[stylist] Mystery story with main character blind

[Donna Hill]

Bridgit,
Sorry to take so long to get back to you. I do remember the story from
before, and I enjoyed it again. The tension builds nicely as does the
romance. I could see this being expanded upon for a novel.

I'm not sure what my comments were last time, so forgive any repetition.

My main concern in reading this is probably going to sound strange to you. I
was distracted by what I see as the over-use of proper names, especially
Aden's name. I think you've gone a little overboard in trying to make
absolutely sure your reader understands about whom you are speaking. The
concern is a valid one, but, as I learned the first time my sister read my
novel, the continued appearance of the name in places where it is obvious
about whom you are speaking is distracting to some readers and takes away
from the flow of the story.

There are times when Aden and Selma are alone where you don't need anything
but pronouns once you've established who is in the scene. In other places,
it seems like we're inside Aden's head and then his name comes up. There are
also a few spelling/usage errors. I don't rigidly hold to the rule about not
ending a sentence with a preposition, but in a story of this length, I felt
that this shouldn't have appeared so much. Rephrasing would work better,
IMO.
Here's an example of one instance in which I sympathize with your choice but
think rephrasing would result in a better read.

Block quote
Ayden's father had found Ayden's grandfather lying at the bottom of the
staircase in his home. 
Block quote end

For instance, you could say, "Aden's father had found his own father ..." 


In this, I think we're in Aden's head.
Block quote
"You're meant to follow your own path," Lucy had told Ayden once.
Block quote end
How about ""...," Lucy had once told him."


In this, the second Aden could be replaced with "he."
Block quote
After an accident had left Ayden blind, his father had refused to believe
Ayden could handle the work of a litigator, but Lucy had never doubted his
ability to do anything.
Block quote end

Another thought on this sentence ... Your use of "an accident" rather than
"the accident that had left Aden blind" seems to blur the import of the
accident, putting a bit of a pause on the building of tension. I don't think
the use of "the" here would diminish Aden's competence as a blind man in the
reader's eye.
In this next one, I'd rewrite it to avoid ending the sentence "knew about."
I'd also get rid of one of the Aden's.

Block quote
Now, Ayden and Salma found a letter enclosed in the pages of the book; a
letter suggesting a secret Ayden never knew about.
Block quote end

Here's another sentence where a pronoun could be substituted without raising
a question in the reader's mind.

Block quote
Ayden never believed that his grandmother would hurt anyone. She had been
fond of Ayden, and she never treated him like his life was over after the
accident.
Block quote end

Again, here is another one where the meaning is clear, and there's another
preposition at the end of the last sentence that could easily be avoided.

Block quote
Ayden sat in the car as Salma drove. Neither spoke as Ayden's fingers slid
across the pages on his lap. Reading his Braille notes, Ayden wondered where
to start once they reached the small town where his grandparents and father
had grown up.
Block quote end

How about something like, "They sat in silence as Salma drove. Ayden's
fingers slid across the pages on his lap. Reading his Braille notes, he
wondered where to start once they reached the small town where his
grandparents and father had been raised.
In this next one, we're certainly in Aden's POV and I'd drop Aden's name.
Also, the first sentence ends with the phrase "felt comfortable with.
Obviously, you could say, "with whom he felt comfortable," but I understand
that you might find that a bit stilted, but there are other ways to reword
it. You've also used "always" twice in this small paragraph. I think you
could either eliminate one of them or substitute another word.  

Block quote
Salma was the one person he truly felt comfortable with. Her infectious way
of always looking at things positively seemed like a novelty to Ayden. She
could always make him smile.
Block quote end


In this next paragraph, I think you mean "someone" as one word not two --
not something Spell Check would notice.
Block quote
They entered the quiet, almost lazy-like atmosphere of the police station.
Ayden moved towards the sound of  clacking as some one pressed keys on a
computer keyboard with a practiced efficiency. 
Block quote end 

I don't like the last sentence in this next one It just sounds awkward to
me.
.
Block quote
She inhaled a quick breath. "One minute." Standing, her chair creaked.
Block quote end

How about, "Her chair creaked as she stood."


The same sort of thing is going on in this next sentence. I think in both
cases, it takes the crispness away.

Block quote
Walking away, her shoes clicked on the floor.
Block quote end


In this next one, how about connecting these actions?

Block quote
Sheriff Jenkins began tapping the edge of the metal table in the
interrogation room. Ayden twisted his cane between his fingers. Salma bobbed
her foot which was lightly kicking Ayden's shin.
Block quote end

Something like, "Sheriff Jenkins tapped the edge of the metal table in the
interrogation room. Ayden twisted his cane between his fingers, as Salma
bobbed her foot, lightly kicking his shin.
I didn't like "arcing" in this next sentence and when I did a spell check,
it picked it up as verb confusion.

Block quote
Ayden walked forward arcing his cane wide. 
Block quote end

I think in the following paragraph "Danmit" is a typo.

Block quote
Danmit, he swore to himself. They had opened windows before going to bed,
hoping to air out their lodgings for the night.
Block quote end


This paragraph sounds to rhymy for the story. I also don't care for "back
down," which could be changed to "... down or ... down again. Also, Spell
check thinks it's supposed to be "lying." Since everyone seems to have
trouble with lay and lie, I often use another word like reclining.

