50 Hours

By Marie Seltenrych

Three middle aged ladies meet in a Bali jail and not on a warm beach. They must find a way of escape before they are locked up indefinitely. Confiding in each other brings out interesting emotions and memories. After attempting an escape they fear they will be up for the death penalty. Can they escape and enjoy their well deserved holiday? Hillarious in places and prophetic regarding events that happened in Bali after this book was written_

• Language: English
• Publisher: Runaway Princesses Books Australia
• Release date: Nov 22, 2022
• ISBN: 9781921943430

Marie Seltenrych

I recently purchased new Photoshop Software, Elements 2021 and a second-hand Cintiq (Wacom). The picture on my profile is the first picture completed using these software products.I had unpublished this version of Runaway Princesses because of Kindle Unlimited rules (publish with Amazon only for 90 days and renew etc). I have now finished this process for the moment.It is very difficult for Indie authors to nagitate through all the pros and cons of different publishers online. We are buffeted from Billy to Jack, as the saying goes.Whilst I was creating the above picture (from scratch) I was disappointed to find my Elements Photoshop software crashing continually. It was another hurdle to overcome as an Indie Author who also creates her own book covers. I truly love to create my book covers and sometimes I have a book cover idea way before I have even begun to write the story nowadays. It must be the magic of creation and seeing the shapes and form evolving from simply scratching away with my Intuos pro pen. It is magical for me.I have also been trying to format the digital edition so that it displays correctly in EPub products, Kindle, and other places. Unfortunately these products have not cooperated together over the years, making life a little more disturbing for Indie digital artists.I hope it is a better product now to enjoy. As an Indie author and graphic artist, I do all this just for you, dear reader and those I call my followers. Thank you. MarieYou can find out more about my ideology on my webpage: https://www.runawayprincesses.com/contactOn a flight from Abu Dhabi to Manchester recently, I was asked by one of the attendants "How are you so intelligent?"[We had enjoyed a short chat during the landing process (near exits).]I replied, "I am old!", and laughed. With my 70th birthday pending, it was the first answer that came to my head. However, it was a bit of a shock to hear someone asking me such a thing as a stranger perceiving me as "so intelligent!"When we consider our lives, experiences, opportunities and setbacks, and take time out to ponder our way forward, we must see that our lives are a living organism shaping from day to day, adding and subtracting items of interest and value, to bring about the sum total of our comprehended being.Looking back over my long existence, I have learned a lot, and possibly forgotten more than I have retained. After all, our brain is a organic lump of matter that somehow cannot exist by itself for very long! It is like a director of an orchestra who has nobody to play any instrument. It is a useless effort to try and get one sound out without something responding. So while our life blood courses through our veins and our brain is working its work, we must try our best to get our thoughts out there into the world, scattered and maybe sometimes picked up by one or two persons who have a moment of inspiration, joy or contemplation.So, we work our work and let our creative juices flow as the saying goes. But it is more than creativity, it is contemplation, consideration, discussion, activity. Our whole lives are involved in our work as we dedicate ourselves to our task in hand.I have included some of the fringe accolades that I happened upon during my course of living, tokens of achievement that were always unexpected and appreciated. These are not listed to gain anything in particular, just a matter of fact that happened along the way of my life. The last thing I want is jealousy. Reader, never be jealous of another person's abilities, because your ability is equally astonishing when you ponder your own life and how it has evolved over the years you are alive. Jealousy is not a topic we often hear about, yet it is a lurking destructive possibility for any human being. We can all get caught up in forms of jealousy and must guard ourselves diligently on this matter. "I can do that!" or "That is nothing", are vital signs that we must learn to put down and change.However, a thought comes to mind that makes jealousy have another side to its coin. God is a jealous God and will not stand to have His creations bow to another. In other words, everything should be in its rightful place. God is justified in that God has the final say for all persons, even for those who cannot believe God even exists. (Theoretical, rational and knowledge based evidences)So, when you read my words and sometimes even pay a small price to download a copy, please be merciful and gracious. I have limited abilities, time and thoughts, but if I can share some with you for your benefit or for the benefit of those who listen to you, then I have done my job in this life. So, I write stories and dictate to my fingers what to say and do, to bring a new experience, a joy, a revelation or refocus to you, dear reader. To me, you are the first person I think about, yet I do not know your name. You are the one I want to hug, give encouragement and to show love, yet I have no idea who you really are, except that you exist and are present.If you leave my site with one new thought, fashion or change of plan for the better, then I am satisfied. Thank you for stopping by and for reading this message. One day we will meet in the future (Eternity) and everything shall be made clearer then. Until we meet, take care and remember to use your talents relentlessly while you are able, and never succumb to jealousy.[Marie has achieved many accolades for her volunteer work in her capacity as author, writer, teacher, and services to her community over many years. These are some of her noted achievements and awards:Certificate in Acting 1969; Bachelor of Ministries 2004.Experience: Stage production; Acting; Public speaking (motivational); Preaching (over 10 years); Worship leading (7 years);Teaching Religious Education (4 years); home schooling children (7 years); Editor of Newsletter (Slacks Creek 3/4) (7 years);Awards: Certification of Appreciation Cooinda House (2012); Certificate of Recognition Australian Blood Service (2012), signed by Jennifer Williams CEO; Certificate of Appreciation: Humpybong State School, (signed by Sam Knowles (Principal) and Ros Smith (President P & C) 2006. Certificate of Appreciation Underwood Neighbourhood Watch (2003) Silver Lapel Badge Award Slacks Creek 3/4 signedby Alex F. Erwin, Superintendent 1380, (2002). Merit Award, Writers World 1999. Certificate of Appreciation, Redeemer Lutheran college Middle School, 1999 (signed by J. Winslour (Head of Middle School) and W.J. Basrow (Librarian); Avon Team Leader Certificate 1999 (signed by Dianne Walsh District Sales Manager) ]Irish born Australian, Marie Seltenrych [nee Rafferty] began writing and drawing at age 4. During Summer holidays in her beloved Leixlip, she drew pictures and made comics with her beloved siblings, Dolores, Liam, Josephine and Raymond. Her youngest brother, Keith, (17 years her junior) has inspired her to write and has been one of her biggest encouragers. From crayon and pencil scribbles, she has gained skills and confidences to write, draw and publish short stories, children's stories, adult romance titles, an adult mystery, a play, a book on prophecy, a book on "How to do online publishing", various devotionals. Marie is also a poet (much to some people's surprise), and is always busy helping someone along the publishing journey. Her belief is definitely, "Love your readers"; "practice makes perfect;" "Pick up the pieces and move on" and "get the talent honed".Contact Marie [e-mail]

