Tightening

You'll see a lot of red and blue in the following chapter. That means I didn't like it, right? Wrong. Everything in red can simply be cut to tighten the writing, get rid of excess that slows it down.

The genre for this one is suspense.

SACRIFICIAL LIE
Ernie Wenk

Chapter 1

Exhausted, Jim Gabriel fell asleep, only to be wakened minutes later by the ringing of the phone. Jim groaned, rolled over and looked at the orange numbers on the digital clock. It was three in the morning. The call could not have come at a worse time. He couldn’t decide whether to answer the phone, or let the answering machine handle this one.

[Instead of saying exhausted, a stronger beginning might be for Jim to note the time first. Say something to the effect of “he was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow”, but avoid that cliché if you can. Then have the phone wake him minutes later.]

Earlier that evening he and his wife Anna had argued for the third time that week about his job and how it interfered with their family life—the long hours, nights and weekends away from home, and the late night phone calls. Last night’s argument ended after Jim promised they would leave in two days for a vacation long overdue.

With the phone still ringing he heard his wife mumble, [his wife mumbled] “I told you things wouldn’t change.” Jim glanced in her direction and grabbed the phone.

“Hello?”

“Is this Jim Gabriel?”

“It is. Who’s this?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“I’m sorry I’ve disturbed you. But, you need to know something.”

“And it couldn’t wait until later this morning?”

“No. It’s about Karen Maxwell.”

“Excuse me?” Jim’s brow furrowed.

“Her death wasn’t an accident.”

This brought Jim to an upright position. Karen died in a car accident. [crash. Avoid using accident twice.] How could it not be an accident?

“What kind of sick joke is this?”

“I assure you it’s not a joke.”

Jim paused before he spoke. “What makes you think it wasn’t an accident?”

“I can’t talk much longer.”

“Then why’d you even call me?”

“I’m hoping you can help.”

Jim rubbed his eyes. “I can, but you need to tell me what you know.”

“Mr. Gabriel, I’m risking my life calling you. You have to find out what happened to her.”

[You told us he’s used to late-night calls. As FBI, I imagine he’s also used to unidentified callers. So his handling of this doesn’t sound professional to me.]

Jim glanced over toward Anna. If he didn’t end this call now, he knew he would be in trouble with her. [Instead of that sentence, maybe you could have Anna give him a look. If you’re married, you know what kind.] Yet, something inside told him not to hang up, yet. If there was any truth to the caller’s claim, he needed to know more. But, what’s with the secrecy? [The caller’s life is at risk, I don’t think this is something Jim would wonder.] He needed some straight answers before he make any conclusions.

“I can’t help if you don’t tell me anything.”

“I need to get off the phone.”

[An action beat here would add to the emotion. Have him lean forward or something.] “Don’t hang up.”

“I’ll try to call you later. Be careful. Those who killed her will make sure no one ever finds out.”

“They? Who are they?” Jim yelled.

The line went dead.

Jim sat there stunned. In his fifteen years with the FBI, this had to be the most bizarre call he had ever received. [Fifteen years, and that was the most bizarre? Doesn’t seem likely to me.] He continued to sit on the edge of the bed, staring into the darkness. As Anna spoke, her words dripped with anger, “Thanks for waking me up, again.”

Jim turned to say something, but held his tongue. This was not the time, or the place to defend himself. Unable to sleep, he stood and slipped out of the room and headed to the den, his place of refuge. As he passed the rooms of his two daughters he remembered how his family had seen [thought of] happier days. They always done things together, until five years ago when his job demanded more of his time. He never complained, but Anna did, and the struggle [balance] between their [his] marriage and his job had shifted precariously close to disaster. [This is a minor change, but I like the word balance paired with the word shifted. Only my opinion.]

He walked into the oversized room located in the back of their ranch-style home, turned on the light and shut the door. He settled in to his leather chair, switched on his laptop. While he waited for the laptop [it] to finish what computers do before you can start using them, he leaned back, closed his eyes and mulled over the caller’s claim. The memory of Karen’s memorial service last week was still fresh in his mind. [Karen’s memorial service the week before was still fresh in his mind. ~That avoids memory and memorial so close together.] Her sudden death was a shock to her family and friends. Jim still felt the pain of her loss. [What was she to Jim? He still feels the pain, and is even crying, so I want to know why.]

