flipped a couple pages in her notes. “We currently project worldwide hardcover sales at two point three million. Digital sales, which includes both ebooks and audiobooks at one point six million. And paperback sales at one point three million. Hardcovers will retail for $44.95 US dollars, digital sales at $9.99 and paperbacks at $12:49. You can do the math, but it adds up to a lot of money. Then there are the video and network sales for the limited series, which are a little hard to project at this point in time. Depends on who’s most interested. And what kind of budget level they see for it.”

“Will I be expected to write the script for the video?” Joe asked

“Only if you want to. We employ several very good ghostwriters who can adapt the book.”

“OK.” he replied.

“From our perspective,” Julie said, “Outstanding source material is the hardest thing to come by. Personally, with my agent hat on, I would rather have you at home writing books or original screenplays than anything else.”

Joe looked over at Donna. who nodded almost imperceptibly. “Hand me a pen, Julie.”

Julie slid her pen across the table. Joe picked it up and signed and dated his signature on the contract. He then slid the contract and the pen back to Julie, who just smiled. “This is going to change your life, Joe.”

Joe and Donna both chuckled because they knew their lives had already been changed and this was just another part of it all.

Julie slid her card across the table. “If you have any questions, please call anytime.”  

Joe took the card. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a memory key. He handed it to Julie. This is something I have just finished. It’s quite a bit different from Lilli’s Lost & Found. 

Julie picked up the memory key. “Killshot…What’s it about? She asked.

“ It’s a political thing, about a marine sniper who comes back from Afghanistan and gets recruited into a project team designed assassinate to the leaders of several right-wing insurgencies. It has very good mini-series potential, in my opinion.

“You really have some tricks in your bag, Joe.”

“Yeah, well, these are the things that come to me when I’m in a receptive mood.”

“Leave it with me. There’s a lot to do with Lilli’s Lost & Found. But I will dive into it as soon as I can.

With that, everybody got to their feet. Julie came around the table and hugged them both. “It’s gonna take a while for all this to get revved up, but when it does, we’re gonna need a cover photograph, and for you to approve liner notes. We will also film a promotional interview with you at our studios, which are down on the Queensway in Etobicoke.”

“Whatever you need.” Joe said. “Just call. I understand the marketing part of the business very well.”

“Well thank you for signing with us.” Julie said. “We’ll take very good care of you, I promise.”

Joe and Donna got off the elevator. Both of them were pretty dazed out at what had happened over the last hour.

“You know what,” Joe said. “I think we should go somewhere and celebrate.” 

“Let’s do it in St Catharines, though.” Donna said. “She had been born and raised in Toronto and she had wanted to get out for most of her life. So the idea of hanging around any longer than she had to was out of the question. And Joe had to admit, if he was being honest, he was never really crazy about the city himself.

“OK, let’s go home. Maybe we can go to someplace in the Falls.”

“That’s more like it.” Donna said and off they went to the train station.

~ 4 ~

The numbers that Julie had given Joe and Donna were an abstraction to both of them. They thought about them a lot and asked each other what they would do with that much money. Would they buy a house with a pool? Nope. They already had one and moving would be a complete hassle and time suck. Would they give a bunch of money to their kids? Sure, but not enough to spoil them. Because they always believed that their kids should make their own way in the world, just like they did. Would they buy a new car? Not really. Theirs was fairly new and comfortable to drive in. As the train rolled on into Burlington, they figured all they might do a lot of the money that Joe’s books would make is find a worthwhile charity and support that.

Joe had never thought about what would happen after he wrote the stories. Mainly because he had this notion in his head that it would be almost impossible to find a way to get them published. After a while, he started to think of them as nothing more than a manifestation of whatever it was that was constantly coursing through his brain. For whatever reason, he didn’t think beyond that until he had finished the first story and realized that it was not all that bad.

But now here they were, confronted with the possibility of making substantial amounts of money and it kind of paralyzed them. By the time they were on the Queen E highway heading out of Hamilton, they had made up their mind to just and see what actually would happen once the first book was published and released. 

By the same token, Joe refused to get upset by any of this. Mostly because he knew deep down inside that there was nothing he could do about it. He’d never heard of any sort of operation that would drain or replace spinal fluid, and even if there was, he didn’t want to go through that process and end up, well ordinary again. 

At the end of the day, it didn’t matter. They were happy that they had enough to live well but not extravagantly without the added income. They could afford anything they needed, and they weren’t overly materialistic or cursed with the desire to show the world how well off they were. In fact, both of them were a bit wary of what having too much money could do to people.