Book preview

Dedication:

To my sisters, who inspire me every day

Dolores & Josephine

Table of Contents

Chapter One: 

Chapter Two: 

Chapter three 

Chapter Four 

Chapter Five 

Chapter Six 

Chapter Seven: 

Acknowledgements 

Chapter One:

00:00 hours:

Saturday, October 23 @10:00 AM

Putrid! I’m sitting here in this dark, damp place somewhere in the outskirts of Denpasar. My ears are filled with the rumbling of thunder in the distance. Little dribbles of perspiration rolling down my forehead and I try to brush them off. My hands are locked together, and it proves quite difficult. My nose is filled with fumes and I can barely breathe. A constant dripping sound fills my eardrums and I refuse to open my eyes to see what surrounds me.

My heart is beating like a heavy drumbeat. What has happened? What did I do wrong? I keep asking myself repeatedly? Tears stream down my face like trickling water over a rugged mountain, their journey unchartered and dangerous. I have to reflect on why I came to Indonesia. I try to come to terms with where I find myself.

I need to escape from this place. I am cogitating about how this all began as a dream holiday.

It all started with my sister, Annabelle, well with her husband, Albert. He ran off with a floozy a few years ago. She was a pole dancer at a club in France called Minx Pony. I had known about that venue. She did, in fact, abandon her job to join Albert Bright, who, to me, is very dim. Arrogant is Albert, but he was in the money, shares, investments in property and businesses made him quite rich.

I resisted asking about details. My sister mentioned several pies in which he had his chubby fingers, including an international shipping company. Perhaps he shared some of his private international information with the pole dancer? Minx ensures women get a job for life. I don’t understand how Albert Bright lured her? Supposing they met at a cafe when he was on business? I remember when I was plotting my trip to see the UK. I rang my sister from my Australian location, who informed me he was away on some European business trip. Did he stop for a few days in Paris? Yes!

