The Day Before (standard:Suspense, 1489 words)
Author: Hulsey	Added: Nov 26 2002	Views/Reads: 4207/2457	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A writer decides to take drastic measures to get his novel read.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

with my writing, that's all I ask.” 

Nolan looked over to his middle-aged client and smiled, before turning
his attention to Terry. “Mr Mcluskey, I take on only two or three 
authors a year, such as Mr Lee here. As you must realise, I get 
hundreds of manuscripts a week, most of it rubbish. I simply don't have 
the time to point out your errors and to comment on your work.” 

“Rubbish! You arrogant bastard. Most of these so-called rubbish authors
write constantly twelve hours a day, seven days a week... You make me 
sick.” 

“If you're finished, Mr Mcluskey, I'm rather hungry.” 

“No, I'm not finished you shit. You wouldn't know a best-seller if it
hit you in your smug face.” 

“George, would you kindly remove this person from the restaurant
please?” 

Terry picked up the glass of red wine and threw it into the agent's
face, before being ousted from the restaurant. 

Terry sat in his car waiting, his glazed eyes following the windscreen
wipers, as they danced in rhythm, eliminating the raindrops before they 
could settle. Terry held his head in his hands. The migraines were 
getting worse day by day. 

Nolan shook his client's hand and bid him farewell, before climbing into
his BMW. Terry followed the brand new car, the rage inside him building 
up like a volcano waiting to erupt. Ten minutes later, Nolan pulled up 
outside his exquisite home in Belgravia. 

Terry eyed the building up and wondered how many hours of writing
produced such magnificence. He watched when Nolan entered his home and 
turned the lights on, which told Terry that Nolan was on his own. 

He reached into the glove compartment for his revolver and felt the cold
steel of the gunmetal. He placed a large folder under his coat to 
protect it from the rain. Terry walked out into the rain and waited 
outside Nolan's front door. His heart was pounding double quick time, 
as he rang the doorbell. He waited until the door was opened, and 
pushed aggressively, knocking the agent to the floor. 

Terry crouched down and looked into the startled man's eyes, bringing
the revolver to his head. 

“No, don't do it please!” 

“Please, Mr Mcluskey,” mouthed Terry. 

“Please, Mr Mcluskey.” 

“Now arsehole, let us make ourselves more comfortable while you await
your death.” 

They entered the deluxe lounge and Terry ordered Nolan to sit in one of
the red leather armchairs. Terry ambled leisurely around the lounge, 
taking in the splendour of it all. Magnificent paintings adorned the 
expensive panelled walls, along with many certificates. A large grand 
piano was standing at the end of the lounge. 

“Tell me, Nolan, are you married?” 

“N.. n...no,” he stuttered. 

“Good, then nobody will miss you will they?” 

“Please, if it's money you want I have...” 

“Shut up! You arrogant scum of the earth. Do you think I came here to
rob you...? I want you to read this.” 

Terry passed over the manuscript, his eyes glaring wildly at the
frightened agent. 

“Yes, I'll gladly read this. If you'll just leave your address.” 

Terry brought the revolver up below Nolan's chin. “I don't think you
understand me, I want you to read it now.” 

“Now?” 

“Fucking now!” 

Nolan removed the novel from the folder, his hands trembling
uncontrollably. 

“Tell me, Nolan, did you ever read any of my manuscripts? I want the
truth.” 

“I have people to do that for me. If the novel shows promise, then they
pass it on to me.” 

“And did any of my novels ever get passed onto you? The truth. I'll know
if you're lying.” 

“N...n...no, I'm sorry. I never read any of them.” 

“Well, you're going to read this one... Read!” 

The frightened agent picked up the novel and began reading. “Aloud! I
want you to read it aloud.” 

“Unforeseen Circumstances, by Terence Mcluskey.” 

Nolan read constantly into the early hours of the morning. Terry sat
opposite, listening, and savouring every sentence, every word. Nolan 
moved onto the last chapter, it was seven- fifteen in the morning. 

“Pardew would always regret, the day he met Lydia.” 

The agent looked up, and a tear formed in his eye; “Mr Mcluskey, that
was absolutely outstanding. I've never in my life read a more 
intriguing and touching novel.” 

“Too late Nolan, you've had your chance.” 

“No, wait! I'm serious; your novel was brilliant. Let's just forget this
episode never happened and I'll get your book published. We have a 
best-seller on our hands, Mr Mcluskey.” 

“We! Sorry, Nolan, wrong response.” 

Terry watched the bullet enter Nolan's forehead. He sat motionless in
the leather chair, the blood seeping down his forehead, the smoke 
curling from the hole. 

Terry smiled. He threw the numerous sheets of his novel in the air. A
huge surge of energy flowed through his body. He had released a 
lifelong ambition. A literary agent had read his work, even though he 
knew Nolan was lying about it being brilliant. 

The detective crouched down and examined the corpse of Terry. “Who was
he Joe?” 

“Some two-bit author, divorced with two kids.” 

The detective eyed the unopened letter on the doormat. He picked it up
and read the contents. “Not so two-bit Joe. He was about to have his 
latest book published.” 

Unforeseen circumstances topped the best-seller list for two years. If
only the letter had arrived the day before! 


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