A Hidden Truth Between the Pages

Carlton closed the most suspenseful, thrilling, murder mystery book he ever read. He found it just thumbing through the stacks at the local library. My Smile Hides My Evil Ways, was a book title that Carlton couldn’t resist. Reading the opening sentence hooked him. Carlton sat down in an armchair, next thing he knew eight hours passed and he had finished the book. The description of the murder, all the emotions felt so real to him. It was exactly the kind of story he always dreamed of writing.

           Carlton was an aspiring author himself. He wrote his first short story in junior high, and had been writing ever since. Carlton was good at describing emotions. The characters he creates are captivating. His vocabulary and writing technic are masterful, but he struggled with the plot. He just couldn’t think of a great story. And that was the main critique of his work when he tried to get it published. So Carlton spent all his free time attending workshops. Joining writing groups. And reading the kind of books he wanted to write. Which led him to My Smile Hides My Evil Ways. This Story inspired him like no other book had. It opened his mind to a new way to write a story. He had to meet the author, Martin Wayne Dickey.

           After being forced out the library because they were closing, Carlton pulled out his phone and googled the author. He was surprised to see that Dickey was in town for an author signing and speaking engagement that Saturday.  

           Excited, Carlton was first in line that Saturday morning to buy a book and have it signed by Martin Wayne Dickey. Dickey looked the part of an eccentric writer with wild grey hair that looked like God was pulling it in every direction. His face was adorned with a pair of black horn-rimmed glasses that made him look quirky. And just to add on to his cliché look, he was wearing corduroy pants, a sweater vest, and wingtip shoes.

           Carlton flashed a school boy smile as he handed Dickey his book. Then the words came stumbling out his mouth, “Mr. Dickey, it’s a pleasure to meet you. You are my favorite writer.”

           “Is that right,” Dickey said. His words sounded routine and rehearsed. He took Carlton’s book without looking up and signed it. Then he flashed a grin that was as phony as a Gucci purse on Canal Street in New York, “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

           “Mr. Dickey, this book changed my life,” Carlton proclaimed as he took back his autograph novel and stood there like a statue.

           Dickey raised his head and locked eyes with Carlton. “How so?”

           Carlton shyly bowed his head as he gathered up the courage to speak his truth, “I’m an aspiring writer. I want to write crime fiction like you. And the way you write, it’s almost like you were there, watching the events of your book unfold. Like in chapter 12 when Peter finds out his business partner has been stealing from him for years. And he sneaks into his house, puts him to sleep with chloroform. Places him in the bathtub, and slits his wrist to make it look like suicide.  It’s like nothing I’ve ever read before. The details……wow. I would love to pick your brain.”

           Dickey nodded his head, “I didn’t know my story moved anybody like that.”

           “Oh yes sir. You are gifted. You wouldn’t happen to be teaching any classes on your technic? I would love to learn from you,” Carlton said as he cradled his book in his arms like it was a sacred artifact.

           Dickey looked at the long line that was forming behind Carlton, and he reached into his wallet and handed Carlton a business card, “I tell you what. I’m going to be in town until Monday. Why don’t you give me call. I’m staying at the Plaza downtown. We can setup a time to meet and have drinks. Maybe we can both get some inspiration.”

           Carlton thanked him and slithered his way through the crowd that was now out the door. As he walked toward the parking garage to get his car, Carlton pulled up Martin Wayne Dickey’s Wikipedia page. It wasn’t much there. Dickey seemed to be an over night sensation with no college degree or previous work before this last book. So Carlton got to thinking, if he can do it so can I.

 When he made it home, Carlton turned on his computer and pulled up the book he’d been working on. But he was stuck in the same spot for weeks. Typing the same sentence over and over again. Hoping an idea would come. Just like Jack Torrance from the movie, The Shining. But once again he couldn’t come up with a storyline to save his life. He took that business card out of pocket and called Dickey. They agreed to meet up.

That next night Carlton showed up at the bar in the Plaza at 8pm sharp. After an hour of searching for the right thing to wear, Carlton decided to emulate his new favorite author. He slipped on some khakis, button-down shirt with a sweater draped over it, and some loafers. Stepping inside, Carlton saw that Dickey was already there. Sitting on a stool at the end of the bar. He raised a glass when he saw Carlton.

