Post by Dale on Jul 12, 2009 22:39:56 GMT -5
so my great great uncle or something was an author by the name of christopher bush. through the 20's to the 60's he wrote a hell of a lot of detective/mystery novels revolving around a private detective called ludovic travers. and they were all titled "the case of..." hence the name of the thread.
i recently read a bunch of his books, and i decided to try and write some thing that continued the travers family if you will.
so here's something that's been swirling around my head for the past few days. thought i'd write it to get the creative writing board underway. and may/probably write little updates now and then
------------------------
Chapter One
There was a bed, not a particular comfortable bed, not a particularly comforting bed. A bed that had seen death and hope; its current occupant, Viktor Travers had neither.
Seventeen hours ago, he had fallen from a third storey window, landed back first on the concrete below. He felt the blood trickle from his skull, flowing down to his fingers like a great river. As his head lolled to the side and his eyes flickered closed, he tried to move his hand from the crimson fluid, to no avail.
Disorientated, Viktor’s eyes opened. What he saw next he would not recall, he would remember the lights that burned his eyes as he lifted his eye lids. He would remember the beige walls and the whir of machines. He would also remember the voice that seemed so distant, as it asked for his name, seemingly muffled by a great ocean.
And in that moment, Viktor pondered upon his name and what it meant to be a Travers. His Grandfather was a Private Detective by the name of Ludovic; famous in certain parts of the world for his knack for solving the unsolvable, breaking the unbreakable. Ludovic Travers specialised in cracking water tight alibis; and so had his son Henry. It became the family business, something Viktor would be born in to. A fact he resented.
Viktor did not share the same knack as his father and grandfather before him. He often pondered what it would be like to have another occupation. But out of loyalty, those close to Viktor would call it misguided, to his family he stuck at it.
And as he lay in that hospital bed, the nurse’s voice ringing in his ears he had never been happier that he stuck with it, that he remained loyal to his family and that his surname is Travers. Viktor looked up at the ceiling and smiled an eerie smile. For the first time in his life, he was gonna break the unbreakable, solve the unsolvable. Viktor Travers was going to find out who pushed him out of that window, he was going to find the man that tried to kill him.
***
Viktor remained in that bed, encased in the steel bars that adorned either side, under the itchy woollen blanket that had covered many before him. A week past, meals came and were taken away hours later, uneaten and untouched. Viktor uttered no words, not to doctors nor nurses. He just looked up at the ceiling, staring at the same damp patch on the ceiling tile.
“I’ve been asking them to change that tile for going on a year now” said one particular nurse who caught Viktor staring up at it. “A flood, last year on the floor above caused it. You should have seen this place, not a patch of floor could be seen for all the beds that were packed in here.” Viktor ignored her as she fluffed his pillow. “Not very talkative are we? Can’t say I blame you. With a fracture skull, I wouldn’t want to talk much either.”
Her friendly smile did not disrupt Viktor from his mood. At the present, he had made a silent promise not to trust anyone, seemingly pleasant friendly nurses included. She left, taking a tray of day old Jell-O and spaghetti with her.
Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to a month. And finally the day had come for Viktor Travers to leave. With the approval of his doctor, Viktor left on a Sunday morning, at eleven o’clock in the morning. As he stepped out of the double doors at the entrance to the hospital he never wished to visit again, Viktor drew his coat around him, protecting himself from the harsh weather outside.
“Cold weather we’re having.”
“Henry...” Viktor said, turning to see a portly man, leaning against a Lincoln town car lighting a cigarette.
“How long have I been in hospital?” Viktor inquired.
“By my count, it’s been about a month.” Henry replied.
“Nice of you to come and visit,” Victor glibly responded with just a hint of sarcasm.
Henry takes a long hard puff from the cigarette. The smoke he exhales could easily have been his breath on the cold air.
“Yeah; I’m sorry. I’ve been busy.”
“Staying alive?”
“Something like that” Henry said, taking a subtle glance around the surrounding area.
“You think whoever tried to kill me, is after you too?” Viktor hypothesised.
“I’m not taking any chances.”
“You came to pick me up, what do you call that?” Viktor replied as he approached the vehicle, opening the door next to Henry.
“Stupid.” Henry responded.
“Well, that’s always been your forte.” Viktor quipped.
“Good to see a knock on the head hasn’t dampened your sense of humour.” Henry replied with a smile. He dropped his cigarette to the ground and put it out with the heel of his loafer before entering the vehicle himself.
“Are we going to talk about what happened?” asked Viktor, sitting in the back seat.
Henry glanced out of the windows of his car, scanning the area once again. Perhaps it was paranoia setting it, but nevertheless to Henry; it seemed the man with the leather gloves reading a newspaper and sipping coffee, was watching them.