They talked about this a bit as they drove into their neighbourhood. Once they got home, they decided that their celebration would consist of a large pizza, from Red Swan, which they ate out on their deck. It was obvious to both of them that the more they talked about Joe’s potential success, the more it began to bother them. 

“Maybe I should stop writing these stories, you know, if I get another one.” Joe suggested.

Donna took a deep breath. “I don’t see what that would accomplish other than making you unhappy. Maybe you just do one more to fulfill your contract and then stop submitting them. You can always leave them to the kids in your will or something.”

Joe looked Donna square in the eye and said. “No, that would make me feel like I was wimping out. I think we probably need to take this as far as it will go. We don’t have to spend the money. We could just give it away or put it in a trust for the kids. The only reason I’m saying this is that I want to see if there is an end to this. I mean. I’m only sixty-three. Hell, I could write another dozen of these before I burned out.”

 So they had come full circle. They agreed that Joe would keep on writing the stories and they would just let it play out to see what would happen.

Sure enough, the next three days were filled with dreamless sleep, so Joe made the most of it all by going for long bike rides and inching up to fifty lengths of the pool. All the while he was thinking about what was happening to him. He could feel himself getting stronger and stronger, but that was just, he believed, part of his recovery.

What was also strange was that during these in-between periods, he didn't think about anything having to do with writing. He wondered if these dreams, these gifts, were making him a lazy thinker. It was a writer thing, always keeping your mind focused on the next idea, the next ad, the next story, the next chapter and the chapter after that. It was almost as if the dreams were some sort of addiction and without them he was powerless. He was exaggerating of course, but this is the kind of stuff he thought about while he was swimming or riding or just floating around in the pool.

He was perfectly willing to write this stuff off to the substance that was coursing through his brain. He just hoped that he would not become addicted to it. Or maybe he already was and there was nothing to do but let it ride.

The weather had turned absolutely beautiful. Clear, sunny, not too humid days. Donna and Joe were happy to just sit around on the back deck and read, in between swims and snacks and meals. This was what their retirement was before Joe’s surgery and right now it felt pretty normal. 

 But that only lasted a couple of days. Then, Joe was back at it again and for three or four hours a day for the next week, he wrote. What he ended up with this time was, at least from his perspective, a science fiction story which he titled The Visitor.

When he had finished it, he gave it to Donna to read and proof. 

“I have to admit, hun, that I never realized you were interested in science fiction.”

Joe chuckled. “Yeah, it came as quite a surprise to me too.”

After he had read the story again, he decided to write a little précis, so he wouldn’t have to go to Toronto to explain it to Julie.

So he wrote her an email.

Hi Julie,

Please find attached a new story that I have tentatively titled The Visitor. I have also done a summary of the story for you. It’s in two separate parts, but together they comprise a whole novel of close to 100,000 words.

PART I  Ezra & Cindy

The human name he chose was Ezra Birmingham. But he was not a human. He was an alien from a planet more than three light years from Earth. His mission here was to assess and lay the groundwork for a takeover. But his mission parameters changed once he arrived he saw the potential for the inhabitants of Earth to evolve and become not slaves but partners with the inhabitants of his world. But in order to make that happen, there were a few things to take care of. And with a little help from an earthling friend, he should be able to pull it off.

PART II The Best of All Possible Worlds

Ezra Birmingham had just cleared the Milky Way galaxy on his way back to his home world when he stopped. His home world had been destroyed and only 106 of his kind managed to escape in a bullet tube heading directly toward him. Once they were all on board his craft, he returned to earth and the woman he had left there a year earlier to start a new life with a much smaller Collective. Ezra was determined to help the world evolve into a peaceful paradise, and with a little help from Cindy and his Collective, the prospects for doing that looked very bright, with only a few obstacles to overcome.

I know that this is putting a lot on your plate. So understand that I am in no hurry. Just read the story when you have the time, and let me know what you think.

Sincerely, Joe Murtaugh

Joe attached the novel, The Visitor, in PDF form, to the email and sent it off to Julie. He then went back to enjoying his summer. 

One of the things he had noticed about himself is that he felt very little desire to write anything other than the stories that came to him in his dreams. At first, he wrote it off to the exhaustion of writing full novels in the space of a week. But after a while, he started to think that maybe he was just biding his time, regenerating and waiting for things to happen, as opposed to his usual process of dreaming something up and then writing it. It didn’t feel as if his imagination had deserted him or anything like that. His mind still rampaged through the thought process of anything and everything. It just never seemed to land on anything until he was asleep. All he could do was make a note for Dr. Freeland had hoped he could get some insight.

