A Retread - Fan Fiction - Lost Laysen

Before writing this blog, I went to the blog site that claimed to have 101 Ideas that would make my blog hot. I went through the list but I was in a hurry, and there wasn’t anything that wouldn’t require time and more creativity than I wanted to give. Oops, did I just say that? I want to post a blog, but I don’t want to have to work too hard to get it done. Yep! I just said that. But you must understand, I just wrote a new “Sheila Murder” for my Murderous Imaginings Blog. The post Brutal Attack took most of the evening and required quite a bit of creativity.

          It’s not as easy as you might think to come up with a new scenario, a new victim, or a new way to end their life. Then there’s the graphics to go along with the story and the most challenging part, the formatting on blogger. Why that is such a task, I’ll never know, but it seems to take forever.

          So there you have it. I’ve spent all my creativity on the Murderous Imaginings Blog and have nothing left for this one. Does that bother you as much as it does me?

          Still, I wanted to post something here on Defending the Pen. It is my primary blog.

          So, I thought I’d post a copy of an old blog. My first attempt at Fan Fiction based on a short story by Margaret Mitchell. Lost Laysen. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

          That’s not being too lazy, is it?

February’s Romantic Friday Writers Flash Fiction Challenge is all about Fan Fiction.

Margaret Mitchell is a favorite author of many of us, and when I came across this short story by her, called ‘Lost Laysen. I could not resist. 

This story was found in an old desk of a former beau, Henry Love Angel, along with other letters and photographs. Henry's son, with the help of Patsy Wiggins, founder of the Road to Tara Museum published the story along with the letters and photograph’s in 1997. This was a very special find because after Ms. Mitchell’s death, and per her wishes, all of her work including notes on Gone With The Wind were incinerated.

Synopsis: Lost Laysen by Margaret Mitchell

Courtenay Ross, a feisty, independent-minded woman, and the two men -- one a cool-headed, well-heeled gentleman, the other a hot-blooded, pugnacious sailor -- who adore her. A tale of yearning, valor, and devotion, Lost Laysen enthralls from its delightful beginning to its unforgettable end.

The scene I wrote is a 'new' ending with the characters of Courtney Ross, and Billy Duncan.

 I hope you will enjoy my tribute to her short story ‘Lost Laysen.’

Please note: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from Lost Laysen, which is trademarked by the heirs of Margaret Mitchell.

The characters were created and owned by Margaret Mitchell, and I do not claim any ownership over them or the world of Courtney Ross and Billy Duncan.

The story I tell here is my own invention, and it is not purported or believed to be part of Margaret Mitchell’s story canon. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line, nor has it been done for financial gain. 

I am grateful to Ms. Mitchell for her wonderful story about Lost Laysen, for without her story, mine would not exist.

A Fan Fiction Tribute to Margaret Mitchell’s

LOST LAYSEN

After days of nightmarish upheaval, tranquility saturated the night. The sea looked like black ink, and the reflected stars appeared as unsinkable diamonds. She stood against the rail. A light breeze billowed her gown. I spoke on approach so not to frighten her. 

“What’s wrong, Little Lady, you seem lost among the stars.” I tied to sound jovial.

I knew the answer but awaited her response. Her sadness was overwhelming, for she was remembering, and worse—regretting.

In acknowledgment, her lips formed a half circle. It was neither a smile nor a grin, and she continued her search of the sky. I recalled the first time we met, the first time I had witnessed her Cupid’s bow mouth curved into a full grin. The day she won my heart, three months ago, when she boarded the Caliban at Yindano for passage to Laysen in the Tongas. Laysen, the island that disappeared under the sea after a volcanic eruption, the very center of hell and she had barely escaped.

The stars blinked wildly as though showing off for her. I watched her scrutinize them and recalled how I found her in that bloody cabin barely alive. Four dead men lay at her feet, her soon to be declared fiancé, Douglas Steele, the devil himself—Juan Mardo, and two of his henchmen. 

Steele died protecting her, and Mardo had been killed by her hand. My own knife, the Amigo mio—Friend O’ Mine, she had put through Mardo’s heart, but she refused to speak of it. She became distant and disappeared to a place I could not follow, but I would not be defeated. 

When she was delirious and called out for Steele, I said words to her I had no right to speak. I caressed her fevered cheek and told her that she had to fight; she had to live for me. I promised my undying love, and while not one word was a lie, I told it all in the guise of Douglas Steele. It worked, and beyond the hopes of all who attended to her, she pulled through. But once she had her senses about her and realized that Steele was gone, she lost her desire for life. She became a shadow, and although I felt her ire, not one word of ill did she utter.

“Let’s go inside, you need to rest.”