           “What you drinking….” Dickey asked as he snapped his finger, “I didn’t catch your name earlier.”

           “It’s Carlton, Carlton Maxwell, sir,” he said taking a seat next to him.

           “No sir necessary. My friends call me, Marty.”

           “Okay, Marty. I’ll have whatever your drinking.”

           Dickey motioned to the bartender, “Can you bring my friend here a warm cognac.” Then Dickey turned toward Carlton and said, “So Carlton, tell me a little about yourself.”

           “Not much to tell. I’m from Jackson, Mississippi. The oldest of five kids. My father is a truck driver and my momma stays at home and runs the house. I graduated from high school and went to junior college for a couple of years. I majored in computer science. But for one of my electives, I took a creative writing class. And that class opened my eyes about storytelling. I couldn’t wait until Tuesday and Thursdays to write a new story. I’d walked around the campus daydreaming all the time about different ideas. I never knew going to a class like that would be so fun. It didn’t feel like work. Anyway, I started working in the oil fields during the summer to pay for my classes. The money was so good, I quit school and worked fulltime. And that’s why I’m here. Boring right?”

           “Maybe, maybe not. So, how much did that oil field pay you to give up on your dreams?” Dickey asked while taking a sip.

           “fifty-thousand,” Carlton said with a grimace.

“You’re better than me. I only got thirty-thousand to be a salesman.”

The bartender handed Carlton his drink. And Dickey raised his glass for a toast, “To dreams, and the suckers that sell them.”

They shared a laughed as they took a swig.

“So, how did go from being a salesman to a best-selling author?” Carlton asked as he blocked out the chatter from the bar and focused on every word Dickey said.

Dickey stared at his drink as he swirled it around. “Embrace my darker side,” he responded with a devilish grin.

The wheels were spinning in Carlton’s head as he tried to understand. “Embrace the dark side?”

 “If you’re going to write crime fiction, you have to step into the shoes of someone who is willing to do such brutal acts. Think like they think. Act like they act. It’s the only way you’ll ever connect with that kind of person.”

Nodding his head, Carlton leaned in and asked, “And how do you do that? What’s your secret? How do you come up with such graphic and detailed stories?”

Dickey smiled and took another sip before finally responding, “You’re not ready yet.”

Carlton shook his head in disagreement as he explained, “I have tried everything. I’ve attended workshops. I took classes at the community college. I joined writing groups. I read a book a week to familiarize myself with the different writing styles. I’ve left no stone unturned.”

“Really,” Dickey said with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes sir. And I’ll do anything to learn how to write like you,” Carlton said sitting on the edge of his seat.

“Anything?” Dickey said turning to face Carlton as he peered deep into his eyes.

“Anything.”

Dickey bit down on his bottom lip and glanced up at the ceiling in deep thought. Then he looked both ways before leaning in close and saying in a soft voice, “I have a secret. A…. unique way of coming up with my content.”

Carlton was so eager for the info, he almost slid off his barstool.

Dickey continued, “I improv a conflict, record it, and use the dialog and feelings to write my stories.”

Carlton’s face scrunched up as he said, “I don’t follow.”

Dickey set his drink down and rolled up his sleeves. “I’ll give you an example. Pretend that you just found out I was sleeping with your wife. You tracked me down at this bar. What would you do? What would you say?”

“I’d snatch you by the shirt and throw you into that table over there. Then I’d say I know you’ve been sleeping with my damn wife!”

“Exactly! You see how natural that reaction was. You didn’t have to think about it. It just came you.”

“Yeah,” Carlton said nodding his head. 

“I would record that scene and use it to write my story.”

“I see your point. I would’ve never thought of that.”

Dickey smiled and asked, “You know I’ve been looking for someone just like you. Somebody who’s passionate, open minded, and willing do anything for a good story.”

“I’m your guy,” Carlton said grinning ear to ear.

 “I’ve had a new idea for a book. And I’ve been waiting for the right time to try out a new scene. Why don’t you come to my room and work on it with me? Then you’ll see exactly what I’m talking about. And maybe it’ll help you to develop you own idea.”