A few days later, at around four in the afternoon, Joe’s phone rang. It was Dave Treadwell. 

“Joe. It’s Dave.”

“Hey Dave, how are things going? I’ve been meaning to call you and thank you for referring me to Julie Strong.”

“Yeah, well Julie called to thank me for putting you onto her. That’s a fuckin’ first for me. I hear you knocked it right out of the park.”

“So far so good, Dave. And I’m not forgetting I owe you a very large dinner.”

“You bet your ass you do. I just got off a second call from Julie. Just a few minutes ago.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, she thinks you might be clinically insane. Said you sent her two more novels that were freakin’ amazing.”

“So she got around to reading them.”

“Oh yeah. You’re gonna make out like a bandit. She told me the broadcast potential for all three of your stories so far is through the fuckin’ roof.”

Joe couldn’t help but laugh. “This is unreal.”

“Where is all this stuff coming from, Joe? I mean you were a good writer in the biz. One of the better ones I knew, in fact. But this shit is otherworldly.”

Dave didn’t say much for a bit. Then he asked. “I know you just had surgery, are you on any weird drugs?”

“Nothing that would do this to me.”

“Well, whatever it is you’re doing our Julie is havin’ wet dreams over it. So I’m thinkin’ Hy’s or Barbarians for sure.”

“You got it, Dave. I’ll let you know next time I’m comin’ to town. Bring the missus of the week too.”

“Will, do Joseph. And good on you, man.”

Joe disconnected.

 “Who was that?”  Donna asked.

“You remember Dave Treadwell?”

“Oh yeah. He was in your group at DDB. Crazy guy, as I recall.”

“Yeah well, he’s the one that put me onto Julie Strong. She’s his agent too. He’s writing crime novels now and I owe him a rather expensive dinner.”

“Well, I guess you do.”

~ 5 ~

The next trip into the city was about a week later. Julie Strong was waiting for them in the reception area when they arrived. They walked together into the same smaller boardroom they were in before. This time there was another man there. He looked to be around the same age as Joe. He had white hair and a thick grey moustache. He wore a tweed sport coat, the kind with patches on the elbows. He got to his feet when Joe and Donna entered the room. 

“This is Thornton Fielding.” Julie said. “He’s the boss of bosses around here and one of the five original founders of the organization.” 

Hands were shaken all around, coffee was poured and everybody sat down. 

“I asked Julie to call this meeting because I was extremely curious to meet you, Mr. Murtaugh.” Fielding said.

“Please, call me Joe.” Joe said. 

“Alright, Joe,” Fielding said. “I was very curious to meet someone capable of producing three very high-quality pieces of work in the span of about a month, and all in different genres to boot.”

“No one is more surprised by this than me, sir.”

“I have been in this business for the better part of four decades and I have never seen anything like this. These are all extremely publishable and merchandisable. They will make you and us both a considerable amount of money. But it still begs the question. Where did you develop this talent?”

Joe hesitated. He was thinking up a plausible lie. “The honest answer to that is I don’t really know. I spent most of my career in ad agencies and writing short stories and poetry for fun in my spare time. And then about a year ago, I retired and started working on my stories more and more. Then one day…I started having these vivid dreams. The stories I have submitted are the product of those dreams.”

“And you had never written a novel before?”

“Nope.” Joe said. “But I have been a writer all my life, so it’s not like I just walked in off the street and started doing this stuff.”

“This presents us with a bit of a quandary.” Fielding said. “Our modus operandi, as it were, is to release one novel a year from our writers. This gives us time to read the marketplace and provides the writers with some feedback, which, in most cases they find useful.”

“I can see that.”

“But you, Joe, are obviously no ordinary writer. So we’re not quite sure what to do with you.”

Joe laughed. “Wow. I never thought, in my wildest dreams that I would have to deal with this sort of issue.”

“To be honest.” Fielding said. “We didn’t either.”

“So what happens now?” 

“To our relationship, not a thing. I mean, we’d be insane to want to jeopardize that. But the realities of our business are such that we can’t really publish everything all at once. First of all, it would weaken the brand we would want to build for you. Secondly, it will be confusing, especially to our bookseller retail partners, since each of the three novels is a different genre. I just wanted to explain that to you, so that we are all on the same page, so to speak.”

