
This is a draft of a novel I am writing, it is about a female reporter, investigating her husband’s death. Losing her brother when she was only thirteen, she has always taken the blame for his suicide. In a box of his belongings, is a CD Player, which reveals evidence at a person she thought was a friend.
Forced to stay in my home, as my vision closes in on me, I sit on the sofa with Joe’s box on my lap. I can barely sleep any more, and I need my big brother close. I can’t see photograph’s anymore – that part of my vision loss bothers me the most. There isn’t enough of the picture to see.
I pick out his old music player, and click on the buttons, one at a time. The tiny door opens to reveal a CD. Cold Play, his favourite band. I press play, but all I hear is a crackle.
‘Sarah, I’m sorry, I just couldn’t think of another way out of my problem. We all call him Teflon, cause the police never find him – he never gets burned. I was doing him a favour, didn’t know it was drugs till the packet ripped.’
That’s a lie, but he always protected me from the truth.
I can’t stop listening, his voice, Joe, my beautiful big brother – talking to me as if he is in the same room. A lump, trickles down my throat. I need to keep on listening though, just to hear his voice.
‘I lost another packet the other day, my debt, and I’ll just have to do more do pay it off, tell Mum I am staying round a mate’s. I can’t be involved in that sort of stuff again.’
Why didn’t he talk to me again if he were in trouble? I would have persuaded him to talk to Dad. He would have understood, better than anyone.
‘You have to tell Mum, and Dad now, don’t be afraid Sarah. I realise I was taken advantage of now, but it’s too late for me. Not too late for others. They’ll abscond if you get too close, but there is one name I know, one name you need to give to the police. I heard em talking, shouldn’t have done, but Teflon, his real name is Richard. A reporter, working at some big newspaper.’
The tape ends, and I won’t sit here doing nothing, there must be something I can do to put Richard where he belongs. I pick up my mobile and send a text ‘I know everything Richard, have the evidence to send you to jail.’
‘
Sounds like the makings of a fascinating story.
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It has been changed so much, but I’ve managed to write about nine chapters of the new layout.
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