Block quote
Laying back down on the bed, one arm behind his head, he smiled when Salma
threw an arm across his chest. Drifting back to sleep, he focused his
thoughts on Salma.
Block quote end


Anyway, hope this isn't too much. Just some things to consider. I think it's
a great story, just needs a little polish.
Donna
-----Original Message-----
From: stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org [mailto:stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org] On
Behalf Of Bridgit Pollpeter
Sent: Tuesday, January 31, 2012 9:51 PM
To: stylist at nfbnet.org
Subject: [stylist] Mystery story with main character blind

Jackie, Donna and others,

I've posted this story before, actually, I think I did it a few months
ago. Anyway, this is totally not my genre or style, but I had to write a
mystery story for a class back in university. It's not my best, but I
received a lot of praise for using a main character who is blind. My
peers and prof. were enlightened but also enjoyed how I presented the
character and his "world," for lack of a better description. The entire
story is told in the blind character's POV. This was also my first
attempt to create a blind character in fiction. Having been sighted for
most of my life, I actually find it difficult to write from a "blind"
perspective. Again, keep in mind, not my best writing, but I do think I
managed to portray a blind character without the "blindness" being the
focus. Enjoy.

Sense of Murder
	
Ayden sat in his father's leather wingback chair rolling a large key
between his fingers. The metal key had been cold, but now was warmed by
his hands. He gripped the key in his palm and rubbed a thumb across the
rough , rusty surface. A few weeks ago, Ayden had merely been
researching the mysterious death of his grandfather for a book he was
writing. Now, he sat among items wondering if his grandfather had been
murdered.
Ayden's father had found Ayden's grandfather lying at the bottom of the
staircase in his home. His father never spoke about the incident after
reporting it to the police. His father was allowing Ayden and Salma to
search through any items he kept though.
For years there had been whispers of foul play, but no one ever spoke
about the rumors. The official ruling was that Henry Templeton, Ayden's
grandfather, had accidently fallen down the stairs. Other than the
vicious gossip, there didn't seem to be any reason to think otherwise
until Ayden began researching his grandfather's life. A few weeks of
poking around Henry Templeton's past, Ayden received a mysterious email.
 Your journey has just begun, but it is advisable that you stop your
investigation immediately. Heartache and harm can only befall you
 Alarmed, but intrigued, Ayden picked up his research with new fervor.
Now he and his friend and neighbor, Salma, sat in his father's large
office surrounded by books and papers searching for clues that may
indicate a reason why his grandfather would have been murdered.
"So what's next?" Salma asked. 
Tapping the key in his palm, Ayden said, "I'm not sure. This letter says
a lot."
Ayden closed his eyes thinking on this letter. It was evidence, even if
circumstantial, that suggested, if his grandmother knew about it, she
could have killed Henry.
People had said his grandmother, Lucy, had been distracted and irritable
a couple of weeks before his grandfather's death. When his father found
Henry at the bottom of the stairs, the only other person present had
been his grandmother. Stunned by the event, his father had placed Lucy
in a nursing home.
There was a pause then paper crackled before Salma spoke. "It's pretty
clear from this letter that your grandfather was having an affair. I
wonder if we can figure out these initials, A. W."
Ayden shut his eyes again, thinking, trying to remember anyone he had
ever met with A. W. for initials. "I don't know," he sighed.
As Ayden and Salma leafed through pictures and notes, they had found an
old copy of Wuthering Heights.
Ayden remembered the year his grandfather had given the third edition
book to his grandmother for Christmas. His grandmother had sat
unwrapping the gift, then exclaimed, "Oh," before looking up with tears
in her eyes. Wuthering Heights had always been her favorite novel. Lucy
had been the one person to encourage Ayden to follow his dream and take
up writing instead of joining the family law firm. "You're meant to
follow your own path," Lucy had told Ayden once.
After an accident had left Ayden blind, his father had refused to
believe Ayden could handle the work of a litigator, but Lucy had never
doubted his ability to do anything.
Now, Ayden and Salma found a letter enclosed in the pages of the book; a
letter suggesting a secret Ayden never knew about.
Ayden touched the thick, but stiff piece of paper and held it out to
Salma to inspect. She told him the letter appeared old, but not as old
as the book. A few of the torn edges of the letter were turning yellow.
The letter was simple as she read:  
Henry, my love,
I can not wait to see you again. I hoped and when I saw you coming down
the road, my heart leaped. I still feel your touch. How much longer must
we wait? Please, my darling, give me what I ask before it is too late. 
Love, A. W.
When Ayden's father found Henry's body, Lucy had gone wild, screaming,
unable to leave Henry's lifeless body. 
Gossips spread the news, sweeping far and wide. Lucy was crazy, they
said. She went mad, she killed her husband. It was juicy, just what a
small town needed.
The police never looked into the possibility, but Lucy died with a black
mark attached to her memory.
Ayden never believed that his grandmother would hurt anyone. She had
been fond of Ayden, and she never treated him like his life was over
after the accident.
"What now? Where do we go next?" Salma asked.
Ayden held the rusty, rough key up in front of him. "We visit the old
Templeton mansion."
The Templeton mansion was the Victorian home his grandparents had lived
in. The family still owned it, but it had sat empty for years. Ayden
thought that maybe more secrets were hidden within the walls of the
Templeton house, eager to be discovered.