I notice something crawling on the wall. It’s a scorpion, a spider-like arachnid. It disappears into the darkest corner.

Just like Albert!

For years he had been cheating, slithering through dark places. That’s my view of his sordid character, but of course he was the absolute model of discretion and my sister was totally a believer in him.

He became a convincing liar until the day she found them in her bed. She went out to visit her friend. Half way there she returned home to pick up a book she promised her friend. She ran upstairs to get the book when she came into the house. Found Albert and Lubochka in the raw, in their marital bed. They tried to convince her it was an impulsive action, a mistake! She discovered he had been unfaithful to her for months already. She even discovered that he put money into Lubochka’s account regularly, under various names in strange languages. When she confronted him, he moaned that Lubochka’s family had urgent needs, and he was trying to help her. I, for one, was relieved for Annabelle when the divorce finally settled, as this new family seemed to drain Annabelle’s soul and their joint bank account!

Lubochka Gogo, she called herself.

Her real name was Lubochka Govnia.

My sister discovered her name on an envelope she found in the yard when she visited to sort out ‘International liaisons’ with Albert. When she appeared on the scene, he had umpteen trips to Europe. She found credit card payments for flights to Europe, France, Russia and Hungary. She has taken four years to get over it.

We were to enjoy a beautiful, adventurous holiday, with nothing but soft breezes and silky sand for company.

What happened to Albert? He had a fling with Lubochka. Soon returned to the UK, after the relationship dissolved, and the money. He needed Annabelle, and not just her nice knickers! And another slice of the assets they had divided. My sister has a canny knack of knowing how to make money grow through investments. She is also a typical Scot, frugal.

I notice a bucket in the corner, metal. Might be the toilet.

The idea of this object being a substitute for my beautiful white egg-shaped toilet languishing at home makes my throat gag. It looks like something recycled from a dump. Oh, dear God, save me.

Annabelle recycles everything, except her husband! He sent her flowers, chocolates, but she would not budge.

I advised her: Once bitten, twice as shy... She finally forced a settlement to end the marriage. She took my advice. He double-dipping into the family’s coffers. In the divorce report, he noted she had ‘nagged him continually’, which was the ultimate reason for a divorce! Why did she nag? No reason was written.

Now my head is aching, a nagging ache as I ponder what on earth I am doing in this dump.

Is it possible that I will be captured and caught like a rabbit? Albert is still a rat. Lubochka was his play pony.

Lubochka Gogo returned to the Minx Pony.

She was young, waiting for another unsuspecting victim to stop by when she might give him a wink. There goes my sister’s inheritance. They had trips abroad and her family’s support. God only knows how many disasters she had in one season, eroding the family fund.

If my sister and her husband had stayed married, we would not meet here for our fantasy holiday! We would have gone to Spain. Albert and Lubochka are partly responsible for this now terrifying ordeal.

Can a fantasy turn into a nightmare? Yes, resoundingly yes! I see nobody to speak to. Am locked inside a strange cell without sight of sign of another human. How inhumane can this be? I lean against the putrid wall and hope that little scorpion does not fall on top of me. I shiver and long for a nice long drink, anything wet for my parched tongue. Champagne would be nice_

For my 50th birthday, James, my hubby, suggested that I should see my sister. It was time for us to get together after five years apart.

My sister and I planned to meet in Bali. Now, I am totally sure it was the wrong decision. I had given up my full-time work as a personal assistant to a Real Estate Manager just over six months ago. I used some of my superannuation to come to Bali. I wouldn't be here if I stayed at work. If she had stayed in the child care industry, we would not be here_

I wish I'd continued to work. I actually enjoyed my work, bossing people around, being important. Where are they now? Where are my buddies? My friends, anyone? Work is better than a Bali jail. Where are my children now? My childhood memories flood past my thoughts like an express train. Am I too rebellious for this world?

Every child rebels? If we are open-minded, we find that old rebellious baby tiger within.

I can sense voices coming closer. Sweat pours from my head and I am nauseous.

Up, up, I hear a loud command.

