The Spirit of Askival

By Mike Herd

Volume I

Autumn 2016 and Barbara Carron, a jaded best-selling crime writer leaves New York and travels to a small Scottish island to research a new book about love and romance. The experience changes her life when she falls under the spell of the island and the Spirit of Askival.

 

Volume II

In the summer of 1977 Mathew Darrow the sole survivor of a plane crash that killed his wife and left him blind, travels with his guide dog to a remote Island on the west coast of Scotland. He plans to reunite his lost wife's spiritual ashes with her ancestors. Almost as if guided by her he finds a new love.

 

'…a young girl gazed out to a group of islands resting in the stillness of a slack tide. Her world was filled with mysticism and spirits, ancestral callings and wonderful ancient fables. A sailboat with its crew marooned by the stillness on the mercury sea waited patiently for the tide and wind to come as it surely would. Arabella watched the scene mesmerized…'

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mike Herd
• Release date: Apr 22, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386951704

Book preview

The Spirit of Askival

Volume I

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The editing suite smelled of electricity as images flickered on a 4K monitor. Author Barbara Carron, film director Carter Lee and film editor Joe Black were watching a rough cut of the first Harriet Sullivan film. Barbara was struggling to visualise where the film was going, how it would come together with music and effects and what it would look like when it had been fine cut. It wasn’t called a rough cut for nothing. The shots were over length, the silence unbearable, the acting hammy but with the magic of a clever film editor, all would be well. This was Barbara Carron’s first foray into film making. She was delighted when one of the major studios bought the rights to her book. Now she was wondering if it was such a good idea. Transforming words from the page into live acting was unnerving. The main character, Homicide Detective Harriet Sullivan wasn’t how she imagined her to be when she penned Niobium. She became more uncomfortable as she watched. The words weren’t all hers of course a screen writer had taken over though she felt she could have done a better job herself. Carter was in his late fifties, had been there, done that, bought the t-shirt and written the manual, but his many successes he had one flaw, he didn’t suffer fools gladly. He could feel the tension rising in the editing suite, not so much as to what was being said but quite the opposite, the unnerving silence. Joe was older, in his early sixties. He had worked on many films in his career, some of them stinkers which wasn’t his fault but there were a lot of high profile successes. True to say he had done well out of the film business and actually didn’t need to work but he loved it. Apart from his technical and artistic prowess he had one further important skill. Over his colourful life he had worked with some of the most objectionable, self-centred, egotistical and narcissistic people in the industry and they always left with a good film and a handshake.

Carter leaned forward and pressed pause. He stared at the still frame on the monitor. The leather chair creaked as he leaned back. I’m getting bad vibes, he said.

Joe swivelled his chair round and rolled it inches from Carter. I like it man. It’s coming on, early days Carter, early days.

Carter turned away from Joe. Barbara?

What?

Well, what do you think, your silence is killing me?

I don’t know what to think. I don’t know anything about making films and I have to trust that Joe can produce all the bells and whistles and make it come together. But if you want my opinion on what I’ve seen so far, it’s rubbish and not at all what I expected.

The honest words hung in the air for a long time, refusing to fade. She looked at her watch.

Carter stood up and paced around the room. Why is she here Joe, you know I hate writers being in on the edit.

Don’t ask me, I’m just a guy who presses buttons all day long.

What don’t you like about it? he said slowly to Barbara.

"Ok, let’s talk about it. The working title is Sullivan’s Elements, really? Nobody is going to know what that means. What’s wrong with the book title, Niobium?

Who’s going to know what Niobium means?

A quick internet search would flag it up right away.

And?

Look I wanted to be actively involved to ensure the accuracy of the main character and I don’t see it. That’s not my character. And I don’t know, it feels a bit clunky. Is this an exact mock-up of Salt Lake City’s homicide department? It feels different. I know there should be some pot plants near Sullivan’s desk.

Ok they missed the pot plants, said Carter. But apart from that it’s exactly per the real thing. We photographed every part of it. It is homicide.

The colours look off.