“I’m a marketing guy from way back, so I get what you’re saying. And I could not agree more. But you know your business much better than I could ever hope to. So I would have to say, whatever you think is best is what we do. I didn’t write these books to make some sort of big-time killing. I’m shocked at the potential you see for them. But I’m also a realist, and I know what flooding the market with anything will do and it’s not good.”

Fielding breathed a sigh of relief. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to hear you say that, Joe.”

“Look, I’m as blown away by all of this as you are. But the ball is in your court right now. You guys do what you do, and I’ll go home and hopefully write some more.”

“You’ll be pleased to know,” Julie said. “That the hardcover of Lilli’s Lost & Found is already on its way to the printers, and there is a bit of a bidding war shaping up for the broadcast rights.”

Joe just smiled. “That’s wonderful and hopefully it all works out for the best.”

“We’re pretty sure it will, Joe.” Fielding said. “You are a superstar in the making and we are thrilled to have you at Allied.”

Fielding got up and after handshakes left the meeting. Julie filled them in on timings and the state of affairs of the other two properties. The company had decided on a nine month window, so by the end of the next year and three quarters all three books would be out there. Once they got a feeling for the rate of sales, they would start issuing cheques on a monthly basis.

“What’s your expert opinion on that?’ Joe asked. 

“Well it’s always hard with a new writer, but I’d estimate anywhere from twenty five to forty thousand a month, off the hardcover sales. The option payments, once they are sold, come to us at about the same rate. So once everything gets into place and you an established commodity I’d say between a hundred and a hundred and fifty thousand a month. If the book is a hit, it could go higher, and once the second book is released it will go higher still. That’s being uber optimistic, which we have every reason to be.”

Joe and Donna took it all in. They couldn’t decide whether they were overjoyed or scared to death. Joe did his best to play it cool. “Okay, well thanks for that.”

“The only things left at the moment are liner notes which we will have written here and sent to you for approval, the head shot for the dust jacket, which we can do before you leave today, and the the cover, which we’re working on and will send you a file to look at for your input.

They walked down the hall to a small studio where there was a house photographer and a makeup person who made Joe look like the serious author that they wanted him to look like. Julie also showed Joe and Donna a blank copy of the book format, which they both liked.

After that Joe called Dave Treadwell and told him he had confirmed a dinner reservation at Barberians on Elm Street for 7:00 PM.

It was close to five so they parked their car at the Royal York Hotel where they reserved a room. They then entered the vast underground systems of stores and hallways and ended up at north end of the Eaton Centre. They stopped for coffee at the Starbucks at Yonge and Dundas, and then headed two blocks north to meet up with Dave Treadwell and his girlfriend whose name was Deedee. She was a freelance web designer. 

Sadly, Deedee was a vegetarian among carnivores and had to settle for French onion soup, garlic bread and a Cobb salad at one of the best steakhouses in Canada. They had a rollicking good time anyway, put away a couple of bottles of nice Merlot and three hours later walked into the Royal York, flopped down on the bed and slept until 10 the following morning. 

~ 6 ~

Early the next week, Joe rode over to the hospital for his monthly checkup and chat with Dr. Freeland. As usual, his checkup was positive. And also as usual Dr. Freeland was about fifteen minutes late. 

“So how’s it going, Joe?” Freeland asked once they were both seated in his office.

“Well. I’ve got a publisher, and have written two more novels that came straight out of my dreams. The publishing deal I made is going to net me quite a bit more money than I know what to do with. But somewhere in the back of my mind, I feel like, I’m…kinda cheating somehow.”

Dr. Freeland leaned back in his chair. “The serum we gave you, Joe, is designed to help you use more of your brain. You’re not doing anything that you aren’t innately capable of doing. You’re just doing it at what very much appears to be an accelerated rate, which is interesting. You are the only test subject who made his living using his mind extensively, so it stands to reason that the serum would bring to the surface what’s already there.”

“So if you gave this serum to someone who is, say some sort of criminal, does that mean he would get better at whatever it was he did, robbing banks, or even killing people?”

“That’s an interesting question. But you have to understand that in addition to accelerating your writing, it’s also working emotionally, which is probably why you expressed a certain amount of guilt about all of this. The effects of this have several different dimensions. Unfortunately, we’re so early in the process that there are still a lot of questions that don’t have answers yet.”

‘Okay, I get that. Does this mean I should be on the lookout for something negative, maybe depression or even more anxiety and guilt than I’m already experiencing?”

“No Joe. You’re way too intelligent for that. You understand what’s happening here. Nothing will be surprising to you because all those negative emotions are generally the result of confusion, which is something you will eventually work your way through. You know exactly what’s going on and believe it or not, you know exactly how to control it. You have just been focused on the strangeness of it all. Dig deeper and you’ll see that your mind, in addition to giving you these ideas, almost fully formed, will also give you the confidence that comes from true understanding.”

