Against the Current

By Brian MacLearn

Against the Current explores the evil behind the need to manipulate others, and the inner strength of goodness that compels some of us to stand up to that evil.

Four years of planning for his freedom, and one heroic moment, sets off a ticking time bomb of massive destruction in the quiet town of Mt. Clarkton, Iowa. With the help of a kindred spirit, Jeff Peyton is forced to play one last winner-take-all game against master manipulator, Matt Sinclair. Jeff needs to win this game, not only for his own survival, but to protect everyone he loves.

Evil comes in many forms and wears many faces. The power hungry manipulator will stop at nothing to keep his power, and to keep his golden ticket from rising up against him. The victim is in some ways as calculating as the bully, and willing to sacrifice himself for the sake of others. What begins as a story of constant abuse and the struggle to break free, turns into a psychological suspense thriller where not all is what it seems.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brian MacLearn
• Release date: Dec 22, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311771377

Brian MacLearn

Brian L. MacLearn is lifelong resident of Iowa, currently living in Waverly. He graduated from the University of Northern Iowa. During his life he has published poetry and written song lyrics that have been recorded in Nashville. Brian's first novel, "Our Heart," was published in 2010 and was a Reader's Favorite finalist in 2011. "Remember Me" won a bronze medal in the Reader's Favorite 2012 contest. His current work, "Against the Current," won a silver medal in the Reader's Favorite 2013 contest for Fiction/thriller

Book preview

Against the Current

By

Brian L. MacLearn

This is a work of fiction. The events and characters described herein are imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places or living persons. The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.

Against the Current

All Rights Reserved.

Copyright © 2014 Brian L. MacLearn v2.0

Cover Photo © 2014 First Edition Design Publishing, Inc. All rights reserved - used with permission.

This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

First Edition Design Publishing, Inc. http://www.firsteditiondesignpublishing.com

ISBN: 978-1622-875-97-9

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014939213

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

I would like to thank those who helped to make this novel possible. Ryan Dougan, Risa Wheeler, Calvin Quattlebaum, and John Neil, your insights and comments helped to make my story better—thank you! Carol Thompson, thank you for your critiques and editing. To my parents, Charles and Betty, I will always be grateful for all of your help and support. Aunt Barbara, thank you for finding the right words for me to use! Katie and Heather, your belief is the most precious gift of all!

Brian

Against the Current

By

Brian L. MacLearn

Chapter 1: All Things Must End

The two men stood facing each other. The lights of the bridge spanning the Black Hawk River gave off a dull illumination at best, not enough for either man to see the other's eyes clearly, despite standing mere feet apart. The sound of the river rushing around the footings of the bridge created a vibration, which in turn, produced a low humming sound much like a cacophony of tubas, spread out across the bridge, playing the same low note. The early summer night was moist with the humidity of the recent weather front passing through Mt Clarkton. Iowa's weather was stuck in a pattern of rain, causing the river that divided the town to push the banks to overflow.

The game between them had been played, and the rest of the pieces sacrificed, leaving only the two of them left. Exhaustion and pain being negated by the adrenaline controlling their basic instincts to conclude the game they'd been playing most of their lives. There had been too many years of conflicted and pent-up emotions eating the spirit away inside the smaller man. The larger man was obsessed with the absolute need to control the smaller man. He must put an end to the uprising and break the last remaining seed of hope in the smaller man.

The bigger man howled with a savage rage at the smaller man, his voice carrying across the river. All semblance of rational thinking was gone. The only thing that mattered was showing the smaller man who held the power, even if it meant killing him. The smaller man stood his ground. Twenty-five years of having his arms pinned behind his back and his face shoved in the dirt was going to end, one way or another. No longer afraid of the bigger man, he was ready to finish what he had started. There would be no more backing into a corner, no more worrying about the costs and the losses. It was time to do what should have been done all those years ago; take down the bully.

