Young Writers Society

V – The return of Mick Sabre, a serious talk with Joe Tricarico and the attacking bull

I had to clench my jaw and cover my mouth to keep it inside. The scream, the vomit, the sobs. I moved to the basin and it hurled itself up and out of my mouth. I looked back into the cubicle at his face. He was dead, not dying. The blood had seeped most of the way from his wrists to the door. His cowboy hat still sat on his head, casting a band of shadow across his dead face. I turned again and hurled. The mirror was cracked with a shard missing. It was in Mick Sabre’s hand.

I doused my face with cold water a few times. While I had been thinking about what I can say to him, while I had been fetching a flare gun to protect my daughter from him, he was dying. My heart lurched, it wanted out through my ribs, up my throat. Any exit.

I can barely remember what thoughts were spinning in my head. I guess my mind was moving so fast that no single thought stayed with me. It was a funny thing, as though I was simply acting. My body was moving on its own treaty, not responding to me. It came again and again until the sink was full of pancake and coffee and black bile.

I realised I couldn’t go out there and send them all into a panic. I needed someone I trusted. Someone to help clean this up until we could contact the police - an ambulance would be of little use now. He was slumped with shoulders against the porcelain and his neck flapped forward.

Right then, part of me wanted Tara so bad. I would leave as soon as this was clean, I would find her and love her again.

I decided Joe was the only one I really knew, it was his diner and his concern. He had told a joke that had set the three truckers off laughing when I walked out of the bathroom. I approached and asked if I could have a word.

“Sure Ross, what is it?” I didn’t speak. He followed me and outside of the men’s. His glare darted between my eyes, reading me.

“I want to show you something Joe -- you remember that guy in the cowboy hat? he was here earlier.”

“Yeah, yeah I know the guy he’s been in before, where is he? He didn’t sneak out the back door did he?”
Little black eyes peered out from his fat suspicious face. He was a lot shorter than I was. With a bald head and a girth like a horse.

“No Joe, he – ” I couldn’t say it, I wanted to warn him but I couldn’t force the words out. “Just look, I said, opening the men’s and he entered. A second later, I could hear the distinct sound of bile splashing on the cement floor. A partially muted 'shit’ escaped the bathroom, but no one in the diner seemed to hear. Joe emerged with blue cheeks. He stormed past me and climbed onto a chair.

“Everyone I have news -

“No Joe, don’t-”

“Shut up, Stone,” he said ignoring my plea, “I need everyone to leave, there has been a death.”

People swapped looks of confusion. The tuckers didn’t know what to make of it, their faces wore daft unsettled expressions.

“Is this some kind of joke?” Mike Fisken was asking.

“I’m sorry people, but you all need to leave until the authorities get here.”

The biggest trucker, with a bandana and leather jacket, stood and he looked at me as if he wanted to throw one of those big hanging knuckles across my jaw. “What did he show you in there?”

He made his way toward the bathroom. I’m big enough to punish folks on the ice, but there was nothing I could do to stop this bull. He shrugged past me and into the bathroom and the others followed. The three of them emerged seconds later. The young one had tears rolling from each eye and Shane McGregor clasped his hands over his mouth. And the bull came back out with mad eyes.

“What have you done?” he started at me. I put my hands up.

“You’ve got it wrong he did it to himself,” I said, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice.

The others were all watching, curiously and fearful.

Joe was still on his perch. He cleared his throat and spoke again.
“Out, everyone, now.”

The young couple went to leave but stopped, still engrossed by what could be behind the bathroom doors.

“Nobody’s going anywhere, especially not him,” The Bull said tilting his head towards me, “Not until the five-oh gets here. I heard you arguing with that guy before, you killed him.”

Joe opened his mouth to argue, but the hard way the trucker eyed me sent the words back down his throat.

“I’m also going to arrange some protection. He has a gun and I have something in case he decides to use it.” He said, revealing big yellow teeth under a snarl. He charged down the aisle, between the tables and pushed through the doors.