With a swipe of his hand, he wiped the tears from his eyes and cheeks, and focused back on the call. [Let me explain all the red here. If you show us his tears, you probably don’t need to tell us he still felt the pain. Swipe and wipe were too similar, and that first part isn’t necessary anyway. If you start the next paragraph after this, you won’t need to say he focused on the call again.] Even though the caller had not identified herself, [Herself? You should identify the voice as female from the beginning. I was hearing a man the entire conversation.] he would trace the call later and find out where the call [it] originated from and hopefully a name of the caller.

The room he sat in was transformed into an office, equipped with two large four-drawer file cabinets set against the wall, opposite his desk. To Jim’s left, he had a combination laser printer, copier and fax machine. The wall to his right was taken up entirely with a bookshelf, filled with his amassed collection of books about his favorite sport—baseball. [If he has amassed a collection of baseball books, it goes without saying that it’s his favorite sport.] At six-foot-three and agile, he made for a perfect combination to play first base on his college baseball team. In the middle of the bookshelf sat his twenty-seven inch plasma screen TV. Jim had an unobstructed view beyond his backyard of a forested area, populated with Douglas Firs, dotted with pine trees, all surrounded by a sea of Sword Ferns.

[Give us a briefer look at what’s in the room. And at 3 a.m. I bet he can’t see the trees and ferns. Maybe you can save that description for another time. I’m not fond of lots of description. My writing errs on the other side, so take my advice with a grain of salt.]

For the past few months, Jim spent more time here than in any other room in his house. It felt like Anna’s fuse shortened with the passing of each day. If she would cut him a little slack about his job, then they wouldn’t even be having the constant arguments. [Instead of that last sentence, maybe say that every argument was about his job. But I’m not even sure that’s necessary. You’ve already established what they fight about.]

Jim pushed his marriage problems to the back of his mind, picked up a notepad and jotted down the phone conversation. Despite the questions not answered by the caller, Jim’s gut feeling compelled him to consider the possibility there was some truth to the caller’s claim. If that were the case, he would do whatever it took to find out how Karen really died.

Jim’s laptop finished its start up. He logged on and accessed the files of the local Sheriff’s Department. He began with locating the accident report. [That gives the impression he located the report, but in the next sentence he’s only typing her name.] He entered Karen’s name and waited. Seconds later a message he didn’t expect appeared on the screen, ‘No File Found’. He re-entered her name, making sure he spelled her name [it] correctly before he tapped the ‘enter’ key. The same message returned to his screen. [It’s a long paragraph. Here might be a good place to break it.] He sat back, thought for a moment, then sat back up and entered another site’s address. When the insignia for the State Police appeared, he clicked on the menu prompt. From there, he clicked on another prompt to bring him to where he could search their files for the accident report. Once again, he entered Karen’s name. [It’s not necessary to tell it step by step.] It was only seconds later when his answer came back. ‘No File Found’. Jim frowned. He looked to the side at the calendar hung on his file cabinet and counted how many days have [had] passed since the accident. Ten days. The report must still be in process.

Jim tried one more place. At the Department of Motor Vehicles site, he entered her name, tapped the enter key a little harder this time, and waited, holding his breath. It took over a minute for the response to come back. ‘No Information Found’. He stared at the screen. This can’t be right. He entered her name again; the same result came back. [Paragraph needs tightening (see rewrite).]

A sinking feeling came over him. The caller’s words ‘those who killed her’ shot through his mind. Is the caller telling the truth? [Either “was”, or put the sentence in italics.] Jim hoped his instincts were wrong this time. He could live with that. But, if they weren’t, how could he tell Dave Maxwell his wife was murdered?

***

You can visit Ernie at his website, or his blog.

If you're curious to see how it looks with the excess cut, I posted an edited version below. This took the chapter from 1,220 words to 821. But I can only cut, I can't add. The only thing that needs to be added, in my opinion, is who Karen is to Jim.