Carter looked at Joe and sighed. He turned and left the suite.

This is not a graded digital copy and it won’t be until we have the final cut, said Joe.

Is he always that grumpy.

That’s him being nice. When he’s really grumpy, things start fly around the room. I once had to dodge out of the way of a keyboard.

I like the opening.

Thank you, so do I.

It beautifully sets up an unexplained sudden death to that of an impossible murder scenario. Of course it becomes a murder inquiry and it’ll take somebody smart like Sullivan to figure it out. Joe, what’s it running at so far?"

Two and a half hours or thereabouts, the final edit will end up just under two. Give it a chance Barbara and bear in mind that it will speed up once it’s polished you know adding the CGI and all the bits and pieces. Trust me. When the sound tracks are laid and of course the music added. That always sets the tensions in the film. The score has been signed off and they are in the recording studio as we speak. I’ve heard rehearsals and it’s brilliant, I love it. As soon as I’ve finished the fine cut and get the music I’ll start laying the tracks and then you’ll really get a sense of momentum running through the film. The music really gives it an extra dimension. I reckon that we will have a final viewing by the end of the month and then it’s up to the money people. Deals will have to be struck with the distributors. That could take some time, they can be very tight. I reckon it could be another three months before it’s released. 

I haven’t got time to view it all today, said Barbara. You know Joe, I do trust you. I know you’ll do the right thing by Sullivan.  I tell you what, I’m getting seriously tired of writing about her it’s refreshing to see her come alive but I don’t think I could face penning another. Barbara’s mobile played a tune. Hi Delaney."

How’s it going Sweetie?

"It’s coming together, not sure about the director but he seems to know what he’s doing. Fortunately the editor is great. I trust him.

Ok, I was jut checking to see if everything is working out. This is huge for you Barbara, it could be the beginning of a franchise, she said hearing Barbara groan.

I have to go, by the way I need to see you tomorrow. Bye.

She checked her watch again. I have to get ready for a party tonight, I’m trying to limit them to three a week but it’s not easy.

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Madison Lawrence was on her phone, indeed, it had become a habit close to that of an addict. She felt cut off and twitchy without it. She was in her late twenties and with her red hair, could be vivacious without any underlying beauty. In other words she worked hard to make herself attractive to men and to that endeavour, she was quite successful. Sadly that was her primary achievement. She fluttered from one dead end job to the next, never staying very long for one reason or another. There were spells where she would rely solely on whoever she was living with at the time. She had dabbled in drugs occasionally after being encourage by one of her boyfriends but she was strong willed enough not to become hooked. Her overlying passion was the internet. She loved all the chat rooms and social media gossip but was always careful to create a false persona, an identity that wouldn’t lead back to her. Just in case.

Then she met Jeff Buckley and everything changed. He was on stage in a club in Manhattan playing his saxophone. She had never heard a sax played like that and was bowled over by his music. She fell for him in a way that was neither normal nor healthy. It was an obsessive relationship that initially made Jeff feel important but as time moved on he began to be uncomfortable with it and thought about calling it off. He would often say he had a gig somewhere and disappear for twenty-four hours. When he was questioned, he would shrug his shoulders and claim that it was just the music business. And so the relationship became fraught with quarrels and outbursts from them both. But one thing they agreed on and that was partying.

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They say that every imaginable thing that can happen to people, happens in New York. Hedonism is a dizzy cocktail of excess in the spiritual pursuit of pleasure.  Barbara had met some of the usual crowd, literary agents, publishers, marketing agents and even legal advisors and although she knew them, she didn’t, not really. They were there simply to network. That was something Barbara didn’t need to do. She looked around. Sincerity was in short supply as they talked the talk, making deals, breaking deals, it was a little like a horse trading market. Characteristically those that knew Barbara always had to gauge her mood before engaging with words. There were authors at the party, and of them, maybe a couple she respected but they were in a different league.