My eyes are sticky and I lurch like a drunken criminal as I struggle to my feet, snagging my heel in the hem of my stupid 60s floral skirt.

Am I an MI-5 agent or what? Can’t they tell I’m a peace-loving, flower-child of the 70s who hates conflict and will do anything to foster peace? I try to stand up with dignity, even as a rough hand grips my arm.

04:00 hours:

I am confronted by a brown, shimmering face with a black moustache, the deepest brown eyes in the universe, black animated eyebrows.

His English is akin to a foreign language. It reminds me of my Charismatic Christian friends who speak in tongues! I don't understand what they're speaking, and I doubt if they comprehend what they're saying. One thing, it is a language of sorts. But, English?

Yes, I murmur, out of my ignorance.

I don ’t know what I said yes to!

The death penalty? My fancy thoughts about the world and peace flown my soul. Hounded through a heavy door. Into an air-conditioned room.

Ah, this is more civilised. I am musing. They realise I am not a criminal. May I go shopping? My resolve is to stay calm, positive, and never lose my sense of humor. Standing with my hands bound, I take a deep breath of the fresh air conditioned air. I am refreshed and that creepy itch in my hair seems to fade. Cold kills certain bugs and a few are rambling through my hair. I ask to visit the ladies’ room and they agree!

The handcuffs are released, allowing me to enjoy a welcome relief. My wrists are sizzling with joy.

I see the bathroom has only one tiny window and dismiss the idea of escaping, so return meekly. The guard goes outside. I am alone.

A polished boot is not moving. I am being watched.

What a pathetic brief scene, a dyed haired, pallid female, flabby belly, runny eye makeup, one heeled

shoe, hands held with steel clamps. Guarded by a superior mail with boots so polished they could be used as a mirror. His body is so toned that he could be a movie star. My lips are parched.

I was taken to the rear of a vehicle, driven to a stage setting from a Ben Hur movie. What can I do? Run away?

A sufferer of algophobia, that’s who I am. Hating pain, this little duck will do anything to avoid it.

How my mindset is wandering with thoughts of pain as I try to wiggle my fingers to stop them from going numb. Will I lose my hands from this episode before I lose my head? Pain. I had one toothache for 48 hours. It was unbearable. Even then, I never touched drugs harder than paracetamol! I just could not find a dentist to help me. I was so desperate.

My wrists are hurting. The ache will not go away. An echo of suffering awaits me? How horrific is this? I wish I was back in my old world, toothache and all.

Two men stand over me. I just stare at them with a hint of sadness in my face.

Is there a bone of compassion somewhere inside their trimmed moustaches and thick, straight eyebrows and puppy-dog eyes?

I need an interpreter. I propose. Using an authoritative voice.

You do, one man replies, spitting in my eye. He is my interpreter, I reason.

I want someone else. You cannot speak proper English, I reply.

He peers into my tear-stained eyes with runny, stingy mascara making black grooves in my foundation and a trail of dirty creases in my otherwise flawless complexion. He could chew a whole steak by the time he replied. I am at the mercy of this complete stranger and am intimidated.

Rude female!

You do not speak proper English, I repeat.

I want my lawyer, I add for emphasis. They can’t fool me. I watch Law and Order, Spooks, Midsomer Murders, CSI Miami; other TV shows, even Burn Notice!

I give them plenty of advice when I am watching TV.

It seems totally different when one is right in this situation of danger.

How can I pay for this lawyer? If there is one? The problem is that they took my bag, and it’s under scientific investigation. I still can’t accept this. I am the actor on stage set. Soon the director will yell, ‘cut’ and we can all go home.

You want Lawyer?

This is his reply. I peer into his eyes. Black as the Ace of Spades, black and intriguing, sinister.

What if this is some kind of plot to kidnap me and get money from my darling workaholic husband, who spends his days shifting dirt, to give them $50,000 or more?

Where on God’s earth would he get it at short notice? Worried now, for telling the Bank manager off one day. He probably wouldn’t want to give darling James a loan if he learnt it was to release me from prison. I regret snapping at that bank manager now.

I must be careful not to mention properties we purchased worth a lot of money, or bingo: they will

want James to give them three million dollars. As if I’m worth three million! I’m a dead chick? Or a cooked goose!

"Yes,