“That would be great! Let’s do it.”

Carlton followed Dickey up to his room. The lavish presidential suite had a living room, dining room, and a full kitchen. It was the biggest hotel room Carlton ever saw. Even the fragrance was exotic and delightful, some kind of sandal wood and jasmine mix. And the view of downtown was breathtaking. But Carlton wasn’t there for any of that.

Dickey ran his fingers through his hair as he cleared his throat and said, “So check it out. We’re going to pretend that you came here to discuss a business deal. A merger let’s say. And you’re going to hit on me.”

“Wait, I’m gay in this scenario?” Carlton asked with raised eyebrows.

“Relax, we’re not fixing to make out. You’re just pretending. Then I’m going to get upset with you. And we’re going to go back and forth. Then I’m going to pretend to hit you. And we’re going to improv the whole thing. Like you did in the lobby. Whatever comes natural. Makes sense?” Dickey explained as he pulled out his phone and turned on the recorder.

“I get it,” Carlton said as he rubbed his chin. Closing his eyes, he imagined the scenario in his head. And when it finally came to him, his eyes popped open and he assumed a position at the front door. He pretended to come in.

“Marty, I got the paperwork in my briefcase for you to sign,” Carlton said walking over to the dining room table and setting down an imaginary briefcase.

“Excellent. A month’s worth of work finally done.”

“Yes,” Carlton said as he slid behind Dickey and patted him on his shoulder. “I enjoyed working closely with you. Matter of fact, I think we should celebrate our new deal. What do you say about going out to dinner?”

“Yeah a nice team dinner sounds great. It would be a great reward for the staff and all the hard work they put in,” Dickey said pretending to sign the documents.

“Well, I was thinking of a dinner with just you and me. Something a little more intimate. I know of a nice Italian spot. Out of the way. Very discrete.”  

Dickey turned around with venom in his eyes and a vein bulging in his forehead. He snapped, “Are you coming on to me?”

“You’ve been sending my signals all week,” Carlton said.

“Your signals are off. I’m not gay,” Dickey snapped.

“C’mon,” Carlton replied with a sly grin and a wink. “I’ve seen the way you’ve looked at me. It’s okay. Nobody has to know. It could be our dirty little secret.”

“The only secret you’re going to keep; is how badly I’ll kick your ass if you don’t get the hell out of my damn house!”  

He threw his hands up with a sarcastic smile and said, “Careful who you threaten, Marty. I might have to tell somebody what went on here tonight.”

“You son of a bitch!” Dickey snapped as he reached for a steak knife from the dining room table.  

Carlton was impressed at Dickey’s intensity. This dude can act his ass off, Carlton thought to himself. He didn’t know that Dickey could be this passionate. This would make for an incredible scene. He quickly realized how effective this improv thing could be. In that short moment, Carlton had his first idea of an improv he could do. Unfortunately, he was so distracted, he didn’t realize that Dickey stabbed him in the gut with that steak knife. The shock hit him before the pain did. His eyes almost popped out of his head as they darted back and forth between his gut and Dickey holding the bloody knife.

“Why the hell did you stab me?” Carlton said as he stumbled backward and landed in one of the dining room chairs.

“I let you in on part of my secret. I do improv. But what I didn’t tell you is, while you’re acting it’s real for me.”

“You really slit somebody wrist and made it look like suicide?” Carlton asked, scared as hell.

“Only way to set that scene. It worked. It made you my biggest fan,” Dickey revealed as he crept closure wielding the knife.

“You won’t get away with this,” Carlton replied as his breathing became labored.

“That’s what they all say. But I’ve been planning this scene out for months. I’ll wheel your thin body out is my luggage. Right pass the front desk. And nobody will even notice. Cheer up. At least you’ll get what you came for. The story of a lifetime,” Dickey said as he put his hand over Carlton’s mouth and stabbed him repeatedly until he stopped moving.

A year later Dickey went out to his front porch to retrieve a package the mailman dropped off. He opened the box and pulled out the first copy of his new book inspired by Carlton called, The Down Low killer.  

                                               The End