He receded into the mist, just like Rafa, an outline then clothes suspended by the fog then nothing. The room was still and the air thick, as though the fog was inside.

I wanted to say something, cleanse my name of the condemnation. Janey still sat with the family, I didn’t want to look at her, something like this isn’t good for a little girl, isn’t good for anyone.

The death broke down awkward walls between everyone, as death does, everyone except me. I felt marked. While the truckers talked to the family, and Claire Fisken pointed and chattered with the couple, I stood alone. I wished Janey would doze off again, I hoped when she woke we would be home with Tara, sweet Tara. I quickly looked over at the clock it was almost 11 and the fog still choked the sun.

I had to act before The Bull came back with what I can only imagine was a weapon. With every step, the eyes scrutinized me a little more. I had the strange feeling that I was wading through mud.

“Joe, you know I didn’t do it, right?”

He didn’t speak. He just watched my face.

“Careful boy, one step this way and its over,” Shane McGregor said as I passed. The other trucker was younger, he had his hair cropped short across the back and sides which screamed military, but the flannel shirt and puffy vest suggested he was definitely a trucker. He had a kind face with soft cheekbones and an undefined jaw line. He was at that age, not too young to haul a truck but still too young to shave.

I moved near the family and Mike Fisken wrapped his arm across his kid. Janey’s eyes were closed and her hands folded into a pillow on the vinyl seat. I retreated to my original booth and everyone still watched. Claire Fisken gave me those longing eyes again. It was something about how she held my gaze. I found myself wanting her young body. Her blonde hair, her big doe eyes. I abandoned those thoughts again as the door pushed open.

The Bull took two steps. In one hand was a shotgun; with the other he held his mouth and blood seeped through his fingers as though he was squeezing an overripe plum. He dropped to his knees and the shotgun hit the linoleum with a metallic clang. He coughed and hunched. Blood sprayed from his nose and mouth.

“What is it Neil?” the younger trucker asked, with a quiver in his voice.

The Bull pulled himself up. His eyes were like Rafa’s, blood red and searching. He held the shotgun like a handgun, outstretched. Claire Fisken screamed. And Janey suddenly sat up, the gun fixed on her.

It was a second; I pulled it from my pocket, ripped out the safety and pulled the trigger. The room was bright red, so bright I couldn’t see for a few seconds after. The shotgun hit the ground and The Bull stumbled back, the flare rocket still working, the phosphorus melting the skin. Mike Fisken was up like a greyhound; he dived at the shotgun, rolled on his back and aimed it up at him.

What happened then, I can still barely describe. The bull let out a hoarse scream, the timbre of which set the children off wailing and screaming. The bull fell on Mike Fisken undeterred by the barrel centred on his gut. His big arms clamped around Mike’s neck and his head started up and down against Mike’s face with a sickly thud like an axe on wet timber. Mike was lost in it, stunned, and then he acted as if suddenly awake. Somewhere amongst it all, he squeezed off a shot. And with it, the bull’s entire body recoiled then fell back on him. From his back, a thick hole of viscera was displaced against the door. The bull died. His blood washed over the floor. Mike, with face bloody and nose hideously kinked, moved out from beneath the limp frame. His hands were still shaking around the gun.

"You murdered him," Joe began.
"He killed him!" Shane Mcgregor echoed.

“You saw him, you all saw that,” Mike started, frantically looking about, “He would have killed me, I- I had to.”

Halfway there. Yeah, I'm relishing in it a little bit.

This met my exact expectations, JP. You definitely kept the pace and everything is right settled where it seems it should be for the middle of the story, so great job. I'm loving the potent level of gruesomeness going on, despite it not so much being my thing. You're descriptions and MC's mindset continue to interest me. His character is definitely well rounded in my opinion, and with each chapter it seems you peel off another layer and he's still pretty cool.

