Into the Night

This is a little something I’m working on to add to Project Prometheus, eventually… Please, let me know what you think! 

 No Stronger Bond - copyright 2008 Esther Mitchell

     It was quiet.  Too quiet.  Moira drew her weapon, the familiar bare rasp of gun against holster the only sound as she eased carefully into the dark house.  She could see dim light - the living room lamp? - filtering through the hallway.  A warning beacon that froze the breath in her lungs.  Tension climbed along her neck as her mind flashed to another entryway, seven years ago, and the terror that greeted her at its end.  Please,God, no.

      There should be sounds of children, here.  The drone of the TV, or the sound of Jason’s video games.  Lisa singing to herself as she played with her dolls.  Her heart clenched in dread, and she didn’t want to move forward.  For the first time in all her years of service, first as a Federal Marshall and then as a Promethean, she didn’t want to see what lay at the end of that hallway.  She couldn’t bear it.  But, against her will, her feet kept moving forward.

     As she stepped into the family room, Moira froze at the sight that met her eyes, and an entirely new sensation wormed through her chest.  Her heart caught, and warmth spread through her that brought irrational tears to her eyes.

    Michelangelo Mennetti sat in the middle of the room’s sofa, his large body imposing in the space, and a small smile tickled the edges of her mouth.  His head was tipped back, and he was fast asleep, his Italian complexion kissed by the glow of the room’s solitary light source.  Like a giant, sleeping dragon.  Against the left side of his chest, Jason’s dark head rested, a childish copy of the man against whom he lay, and on Mike’s right, Lisa’s dark curls fanned against his thigh, where her small head rested, one thumb tucked in her mouth as always, and her face relaxed in sleep.  Mike’s arms encirled his children as if he intended to protect them, even in sleep.  And she had no doubt he could, and would.  Across his left thigh, a children’s book rested, and it didn’t take a background in profiling to know what happened here.

    Moira’s throat tightened as she took in the scene, moving slowly across the room to ease into the chair across from them.  She didn’t trust her legs; they were wobbling like crazy.  That was a reaction she never experienced before, but she chalked it up to relief.  Jason and Lisa were fine.

    She turned her attention back to their father, more fascinated than she knew she should be.  He was a well-formed man, tall and muscular, built like a brick wall.  She still found it amazing that he actually flew fighter planes.  How did he fit in the cockpit?  A wry smile curved up her face.

     He shifted, and she nearly jumped out of her skin, her breath trapped in her throat.  Then, slowly, those long, dark lashes flickered, and his head raised forward as he blinked owlishly into the semi-dark.  When he saw her, a smile crept over his lips that danced her heart around in her chest.  Almost like he held the strings.

    She pushed the disturbing thought aside.  The kids.  It was the kids who held her heart.  She just felt gratitude that he was a better parent than his wife had been.  She smiled back at him, and softly accused, “You wore them out.”

    His gaze dropped to his kids, and the smile that pulled across his lips tripped her heart all over again.  There was no doubt in her mind; Michelangelo Mennetti loved his kids.  Then, his gaze lifted to her again, and the look there troubled her.  “You came back.”

    She flushed, remembering why she’d stormed out earlier, as his hot gaze raked over her.  “I still have a job to do.”

    He frowned.  “We’re not a job, Moira.  My kids are not a job.”

   “That’s not what I… I mean, I know, but…”  For the first time, she felt flustered.  She couldn’t explain it to him.  They were supposed to be a job.  She was supposed to be objective.  She wasn’t supposed to care this much.

    She watched in a blend of fascination and dread as Mike eased his big body from between his sleeping children and stood, moving to lean over the chair where she sat.  She shrank back into the plush upholstery as he leaned in, his arms planted on either side of her.  She didn’t want him to touch her; already, the heat of him reached out, made her dizzy with longing for things she wasn’t allowed to want.

     “I don’t want you to be here,” he murmured, his light New York Italian accent swirling over her.  “Not unless you care.”

    She swallowed hard.  She couldn’t fight the pull of those dark, magnetic eyes.  “I do care.”

   He stared into her eyes for another long moment and then, with a low groan, lowered his head until his mouth fused over hers in a possession she hadn’t a clue how to fight.  How did she tell him no, when her heart was screaming yes?

Sounds dishy, right?  Wrong.

Today, I’m going to discuss getting inside a character’s head.  It’s one of the things I do well (probably because I spend so much time taking peeks inside real people’s heads).  It’s something a fiction author must do well.  Depending on the kind of fiction you’re writing, it can be essential to the entire story.

