Masked Men

By Maddison Dean

Cambole, a movie director, witnesses the explosion of his studio just as he heads in for work. In order to find out who has caused this disaster, Cambole must work with the CIA, become a double agent, and push himself to the limit. His life takes a turn he has never seen coming.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 28, 2015
• ISBN: 9781514404683

Maddison Dean

She is the youngest of three children from Livonia, Michigan. She completed her first book while only in the eighth grade, all while achieving high academic marks and playing school sports. Her greatest passion, however, is writing. She hopes you will enjoy her book.

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Copyright © 2015 by Maddison Dean.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 10/23/2015

Xlibris

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Contents

Late for an Explosion

You Again

Dive Off

Eyes

Masked Hospital

New Doctor… Maybe

Go to Sleep

Masked Man

Quite a Family, if You Ask Me

Marks

Nice Hair

Uncle Mathew

Talk about It

Calm’s Plans

Outside the Box

Better Now than Never

Wow, Not Bad for a Big Guy

The Four Horsemen

It’s Great to See You Home

Love… Hurts, Badly

Roof Flying

Impressive, Interesting, or Just Wrong

Knife Toss

What a Wonderful, Evil Morning

Last Initiation

Game Time

Home

I Do

Acknowledgments

Late for an Explosion

I glance at the clock; it says eight thirty-nine. I was supposed to be at work about two hours ago. I scoot off my bed and mumble to myself in a sarcastic voice, They’re fine. I mean, after all, I’m only the director. I put on my dark-blue jeans then black shoes and throw on my gray T-shirt. I quickly go into the bathroom and gel my hair in a messy position, as usual. I start sprinting out the door and grab my leather coat on the way out. I get outside, and with luck, there’s a taxi right outside my building. I hop in, telling the taxi driver to go straight up the road. The driver’s name tag says Alex C. Neil. He has crazy, cool black hair, which’s really hard to find these days. He’s wearing a plain gray long-sleeve shirt, the sleeves rolled up. His ears are pierced, and he has a snake bite. He has cool black combat boots and a fuzzy chin. He looks like a reject, but at the same time, he looks like he has a kind soul.

Turn right, I mumble, looking at my watch, hoping that time can slow down just so I can catch up.

Turn what? he asks, looking at me in the rearview mirror.

Sorry, I said turn right, I reply in a clear voice. The guy seems nervous for some reason, but I can’t tell why. I try not to let it bother me.

You can turn right at that light over there, I tell the driver, pointing at a light that has just turned red.

Sure thing, he replies.

I feel something in the back pocket of my pants. I pull it out, and when I see it, two things pop into my head. One is that I haven’t gained weight since high school, and two is that I haven’t worn these pants for a really long time. I pull out a really old picture of my ex-girlfriend and me when we were in high school. Her name is Shawn Elise. I start to remember her beautiful long hair and dark-brown eyes. I was such a lucky dog in high school. Later, I remember, she sent me all these text messages of how much she loved me; I remember how much I loved her. She and I were the couple in high school. People thought we would last forever, but that was until… until…

You can turn up to that building right over there with the blue door.

Yes, sir, he replies and parks by the curb. I walk out the door and up the building. It looks like everyone is on their break; there are no cars in the parking lot.

Um, sir, you forgot to pay me, the taxi driver shouts out the window.

Oh, yes, I’m sorry. I walk up to his window and ask what the price is.

The price is twenty-six ninety-five.

Okay, here you go, I say, giving him thirty and telling him to keep the change.

Thank you, you’re very kind, he says, putting away the money.

No problem, I reply, starting to walk away.

Oh, and good luck, he shouts out the window of the taxi as I look back at him.

Um, thanks, I guess, I say, turning back to the studio.

I get on the sidewalk and look at my studio. It’s pretty big and is filled with energy. I’m about twenty feet away when the door flies off the building and the glass windows shatter, with fire being breathed out. As soon as I realize it, the building explodes with fire and ashes, screaming for life. My studio, my work, it’s all gone. What the hell could have set it off? Is everyone all right? I’m on the pavement from the impact of the explosion, and I look back to see if the taxi is still there, wondering if I’m the only one seeing this, but the taxi is gone. All I can hope for is that this is a dream.

You Again

I’m still on the ground. I look around the street, where I see everyone. They’re all either calling their family members, calling 911, or telling the world what they have all just seen. The next thing I know, the CIA, police officers, and firefighters are all at the scene. I get up and start walking to the CIA agents. There is a woman that I’m walking up to. She’s wearing a dark-blue button-up jacket and slacks. Her hair is black and short but nice, and she has really clear dark skin.

Can you tell me what the heck just happened to my studio? I ask the woman, with a twist of frustration and sadness in my voice.

We don’t know yet, but we’re doing everything we can to figure that out. Since it is your studio, do you think you could come with us so we might get some insight on what goes on in there and maybe even some history of the building? she replies in a nice, calm voice.

Um, yeah, I guess, but what should I do for now while everyone’s working? I ask, trying to cool down.

If you could stay in this general area, that would be nice, she says, making a hand motion to imply where I shall stay.

Okay, I’ll just be over there. I look at her as she turns around. Um, ma’am, could I have your name, please? I ask her.

Oh, of course. It’s Rachael Lukas, she says, pulling out her card.

Thanks, I say as I walk away.

I walk through the sea of people. I bump into a woman, and she falls. She has dark-brown hair, which slides over her face as she falls. Oh, I’m so sorry. Here, let me help you up, I say, putting out a hand for her to grab.

Oh, thanks, she replies.

Why are you saying thanks? I bumped into you.

She laughs, and as she gets up, her hair sways off her face.

Sorry, I should have watched where I was going, I say, kind of embarrassed about how clumsy I can be.

I’m fine, really. Wait a second, is that you… is that you, Cambole, from high school? she asks, studying my face.

Yeah. Oh my god, is that you, Shawn? It’s unbelievable; I haven’t seen her since we were teenagers. I have loved her so much.

What are you doing here? she asks.

Well, I work in that studio. The CIA wants me to stay so maybe they could get some insight on the scene.

Wait, you’re an actor? That’s so cool, she says in amazement.

"Actually, I’m the director, and that was my studio, in fact,