The smaller man treaded lightly in preparation of the attack, stepping back and onto the bridge's sidewalk. His eyes never left the bigger man's chest. His life depended on making the right assumption, and the bigger man's chest couldn't belie his true intentions. This would be his last move of the game, win or lose. The larger man charged, screaming at the top of his lungs. The smaller man's own battle cry joined in response. His cry, a piercing determination to end a lifetime of ridicule, erupted from him like a dormant volcano exploding without warning. Neither of them heard the panicked cry of another. They were long past knowing anything other than the moment at hand, the silent understanding that only one, or neither, would survive the end of the game.

Chapter 2: Yesterday

Jeff woke in a cold sweat to the insistent call of his alarm clock. Last night’s dream world still pulling at his awakening mind. A stabbing pain streaked across his forehead and nested behind his eyes. The damp feel of his sheets caused a shiver to cascade down his spine, sending another jolt of pain through his head. Taking deep breaths to ease the pain, his nostrils were affronted by the dank scent of strong perspiration. God, he was more tired now than when he went to bed. He rolled to his side, reaching out to douse the music annoyingly singing from his alarm clock. Bringing himself to a sitting position on the edge of the bed, he slid the drawer of the night table open and rummaged inside for the bottle of extra strength aspirin. Based on the nasty grip of his headache, it was going to be one of those days.

Jeff gingerly reached for the water glass on his nightstand, swallowing three aspirin with a large gulp. He rubbed his tired eyes and applied pressure where the pain collected at the bridge of his nose. Through slightly open eyes, he struggled to read six forty-two displayed in bright illuminated numbers on the alarm clock. The numbers mocked him, adding another pain prick to his head. At thirty-six, he felt seventy-six. He sighed, pushed himself up from the bed; the mere effort of standing causing him to wobble. Staggering, he made his way toward the bathroom, one hand shading his eyes from the daylight and the other arm cutting a path through the air as he crept along. He wished he had taken a half a bottle of painkillers before he went to bed. The force of his headache was directly proportionate to his personal feelings of self-worth, born from years of stress and regret. Today was the twenty-fifth anniversary reminder of the day he had given up control of his life; the day he first encountered Matt Sinclair.

~ ~

Matt slapped his meaty palm on the alarm clock, convincingly shutting off the shrill beeping sound. He forced himself to roll into a sitting position. At six-foot-four and two hundred and sixty-five pounds, he didn't consider himself grossly overweight, but even he had come to admit that his protruding stomach was winning the battle. During college, he was mostly muscular, but those days were receding away at increasing speed. He rubbed his stomach, feeling the tautness in front and the floppy lips of fat at his sides. His finely tailored shirts were already stretched to the limit. If he didn't get a handle on his weight gain, more money would be spent on a new wardrobe, not just shirts. The blame rested with his mother. If it hadn’t been for all the cookies she made him eat as a kid, he was sure his willpower to avoid sweets would be stronger.

Matt shrugged his shoulders, rolling his neck as he readied himself to push off the bed. As he stood, almost kid-like, he let go an especially long, loud fart, grinning when he heard Angela groan. He chuckled watching as she rolled onto her side, moving as far away from him as she could. Five-plus years of marriage, and he wondered why he still shared a bed with her. It wasn’t out of love or respect, and it wasn’t because of her rosy personality. His eyes took on a look of disdain as he continued to stare at her. As long as Angela Voight shared his bed, then Jeffry would always see it in his eyes and in his smile, Angela belongs to me.

~ ~

Summer Willow sat in her well-used, cherry red, 1996 Pontiac Grand Prix. She had her doubts that the old girl would make it to two hundred and fifty thousand miles. It had admirably carried her through college, and her years as an underpaid, and under-appreciated, television reporter. She grimaced at her reflection in the review mirror, internally listening to her father’s voice reminding her she was her own worst enemy. She tuned him out as she said aloud, I get to speak at the ‘Women’s Conference’ at Bracken College, while Ms. Jessie big boobs covers the prestigious press conference at Sinclair Innovations. Just how had Jessie Donaldson, a recent hire at KGXR in Cedar Rapids, moved up so quickly was a heated topic of conversation at work.