“Not here.” Henry responded. He turned the key in the ignition and the car pulled away.
i recently read a bunch of his books, and i decided to try and write some thing that continued the travers family if you will.
so here's something that's been swirling around my head for the past few days. thought i'd write it to get the creative writing board underway. and may/probably write little updates now and then
------------------------
Chapter One
There was a bed, not a particular comfortable bed, not a particularly comforting bed. A bed that had seen death and hope; its current occupant, Viktor Travers had neither.
Seventeen hours ago, he had fallen from a third storey window, landed back first on the concrete below. He felt the blood trickle from his skull, flowing down to his fingers like a great river. As his head lolled to the side and his eyes flickered closed, he tried to move his hand from the crimson fluid, to no avail.
Disorientated, Viktor’s eyes opened. What he saw next he would not recall, he would remember the lights that burned his eyes as he lifted his eye lids. He would remember the beige walls and the whir of machines. He would also remember the voice that seemed so distant, as it asked for his name, seemingly muffled by a great ocean.
And in that moment, Viktor pondered upon his name and what it meant to be a Travers. His Grandfather was a Private Detective by the name of Ludovic; famous in certain parts of the world for his knack for solving the unsolvable, breaking the unbreakable. Ludovic Travers specialised in cracking water tight alibis; and so had his son Henry. It became the family business, something Viktor would be born in to. A fact he resented.
Viktor did not share the same knack as his father and grandfather before him. He often pondered what it would be like to have another occupation. But out of loyalty, those close to Viktor would call it misguided, to his family he stuck at it.
And as he lay in that hospital bed, the nurse’s voice ringing in his ears he had never been happier that he stuck with it, that he remained loyal to his family and that his surname is Travers. Viktor looked up at the ceiling and smiled an eerie smile. For the first time in his life, he was gonna break the unbreakable, solve the unsolvable. Viktor Travers was going to find out who pushed him out of that window, he was going to find the man that tried to kill him.
***
Viktor remained in that bed, encased in the steel bars that adorned either side, under the itchy woollen blanket that had covered many before him. A week past, meals came and were taken away hours later, uneaten and untouched. Viktor uttered no words, not to doctors nor nurses. He just looked up at the ceiling, staring at the same damp patch on the ceiling tile.
“I’ve been asking them to change that tile for going on a year now” said one particular nurse who caught Viktor staring up at it. “A flood, last year on the floor above caused it. You should have seen this place, not a patch of floor could be seen for all the beds that were packed in here.” Viktor ignored her as she fluffed his pillow. “Not very talkative are we? Can’t say I blame you. With a fracture skull, I wouldn’t want to talk much either.”
Her friendly smile did not disrupt Viktor from his mood. At the present, he had made a silent promise not to trust anyone, seemingly pleasant friendly nurses included. She left, taking a tray of day old Jell-O and spaghetti with her.
Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to a month. And finally the day had come for Viktor Travers to leave. With the approval of his doctor, Viktor left on a Sunday morning, at eleven o’clock in the morning. As he stepped out of the double doors at the entrance to the hospital he never wished to visit again, Viktor drew his coat around him, protecting himself from the harsh weather outside.
“Cold weather we’re having.”
“Henry...” Viktor said, turning to see a portly man, leaning against a Lincoln town car lighting a cigarette.
“How long have I been in hospital?” Viktor inquired.
“By my count, it’s been about a month.” Henry replied.
“Nice of you to come and visit,” Victor glibly responded with just a hint of sarcasm.
Henry takes a long hard puff from the cigarette. The smoke he exhales could easily have been his breath on the cold air.
“Yeah; I’m sorry. I’ve been busy.”
“Staying alive?”
“Something like that” Henry said, taking a subtle glance around the surrounding area.
“You think whoever tried to kill me, is after you too?” Viktor hypothesised.
“I’m not taking any chances.”
“You came to pick me up, what do you call that?” Viktor replied as he approached the vehicle, opening the door next to Henry.
“Stupid.” Henry responded.
“Well, that’s always been your forte.” Viktor quipped.
“Good to see a knock on the head hasn’t dampened your sense of humour.” Henry replied with a smile. He dropped his cigarette to the ground and put it out with the heel of his loafer before entering the vehicle himself.
“Are we going to talk about what happened?” asked Viktor, sitting in the back seat.
Henry glanced out of the windows of his car, scanning the area once again. Perhaps it was paranoia setting it, but nevertheless to Henry; it seemed the man with the leather gloves reading a newspaper and sipping coffee, was watching them.
“Not here.” Henry responded. He turned the key in the ignition and the car pulled away.