I'm sure it's explained later on, but I can see two possibilities. Either Karen is a close friend of Anna, and Jim's working to solve this will bring them closer together. Or Karen is only Jim's friend--maybe even a high school sweetheart--and his time on this case will tear them further apart.

In either case, I think it's a great idea to have a seasoned FBI agent trying to solve the murder of someone whose death brings him to tears. Might make him forget his professional detachment from time to time. I highlighted in purple the spots where it would be appropriate to expand on who Karen is.

My edit

The orange numbers on the digital clock read 3 a.m. by the time Jim dropped into bed. He fell asleep instantly, only to be wakened minutes later by the ringing of the phone. He groaned and rolled over, trying to decide whether to answer the phone or let the machine handle it.

Earlier that evening he and his wife Anna had argued for the third time that week about his job and how it interfered with their family life—the long hours, nights and weekends away from home, and the late night phone calls. Last night’s argument ended after Jim promised they would leave in two days for a vacation long overdue.

His wife mumbled. “I told you things wouldn’t change.”

Jim glanced in her direction and answered the phone. The female voice on the other end asked if he was Jim Gabriel.

“Yes.”

“Karen Maxwell’s death wasn’t an accident.”

This brought Jim to an upright position. Karen died in a car crash. “What makes you think that?”

“I can’t talk now.”

“Tell me what you know.”

“I’m risking my life calling you. You have to find out what happened to her.”

Jim glanced over toward Anna, who gave him The Look. Something inside told him not to hang up yet. If there was any truth to the caller’s claim, he needed to know more. “I can’t help if you don’t tell me anything.”

“I need to get off the phone.”

His body jerked forward. “Don’t hang up.”

“I’ll try to call you later. Be careful. They’ll make sure no one finds out they killed her.”

“They? Who are they?”

The line went dead.

Jim sat on the edge of the bed, staring into the darkness. In his fifteen years as an FBI agent, he was used to bizarre calls. But this one involved the death of a close friend. He would trace the call later to find out where it originated and, hopefully, the name of the caller.

Anna’s words dripped with anger. “Thanks for waking me up. Again.”

Jim turned to say something, but held his tongue. This was not the time, or the place to defend himself. Unable to sleep, he headed to the den, his place of refuge. As he passed the rooms of his two daughters, he thought of happier days. Five years ago his promotion had eaten up the time he used to spend with them. He never complained, but Anna did, and the balance between his marriage and his job had shifted precariously close to disaster.

He walked into the oversized room located in the back of their ranch-style home, turned on the light and shut the door. He settled in to his leather chair, switched on his laptop. While he waited for it to finish whatever computers do before they can be used, he leaned back, closed his eyes and mulled over the caller’s claim. Karen’s memorial service the week before was still fresh in his mind. Her sudden death was a shock to her family and friends. He wiped the tears from his eyes and cheeks.

Only two things remained to make this Jim’s den—the twenty-seven inch plasma TV, and the bookshelf filled his collection of baseball books. The rest of the room was equipped as an office. Desk, large file cabinets, and a combination laser printer, copier, fax. For the past few months, he’d spent more time here than in any other room in his house. Anna’s fuse shortened with the passing of each day.

Jim pushed his marriage problems to the back of his mind, picked up a notepad and jotted down the phone conversation. His gut feeling compelled him to consider that the caller was telling the truth. If so, he’d do whatever it took to find out how Karen really died.

His laptop finished its start-up. He logged on and accessed the files of the local Sheriff’s Department. He entered Karen’s name and waited. Seconds later a message appeared on the screen, ‘No File Found’. He re-entered her name, making sure he spelled it correctly. The same message returned.

He sat back, thought for a moment, then went to the State Police website. A search for Karen’s accident report there brought up the same message. ‘No File Found’. He frowned and looked at the calendar hung on his file cabinet. Ten days had passed since the accident. The report must still be in process.

There was only one site left to check. The DMV. In his frustration, his keystrokes were more forceful than necessary. He waited, holding his breath. It took over a minute for the response to come back. ‘No Information Found’. He stared at the screen. This can’t be right.

A sinking feeling came over him. Was the caller telling the truth? If his instincts were wrong, he could live with that. But how could he tell Dave Maxwell his wife was murdered?