Summer had been fighting within herself ever since she could remember. It didn’t help that she was a blend of Native American Sauk, from her father’s side, and extra-stubborn Irish from her mother’s side. "Damn it, Summer mentally scolded her reflection, adding, I know, hard work and dedication are what matter. She loved her father, Harold Bear Trap Willow, and she pictured him laughing at her. Summer gazed up at the red light. It was taking forever to change to green. Since no one else was around to listen, she spoke to it. Sometimes winning is all that matters. No one cares if you work hard and try to do it the right way, because there is always someone who manages to maneuver to the head of the line by their looks or their lack of scruples. She was a conundrum within herself, a champion for fair play and effort mixed with a desire to eradicate her challengers. At five-foot-eleven, she was nicely proportioned, but she would never admit to being beautiful, pretty, charming, and so on. She would always be just plain Summer. Taking a quick look at herself in the visor mirror, she noted the dark complexion and black hair inherited from her father and the smaller nose and softer facial features from her Irish mother. No doubt about it, I'm a fireball, she sighed under her breath. Now, if I can just get out of my own way, who knows what I might accomplish."

~ ~

When Jeff looked into the mirror, there was one thing he just couldn’t make himself do—look directly into his own eyes. He was too ashamed to. He also couldn’t recite to his reflection all the wonderful and positive things that he had accomplished in his life. The mighty and all-knowing professionals hadn’t walked in his shoes, so following their suggestions seemed…wrong. He’d spent some quality time with them after his little incident. Because of it, his parents remodeled the apartment over the garage and, strongly, though politely, suggested he move in rent-free. His headache had eased slightly, but he needed the jet force of hot water to massage the back of his neck. He pulled the shower curtain back from the front of the bathtub, turning on the water. It would take it a couple of minutes before the temperature from the shower would even feel warm. Stepping in under the spray, he stared out the bathroom window, trying to think about anything other than going to work.

When the hot water gave out, he shut off the shower and toweled off, opening the bathroom door to let the pent up steam escape. After brushing his teeth, and many silent grumbles later, he dressed in khakis and a blue polo shirt embossed in bold white lettering with the name, Sinclair Innovations, over the left-breast pocket. Pulling it over his head felt like asking someone to punch him in the kidneys. Every day, without fail, it reminded him of the life he had let slip away.

There were little mementos from Sinclair Innovations all around the apartment. Each one of them was a constant reminder of his personal failures. He had been a major part of Sinclair Innovations at the beginning. Without him, there wouldn’t be a company, but it was Matt’s company and not theirs. He wasn’t a partner, a corporate officer, or even in upper-management, only a patsy in the research and development branch. The last thing he wanted to do was to think about how he'd gotten to this point, or about Matt, or about his life. Today, he only wanted to enjoy the twenty-minute walk to work and the minimal peace walking in the fresh air gave him.

He closed his apartment door and began his trek toward the bridge spanning the Black Hawk River. He never got tired of comparing Sinclair Innovations to Dracula’s castle and Matt as the Count himself. He was enslaved in the dungeon and Matt sucked the spirit from his body as surely as Dracula drained his victim's blood. It looked and smelled as if rain was on the way. The pain in his head had quieted to a tolerable thudding. Without much thought, he started humming the melody to Queen’s, We are the Champions. One of those quirky things he did. So what? He nodded his head in silent agreement with his rationale. When the world walked all over you, you sang empowering songs and got pumped up watching revenge movies. He had no real qualms with the world, only with the world that Matt made him live in.

~ ~

Matt also knew why Angela stayed with him. She had betrayed the love and trust of Jeffry, and by staying with him, she could continue to punish herself. He could care less about the reasons either of them had for continuing their pretense of being a happily married couple. As long as she kept the house in order, and came to him when he called, life would be just fine. Very early on, he’d had fun derailing Angela’s rosy perception of their marriage. He smiled, remembering the lessons he’d taught her. He’d never hit her, it wasn’t his style, and it hadn’t been his father’s way of dealing with his mother, either.