I’ve heard a lot about the distinction between a story being character-driven and plot-driven.  The truth is, I’ve seen very few places where one hasn’t been immediately essential to the other. 

Think about it.  If Character A (we’ll call him John) is stuck dangling five stories above the ground, that’s part of the plot.  But what makes this position INTERESTING is that John is afraid of heights.  So, how does he get out?  Does he freeze up?  Will he talk himself into overcoming his fear at least long enough to get back inside the building?  And his struggle to get back inside will either be fraught with his emotional rollercoaster, or complete and total numbness, with the emotions sinking in only once he’s climbed in off the window.

Or take situation #2:  John’s put himself out on that ledge, intending to jump.  Problem is, he didn’t know until this moment just how intense his fear of heights is.  He wants to die, but he’s afraid to let go of the window frame.  Now there’s another paradox to deal with. 

In both cases, the immediate plot is important to moving the story forward (John has to either survive, or become a splat on the pavement, and depending on the importance of the character, the writer determines which plot device moves the story along more efficiently.  Neither outcome is outside of the realm of possibility.), however, without the character’s reaction, the reader is sitting on the sidelines shrugging and muttering “Who cares?”

But once the reader’s allowed access to John’s thoughts and feelings, suddenly it MATTERS what happens to him.  And we’re right there, holding our breath and praying for him, wishing we could reach out and help him back into the room.  And our sense of relief when he makes it back inside (whether defying the odds of a terrible accident, or making the choice to continue living) keeps us reading, to find out what happens to him next.  We CARE about John.  Thus, his character becomes essential to the story moving along, as well.

But how does the author get inside John’s head?  *grins* At risk of sounding corny - practice!  I always advise writers who are just starting out that, before they sit down and plot their first book, they do some characterization exercises.  These are really simple to do:

1. Pick a character.  Determine name, sex, age, and jot down a few basic notes about background.  This doesn’t have to be anything fancy or indepth, though some of my early characterization exercises have become wonderful characters, in time.

2. Pick a situation.  It doesn’t have to be life-threatening, although understanding how a person reacts under extreme stress can make understanding them in day-to-day situations much easier.

3. Have a character and situation written down?  Great.  Now, ask yourself one simple question:  Based on what you know about this person, at this moment, how would they react?

Here’s an example:

1. John.  Male, 30, fear of heights and fire, loves his family intensely, was a pilot until he suffered a bad crash in a small plane and lost his brother.

2.  Situation:  John’s trapped on the roof of a burning building with his six-year-old niece, whom he’s only just found.

3.  How does he react?:

                  The sweat stood out on his skin, and he knew it had nothing to do with the flames licking beneath him, as Amy’s small arms trembled around his neck.  This sweat was cold, and his knees shook with the effort to remain upright as he looked down at the ground, some twenty feet below him.  His stomach lurched.  No way could he make that jump.

    “I’m scared.”  Amy’s small voice wavered against his ear, and John’s heart seized.  She was six, and the only piece of Pete left in this world.  He couldn’t fail her.

     Again, the heat of burning jet fuel singed him, and he heard Pete’s scream, and then that terrible silence.  Flames crackled around his booted feet, and he smelled the oily burn of rubber.

    “Shit.” He swore, and didn’t need to look down to know the roof was now on fire.  He was out of choices, here.  If he didn’t jump, he was condemning Pete’s daughter to die the same way her father did - burned to death because of John’s fear.  He looked toward the ground, where firefighters set up a huge net.  He was out of time.  John heaved a deep breath, squeezed his eyes closed, and flung them both out into the fire-lit night.

See how the step inside works?  You know something about him, and you see the world, and the danger, through his eyes.  His love for his family, and his guilt over his brother’s death, are both stronger than his fear of heights and fire combined.  When pressed to act, he does, but you can feel his fear through it all.  And that human factor is what makes the plot so much more gripping.

Just thought I’d drop a short line and let everyone know where I’ll be this weekend.

Sunday, I’ll be at Love Romances Cafe (http://groups.yahoo.com/group/LoveRomancesCafe) all day long, celebrating an early St. Paddy’s Day and the recent release of my Ireland-set Project Prometheus title, HOPE OF HEAVEN.  I’ll have all sorts of excerpts, Irish wisdom, and even a few giveaways.

I hope everyone has a great weekend, and I hope to see you on Sunday!