Excerpt from Smokescreen Novel

After dealing with taxes and other issues, I'm happy to say that I'm back at work on the Smokescreen novel. I think it's coming along well, so I thought I'd share an excerpt. (And as you might expect, the usual caveats apply - i.e., it's hasn't bene prooked, etc.) 

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I didn’t go home. I needed to confirm my suspicions, but – if she was being unfaithful – I didn’t want my girlfriend to see my car and suddenly get her guard up. Therefore, I drove to a street about two blocks over, parked my vehicle, and then hustled back.

It had already been dark when I initially knocked on Sarah’s door, and as I drew close to her house I started keeping to the shadows, trying to stay out of the street lights like some miscreant bent on mischief. Basically, I felt confident that Sarah hadn’t returned in the few minutes it took me to make my way back, but I didn’t want her to suddenly drive up and see me. Moments later I was at her driveway.

Sarah’s home had a privacy hedge that skirted the front and, to a lesser extent, a small area on one side of the residence. On a couple of occasions when Sarah and I had played hide-and-seek with her younger siblings, ducking down behind the hedge on the side had made for a semi-decent hiding spot. I swiftly made my way there, and hadn’t moved since.

Of course, hiding behind a hedge as part of a children’s game is very different that when you’re there for some cloak-and-dagger purpose. In the latter case, you feel like you’re going to get busted at any moment. Fortunately, the only person with a clear line of sight to me was Sarah’s next-door neighbor – a ninety-year-old widow with cataracts who went to bed every night at six o’clock. Still, I felt incredibly exposed. Moreover, time seemed to crawl by; it felt like I had taken up residence there, but when I checked my watch only ten minutes had passed.

At that point, I decided that I needed a better place to continue my stakeout. There weren’t a whole lot of options, though. Or rather, there weren’t a lot of options for me in my current form.

As an idea came to mind, I took a quick glance around. As far as I could tell, there were no eyes on me. (And if there were, they probably wouldn’t be able to make out any features in the gloom of night, but with me essentially lying in wait, it still wouldn’t look good.)

There were two vehicles parked in the driveway of Sarah’s home: a sedan that her father normally used, and a minivan that was usually driven by her mother. I shifted into my vaporous form, at which point the clothes I’d been wearing flopped to the ground behind the hedge. Then, looking like a human-shaped cloud, I swiftly headed to the minivan, thankful that Sarah’s family didn’t have outdoor security cameras.

As one would expect, the door was locked, but that didn’t present a problem for me. Outside of things like submarines, it’s difficult to find a vehicle that’s completely airtight, and the minivan was no exception. I quickly slipped into the space between the door and the frame, and scant seconds later I was inside.

The minivan had an alarm system that was activated, but – still in my gaseous state – I didn’t expect to set it off. Finding this a more comfortable environment that the spot by the hedge, I then settled in to wait. Roughly five minutes later, Sarah showed up.

I didn’t initially realize that it was her. Several cars had driven by on the street during the time I had been waiting, and I didn’t get an indication that my quarry had arrived until a vehicle pulled into the driveway. Although the headlights shined briefly through the minivan windows, I doubted they could see into the interior; the vehicle had a tint job that was so dark that it had to be illegal. A second later the headlights went off, and I saw Sarah getting out on the front passenger side of an expensive-looking sports car. At the same time, I saw a guy getting out on the driver’s side, and I found myself giving him a hard look.

He was our age – about sixteen or so – and dressed in designer clothes. That fact, coupled with the car he drove, suggested that he came from a moneyed background. Like Sarah, he was Asian and (although I hated to admit it) rather handsome. Thus, on a purely objective basis, I could understand why Sarah’s parents might think him a good match and why – under other circumstances – he might be the type of guy she’d date.

They laughed merrily as the guy walked Sarah to her door, and I strained trying to hear what they were saying.

“–so, I shouted, ‘That’s fine – keep the dog!’” the guy said, causing Sarah to laugh even louder.

“You’re crazy, Michael,” she uttered, still giggling. “I can’t believe that actually happened.”

“It’s true, I swear,” declared the dude with her – Michael.

“I’m going to have to get independent confirmation of that,” Sarah told him as they reached her door. “Anyway, I had a really nice time tonight.”

“Me, too,” Michael stated. “We should do it again.”

Tell him you have a boyfriend, I said to myself, angrily. Tell him this was a one-off. Tell him he’s not your type. Tell him anything that makes it clear that another “date” – or whatever this was – is out of the question.

“We’ll see,” said Sarah, then she leaned forward and gave him a hug.

Suddenly I was seeing red. I was completely furious, erupting with contemptuous, hateful anger. At the same time, it felt like someone had just stabbed me in the heart. 

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