 “In a minute.” 

Her dismissal stung, but I feared her mind had muddled and she would jump into those dark waters to join him—her true love. 

We stood with our own thoughts, and then I felt her eyes searching my face. I was not ready for her words. 

“I should’ve died. You should’ve let me go. It was my desire. I ‘m sure, it was... his. You had no right, none! Just as Laysen disappeared, so should I. I killed two men. My lovely heroic, Douglas. He wouldn’t have been here...if not for me.” 

Her body stiffened, her face flushed, and she lifted her chin. “But Mardo, that beast deserved to die; I’ll not regret that, never!” 

Then her shoulders slumped, “But Doug...he deserved so much, so much better than me.” 

No! I cursed under my breath and had to walk away. I ran my clumsy hands through my hair and paced the deck. She could not believe that. I could not allow her to think that! I calmed myself. I had no right, but I put my hands on her shoulders. Her tiny body trembled, but I held her gaze. Her big blue-grey eyes filled with unshed tears, and my heart split in two.

My mind screamed. I love you, lassie, I’m not good enough, but I love you!

I swallowed my pride. “I’ve an idea, a way to get you safely back to your family.”

“It isn’t possible, it’ll never be possible?” she shook her head. “I could never face them.”

“But it is,” I declared. “We tell them you suffered from shock, loss of memory, that you were discovered on an island near Laysen. You’ll never have to share that awful day...ever! Only you, the captain, and I will know the truth. I’ll escort you. Personally, and I’ll do the talking, no lie will ever leave your lips.”

She thought about it. She started pacing, mulling it over. Occasionally she would lift her head and look at me, studying me, wondering I suppose if she could trust me.

“You’d do that for me? Just as you pretended to be Douglas, and promised..." 

She could not even say the word--love. Was it so distasteful? Was I?

"You would lie for me, and then walk away?” She said.

“Ai’ lass, I would. I knew the day I met you; I was in your life to protect you. Never-to own you!”

I had fooled myself into believing she would be grateful, even allowed myself to think that she might love me. I had deceived—a fool.

Soft fingers caressed my weathered face. “My guardian angel.” She smiled, and on her toes, she stretched to kiss my cheek. Exceedingly blessed and agonizingly bereft, I was breathless.

“I couldn’t," she whispered. Her voice grew stronger, as she made her decision. "Living with that lie would end me. Thank you, but no. I’ll face the demons straight on. I’ll honor my Douglas, my heart.” 

Every time she spoke his name, it became more holy. Any hope left within me withered.

“I’ll go to Yindano, and teach as I intended. God allowed me to live and I’ll honor his choice.”

I nodded, grateful, but my heart shattered. Unbearable pain silenced me, because while I knew she was staying—it was not for me. 

She walked away, turned, and in the dull lantern light, I saw tears finally trailing her cheeks.

“God bless, you, Billy Duncan,” her words quickened my ravaged heart.

** ********** **

987  Words / FCA
Yolanda Renée © 2013
 

Romantic Friday Writers February Fan Fiction Challenge

IWSG - NEXT

The Insecure Writer’s Support Group

Question - How do you celebrate when you achieve a writing goal/ finish a story?

Usually, that single accomplishment starts an avalanche of creativity, and I start planning my next story. The ‘high’ doesn’t always last though because shortly after I start worrying about whether or not it fits the bill, will the readers like it, then, the worst worry, how to market.

***

The awesome co-hosts are

Mary Aalgaard, Bish Denham, Jennifer Hawes, Diane Burton, & Gwen Gardner!

Sunset before the rain!

March 6, 2018


Do worries ever steal your accomplishment 'high'?

Goodbye Winter

I saw daffodils today!

HAPPY SPRING, EVERYONE!

Today my post is over on

the

Tick Tock: A Stitch In Crime Blog.
Featuring my story
Cypress, Like The Tree

It's all about

Detective Cypress.

Stop by for a visit.

Also, the WEP Winners

have been announced.

Please stop by and
congratulate them.

&

In case you're interested

Sheila Kills Again

on my Murderous Imaginings Blog!

Whatever you do,

take a moment to enjoy the 

spring flowers.

WEP - In Too Deep

THREATS & PROMISES

It was a calm spring morning when my world came to an end. An early morning rain made the marigolds brighter, the forget-me-nots bluer, and the multicolored pansies gave the garden a rainbow of color. I was sitting in the sunroom enjoying a cup of coffee when the sound of sirens destroyed the serenity and announced a day of reckoning.