Ayden sat in the car as Salma drove. Neither spoke as Ayden's fingers
slid across the pages on his lap. Reading his Braille notes, Ayden
wondered where to start once they reached the small town where his
grandparents and father had grown up.
His grandfather had started a small law firm in town, but eventually it
grew. His grandparents had moved when Ayden's father, Nick, had been
ten.
Nick never spoke about his childhood though. Ayden really didn't know
much about his family's past. His grandparents had moved back to their
old house once Nick took the firm over, but Ayden had rarely visited the
home. After his grandfather had died, Lucy, unable to cope with his
death, had moved into an upscale nursing home in the City, and Nick left
the house untouched. 
The car slowed, and Ayden looked up at Salma. "Are we there?"
"Yes. What's our first stop?"
"I'm  figuring this out as we go along. I guess the police station."
Salma was silent before saying, "You okay? I know your dad wasn't happy
when you asked about the letter."
He remembered how Nick had gone quiet and cold before telling him ,
"Leave it alone. We don't dig up family history."
Ayden had tried to coax him to say more, but the subject was closed.
"Yeah. I wish he would have told us more. Explained something," Ayden
said.
"Maybe he just wants to keep your family secrets, well, secret. Some
people don't like giving out info about anything."
"I just feel like he knows more than he's letting on."
"We'll find something. Don't worry."
Salma was always reassuring Ayden. She had become a constant in his
life. The only real constant he had. She had shown up one day, knocking
on his door, holding a dish in her hands, offering Ayden some home made
enchiladas. That had been the beginning of their friendship. They had
spent many nights talking until three in the morning and hanging out on
weekends. Salma was the one true connection Ayden had to the outside
world.
Ayden never felt like he fit in his family's world of snobbish dinner
parties, elite country clubs and preferential treatment at most Ivy
League universities. After graduating from college, His father had told
him, "No one will ever respect a blind man in the courtroom. Maybe the
firm can bring you on as a researcher." Ayden was tired of his father's
attitude so he took a job writing for a small magazine and left the
family home.
Once moving away, he had become a recluse of sorts. He showed up to the
office for work, attended cocktail parties required for work and even
dated a couple of girls, but he always felt like an outsider. Salma was
the one person he truly felt comfortable with. Her infectious way of
always looking at things positively seemed like a novelty to Ayden. She
could always make him smile.
When he began writing the book about Henry, Salma had offered to assist
in anyway she could.
"I'm really glad you're here," Ayden said.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm waiting for my pay check. My services don't come free."
Salma giggled as she pulled into a parking stall. "I think we're here."
"Thanks, again, for taking the day off to help."
"Hey, I know you'd help me with stuff. It's all so interesting; way more
interesting than filling in for waiters who don't show up for work."
"You aren't at work, who's filling in for you?" Ayden said grinning at
her.
Salma smacked his arm. "That's the benefit of being the owner's
daughter."
Coins clinked as Salma plopped them into a parking meter, and Ayden's
cane tap, tap, tapped against brick buildings lining the city sidewalk.
The muted tapping turned into clinking.
Checking where he was, Ayden ran his hand across the door searching for
a sign. "No Braille, is this it?" he shouted back to Salma.
"Yes." Her shoes click-clacked against the pavement with an urgent
rhythm, trying to catch up.
They entered the quiet, almost lazy-like atmosphere of the police
station. Ayden moved towards the sound of  clacking as some one pressed
keys on a computer keyboard with a practiced efficiency. 
Stepping up to a counter, running his hand along it's smooth, cool edge,
Ayden said, "Excuse me."
"Can I help you?" A woman spoke, bored tones rolling out of her mouth.
"We were wondering if we can speak to some one who worked the Henry
Templeton case," Ayden said.
The woman stopped typing. A long, penetrating  silence followed before
she spoke again. "Who's  asking?"
"I'm Ayden Templeton, Henry's grandson."
She inhaled a quick breath. "One minute." Standing, her chair creaked.
Walking away, her shoes clicked on the floor.
Salma touched Ayden's arm. "She had a weird look when you mentioned your
grandpa's name."
Returning, a shuffling footstep accompanied the woman's clicking.
The shuffling moved towards Salma. "Hello. I'm Sheriff Jenkins. How can
I help you?"
Ayden stepped closer towards Salma, extending his arm to Sheriff
Jenkins. "I'm Ayden Templeton and this is Salma Juarez. We have some
questions about my grandfather's death."
There was a pause before Sheriff Jenkins shook Ayden's hand. "Step into
my office please."
Ayden followed the sheriff into a room off the main section of the
department. Avoiding the frame of the door, Ayden swept his cane before
entering the room. Asking for a chair, Ayden followed Sheriff Jenkins
directions. Salma's arm brush his as she sat next to him.
"Can I get you anything?" Sheriff Jenkins asked.
"No, but thank you. Salma?"
"I'm good," Salma replied.
Ayden felt a tension fill the room as the three sat there, not speaking.
Sheriff Jenkins began tapping the edge of the metal table in the
interrogation room. Ayden twisted his cane between his fingers. Salma
bobbed her foot which was lightly kicking Ayden's shin.
"We're hoping to learn as much as we can about Henry Templeton's death.
I'm researching the story for a novel I'm working on," Ayden said.
"I worked the case. There's not much to tell."
"I know you eventually reported it as an accidental death, but was there
ever any evidence suggesting otherwise?" Ayden asked.
"No. We questioned friends and family and there was no reason to believe
Henry Templeton was murdered." Sheriff Jenkins held an edge to his
voice.
Ayden shifted his head towards Salma. "I know there was-uh-speculation
that maybe my grandmother did it."
"Lucy Baldwin? She never hurt anyone. We were all shocked when she
married Henry. She could have had anyone she wanted."
Ayden leaned against the table looking straight in the direction where
Sheriff Jenkins sat. "I thought Henry was a catch? Wouldn't most have
jumped at the chance to marry into the Templeton family? You know, a
lawyer from a wealthy family and all that."
"He was a playboy. Always was, never changed."
"Who did you question about his death?" Salma asked.
The sheriff's chair creaked as he leaned back. "Well, of course Lucy and
her boy Nick. They were there. Found his body and all."
Ayden shot the sheriff a questioning glance. His voice contained a tone
Ayden didn't care for.
"Then there was Zelda, the housekeeper, and Avery Mayer, he came around
about once a week to help Lucy with the lawn. She loved her garden. Her
roses won prizes around here," Sheriff Jenkins continued.
"Anyone else?" Ayden asked.
"Oh, his work associates, but Henry was retired so they didn't see much
of him anymore. Alice Madison , she had been his personal secretary for
years. She still did stuff part-time for Henry."
Ayden pulled out his two-sided Braille slate. Pop-pop-pops echoed
throughout the small room as Ayden took Braille notes. "Are any of these
people still around?"
"Not everyone had the same opportunities as the Templeton's to leave
town. Other than Henry's work associates, I think most of them still
live around here. At least the one's who are still alive."
"Is there anything else you can tell us? Was there anything strange you
noticed? Any evidence that suggest something other than an accidental
tumble down the stairs?"
The sheriff snickered. "I know you city folk like to dream up seedy
happenings in small towns, but Henry Templeton's death was nothing more
than an accident. Nothing dark about it."
"Thank you for your time." Ayden extended his hand to Sheriff Jenkins's.
The sheriff didn't take his hand. He just sighed. "Look, don't go
digging anything up. Just let the dead rest."
Salma's bracelet tinkled as she stood.
"We understand. I'm just trying to find things out about my grandfather
for the book. You know, no stone uncovered."
"Are you two married?" Sheriff Jenkins asked.
Ayden was confused by the switch in topics. "No."
The sheriff chuckled. "Like your grandpa, I see."
Ayden blushed, but Salma said, "Ayden is nothing but a gentleman.
Clearly something he did not pick up in this town."
"I know the kind of men the Templeton's are," the sheriff said.
Unsure of what to do, Ayden turned to leave.
"At least he has a better chance of touching what you have been admiring
this whole time," Salma snapped. She twisted about, fluttering Ayden's
collar up from the breeze stirred up by her whooshing out.