Words had power, inflicting more pain than most physical threats, and when used properly, they could command obedient compliance. It had taken him years to master his manipulation skills. He’d learned from the best, even exceeding his teacher in skill and proficiency. Walking naked across the bedroom into the master bathroom, he caught his large reflection in the closet mirror. Tonight, he would cut down on his portions. The aroma of vanilla coconut coffee, coming from the auto-set coffee maker in the bathroom, made his stomach gurgle. Sitting on the toilet, he scanned an article in the latest issue of Business Week. Closing his eyes, he pictured himself on some future cover, shaking hands with the President. If you’re going to dream, dream big. Sinclair Innovations greatest success had begun in the mind of Jeffry Peyton. He didn’t have Jeffry’s innovative mind, though he wished he did. Looking at the dignitary on the cover of the magazine, he thought, It’s better to control the asset, than to be the asset.

After shaving and showering, Matt put on an expensive dark grey, pinstriped Armani suit. It would be advantageous to look sharp for the employee meeting and for his television appearance. He made his way through the house into the garage, sliding in behind the wheel of his new BMW. As he backed out of the garage, he noticed the patches of darkness in the morning sky. It might be a tight race to make it to his covered parking spot at Sinclair Innovations before the rain hit. Nothing bugged him more than other cars splashing his. Putting the BMW into drive and stomping down heavily on the accelerator, the car shot off down the street. He cranked up the volume of the stereo, humming along with, We are the Champions. It was going to be one hell of an exciting day.

~ ~

Summer had been the one to tell the station manager about the upcoming meeting at Sinclair Innovations. Mt. Clarkton’s mayor had let the news slip during a break at the weekly council meeting. She’d been the one to lay out the initial groundwork for a news story, and she’d been the one who brought it to Jack Holloway’s attention. What still made her so mad was good ole Jack thanking her and then promptly giving her scoop to Jessie Donaldson to cover.

She hated to admit that Jessie was a capable reporter, but my god, the way she flirted around the station, kissing-up to her male colleagues irritated her, and got under her skin. Summer fidgeted in her car seat, Do your job… period, she thought as she waited for the light to turn green. It wouldn’t do her any good to keep letting Jessie fester inside her brain. She was who she was… period, and nothing would ever change that. Bracken College was only a half a mile away, but the irritation of the stubborn street light made it seem like an impossible quest. Two blocks to her left was the historical old bridge, spanning the Black Hawk River and connecting the north and south sides of Mt. Clarkton. How do towns come up with their names, she spat out, her irritable mood clearly present in her voice, there isn't a mountain anywhere, not even a decent sledding hill.

Her attention was drawn to a man, taller and on the wispy side, who she guessed to be in his early forties, as he crossed in front of her car. He had on a blue polo that was just too blue. He paid no attention to her, eyes cast downward, fixated on the sidewalk. He was either humming or talking to himself, because she watched as his mouth moved. Her negative mood played the devil's advocate and she nearly honked her horn, just to give him a start. But… something about the intense look on his face and the manner in which he was walking, suggested it would be an unwelcome diversion.

Summer considered herself a good judge of character. A strong attribute, her parents often told her. As a reporter, she had come to trust her initial instinct, and the man was nice looking, but figuratively carrying a large backpack full of troubles on his shoulders. Still, something about him caused her to keep watching him long after he passed by— just a feeling, nothing she could put her finger on.

She silently cursed the stoplight, but what made it worse was the absolute lack of traffic on Fourth Street. Granted, this wasn’t the main drag, but still, it was a workday, and where were all the cars, she wondered. Summer was seriously thinking about running the stoplight when it finally turned green. She was about to hit the accelerator when a beat-up dark blue Buick sedan raced through the red light. Wouldn’t you know, she mumbled, seeing that it was a younger girl with a cell phone plastered to her ear. Making sure no other traffic violators were bearing down on her, she sped across the intersection. Suddenly, a loud and thundering boom rang out. She slammed on the brakes. Fighting the seatbelt, she twisted the best she could to get a better look at where the gunshot-like sound had come from.