They were the Booker and Pulitzer Prize candidates, the John Newbery Medal types awarded by the American Library Association, and the Michael Printz Awards. But Barbara was well aware that the snobbish judges would never vote for an author like Barbara who was hugely successful and paradoxically, highly commercial. It wasn’t about commerce but about art and in passing, she merely acknowledged their presence and they did the same. As the evening wore on she looked at her watch, nodded to a few people who were smiling at her and retreated to an alcove. Nursing a drink while observing the scene she thought it was time to go. She briefly acknowledged one or two people she recognized but she wasn’t in the mood. The music was loud competing with the increasing babble from the party goers. A drunken woman bumped into her, spilling her drink on the floor.

Sorry Barbara I’ll get you another, she said taking the glass.

It’s alright, said Barbara but she was gone.

She didn’t know the woman but she was used to being recognized. A group in the corner was snorting a line of coke. It was tempting but she decided not to join them. A drink was pressed into her hands and the woman disappeared into the crowd again. Barbara was getting worried that the fictional detective was taking over her life. Almost everything she did was about her, it had to end. Hopefully the films would be a hit and continue but a new Sullivan was a distant prospect. Maybe she had written everything that needed to be said about the character. Delaney wouldn’t like it, so what, she could handle her. A stranger approached as Barbara downed her drink and left the glass on a table behind her.

Hi Barbara, I really enjoyed your last book on Sullivan, I couldn’t put it down.

‘God,’ she thought, ‘a fan, who let him in?’ Thanks, she said, do I know you?

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Blue eyes opened and with the awakening came a thumping headache made worse by trying to remember what happened. Questions formed in a vacuum. A reflection from mirrored ceiling tiles revealed her nakedness lying on a crumpled duvet. The tiles laid unevenly, fragmented and distorted her image. The eyes closed and the throbbing in her head got worse. She had no idea where she was or how she came to be there but she wasn’t unduly alarmed, it had happened before. She groaned and tried to sit up but fell back against the pillow. She started analysing how she felt. Yes still a little drunk and yes the obligatory hangover headache but she could soon fix that and her stomach, that needed attention too. God knows she hated being sick. It must have been a wild party she would normally have remembered something. What was the point of getting into a state like this when you couldn’t remember the good bits, the fun, the dancing, the jokes and of course, being the centre of attention. She tried to swallow but her mouth was strangely dry.

She swung her legs out of bed and pushed herself upright. Her clothes were strewn across the white carpet. Straight ahead was an open door leading into the bathroom. She stood up and steadying herself went in. She was immediately sick in the sink making her feel a little better but the throbbing headache got worse. She opened a mirrored cabinet and found a pack of pain killers. Taking two with some water, she managed somehow to avoid seeing her reflection. She left the bathroom and began picking up her clothes off the floor and then she saw him. She stood absolutely still holding her breath. He lay on his side in bed with his back to her. She had no idea who he was and wasn’t going to hang around waiting to find out. She went back into the bathroom, quietly closing the door and got dressed. She opened the door ajar but he was still lying in the same position. She looked briefly for her bra then picking up her shoes crept towards the outside door, gently opening it and left. 

Hailing a cab was never a problem no matter what time of day or night and before long she entered her apartment and closed the door. She leaned back on it shaking. She felt that this kind of thing had happened once too often. Her headache was almost gone but a bout of nausea gripped her stomach. Her apartment was on a corner of the building giving the impression of being hemmed in by high rise office blocks and apartments. She walked over to the expansive full length windows and sighed. A shaft of light from the rising sun broke free from the corner of the adjacent building and hurt her eyes. A police siren wailed below as it sped along Lexington Avenue. She dropped the coat on the sofa, turned and ran through to the bathroom just managing to reach the sink in time and vomited. The image that stared out of the mirror said it all.

What the hell were you doing last night? she said out loud. You’re going to get yourself killed one of these days.

The horrible taste in her mouth was still there and she quickly brushed her teeth to get rid of it. Her headache disappeared as she showered and dressed. It didn’t take long to pack a case, confirm some online bookings, find her passport and call a cab. There was one stop she had to make on the way to JFK International Airport.