Once back in the car, he apologized. "I'm sorry. I didn't know what to
say."
"It's okay. He was a pig."
"I didn't realize-"
"I know, its okay. Where to next?"
He could tell Salma was upset, but he left it alone. "The house, I
guess."
As the car backed out into the silent street, Ayden wondered why she had
told Sheriff Jenkins what she had. Was it simply said in a moment of
anger, or was there any truth in her words, he thought. He has a better
chance of touching what you have been admiring. Ayden smiled as he
thought of the possibilities with Salma.


Ayden stood before the house remembering the bright blue it had been
during the few visits he had made during his childhood. The house had
always stood out even among the street full of bright, cheery houses
complete with emerald lawns and award winning gardens. The Templeton
house had a wrap-around porch with a veranda to the back opening onto a
large lawn complete with a British garden. Its three stories reaching
majestically towards the sky.


Ayden now gripped the rough, wooden railing of the house. The feel of
the railing did not match his memory of the sleek, smooth dark wooden
banister. The stairs creaked as he stepped on them. Reaching the porch,
he felt a slight dip and hopped sideways in fear of falling through the
porch.
Children laughed and shouted in play nearby. Cars languidly drove down
the street, but a strange silence surrounded the house. It was as though
Ayden were underneath water trying to make out the distant sounds.
Jasmine passed through his nose as Salma stood next to him.
"How does it look?" Ayden asked. He ignored the enticing aroma of Salma.
She took a deep breath. "It's run down, that's for sure. I can't believe
no one has lived here for years."
"My family still owns it, but after my grandfather's death, no one
wanted to do anything about it."
"So sad," Salma said in a whisper.
Ayden placed his hand on the cold knob of the dilapidated Victorian
house. He dug in his pockets for the rusty key he had found in his
father's office. Inserting the heavy key in the lock, a quiet click
indicated he opened the door. Pushing the solid door open,  he nodded in
Salma's direction before stepping inside. Shutting the door, the house
engulfed all sound like a tomb.
"Creepy." Salma shivered, brushing Ayden's arm.
Ayden walked forward arcing his cane wide. He coughed inhaling dust
mingling with air. "This has been sitting for years," Ayden rasped.
"What's it look like?"
"It's really dark, but it's almost completely empty. What do you think
you'll find?"
"I'm not sure. Sheriff Jenkins wasn't much help. I just thought, maybe
something."
 "Well, if we are going to be here long we need fresh air."
Ayden felt a rush of summer breeze as the window clambered up. The sound
of kids playing ruined the house's stolid silence. Life entered the
house again as Ayden began to feel around searching for any clue.
Ayden moved from room to room feeling walls and any remaining furniture,
hoping to find something, anything. Making his progression from room to
room on the main floor, he heard Salma's muffled footsteps overhead. He
smiled to himself as He rifled through drawers and cupboards. So far his
hands had only found dust and cobwebs.