Joe leaned forward with his elbow on Dr. Freeland’s desk. “Okay, okay. I see what you’re saying. That’s good.”

“What’s happening to you is not something strange and mystical Joe. It’s just more of what you already are. You’re growing into this state of being. And I think that over the next little while, you’re going to be able to fully embrace it and as you do, your discomfort will dissipate and your productivity and your sense of well-being will increase exponentially.”

Joe instinctually understood what Dr. Freeland was telling him. He said nothing, but let it all sink it. He then smiled and got to his feet. “You know you would have made a great psychiatrist, Doc.”

“‘There’s a little bit of the psychiatrist in every doctor, Joe. See you in a month. Stay positive and keep focused.”

Joe left the office, smiled at the nurse, headed out to the parking lot and got on his bike. This had been a hell of a ride so far. 

And on his way back home he got an idea.

~ 7 ~ 

The idea was a simple one. 

Julie had told them that Allied Artists had deals with several different networks and streaming services. So instead of writing another novel when the next wave of inspiration hit, which was due in a day or two by his reckoning, he would write a screenplay. He had written several of them way back in the day but, by his own admission, they were pretty lousy.

When he got home from his visit with Dr. Freeland, he had a swim then made a sandwich and sat out on the porch and searched the Internet for screenplays of his favorite movies. They were Chinatown, Pulp Fiction and Heat. He then spent the rest of the day reading them, paying close attention to how they were structured. 

What surprised him was the lack of detail in each one he read. He assumed that this was to give the directors more freedom to set up shots and sequences the way he or she wanted them set up and be able to project their style and vision on the end product. 

Chinatown was the only movie not written by the director, but by Robert Towne, who was a genuine legend and a novelist as well as a screenwriter. And as he read through the screenplays, he noted the differences between a script written to be directed and a script written by the person who was going to direct it. He read Chinatown a couple of times and realized that the principle of ‘less is more’ applied here. So this is how he would approach the next project.

Sure enough, two nights later, the dream came to him. Three days later he had completed the first draft of a screenplay based on the style model that Robert Towne had created with Chinatown.

Four days after that, he had completed a script which 120 pages long. In his research, he discovered that producers and directors assume about one minute of screen time for each page, give or take. He carefully reviewed his script. Then he gave it to Donna to read. She was surprised to see that it was in a screenplay format.

“What’s this all about?” she asked.

“Well, if we have to wait around for the novels to get published, I thought, why not try a screenplay? Truth be told, it’s a lot less taxing on the brain and it’s a new skill.

“I can’t really critique this, Joe. I’ve never read a screenplay before.”

“That’s OK hun. You can just proof it and tell me if you think it feels like a movie.”

“Okay.” Donna said, but it was one of those OKs that felt a little insecure.

Joe had titled the screenplay, The Locker Key. While Donna was reading it he drafted a note to Julie Strong.

Hi Julie

After our discussion about time frames, I had an idea that the next thing I would write would be in the form of a screenplay. So here is it. It’s called The Locker Key. And yes, if you’re wondering, yes it came from another dream I had.

The Locker Key

Jake Morrison is a well-known syndicated newspaper TV review columnist and a radio personality for an ‘all-guy’ station and likes his life just fine. But Jake has no idea what he’s stepped in when he meets up with an old school friend who gives him a locker key to hold and it very quickly turns his whole life upside down. Because the contents of the locker is something that can make whoever owns it extremely powerful. And Jake is just a regular guy who is standing in the way of all that. But with a little help from a new friend, he can find a way through through this mess. He hopes.

I know that were are ahead of schedule with novels. But maybe we can forge ahead in another medium, providing, of course, you like what you read.

Cheers, Joe

PS: This is set in and around Toronto, but could just as easily be in any city in North America. The dreams don’t specify a location or give the characters any names.

 Joe attached the proofread screenplay, which Donna told him she could definitely see as a movie.

After he sent everything off, he went out to the back deck and sat down with Donna, who had decided to pretty much take the rest of the summer off from her crafting. She was getting a little arthritis in her hands. So instead she just read swam. worked in the garden and generally hung out.

A little later, Joe’s sister Connie, who lived a couple blocks away, came over for a swim. She was aware of what Joe was doing, but knew nothing about the reason he was able to do it. She was also an avid reader and had read everything Joe had done so far. But she knew Joe was a writer and believed that he had merely broken through some sort of mental barrier. They spent the rest of the afternoon just talking and swimming and later on, Donna went out and got some fish and chips for everyone for dinner.

