On The Brink
By Simon Jenner
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About this ebook
Bill Gibson, devoted husband and father, is on the brink of literary failure, his family is on the brink of poverty, his dragon of a mother-in-law is on the brink of an impromptu visit.
When the reason behind the dragon’s visit threatens their future, Bill finds himself on the brink of murder.
On the brink. A deliciously dark story of murder, deceit, poor book sales and a full bladder.
On the brink. How far would you go?
This novella contains a few violent scenes, the occasional sexual reference and the odd bit of bad language, so please don't buy it if you are easily offended.
Simon Jenner
Simon Jenner is best known for the bestselling ETHAN JUSTICE series, dark-humoured action thrillers with unforgettable main characters. He also wrote the critically acclaimed THE EVOLVED, the first in a young adult sci-fi trilogy, with the second book still in development. His latest book, DON’T CALL ME BETH, is an epic psychological thriller which is receiving much early praise.Simon lives in Beverley, East Riding of Yorkshire, with his wife, Julia.https://www.facebook.com/SimonJennerAuthorhttp://SimonJenner.com/
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On The Brink - Simon Jenner
On The Brink
© 2016 Simon Jenner
SimonJenner.com
Image credits © graphicphoto and © AvelKrieg - DepositPhotos.com.
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. All characters and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual people or events is coincidental or fictionalised.
On The Brink
THE DAY BEGAN with the usual promise of death and suffering. According to Sky News, the peace of Christmas was officially over. While the solemn-faced newscaster spoke soberly of North Korea’s blossoming nuclear capabilities and Europe’s migration crisis, Bill hummed a well-known tune, the name of which escaped him. Something by Bowie, he believed.
The world was indeed in dire straits. No argument there.
And yet, sitting on a four-seater threadbare sofa, the planet’s evils could not put a dent in Bill’s cheer. Enid, his wife’s mother, had flown home yesterday, and nothing short of a plague gifting life to the dead had the gravitas to bring him down. Today he breathed easier, the air tasted sweeter, and life was full of possibilities. At the breaking news of a man savaged to death by his beloved pit bull terrier, Bill began to whistle.
Dad! Take that racket outside, will ya?
his son Zak called out from the adjoining dining room. I’m trying to lay down a new language for my alien species.
Lay what down on what?
he replied.
I’m recording Dilgoradian. The native tongue on planet Zemplex 6.
Not much the wiser, Bill returned to his humming, thrilled to hear his son’s voice raised above a whisper. While his mother-in-law had been blighting their seasonal merriment, fourteen-year-old Zak barely said a word. He preferred to create other worlds - and languages, apparently - than to live in the real one. And who could blame him? Their only child had retreated into the safety of his wonderful imagination, an escape tool Bill would have paid good money for.
If he had any.
Amber, his wife of fifteen years, and two years his junior at 51, was the only family member that readily conversed with the acid-tongued battle-axe. We’ve put up with her for this long,
she’d remind him in the privacy of the bedroom, door closed, voice lowered to a whisper. "Without her support, we’ll have to sell the house. And do you really want to kiss goodbye to the inheritance?"
A price worth paying, perhaps, but with the meagre contribution of a struggling author’s income, fault for their precarious financial predicament lay mostly at his unsuccessful feet. Amber’s online marketing work brought in four times his pittance from book sales. But even between them, their income fell many crumbs short of breadline status. It didn’t help that signs of the inheritance’s arrival were all but absent, mother-in-law no frailer this latest visit than on her first foray to Spain some nine years ago. He often joked that black magic played its part. If anyone possessed the tenacity to grumble, humble and humiliate Death into an extension, she did. Still, the next time the darkness descended would be July, and now was the time to make hay before her presence once again laid waste to their peace. He spent the next few hours at his desk, plotting his much dreamed of international best-selling novel.
Until the call came.
At first he thought it was the daily ‘life lesson’ call. These Skype communications lasted up to thirty minutes and concluded with the dragon - as Amber had labelled her - lecturing her only child on Bill’s endless failings. The final piece of advice was always the same: ‘Leave him and find yourself a proper man’. Long before this point, he would retire to his study and draft a murder scene, giving mother-in-law the victim’s role. Slicing and dicing the hag into his prose was therapeutic, the perfect channel for catharsis. If his creative muse floundered, he found solace by rereading the rapidly expanding back catalogue. In the ‘Dragon’s Death’ folder on his computer, there were close to two hundred scenes depicting her bloodthirsty demise.
But this was more than just that call.
Alerted to the unfolding drama by his wife’s raised voice, Bill raced into the dining room, lunging to his right to avoid capture by the webcam perched on top of the monitor.
Amber’s tone was one of disbelief, her forced and well-practised smile on the cusp of defeat. You’ve booked to return … when?
Even without mother-in-law’s physical presence, trouble was heading their way. Forget broomsticks, nowadays the Internet facilitated the work of witches. No need to book calls through an operator like the good old days. Progress had much to answer for.
But that’s in two weeks,
Amber said, fumbling around the table for paper and a pencil. Aren’t you still worn out from the journey home?
You said I was always welcome,
the scowling face returned, a pale canvas of loose and wrinkled skin dotted with an abundance of odd-shaped moles. Zak reckoned that one of Grandma’s looks could shrivel the hardiest of plants. Bill didn’t doubt it. I might be dead tomorrow, you know?
Bill closed his eyes and made a rare prayer to God, asking him to kindly consider those words. But even if the big man was listening, he doubted assassination requests were undertaken lightly, particularly when a devoted agnostic did the asking. He waved his hands at his wife, shaking his head so hard it hurt. No,
he mouthed when she finally glanced his way. God, no.
Is that useless Willy lurking in the corner?
the dragon asked. He casts a lump of a shadow, that one. Is that why your eyes flicked to the right?
His chest muscles tightened, and the easy breathing he had enjoyed since waking deserted him. On the day he first met his mother-in-law - eight months before the title became official - she’d asked him which variant of William he preferred. He’d answered, Anything but Willy is fine.
Since that moment, she’d not once called him anything but Willy.
Don’t be shy, Willy,
the voice capable of setting a rat’s teeth on edge continued. Slouch over here, and remind me again what inadequacy looks like.
Bill’s working upstairs,
Amber lied, clinging on to the plastic smile. "You know we love having you over, but we’ve promised to take Zak to see the latest Star Wars