"Ayden, Ayden!" Salma shouted a couple of hours later.
Ayden hurried towards the staircase where Salma's voice echoed from.
"Salma! Are you okay?"
"Get up here! I found something!"
Ayden clambered up the grand staircase. Reaching the second floor, he
shouted, "What room?"
"Um, it's a bedroom."
He rolled his eyes. "Right." Hearing her voice off to his left, Ayden
moved down the hallway. At the end, he found a door open.
"Salma?"
Salma's smacking barefeet moved towards him. "Look at this." Her
bracelet tinkled and paper crackled as she shoved something in Ayden's
hand.
Ayden grinned. "Um." He handed the paper back to Salma.
"Oh-sorry. I just-you won't believe this."
Ayden tried to concentrate on the words of the letter as Salma's
gravel-tinged voice read.
Henry, My love,
I miss you. I grow restless with each day. I have waited years to be
with you, really be with you. Let's stop the pretending, stop the lies.
Don't be mad with me. I would do anything for you, but we must stop
hiding. There is no harm in this. I will wait to hear from you, but
don't take long. If you don't choose me, I will marry Tom Madison.
Love,
A.	W.
Salma rushed through the letter almost in one breath. Ayden wasn't sure
what her excitement was for.
"We already know Henry was having an affair of sorts," he said.
Salma sighed, impatience in her tone. "Ayden, think about it. Don't you
see?"
"Not really." He scratched the back of his head, giving Salma a
quizzical look.
She grabbed his wrist. Her slender fingers gripped him with a strength
Ayden would not have guessed at. She moved in closer and once again,
Ayden took in the scent of jasmine. This time he smelled something else
with it. Vanilla, he thought. Salma shook his arm slightly, her tinkling
crystal bracelet grazing his wrist,  bringing him back to attention.
"Ayden, A. W. Don't you see it yet?"
"A. W.?"
"The initials." Exasperation escaping in her excitement. "A. W. It's
Alice Madison."
"Who's Alice Madison?"
Salma smacked her forehead. "Ay-where are your notes from today?"
Ayden pulled out the three-by-five note card from his back pocket.
"Now read through it." She used a
teacher-impatient-with-a-student-not-understanding tone.
A second passed, then he paused, comprehension dawning. He snapped his
head up looking towards Salma.
"See?" she asked.
"You think A. W. and Alice Madison are the same person?"
"It fits."
"She was Henry's secretary. And Sheriff Jenkins said she's still living
in town. She must have married this Madison guy."
"Think we can find her?"
"Give me a minute." He pulled his IPhone out of his back pocket. An
incoherent electronic drone buzzed as he navigated through menus.
"Got it. There's only one Alice Madison that shows up in town."
"Thank God for technology." Sarcasm oozed from her voice. "No wonder no
one could ever solve this case."
Ayden smirked at her. "Thank God for accessible technology. Come on. She
doesn't live far from here and it's not too late."

Ten minutes later they were knocking on Alice Madison's door. Salma
described the house's well-kept lawn and green exterior. He imagined
flower boxes lining the windows and white shutters hanging from the
upstair windows.
The door whooshed opened, and a woman gasped. "Oh."
"Mrs. Madison? I'm Ayden-"
"Templeton," she said. "You look like Henry."
He smiled. "Mrs. Madison, this is my friend Salma. We're working on a
book about my grandfather, and we would like to ask you some questions."
"Oh, of course. Come in, come in."
As the door shut behind Ayden and Salma, he smelled a flower scent that
he couldn't place and a clock ticked nearby. Alice ushered them into a
sitting room off the entryway. Salma and Ayden sat on a soft couch while
Alice sat across from them.
"Can I offer you anything? I just made lemonade."
"That would be wonderful," Salma said.
As Alice left the room, Ayden turned towards Salma. "I'm sorry, I didn't
even think to ask if you were hungry or anything."
"Hon, it's okay. I didn't think about it myself until now."
"We'll have dinner after this; I promise."
"Promise?"
Ayden grinned as Alice returned. She placed an ice-cold glass in Ayden's
hand. Ice chinked against the side as he took a gulp. The cold liquid
felt good down his throat after the dust of the Templeton house. He
could only imagine how dirty he and Salma looked. He felt the mingled
grime of sweat and dirt on his body. Why had it not occurred to them to
stop somewhere first and wash up, Ayden thought.
"So, what can I help you with? Henry was a dear friend and I miss him.
You must call me Alice."
"Well, Alice, we specifically are interested in his death," Ayden said.
Alice coughed, choking on her lemonade. Her glass clinked against the
coffee table as she sat it down. "Why would you be interested in that?"
"I believe that maybe his death wasn't accidental."
"Oh dear, don't buy into those silly rumors. Pete Jenkins conducted a
thorough investigation and no foul play was to be hinted at."
"And yet the rumors persist," Ayden said.
"Silly gossip. Housewives bored out of there minds."
"You know Sheriff Jenkins?" Ayden asked.
"Darling, it's a small town; everybody knows everybody."
Ayden sipped on his lemonade as Salma rap-tapped her nails against the
side of her glass.
"We have reason to believe maybe there is more to the story." Affecting
his best courtroom demeanor, he directed his intense gaze towards Alice.
He'd observed his father like this hundreds of times.
Liquid swished and ice chinked on glass as Alice swirled her lemonade.
The cheery tenor dropped from her voice. "What makes you say that?"
Finding the letter in his folder, removing a Braille label, he set it on
the coffee table dividing Alice from Salma and him. "Did you write
this?" 
Picking it up, the paper rustled like autumn leaves. When she spoke, her
voice sounded strained as though she were holding back tears. "Where did
you find this?"
"It was in some old boxes in the Templeton home," Salma said.
A long silence followed, in which Alice sniffled.
"I suppose the truth has to come out sooner or later," Alice said, her
voice quiet but pregnant with tension.
"We don't need-a-details of anything, but is there any reason to think
Henry was killed?" He tried to adopt a soothing inflection.
"Your grandfather hired me when I was eighteen," Alice began, ignoring
him. "I instantly fell in love with him, but he was that type. Dashingly
handsome, charming to a fault. He was a few years older than me, but I
knew how all the girls waited for their chance to rope Henry into
marriage. I felt so lucky to see him everyday. I started out as a simple
receptionist, but eventually he promoted me to his personal secretary."
"Did you move with my grandparents then, when they left town?"
Alice sighed. "Yes, but after-things happened-I moved back. I remained
in his employ, working from the office here in town. Before your father
took charge, Henry's headquarters had always been based from here."
Ayden nodded.
"I never meant to hurt anyone. Things happened. Henry loved us both,
Lucy and I. I tried to end it for years, but Henry always showed up with
that smile of his. Then I tried to make him choose. I should've known
better, but I was in love."
Alice divulged her secret like a child hoping for mercy.
"The final straw came right before his death. We had carried on for
almost forty years even though we both married, and I knew it had to
stop. I'd threatened to cut ties, like marrying Tom, but Henry- well he
had his ways." A napkin crumpled. When she continued, tears filled her
words. "I knew it was wrong- I never meant to hurt anyone. We fought. I
threatened to tell Lucy and that was that. He left me promising to
choose. I waited for an answer, but a week later, Henry was found dead."
"Did you ever tell anyone?" Ayden asked.
"No."

