Here is 1,000 words from my NaNoWriMo novel. Please, give me suggestions and ideas on how I can improve!
(Note: In the word document all the paragraphs are indented. I don’t know what posses Blogger’s copy-and-paste database, but this is how it is. Carry on.)
Chapter 6
Saffron answered the phone on the third ring.
“Huoh?” she said. She sounded like she had a toothbrush in her mouth
“Hey, sorry to bother you. It’s Jane.”
“Oh, hi ‘Ane. Wha’ ime ih ih?” She asked. I heard her spit, and a steady stream of water run.
“I think it’s like eleven or something. I really need your help.”
“At eleven?”
“Yeah. Remember when you were twelve, and you were all over the news for saving your sister’s life?” I asked. I hoped I hadn’t struck a nerve or something, but this was a matter that needed to be discussed before she agreed to anything.
“Of course,” she said. She didn’t sound upset, so I figured I’d continue.
“Um, my mom’s painting got stolen. And you’re the only person I know who’s ever had anything worth more than their life stolen before. Like I said, I really need your help.” I begged.
Pause.
“At eleven?” she said again.
“Please? I’ll give you anything you want. I’ll pay you!” I said desperately.
Pause.
“Can’t you just call the police or something? They’d be more of a help than I am.”
“No, my mom cannot find out that this painting was stolen. I swore to death that I’d watch this painting if it took my entire being. And I failed. Saffron, I really need you.”
Pause.
“Please? I’ll pay you in cash! What do you want? A thousand? Two thousand?” I pressed.
“Ok. I’ll help you. Wow. This friendship is off to an intense start, Erickson. Five minutes,” she said.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you,” I said until well after she hung up.
Immediately, I grabbed a backpack. I didn’t really know what a rescue mission entailed, but I grabbed the necessities from around the house. A flashlight, a change of clothes, some pepper spray, a pocket knife, a map of the area, and for good measure, a handful of granola bars. I even tapped into the emergency cash jar and withdrew 50 dollars. I would either use this as a down payment for Saffron, or for gas money. Whichever came first.
I ran downstairs to Maddy and kissed her goodbye. I told her to keep him tied up and call me every hour, on the hour as a status update. Also, I said that if he wakes up don’t let him starve or anything like that. Lock all the doors, and if you need to call me and I could be home in an hour. She said ok and that she wasn’t afraid and walked me to the front door. I hugged her harder than ever and waited on the sidewalk for maybe 45 seconds. It gave me time to think about what I was doing. Am I really leaving my ten-year-old sister in charge of some guy? Am I that irresponsible? Saffron’s van pulled up and I got in the passenger seat. I guess so.
“Which way, captain?” she asked. I pointed, and told her that I didn’t really know what I was doing, let alone how to find the guy. Saffron nodded and puffed out her cheeks. “Well, I guess we’ll start on the freeway. Did he say anything about where he was going?”
I thought about it. “As he left, he shouted corn maze,” I said. I doubted that this had any significance at all. What kind of weirdo stole art and took it to a corn maze?!
“Well, let’s start there,” Saffron said. She turned on to the interstate.
“Huh?”
“The Fairhaven Pumpkin Patch. It’s the closest legit corn maze from here,” she said.
“Thanks, Saffron. What would I do without you?” I said.
“Ugh. Please stop calling me Saffron. It’s a grandma name. It’s a kind of yellow. Yellow. I go by Saffy, or something of the sorts.”
“Oh. Sorry, Saffy.”
“’sall good Erickson. I’m going to call you Ricky, by the way. Saves some time. Get some sleep. You’re driving tomorrow,” she said with a smile.
I closed my eyes. We were in for one heck of a night.
Chapter 6 ½
Mitch finally pulled the moving truck into the unusually deserted parking lot of the Fairhaven Pumpkin Patch. His gas gauge was on empty, as the little orange light had just blinked on. He glanced over at the painting and found it to be in the exact position it was in an hour and a half ago. He clutched it in his gloved hand and exited the truck.
He could not get caught. As quickly as a 275 pound man could run, he made his way to the main entrance. The gate was locked with a simple combination padlock. He withdrew a hammer from his belt and took it off in one swing. He paused and looked around. The clang hadn’t woken anyone up, so he gently opened and closed the gate, replacing the damaged lock with a new one. This would stall the owners who would open the patch in the morning.
He looked around at the farm. The barn lights were all turned off, except for the floodlight perched above the door. Wooden figures of pumpkins were set up, all of them with a hole big enough for a face cut out of them. The thought of happy families taking their children here made Mitch want to be sick.
The painting was starting to get heavy, and Lord knows he had a long walk ahead of him. He wished he’d picked an easier meeting place, like a truck stop or something. Instead, he walked to the corn maze opening marked “entrance” and began his descent into the corn.
