By Caleb Pirtle III
It had become as dark as a night that had no ending and no beginning, and Lincoln was like the night. If morning came, it would be a miracle.
Writers work alone.
Writers write alone.
Writers walk alone.
Writers are happiest alone.
I was in that state when the Muse came wandering in.
He didn’t knock.
He never does.
“Where you going?” he asked.
“Don’t know.”
“Where you been?” he asked.
“Don’t remember.”
“You running away?”
“Probably.”
“Who’s chasing you?” he asked.
“Don’t know.”
“Why not?”
“Haven’t looked back.”
“Why not?”
“Might be gaining on me.”
The Muse sat down and opened the blinds beside my desk.
It was dark outside.
He shouldn’t have been surprised.
It was dark inside.
“Who are you today?” the Muse asked.
“Ambrose Lincoln.”
“I thought you killed him off?”
“He didn’t die.”
The Muse opened a copy of Night Side of Dark and read aloud the last paragraph of the novel:
It had become as dark as a night that had no ending and no beginning, and Lincoln was like the night. If morning came, it would be a miracle.
“I thought he was a goner for sure,” the Muse said.
“I didn’t expect him to live either,” I said.
“What happened?”
I shrugged.
“It’s a miracle,” I said.
The Muse laughed.
“You couldn’t pull the trigger,” he said.
“I’ve kind of grown attached to him.”
“So where is Lincoln going now.”
“Don’t know.”
“Why not?
“He hasn’t told me.”
“Do you think Lincoln knows?” asked the Muse.
“He never knows.”
“But he’s in trouble?”
“If I’m writing the book,” I said, “Lincoln’s in trouble.”
“Has he been shot at?”
“Twice.”
“Has he been hit?”
“Once.”
“Has he fallen in love?”
“Twice.”
“Are both ladies still alive?”
“One is for sure.”
“What happened to the other one?”
“I’m trying to find out.”
The Muse leaned back, raised an eyebrow and folded his arms.
“How could Lincoln misplace beautiful woman?” he asked.
I stared out the window.
I stared into the darkness.
“That’s why I’m writing the novel,” I said.
The Muse blinked.
“I don’t understand,” he said.
“I want to find out if somebody killed her,” I said.
“Why don’t you ask him?
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“He’s on a midnight train to Munich.”
“So?”
I shrugged.
“I’m not,” I said.
I heard the whistle.
The sound was low and far away.
If I didn’t keep writing, I would never catch Lincoln.
I might not anyway.
Caleb Pirtle III
began his career writing about history and travel. He learned quickly, however, that what happens is never as important as those who make it happen. Many of those people have made their way into his novels.
He is the author of more than 65 published books, including the new noir suspense thrillers, Golgotha Connection, Secrets of the Dead, Conspiracy of Lies and Night Side of Dark. His other novels include Back Side of a Blue Moon and Friday Nights Don’t Last Forever.
He has written such award winners as “XIT: The American Cowboy,” “Callaway Gardens: the Unending Season,” “The Grandest Day,” “Echoes from Forgotten Streets,” and “Spirit of a Winner.” His nonfiction works include Gamble in the Devil’s Chalk and No Experience Required.
Caleb earned a journalism degree from The University of Texas and became the first student at the university to win the national William Randolph Hearst Award for feature writing. As a reporter for the Fort Worth Star-Telegram, he received both the Texas Headliner’s and Associated Press Awards.
He served as travel editor for Southern Living Magazine, and his travel writing was given the National Discover America Award three times. For more than two decades, Pirtle was editorial director for a custom publishing company in Dallas.
He has also written teleplays for network television.
Find more about Caleb at his:
Website | Blog | Facebook | Twitter
You can find Night Side of Dark on Amazon.