Ayden and Salma stood by the car outside Alice's house. A breeze tousled
Ayden's hair and Salma gently combed her fingers through his dark
tresses.
"Seems like all you Templeton men are irresistible." Her laugh was
teasing.
Unsure of how to respond, he grinned, but before he could make a remark,
her car door clicked open. He slid into the passenger seat, heart
pounding.
"You promised me dinner." Salma whined, a playful tune dancing from her
lips.

Munching diner-style hamburgers and fries, they relax.
"How come you didn't visit your grandparents much?" Salma asked.
"Not sure. Mom and Dad were always busy. Usually just my sister and I
came."
"Did you ever notice anything between them then?"
"No, but I was a kid."
"What about when you were older?"
"Naw, I was busy then too. After the accident, though, I spent more time
with my grandma. She was the only one who treated me like the same old
Ayden still, but she died shortly after that."
"I wish I could have met her."
"She would have liked you."
"I always hated seeing my family all the time, but now I'm glad we're so
close."
"Hey, let's walk around town." Ayden slid out of the vinyl booth and
paid at the register.
Meeting Salma out by the car, they moved towards the downtown area.
Salma kept up with Ayden's stride as his cane tapped from side-to-side.
"Sometimes I think it would be nice to live in a small town." She spoke
as though to herself.
"Really, you? Ms. Have-to-go-shopping-every-other-day." He chuckled.
"I could drive to the city. I don't know. It seems like a nice place to
raise a family."
Ayden had never heard Salma speak about wanting kids. As well as he knew
her, he realized there was plenty he still had to learn.
"Yes, we could raise happy little kids who will grow up to cheat, lie
and murder." His voice took a sudden edge thinking about his grandpa.
"We, huh?"
Ayden blushed, feeling the heat creep up his neck to his face. He hadn't
caught his blunder. He sputtered, but before he could make sense of his
words, Salma grabbed his hand.
"Maybe we can live in the Templeton mansion," she said.
They walked silently back to the car hand-in-hand.
"It's pretty late, what should we do?" Salma asked.
Ayden flipped the crystal face of his watch up. Feeling the raised dots
and arrows, he said, "It's a quarter to eleven. I'm beat."
"Me too. I don't really feel like driving back tonight though."
He scratched his head. "I guess we can stay at casa-de-Templeton."
"Okay, but no funny business." She swiped at his arm. "I'm giving you a
look. Want to make sure you're aware." She sidled closer to him.
"I think you're sending mixed signals there." He put an arm around her
waist, Breathing her in.
They stood holding one another before moving to the car.
Sitting in the car, Ayden turned to look at her. "By the way, unlike
some men in my family, I'm more of a one-woman type."
"Good to know." Salma kissed his cheek.
Ayden laced his fingers through hers.
"I was wondering when you would make a move," she said.
Reaching for her face, Ayden leaned in to kiss her. Her smooth, plump
lips tasted of cherry. She placed her hand on his cheek, both drawing in
the other.

Back at the Templeton house, they stood on either side of the king-size
bed in the master bedroom.
"Sure you don't want to sleep in another room?" Ayden asked.
"Hell no! This house is creepy."
"I thought you wanted to raise children here?"
"Shut-up. Scared to sleep with a girl?" The bed creaked as Salma lay
down on it. "A bit musty."
They had found spare bed linens in a box and had attempted to shake them
out as best they could. Ayden had noticed a lingering wispy scent of
flowers that he could not place. It may have been the remnants of
something used to launder the linens years ago, he had thought.
Without thinking, he removed his shirt and handed it to Salma. "Here.
You can wrap your pillow in it."
"Thanks." Salma drew the word out, imitating Mae West.
Realizing what he had done, he blushed for the millionth time that day.
Unable to turn back time, Ayden lay slowly down, sticking close to the
edge.
"Keep your hands above the blankets," she yawned.