~~*****~~

"Please, Mrs. Strong," the strain and impatience graveled FBI Agent Ronald Gray’s voice. "Just tell me about your husband," he pleaded. His tone was much less threatening than when we’d first been introduced. After being escorted to the Boulder police department by two surly police officers who refused to answer my questions, I was unceremoniously shoved into an interview room with the brusque Agent. His scrutiny made me feel as inadequate as a rat in a line-up of cats. A surlier man, I’d never met. He refused to answer my questions but kept demanding that I answer his.

"I don’t understand what you want from me. I haven’t seen John in two years. What can I possibly tell you?"

"Why. The world wants to know why Mrs. Strong. Why does a man kill innocent people? We deserve to know, why!"He slammed his fist on the table, and I felt the blow in my heart.

"John left this for you." The Agent slammed a letter down on the table. I read it, and that was the moment. There would be no more false bravado.

Deidre,

     You’ve always admired my penmanship. How do you like my blood red ink? Actually, my blood and written with a quill, can you believe it? Nothing but the best for you, my dear sweet wife.

     Well, you did it. You got away. Left the kids and me to follow your lustful heart. I hope he was worth it! No, that’s not true, I hope he beats you daily! Maybe took all your hard earned and hoarded money and left you high and dry. God, knows that’s a fantasy, a dream I have regularly. That and finding you.

     The finding you fantasy would’ve taken a book, but I’m sure you can imagine!

     But who knows? Maybe I’d have forgiven you. Now we’ll never know.

Enjoy the notoriety.

You’ve earned it sweetheart!

Always yours,

John

"Because of me?" I whispered. Tears streamed down my cheeks. "He did it because of me." I bowed my head over my arms and cried like a woman condemned. Hell would bring no more agonizing a punishment than the guilt that consumed me. The world went black.

At the hospital, I was all but catatonic. The doctors and my attorney refused to let the agent question me again. I slowly gathered my strength and agreed to talk to Agent Gray, but only on my terms. I wanted to go home, but no longer had one. Once the press learned of my location, no place was safe. I insisted on protection, and a new identity. The FBI saw to the changes, and I agreed to talk.

"You were married for over twenty years. What happened? What drove John to do this?"

"I can’t answer that question. I lived with the man for twenty years, and I can’t tell you who he was. I just know I could no longer live in the comfortable prison I'd allowed him to create for me. The children were adults. It was time. I found the courage."

"But why did you leave, why did it take you so long? We checked, there was no abuse. We talked to family and friends, they said you two were the couple everyone envied."

"We were, in public. For years I carried off the biggest fake out in history. I played the game. It made John happy, and when he was happy, I thought less and less of ending my life. It’s called survival."

"From what?" the agent asked in desperation.

"A man obsessed, controlling, angry. I’d left him before. But he always found me. We had children, they loved their father, even as they feared him. It was clear I’d never escape. If I did, it meant giving up my children too. Once they were adults, I could let go. I disappeared, changed my name, and prayed he’d never find me."

Agent Gray shook his head. "John left us a message too. He wrote, 'Ask Deidre. She knows the answers you seek. This is all on her.'" The Agent sighed deeply and asked the one question he’d been dying to ask for days. “Did you know?"

"Did I know?" I thought about his question. I stood, walked to the window and stared at the sky. "I knew it was a possibility. Ten years ago, John hears on the news that a gunman has killed twenty-five people from an elevated position and says, ‘I could see myself doing that, especially if you ever left me. I’d have nothing to live for.’ It was a threat, but one I knew in my soul he could accomplish.” I shivered. I couldn’t look at Agent Gray.

"I remember his grin. His self-satisfied nod, and his declaration, 'I could do it, and I would just to show you, you’ll never escape, and if you do. You’ll regret it until your dying day.'"

I wiped at the tears that seemed never-ending and caught the Agents eyes. "You tell me, did I know? Could I have stopped what happened based on that conversation ten years ago?"

Gray bowed his head. He couldn’t or wouldn’t look at me.

"If I’d reported him? Would you have listened?"

930 words / FCA

Yolanda Renée © 2018

~~*****~~

I wrote this a few months ago. I hate that it's a reality.
Please, Lord, Bless the children . . .

The Relationship Between Domestic Violence & Mass Shootings

When Domestic Violence Becomes a Mass Shooting

Many mass shooters have a history of domestic violence. It's time to pay attention.

Read More Stories

In Too Deep

Just follow the links:

The Two-Faced Triplex by Nancy Lynn Jarvis

I'm thrilled to have Nancy Lynn Jarvis, friend, and author of The Regan McHenry Real Estate Mysteries here today to discuss her latest release The Two-Faced Triplex. This is the 7th book in the series, and Nancy says it's the last.

In her guest post, Cherokee Wisdom, she'll tell you why. . .