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The office was small and cluttered. Books, manuscripts and photographs were strewn across a desk that had a chair on either side, a telephone and a computer monitor. Two filing cabinet drawers were half open revealing papers that looked as if they had just been stuffed there with no attempt at filing. It had a printer perched precariously on top. A bentwood hat stand with a single open umbrella dripping into a tray stood next to a single sash window that looked out onto a brick wall. The walls of the office had been painted a pale mushroom some considerable time in the past and needed attention. There was a bookcase the entire length of the wall opposite the window and there was a musty smell reminiscent of an old bookshop. Delaney looked across the desk at Barbara and shook her head.

Not that nonsense again. Sullivan will go international with this film. You’ll be hitting the big time now. Look I’m not a push over like all the rest of your hangers on and you know why, I don’t give a damn. I make money for my clients and they make money for me. That’s how it works it’s called capitalism, free enterprise the American dream, whatever. It’s all about money, moolah, dosh. If there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s a bleeding heart novelist moralizing over their writing. I have no time for it, so what is your problem. Don’t answer that I know what your problem is. You’re young, your gorgeous, your successful, you’re rich and you’re bored. You have to be, you’ve got everything. Heck, do you know how old I am? I’m seventy-two. I’ve seen it all, done it all, know it all, I’m turning away clever writers, I mean really frigging clever writers, don’t get me wrong, not like you. Why? Because they’re not commercial. They’re so good some of it makes me weep it’s so good. But you know what, even though it hurts me inside I know I won’t make a dime from them, doesn’t that suck? Tell me what is your dream? Don’t bother I’ll tell you what my dream is, having a simple life. Does that surprise you? It shouldn’t, it doesn’t surprise me. What surprises me is the more I try to simplify my life, the more complicated it becomes. Why? Because of my DNA I can’t help it, I’m designed to be who I am and I don’t care if that’s a problem. Now you come in here worrying about you’re intellectual identity and where it’s taking you and I say pull yourself together. You have a successful brand that has made you a multi-millionaire. Barbara exactly what is it that’s bugging you?

Barbara was attempting to eat a bagel picked up on the way. She sighed, her pale blue nail varnish had chipped. She was used to the ranting monologues but this one was particularly tiresome. Her literary agent was waiting for an answer.

You really need to cool it Delaney has anyone told you that you can be very coarse. I’ll tell you what’s bugging me. You know what happened this morning? I woke up naked in a strange bedroom in a strange apartment next to a stranger that I had never seen before. Maybe somebody spiked my drink, I don’t remember. I got out of there faster than a bat out of hell. This town is killing me. These coke parties are getting out of hand and I’m losing it, I have to get away.

What have I told you about these parties? and stop eating in my office. You’re an idiot. Just one photograph of you snorting and your career is over. Ok, take a break for a few days go to the Caribbean, Hawaii, Rio, anywhere that’s warmer than New York. Get some sun on your body, some vitamin D and fresh sea air, you need it. Walter and I haven’t had a holiday for years and look at me. On second thoughts don’t look at me. What would I do with the big him on holiday anyway? I have no idea.

Barbara continued to eat. No, I’m going to Scotland, I’ve been working on an idea, a love story and I need space from Sully, maybe permanently. What could be more romantic than a rugged lonely wild island off the west coast of Scotland full of big Highlanders with red beards? I’ll be back in time for the premier.

"Scotland? In October? You’re kidding me. Do you know what’s going on in Scotland right now? I’ll tell you, These Highlanders you’re talking about are wandering around with frozen kilts chaffing their dirks and icicles hanging from their noses stabbing their bagpipes. Love story! What’s got into you? Are you nuts? Barbara how long have you known me? Ten years, all your working life. You came to the big apple into my office uninvited when you were eighteen. I had never seen such a skinny kid all the way from that radiated hellhole of a town in San Juan County, Utah and you put a manuscript on my desk and said you weren’t going to leave until I read the first chapter. I guessed you probably didn’t have anywhere to go to anyway. I threatened to get security to throw you out but you