The following Tuesday, the first cheque from Allied Artists arrived. It was in the amount of $54,600.  

Donna had always been the bookkeeper in the family. The core of their savings was with an investment firm called MD Management, whose clients were all in the medical profession. Their relatives were also allowed to be represented. They had been allowed to join because Joe’s sister, Connie, had been married to a doctor. He was considerably older than her, and had passed away a few years earlier.

Donna decided to see how much money from Allied would come after the first three books were on the market, before she decided what to do. And then there were always the taxes. So she stashed it all in a high interest savings account at their Royal Bank.

Julie’s response to Joe’s submission came within a week of his sending it. It was mid-afternoon. Joe was riding along the canal when his phone rang. He quickly stopped at a bench, sat down and dug his phone out of his bag.

“Hi Julie. How are things in the big city?”

“Things are looking better by the day Joe. How are things in the little city.”

“Couldn’t be better.”

“So this was a surprise, this Locker Key piece.”

“Did you like it?”

“Oh yeah. I liked it. The readers liked it. A couple of producers at Netflix liked it and so did a director named Hugo Mira.”

“Never heard of him.”

“He’s Latvian or Lithuanian. A big deal over there, looking to become a big deal over here. He likes compact little caper films.”

“So what kind of hell should I be looking forward to?”

“No hell, Joe. Hugo is working on a shooting script as we speak.”

“Jesus, you guys don’t mess around, do you?”

“The Locker Key is what we in the business call an intriguing little property. There’s something for everyone in it. Should do very well right across the board. Netflix likes nice compact thrillers.”

“So do I have to saddle up and come to the big city?” 

“Yeah. Hugo wants to meet you and get your opinion on casting. I thought you could fill him in a bit with, you know, who you see playing who. We can help you with that. We have a pretty substantial talent roster. This is the biggest difference between a book and a movie or series. You have to be a little more involved.”

“I can do that.”

“We’re also willing to put you in the budget as an Executive producer. Worth another 50 grand.

“Okay and what’s the screenplay worth? “

“With the budget we’re projecting, I’d say about a hundred and twenty grand.”

“Joe laughed out loud. “Holy shit, Julie, really?”

“Oh yeah.” And that’s just the starting point. Your fee grows along with the number of different pieces we sell through.”

“So where do we do this?” Joe asked.

“We can do it here. We have another floor for auditions and production meetings. You’ll like Hugo. He’s a good guy, unlike a few of the directors we deal with who are total assholes.”

“Email me a time once you get it set and I’ll be there.”

“Joe. I have to tell you, there are very few people in this country who are actually good novelists and screenwriters too. We are lucky dogs to have you with us,”

“Thanks Julie. You guys are taking very good care 

of me and I appreciate it.”

 

~ 8 ~

Joe spent the rest of his ride thinking about nothing in particular. Then towards the end of the ride, he got an idea. Joe had always been worried, and it wasn’t a big worry, just a little niggle in the back of his head that one day all of this creativity would just stop. It wouldn’t leave him poor by any stretch of the imagination, but he feared it would leave him empty. He was also a little concerned that he was starting to depend on these flashes of brilliance that would come to him in his dreams. 

When he got home, he discovered that Donna and his sister, who were best friends, had gone to a movie. So he got out his laptop and set up on the back deck. He opened the file where he kept his short stories. There were 26 of them in all. Most of them were quite long twenty to thirty thousand words, which was way too long to submit to any of the dozens of short story sites. He couldn’t blame them for that. The Internet had shortened almost everyone’s attention spans. Three thousand words seemed to be the magic number. Joe was never able to make his stories that brief. 

He scanned the titles of the Pages documents for several minutes. He knew what the stories behind each title were. He finally settled on one entitled The Virgin Detective.

He then opened another file that contained short intros to all of his stories.

He read over the intro to The Virgin Detective.

Emil Haven IV genuinely dislikes being a Haven. He has spent most of his adult life doing un-Haven-like things, yet still hoping to win, his industrialist father’s approval. A moderately successful writer of crime fiction, Emil decides that maybe his father would approve if he tackled a non-fiction story. In his quest to find a story, he stumbles across an organized crime caper that’s just what he was looking for. But it inevitably opens up a can of worms that Haven just might not be able to handle.

He then read the entire story and decided that it would make a pretty decent screenplay. So without thinking about it too much, and with the Robert Towne model in his head, he got to work.