Ayden woke disoriented at first, but comprehension quickly dawned as he
felt Salma's small body nestled against his. She snored quietly and
Ayden smiled. This was nice, he thought. Extracting himself gently from
the bed, he tried not to wake Salma.
He needed to use the bathroom, but it struck him that the bathrooms
would not be in working order. It was primitive, but it would have to
do, he thought as he found his way downstairs and out into the back
garden. Hoping no neighbors were awake to see him, he relieved himself.
Half asleep still, his eyes snapped open as a slight shuffle came from
behind him. Finished with his midnight chore, he listened intently, but
no sound came again. He turned around, gripping his cane like a weapon
in one hand.
"Hello," he said.
No response came. He turned back towards the house and as he walked,
Ayden felt his back tingle. It was the sensation he felt as a child when
terrified, feeling a presence behind him. He was thirty-years-old now,
he chided himself. Forcing himself to walk calmly back into the house,
he reached the French doors and entered. As he went to shut the doors, a
soft shuffle started in the darkness again. It could have been the long
dead foliage of the garden rustling in the breeze, but Ayden couldn't be
sure. Placing himself in the doorway again, the noise instantly stopped.
Slamming the door and locking it, Ayden flew to the stairs, taking three
steps at a time. Heart pounding, blood rushing in his ears, Ayden felt a
cool breeze cut through the stuffy air of the bedroom.
Danmit, he swore to himself. They had opened windows before going to
bed, hoping to air out their lodgings for the night.
Salma still slept peacefully on the bed. He sat on the bed resting his
head on the large carved headboard, listening.
Crickets chirped outside and the breeze rustled the leaves of trees from
time to time. Salma continued her snoring as Ayden waited to hear the
shuffle again or a step on the stairs, but nothing came. He relaxed
after fifteen minutes of his vigilante watch.
Laying back down on the bed, one arm behind his head, he smiled when
Salma threw an arm across his chest. Drifting back to sleep, he focused
his thoughts on Salma.

The second time Ayden woke he knew where he was, but something was not
right. Salma still snored next to him as he spooned her, but an acrid
odor filled his nostrils. A loud crack made him bolt up in bed.
"Salma! There's a fire!" He shook her until she woke up.
"We need to get out of here." Ayden shouted as she slowly regained
consciousness.
Ayden flew to the open door. Smoke filled his nose and made his eyes
water. "Salma, I can't tell if we can make it down the stairs."
Standing next to him, she said, "All I can see is smoke. Can we jump out
the window?"
"We're on the second floor. It's pretty high up."
Now across the room, Salma cry, "Oh-my-god! Ayden!"
"What?"
"I can see flames around the base of the house."
"Shit." Trying to think, Ayden gathered up the sheet from the bed.
Dousing it with water from bottles purchased the night before, he threw
the sheet in Salma's direction. "Wrap yourself in this."
"Why?"
"Just do it."
Making sure her long hair was covered, Ayden threw Salma over his broad
shoulder. Grabbing his cane by the door, he moved into the hallway.
Hoping the shirt tied around his face would keep out smoke, Ayden ran to
the top of the stairs. Despite the situation, Ayden could not help
notice the harlequin-romance-like predicament. He grimaced. That's a
writer for you, he thought.
Salma shouted words muffled by the sheet around her head. He couldn't
understand her, but didn't want to stop moving to ask. . Tucking his
cane underneath his arm, he groped the banister which still seemed
intact. Finally reaching the bottom, he found his way to the front door
and opened it.
A rush of fresh air greeted him. Feeling heat, he hoped they could make
it off the porch. At the porch steps, panicked, he placed Salma upright
again. She struggled, loosening the sheet around her.
"Are the flames here too?" Ayden asked.
"No, but there coming from behind."
At the end of the drive, Ayden dialed 911 on his phone. Neighbors
shouted and footsteps circled the neighborhood. A few ran up asking if
they were okay.
Standing at a distance, the flames roared. Salma held his hand as they
waited in silence for the sound of sirens.

Ayden rested on the back bumper of Sheriff Jenkins's police cruiser. The
mid-morning sun warmed his face. Still shirtless, a blanket draped his
shoulders. A gritty, greasy  smudge crossed his forehead, and he could
still smell the smoke embracing his body.
Once the firemen had extinguished the fire, Sheriff Jenkins and his
deputy, a man about Ayden's age, drove Salma and Ayden to the police
station. Each gave a report before Ayden's father was contacted.
Salma approached Ayden now offering a cup of water. He gulped the cool
liquid down as she rested her head against his shoulder. Sniffing her
hair laced with the jasmine and vanilla scent and smoke, Ayden
protectively placed an arm around her.
"Ayden," Salma said in quiet surprise, "Alice Madison's here."
Ayden pulled the blanket closed as he waited for Alice to approach. A
new scent filled his nostrils. This too smelled of flowers, but it was
not the framiliar scent Salma wore. Through the fog of his brain, he
tried to place where he had smelled this before.
"I'm glad you two are alright," Alice spoke quietly. "I can't believe
this. Do you need anything?"
"Thank you, but we're okay," Salma said warmly.
"Pete phoned me this morning-"
"Sheriff Jenkins? Why?" Ayden asked.
Alice didn't respond.
Waiting for an answer, Ayden finally recognized the flower scent. It had
been lingering in the closet where he and Salma had found bed linens.
"Alice, did you visit the house after we left you yesterday?"
Alice suppressed a cry. She never answered, and before Ayden could ask
anything else, her muffled footsteps padded on the grass as she walked
briskly away.
"Ayden?" Salma sounded confused.
"Her perfume, it's the same smell I noticed in the closet last night."
"Ayden, that's where I found the letter too," Salma whispered.
Ayden heard the swish of grass as someone else walked towards them. It
was His father, Nick.
"Are you crazy?" Nick asked, bewildered.
"I'm fine. Nice to see you too, Dad."
Nick let out a long breath before saying, "Your mother and I went crazy
when we heard what happened. We're glad you're okay."
"Is the house ruined?" Ayden asked.
Salma shifted, sitting upright next to Ayden.
"It's mostly the garden that was ruined, but there is damage to the
house."
Ayden's chest tighten. The garden had been His grandmother's favorite
place. Ayden remembered playing among the walk-ways and tall bushes as
she tended to her beloved flowers. Interrupting his thoughts, he heard a
shuffling footstep approach. Another memory pushed itself front and
center in his mind.
As Sheriff Jenkins stopped his pace, Ayden gave him a hard look.
"Tom says it will take a few weeks to get reports back, but there is
some structural damage to the house, Nick," the sheriff said.
"Taken any midnight strolls to clear your mind lately?" Ayden glared at
the sheriff, his voice accusatory.
No one spoke. Salma gripped his hand.
"Any reason why you'd call Alice Madison early this morning?" Ayden
asked.
"Drop it," Nick hissed.
Thrown off by his father's tone, Ayden squeezed Salma's hand, unsure
what to do.
"I'm sure we're all tired and need to collect our thoughts," Sheriff
Jenkins said. "Maybe you ought to take these two home, Nick." He
shuffled off.