It hadn’t been a gunshot, but the front right tire of the Buick had exploded. Sadly, her first thought was just retribution for the inattentive drive, but then the horror of what was happening to the Buick made her suck in her breath. The girl had completely lost control, the car swerving from side to side. The rim, devoid of the tire, ground across the concrete street sending sparks flying. The Buick was dangerously close to the steep embankment rising up to meet the bridge. Rocks paved the embankment down to the river, and a protective guiderail stretched out from the end of the bridge. Summer saw it all; if the Buick missed the guiderail, it would easily skid down the steep embankment and end up in the river. A movie producer could not have scripted a more intense and horrific action scene any better.

Summer’s eyes were drawn toward the river, where the water was high and racing under the bridge because of large amounts of rain. The girl driving the car wouldn’t stand a chance if it landed in the water. Summer found herself chanting, Please God, no, under her breath. The Buick, already caught in a death spin, missed the guiderail by a wide margin, skidding off the side of the road and shooting backward down the slope. There was no hope left, and all Summer could do was watch. Bumping and pounding over the uneven rocks, the Buick headed for the river. The backend collided hard with several larger boulders at the bottom of the incline, mere feet away from the raging waters. Rather than impeding the car’s progress and halting it, centrifugal force carried the front end of the Buick skyward, flipping the car on its roof and into the waiting grip of the river. The water must have been deep and the current strong, because the car quickly began to submerge as it was swept under the bridge and out of her sight.

Summer caught movement out of the corner of her eye. She had that feeling of being totally engrossed in a movie and being swept along emotionally by the background music. The air felt humid on her face, and she noticed her car window was down. She scratched at the place where she could feel the bite of her seatbelt. Her mind was talking, but her processors weren’t responding. The motion that caught her attention was the man who had crossed in front of her car. He was sprinting up the walkway to the bridge, she figured to watch the movie like her. But, he never hesitated, or stopped to gaze over the rail, instead, in one continued fluid motion, he leapt up on the railing and dove off into the river below. There was no indecision in his action, and it left her gasping for air. At first, she was perplexed, and then jolted from her frozen state, she cried out, NO!

Slamming the Grand Prix’s gearshift into park, she flung open the driver’s door. Racing back across the intersection, she headed toward the east side of the bridge. A riverside park butted up to the river on the other side of the bridge. She scanned the river, but didn’t see the man or the Buick. Her cell phone and camera were left behind in her car. Stupid, stupid, stupid, she chastised herself as she ran.

Summer didn’t know what to do. In less than a minute, several cars had stopped on the bridge and onlookers were gazing and pointing down at the bristling water. Summer looked at where they were pointing and that’s when she saw the bubbles. Two heads broke the surface thirty feet away from shore. They were being pushed downstream as the man struggled to swim against the current with the woman clutched in his arms. She was clearly unresponsive, her head bobbing from side to side, as the man struggled to keep her head above water. She could tell he was losing the fight, struggling to keep the both of them from being swept further away from shore.

She could not help them by jumping in the river; there had to be some another way. Running along the river and looking downstream, she saw a rock jetty poking out into the river. She ran with everything she had to get ahead of the struggling swimmers. The jetty wasn’t long enough to reach them, and she had no idea what to do, but it was the only option available before the river would take them. Hidden from sight on the leeward side of the jetty was someone’s small Jon boat.

Thank God! she exclaimed, dashing to the pole where the boat was tied. Slipping the knot, she grabbed the rope and pulled the boat to the end of the jetty. Unbelievable! she shouted out when she saw there were no paddles in the boat and it didn’t have a motor. Still, needing to do something, she started wading out into the water, tying the rope around her waist. The water began to gain depth almost immediately and the strong current bucked against her and the boat. The water was climbing her thighs, she couldn’t wade any deeper and still keep her feet. Positioning the boat in front of her, she locked eyes with the man. In his gaze was understanding and thankfulness; it also burnt a hole straight into her heart.