He wrote for the next two hours, at which time he had managed about twenty pages of script. He was definitely out of gas after he read the pages over correcting the typos as he went. He found himself a little confused because even though it was a lot harder than translating from his dreams, the actual content was just as good, at least in his mind it was. The real proof would be when he finished and sent it off to Julie to look at. But, if nothing else, Joe was an anal enough guy to want to prove this to himself one way or another.

He checked his email and found a message from Julie that in four days, he would meet with Hugo and the producer for The Locker Key at their offices. He sent back a confirmation and thought that he would take whatever he had managed to put together from The Virgin Detective story along with him to show her. In his own way, he was determined to pull this off without the help of whatever was floating around in his brain.

Joe finished the screenplay two days later. Donna read it and while she found a few typos and space-os, she thought it was pretty good. The only difference that Joe could see is that writing while not holding a total vision in his head was a lot more exhausting than writing from his dreams. He made a note to talk to Dr. Freeland about that. 

~ 9 ~

Joe and Connie were shown into a different meeting room at Allied Artists. There was a large flat screen at one end. Hugo Mira and his producer, a lady named Greta Jones got up to greet them. Hugo hugged both Joe and Connie, because that’s what Europeans did. He was a handsome man, with a well-trimmed beard and long wavy hair that was almost black. Greta was a blonde and looked to be in her late thirties. She had a very pleasant aura.

Once everyone was seated with a beverage, Julie turned the meeting over to Hugo who, surprisingly spoke with a bit of a British accent.

“First of all. Thank you, Joe, for this wonderful story. It is exactly what I was looking for to get my relationship with Allied and Netflix off to a good start.”

“Well, I’m thrilled that this has moved so quickly through the system and gotten to you.”

“So what we’re here to look at is casting.” Hugo said. “We have already done a preliminary casting and have narrowed our selections down in each of the key roles of which there are seven. Since you are the writer, we would appreciate your perspective in terms of who you think best fits the image you had when you created this story. I do a bit of writing myself and know that it’s always helpful to imagine what your characters look like.” 

Joe interlocked his fingers in front of him.

“I have my favorites out of everyone you’re going to see,” Hugo said. “Just want to see how closely aligned we are.”

“You’re right about seeing the characters. Since I’m a little older than you I tend to imagine who would play them if I wrote this back in the nineteen-forties or fifties, because I’m a huge fan of tough guy movies from that era.”

‘Fair enough.” Hugo said. And he led Joe through the casting, and like everything else about the whole process so far, it all went smoothly with one or two minor differences of opinion, which were discussed and addressed, Finally all but one of all of Hugo’s choices were agreed to.

Hugo then made it clear that Joe would be welcome on the set at any time during production and that he was planning to shoot the script verbatim, so there would be no need for him to be with him every day.

Hugo and Greta, who actually did not say a single word during the whole meeting, got up and Julie showed them out.

About a minute later Julie came back and sat down. Thanks for doing this. Hugo wants very badly to sign with us, so this will be his baptism by fire, so to speak.”

“He seems very capable and he sees the story the way I do, at least from the character point of view.”

“He’s the real deal alright. We’re all hoping that this is a big hit. And thank you for coming to this meeting. It was very helpful.”

“Joe took a memory key out of his pocket and slid it across to Julie. “This is a feature-length script that could also be a series pilot. It’s called The Virgin Detective. And it’s based on one of my earlier stories.

I have been writing these pieces, the three novels and The Locker Key script, all based on these vivid dreams I have been having. But this is a little different in that I just wrote it based on a story I wrote a few years ago. No dreams to get it jump started. I really felt the need to try this, mostly just to see if I could pull it off this way. I’ve been a little afraid that I was becoming dependent on my dreams and that that was not a healthy thing.”

“OK Joe. I’ll read it and give it to one of our top readers and we’ll see what’s what.”

“Thanks, Julie. I appreciate it.”

“Well so do we. If it’s even half as good as The Locker Key we’ll be in great shape.”

Then Julie then turned to Donna. “What do you think about all this, Donna?”

Donna hesitated for a moment and then said. “You know, I’m not really sure. It’s all kind of unreal what’s happening. But I think Joe just came into himself after he stopped working in the agencies. He never really had the time to figure out how good he was. Now he does and it’s, well, he’s pretty damn good, if ask me.”

Julie smiled. “Yes he is, Donna.” 

Twenty minutes later they were on the Gardiner Expressway crawling out of the city.