Ayden sat in front of the computer, working. A humming buzz issued from
the speakers as keys clacked.
"Still working?" Salma asked behind him.
Ayden leaned his head back against her stomach. She was wrapped in a
large soft towel. Remembering last night, he slipped his hand through
the folds, but she spun away, laughing.
It had not been the first night one of them slept over at the other's
apartment, but it had been their first time together. Excitement had
rushed over Ayden, but it hadn't felt awkward.
Salma spewed a torrent of Spanish at him, and he chuckled. "That just
turns me on more."
"I called you a great big moron whose brain is tiny like his-"
"Doesn't matter. Still sounds sexy."
Salma whipped another towel at him before scampering to the bedroom.
Turning back to his work, Ayden checked his email.
Clicking on links, manipulating functions with hot keys, he thought over
the past few weeks.
Ayden had told his father what happened, but Nick said that everything
was circumstantial. Ayden knew this, but he also knew he had opened
something up. Something that had been meant to remain secret. Nick
refused to open any investigation and he remained tight-lipped.
The fire was officially reported as an unknown accident since no
evidence, either way, had been found determining a cause. This, at
least, was how the police report read. Ayden, though, had inquired into
the fire-chief's report. It too was inconclusive, but this report did
mention that a match book had been found near the premises. Salma had
advised him to wait before attempting any further investigation. She was
worried about him. Unsure if the fire had been an accident or not, he
agreed with her.
She had been the reason he was able to let the weeks slip by without
searching for more clues. Once they had returned to the city a couple of
days after the fire, Ayden had found the courage to express his feelings
towards her.
They had sat on the couch talking; a typical Friday night for them,
except this time Ayden could feel a growing anticipation between them.
Salma had stood to get another beer from the kitchen when Ayden reached
for her wrist. His large palm encircled her slim wrist. Both had stared
silently at one another. Ayden, knowing he would win this game, broke
first. Grinning with a smirk, he had pulled Salma to him and kissed her.
Weeks later, their routine was continued as normal, yet something was
different. They had transitioned into this new element with ease, as
though it were meant to be. Their friendship was strengthened by the new
romance.
Still reminiscing, Ayden did not recognize the name given for the first
email he came across. Opening it up, he read the following:
I'm glad you have stopped your investigation. It is best to let the dead
rest. Enjoy your new love and look only towards the future.
There was no signature. Alarmed, Ayden checked the From field, but the
only information this provided was aconcernedfriend at gmail.com
Ayden's pulse quickened. Salma lightly padded back into the room, and he
closed the window he was in. He didn't want to worry her.
"Wann' stay here again tonight?" he asked.
"You know, we live across the hall from one another. Should we just make
this permanent?"
"Sure you can live with a guy?"
"Well, I guess if it's you I can."
He lunged for her, but she ran giggling across the room.
"This is the great thing about dating a blind guy, he can't catch me."
"Oh yeah?"
Salma shrieked as he flung his body across her path, blocking her dash
to the bedroom. Holding Salma close against him, wrapping her in a bear
hug, Ayden knew this was just the beginning.


Sincerely,
Bridgit Kuenning-Pollpeter
Read my blog at:
http://blogs.livewellnebraska.com/author/bpollpeter/
 
"History is not what happened; history is what was written down."
The Expected One- Kathleen McGowan

Message: 8
Date: Mon, 30 Jan 2012 17:51:13 -0500
From: "Donna Hill" <penatwork at epix.net>
To: "'Writer's Division Mailing List'" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
Subject: Re: [stylist] Comments about the request by the sighted
	writer
Message-ID: <24910e$7b7rp6 at out01.dlls.pa.frontiernet.net>
Content-Type: text/plain;	charset="us-ascii"

Hi Jackie,
Thank you for your encouragement. I'm going to put this letter into a
document and take a look at it to see what I can make of it. I generally
tend to publish articles that are interviews with another person,
throwing some other facts in as I see fit, but I have thought of writing
from the perspective of someone who has done all of these interviews
using quotes from previous articles. Recycle, recycle, recycle, as they
say.

I like your idea of a fictional story about using blindness skills to
solve a crime. You should work on that. Write out an idea of what the
story is about, like an outline. If you find yourself thinking of
details of a scene or dialog go ahead and write it up. Just go for it.
Don't correct anything. If it occurs to you that something you just
wrote won't work, just write about that till you sort it out. In the
end, you'll have something that is a cross between an outline, a
synopsis and a rough draft. Just see where it takes you without putting
any pressure on yourself. If you come up with a poem along the way, just
write it down like everything else. I had to write 6 poems for my novel
because the kids are taking creative writing. It was quite an adventure
to try to get into each of their heads and see what came out.

My fantasy novel has a bit of the idea of using blindness skills to
investigate in terms of my character doing research online using her
screen reader, but in the end, the solution to the book's major mystery
comes to her as a bit of an accident thanks to her guide dog. 
Donna


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