Read Online Paradigm Rift: Book One of the Back to Normal Series by Randy McWilson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Randy McWilson
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then more blur…
…And then he was holding a smart phone. By the hot emotion he felt, and the look on Jennifer’s face, he ascertained that they were in the middle of another argument.
Arguments came quite frequently and with more intensity in those days.
He shook the phone in her face and said, “So what am I supposed to think!”
She wasted no time. “It's none of your damn business!” Jen made a quick move to snatch the phone and he grabbed her arm.
“I think that a strange man texting my wife on a daily basis falls under the ‘ my damn business ’ category, Jennifer!”
She yanked hard against his grasp and moved away, grabbing a small shot glass. She downed it like a pro. “At least he tries to talk to me every day. More'n I can say for my own husband!”
Denver took a step towards her. “What else does he do for you every day?”
“Just shut up! Shut up !”
With all the force of a major league pitcher—but the accuracy of an enraged and intoxicated spouse—she hurled the cup at him. The shot glass crashed into the wall behind him and exploded into hundreds of sharp shards.
_____________________________________
Denver snapped awake as he felt the bus brakes engage. The loss in momentum almost threw him into the back of the seat just ahead. The nightmare had been so vivid, so tangible, that he jumped up, out of breath, veins pulsing. As he grabbed the seat to steady himself, he scanned the rows of unfamiliar faces for his drunk wife and precious daughter.
Very few of the passengers seemed to even notice his desperate state, as most of them were craning to look out the windows at something. The bus continued to decelerate and Denver heard the wail of a police siren approaching.
With the hiss of air brakes and a strong lurch, the bus came to a dusty stop on the side of the road. Children began to fuss, and loud chatter rippled row-by-row. Denver dropped back down and pressed his face against the window, but the plume of dust obscured most of his view.
But the dirt couldn’t obscure the unmistakable voice of Chief McCloud. “We know you're in there, Denver Collins.”
Denver jerked back from the window. It was an uncomfortable and new experience for him. Back in the Middle East he had marched probably hundreds of Taliban sympathizers off of buses or out of the beds of pickups, even dislocating several out of cramped and dusty automobile trunks.
He was now on the receiving end, and he wasn’t receiving it well.
Some of the passengers exchanged furtive glances, some clutched their children, others mouthed silent prayers. But the taunting call would not be silent.
“This will go a lot easier if you surrender peacefully, Mr. Collins. The good and decent people on the bus with you don't want any trouble. We don't want any trouble.”
A slim young man, sporting dark sunglasses and a hat, emerged from the unmarked police car behind the bus. He made his way towards the driver’s side, with his sidearm drawn and ready. His awkward mannerisms and gun insecurity betrayed a lack of police experience. And though he tried to hide it, he didn’t fool anyone.
A little boy peered out the window at him and pointed, but the child’s mother ended her son’s excitement, yanking him down into her lap.
McCloud donned his own pair of sunglasses and plain hat, and moved to Denver’s side of the bus. “So the way I see it, there's only one way for this to end,” the Chief said, obviously enjoying the drama. “I'm gonna count from five, and before I get to one —I want to see your smiling face, with hands held high, stepping off this here bus.”
McCloud’s inexperienced assistant rounded the front of the vehicle and took up a position, gun aimed, near the closed door. The driver hesitated between opening it, or leaving it be. He didn’t want to make any sudden moves.
The Chief was unrelenting in his ultimatum. “ Five…Four .”
The passengers became deathly still, eyes darting around. Even
…And then he was holding a smart phone. By the hot emotion he felt, and the look on Jennifer’s face, he ascertained that they were in the middle of another argument.
Arguments came quite frequently and with more intensity in those days.
He shook the phone in her face and said, “So what am I supposed to think!”
She wasted no time. “It's none of your damn business!” Jen made a quick move to snatch the phone and he grabbed her arm.
“I think that a strange man texting my wife on a daily basis falls under the ‘ my damn business ’ category, Jennifer!”
She yanked hard against his grasp and moved away, grabbing a small shot glass. She downed it like a pro. “At least he tries to talk to me every day. More'n I can say for my own husband!”
Denver took a step towards her. “What else does he do for you every day?”
“Just shut up! Shut up !”
With all the force of a major league pitcher—but the accuracy of an enraged and intoxicated spouse—she hurled the cup at him. The shot glass crashed into the wall behind him and exploded into hundreds of sharp shards.
_____________________________________
Denver snapped awake as he felt the bus brakes engage. The loss in momentum almost threw him into the back of the seat just ahead. The nightmare had been so vivid, so tangible, that he jumped up, out of breath, veins pulsing. As he grabbed the seat to steady himself, he scanned the rows of unfamiliar faces for his drunk wife and precious daughter.
Very few of the passengers seemed to even notice his desperate state, as most of them were craning to look out the windows at something. The bus continued to decelerate and Denver heard the wail of a police siren approaching.
With the hiss of air brakes and a strong lurch, the bus came to a dusty stop on the side of the road. Children began to fuss, and loud chatter rippled row-by-row. Denver dropped back down and pressed his face against the window, but the plume of dust obscured most of his view.
But the dirt couldn’t obscure the unmistakable voice of Chief McCloud. “We know you're in there, Denver Collins.”
Denver jerked back from the window. It was an uncomfortable and new experience for him. Back in the Middle East he had marched probably hundreds of Taliban sympathizers off of buses or out of the beds of pickups, even dislocating several out of cramped and dusty automobile trunks.
He was now on the receiving end, and he wasn’t receiving it well.
Some of the passengers exchanged furtive glances, some clutched their children, others mouthed silent prayers. But the taunting call would not be silent.
“This will go a lot easier if you surrender peacefully, Mr. Collins. The good and decent people on the bus with you don't want any trouble. We don't want any trouble.”
A slim young man, sporting dark sunglasses and a hat, emerged from the unmarked police car behind the bus. He made his way towards the driver’s side, with his sidearm drawn and ready. His awkward mannerisms and gun insecurity betrayed a lack of police experience. And though he tried to hide it, he didn’t fool anyone.
A little boy peered out the window at him and pointed, but the child’s mother ended her son’s excitement, yanking him down into her lap.
McCloud donned his own pair of sunglasses and plain hat, and moved to Denver’s side of the bus. “So the way I see it, there's only one way for this to end,” the Chief said, obviously enjoying the drama. “I'm gonna count from five, and before I get to one —I want to see your smiling face, with hands held high, stepping off this here bus.”
McCloud’s inexperienced assistant rounded the front of the vehicle and took up a position, gun aimed, near the closed door. The driver hesitated between opening it, or leaving it be. He didn’t want to make any sudden moves.
The Chief was unrelenting in his ultimatum. “ Five…Four .”
The passengers became deathly still, eyes darting around. Even
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