~ 10 ~

Three days later, Joe was sitting with Donna across the desk from Dr. Freeland.

“It’s been three months since my surgery,” Joe said. “Since then my life has quite literally been turned upside down, inside out and sideways. I have written three novels and a screenplay all of which have been sold and I know just how freakin’ difficult it is to do that. Then last week I created another screenplay without any assistance from the weird dreams I have been telling you about. So right now, I’m asking you to tell me the absolute truth about my surgery. Did you inject a serum into my spinal fluid or did you not? And furthermore, does such a thing even exist?”

Dr. Freeland put his hands flat on the desk and leaned forward. “No Joe, there is no serum. But you have been part of an experiment. It’s a new treatment process called psychosomatic healing. It uses the power of suggestion to give patients confidence. Most patients, after surgery, especially spinal surgery,  experience some level of depression. Almost all of them are prescribed anti-depression medication. Psychosomatic healing is a supplement to the anti-depressives. It works very well for some people, not so much for others. A lot of it depends on the intellect of the person being treated. Because you are a writer, you are used to thinking deeply, it appears to have worked very well for you. So the suggestion that there is a drug or serum in your system that was enabling you was most helpful. It helped you dig deep into your intellect. The novels and the screenplay you wrote were all you, Joe, operating under the belief that there was something helping you do it. 

“In the case of other test subjects, this tends to break patients out of their post surgical lethargy and get them moving again. This, in turn, speeds their healing and recovery to varying degrees. In your case, it was off the charts.”

“So I did this all myself, operating on the belief that there was something you put in my body that was enabling it.” Joe said

“That’s pretty much it Joe. And you can see why we had to create a deception.”

“How long has this therapy been in existence?” Donna asked.

“Not long at all.” Dr Freeland said. “It was developed about three years ago by a psychiatrist named Josh Abrams in Tel Aviv. I met him at a psychiatric conference in Vienna where he was looking for spinal surgeons from different parts of the world to take part in the testing program. I found the idea extremely interesting since many of my patients were left with some sort of disability after surgery. I believed it would help them better deal with what had been taken away. I have been doing this for about a year now and so far the results have been quite positive. But I have to admit that you, Joe, are quite an anomaly.

“What I can tell you is that the infection was a big part of the problem. The other part was the misalignment of your spinal vertebrae, which we corrected with the pins we installed. We do know that this misalignment, which could have occurred in any number of ways before the infection, would have had an effect on your overall energy levels. How much of an effect it’s hard to say.”

All the time Joe was listening to Dr. Freeland his emotions were going nuts. He felt like screaming. Then he felt like crying. Then he felt like laughing out loud and jumping across the desk and hugging Freeland. But instead, he sat there and took it all in.”

“I guess that writing a novel or screenplay about this would be out of the question.”

“Sorry, but yes it would. There was a confidentiality clause in the contract you signed that prevents you from doing that.”

“So I guess we’re done here.”

“We are, but the learning we have gained from your experience is extremely valuable. and the million is still there in case you outlive your savings. Dr. Abrams' project is very well funded because it can ultimately save the hospital industry billions over the long term.”

“I have to tell you, this is a huge relief. I was terrified that I had become addicted to whatever I thought you put into my body.”

“I’m sorry about that.” Dr Freeland said. “But you should be happy about the fact that you were able to dig deep enough to unearth your real talents, Joe. In my experience, very few people in this life get to do that. I would say ride that horse as far as you can. Use your talent, not just to make money, but to make statements. Leave your mark, so to speak.”

At that point, the meeting was over. Everyone got to their feet. Joe shook hands with Dr. Freeland. “Thanks for opening up my body and fixing me and thanks for helping me open up my mind as well.”

“My pleasure Joe. You have a good life, both of you.”

A few minutes later they were in the car heading down Martindale Road toward home. Donna looked over at Joe. He seemed lost. 

“Are you alright, honey?” Donna asked.

This seemed to snap Joe out of whatever funk he was in.” “Yeah, I’m good. It’s all good.”

“Are you gonna be alright?” Donna asked.

“God I hope so. But I have to admit I’m feeling a little tired.”

“Well, you’ve been going at it pretty hard for a while now.”

“Yeah, I suppose I have.”

“Why don’t we take a vacation?”

“And go where? ”

“Joe, you’re making around fifty thousand dollars a month. We can go anywhere we damn well please.”

“Yeah, I guess we can.”

“You can write some more books and movies when you get back.”

“I can do that too, can’t I?”

“Yes, I you can. And knowing you, you probably will”.

FIN