CHEROKEE WISDOM

Readers often ask how much of what I write is based on my life and experiences. I tell them all the real estate stories in the Regan McHenry Real Estate Mysteries series are true―they happened to me or to the Realtors I know―but the murders and everything else is not. It’s not really that simple, though, and that made writing “The Two-Faced Triplex” incredibly difficult.

When I began my first book, “The Death Contingency,” the protagonists were Nancy―me―and Craig, my husband. But Nancy and Craig wouldn’t do what I wanted them to do―they just weren’t good at following directions―so I quickly made them Regan and Tom, hoping that would improve our working relationship.

Their personalities evolved with their names until they weren’t Nancy and Craig at all…except for one thing: Tom still had Craig’s incredibly blue eyes. Regan mentions them often, and they were a major clue to solving the murders, in “Buying Murder.”

Craig’s role in my mystery writing evolved, too. He became my beta reader and eventually a darned good content editor. We would spend hours whipping the books into shape before sending them to my editor. The pre-editor part was tricky, but we made up for that when we went to work designing the book covers. That was the fun part.

Craig died of Multiple Myeloma a year-and-a-half ago. I had the plot for “The Two-Faced Triplex” in mind before he died, but for a while, after his death, I couldn’t concentrate enough to do anything useful, let alone write. Once I did start on the book, it was incredibly difficult to imagine Tom because, when I did, I saw Craig’s blue eyes. As the book progressed, rather than writing faster, which is my normal pattern, I slowed down.

I didn’t want to end “The Two-Faced Triplex” because it would be the last in the series I have so enjoyed writing. Once finished, “The Two-Faced Triplex” would mark the end of a major part of my life and the end of Craig’s and my collaboration.

Last year I did Ancestry© and discovered the rumored Cherokee bride in my ancestral line was real. Perhaps that’s why I have always been so taken with this Cherokee parable, so taken with it, that I made it the last thing Tom said.

“It’s an old bit of Cherokee wisdom,” Tom answered. “According to Cherokee lore, a grandfather explained to his grandson that there are two wolves struggling inside each of us. One wolf is vengefulness, anger, resentment, self-pity, and fear. The other wolf is compassion, faithfulness, hope, truth, and love. When his grandson asked, ‘Grandfather, which wolf wins?’ his grandfather replied, ‘The one you feed.’

Before Craig died, he made me promise that I would have a good life. Finishing “The Two-Faced Triplex” was hard, but it was a part of keeping my promise and part of feeding the right wolf.

~~*****~~

The Two-Faced Triplex

Regan signs on to play consoler-and-chief after the body of Martha Varner, one of her favorite clients, is found and the woman’s distraught daughter begs Regan to stop escrow from closing on a purchase her mother was about to make. Martha Varner’s death, at first ruled suicide, is quickly ruled homicide. The dead woman’s best friend thinks she knows who Martha’s killer is. The police have a different suspect. And Regan? Well, she has her own ideas about who killed Martha Varner. She just can’t imagine how complicated playing amateur sleuth will make her life and how dangerous her investigation will prove to be for her husband, Tom. The Two-Faced Triplex is the seventh book in the Regan McHenry Real Estate Mysteries series and probably the last of Regan and Tom's adventures. Dave, Santa Cruz Police Department Ombudsman and Regan's best friend, makes a return appearance and Harry, Regan and Tom's rescue cat is pressed into service as a decoy. As usual, action takes place in Santa Cruz County, but clues lead Regan to Carmel as she tries to find out what Martha was doing in the days leading up to her murder.

            Buy the Two-Faced Triplex thru Amazon

~~*****~~

About the Author

Nancy Lynn Jarvis was a Santa Cruz, California, Realtor® for more than twenty years before she fell in love with writing and let her license lapse. After earning a BA in behavioral science from San Jose State University, she worked in the advertising department of the San Jose Mercury News. A move to Santa Cruz meant a new job as a librarian and later a stint as the business manager for Shakespeare/Santa Cruz at UCSC. Nancy’s work history reflects her philosophy: people should try something radically different every few years, a philosophy she applies to her writing, as well. This is the seventh book in the Regan McHenry Real Estate Mysteries series but she has taken breaks to write a stand-alone book called “Mags and the AARP Gang” about a group of octogenarian bank robbers, and to edit “Cozy Food: 128 Cozy Mystery Writers Share Their Favorite Recipes.” She planned to start a new series, “Geezers with Tools” but book seven in the Regan McHenry Real Estate Mystery series kept calling her, so Geezers was put on hold temporarily. She’s also editing an anthology of short stories from Santa Cruz authors with the title and theme “Santa Cruz Weird.”

 ~~*****~~

Thank you for sharing your courage with us, Nancy.

Writers, how much of you is in your stories?