He was tiring, but as he neared the point of now or never, he gave it all he had left and swam toward her. Summer pushed the small boat away from her downstream and into the pulling current. She said a silent prayer. If either of them missed their timing, the man and girl would be swept farther away from the shore, and she didn’t want to think about what that might mean. The Jon boat fell within reach of the man’s outstretched hand. The instant he grabbed it, she was jerked deeper into the water. Fighting against the extra drag of the boat, she leaned back against the burn of the rope. It took all her strength to slowly inch her way back up and on to the jetty. Her thigh muscles began to ache and cry out in pain as she pulled backward. Her foot slipped on a loose rock, causing her to fall hard on her rear end. Instantly, she was being pulled forward across the rocks. In one of those silly thoughts at the strangest of times, she was thankful that she had decided on slacks and not a skirt this morning.

As she struggled to regain her footing, two pair of arms seemingly came out of nowhere and grabbed the rope in front of her. With the extra strength, it only took a few seconds for the boat to be pulled free of the current. The two men who had pulled the rope with her splashed into the water and together they gathered up the young woman, carrying her to a grassy area off the shore. The man who so willingly put his life in danger, staggered out of the water and raced by her, still trying to aid the woman he had undoubtedly saved from drowning. She watched as he fell at her side and began to apply CPR to her motionless body. After what seemed like an eternity, she began to gag and he rolled her on her side as she vomited out the water she had consumed. In the distance, the wailing sound of sirens raced toward them. Summer pulled the boat up on the rocks and untied the rope from around her waist.

The pregnant woman was sitting with her head between her knees as one of the men rubbed her back. The man who risked his life stood and moved away from the woman so he could face her. His blue eyes shining, he smiled and gratefully said, Thank you. Before she could respond, someone began to clap. She looked around and noticed the large group of people who had gathered. It was of those moments in life that is almost surreal. Instead of fading, the intensity of the applause seemed to grow as more people appeared and participated. The woman who had been saved was in her early twenties and very pregnant. Tears raced down her cheeks as she stood and desperately clung to the man who had risked his own life to save hers. Summer was unable to do anything other than to stare at them. The people applauded her as well, and being someone who rarely gave in to her emotions, this time it got the best of her. When the paramedic separated the woman from her savior, he turned to seek her out.

He no longer looked like the problem man, he was in control, and the exuberance of life radiated from him. They came together without saying a word. His embrace said everything to her and she was instantly captivated by him. Summer sensed a strength inside him that she was sure had not been there when he had crossed in front of her car. He whispered, Thank you, again in her ear. All she could do was nod. The sound of his voice and the closeness of his body made her heart race and her mind turn cloudy. When he broke from her, his eyes held hers. She felt herself go numb as she lost herself in those eyes—it was the moment she knew she was in trouble.

Chapter 3: Destiny

The bigger boy watched as the smaller boy’s friends, now his friends, forced the smaller boy onto his stomach. It had rained the night before so the ground was damp. It was three against one, the smaller boy never had a chance. His face was pushed hard into the moist dirt, while his arms were pinned behind his back. The smaller boy’s eyes shone not with rage, or fear, but with bewilderment. He didn’t cry or beg for mercy, he only stared up at the bigger boy, the question so easily readable in his expression. I thought we were friends. Why are you doing this to me? The bigger boy knew the answer, Because I can.

Matt stood on the bridge and watched the people milling about below. The swarm of people on the bridge and in the park below had begun gathering even before he’d arrived on the scene. Curiosity got the best of him, so he eased his BMW over behind a Ford Explorer. The bridge looked more like a parking ramp with cars parked in both traffic lanes. The only way across was for vehicles to take turns. A police officer started to direct traffic. Matt turned and asked the man standing next to him if he knew what had caused all the commotion.

I saw the whole thing, the man responded. He didn’t continue. The man’s attention was fixated on the area where the paramedics stood in the park below.

And… Matt asked gruffly, annoyed because the man couldn’t behave with conversational etiquette, and he didn’t like asking for further explanations.

The man, who looked to be in his late sixties, raised his finger, pointing it toward the west side of the paramedic’s vehicle and said, See those two people hugging each other?

Yes.

Ok, well, the guy you see there, he jumped off the bridge.

Suicide attempt? Matt asked.

Naw, he jumped in to save that pregnant woman lying on the stretcher over there. He pointed twenty feet to the right of the man and the woman.

Matt’s eyes followed in the