Now don't be discouraged by all the quotes below me, I know they can be rather annoying those pesky nitpicks. o.O But with the tiny tweaks I feel this should be a pretty sound chapter. At least to my biased unbiased opinion. ;] I'll also include some notes with certain excerpts I've picked out. I like to talk a lot about what I think in case you haven't already noticed.

The mirror was cracked with a shard missing. It was in Mick Sabre’s hand.

I will say, I'm definitely not a fan of the obvious or the done-before. Though I tend to struggle myself with being a little bit of both in writing scenes like this. Instead of going with something along the lines of, "There laid the blah, blah, blah corpse of Mick Sabre" I was so wrapped up in the opening of the scene that I hardly even thought of Mick, honestly. For you to throw in that it was him in this sort of way, I just liked it. But I'm weird about tiny details like that.

while I was fetching a flare gun to protect my daughter from him

So that's why he got the flare gun? I really thought it was because he wanted to have it just in case they might need it in case of emergency. Maybe you should have disclosed some kind of sign that that was why he was really fetching it. Just for the record.

I can barely remember what I thoughts were spinning in my head.

Nix the 'I' here.

It came again and again until the sink was full of pancake and coffee and black bile.

That's gross... But I can only applaud you on the T.M.I. It's indeed what tends to make thrillers so enthralling. (If that's even a good word to use in this sort of context.) Maybe this is why I shy away from the genre in most cases.

Right then, part of me wanted Tara so bad(.)

"I want to show you something Joe --you remember that guy in the cowboy hat(?) He was here earlier.”

I get why you've gone and made this one consecutive sentence. When I read it I try and picture a rushed/hushed sort of tone. Like he's anxious to get what he's about to say free from his mind. Those dashes though which I added after Joe (I honestly can't think of what they're called) I think those suit best with dialogue like this, showing an abrupt spike in urgency in the tone. But maybe that's not what you were going for, in which case ignore me. xP

“No Joe(,) don’t-”

“Shut up(,) Stone,”

He shrugged past me and into the bathroom and the others followed.

No need for the apostrophe in others. But that was probably just a missed typo. I make them all the time.

The three of them emerged seconds later(.) One was crying, Shane McGregor clasped his hands over his mouth and flaming beard(,) and the bull came back out with mad eyes.

I had to act before the Bull came back with what I can only imagine was a weapon.

The tense here sounded funny so I tweaked it.

Claire Fisken gave me those longing eyes again. It was something about how she held my gaze. I found myself wanting her young body. Her blonde hair, her big doe eyes.

So I imagine Ross's relationship with Tara isn't as sound as it would be if he were head-over-heals for her? I'm sure he loves her, but maybe not as deeply as I first guessed. Or maybe this is just me being a girl and not understanding the complexities of the male mind. Just thought I'd comment anyway.

Somewhere amongst it all he squeezed off a shot.

Well... I s'pose that should do it for here. Believe it or not, these reviews take me a bit of time to grasp together, and I'm always eager to keep it moving at the same time. If there's anything you think that might need some attention in particular as far as future chapters, you can feel free to let me know. It'd help me out in better guiding my future reviews. :]

-Smylin'

I should really review earlier tomorrow, I'm sick of reviewing after SmylinG, I feel like I'm just repeating what she says, but in a worse way. Anyways:

I had to clench my jaw and cover my mouth to keep it inside. The scream, the vomit, the sobs. I moved to the basin and it hurled itself up and out of my mouth. I looked back into the cubicle at his face. He was dead, not dying. The blood had seeped most of the way from his wrists to the door. His cowboy hat still sat on his head, casting a band of shadow across his dead face. I turned again, and hurled. The mirror was cracked with a shard missing. It was in Mick Sabre’s hand.

I was eating raspberries, and you definitely spoiled my appetite. Props.
Also:

I turned again,(no comma) and hurled.

My heart lurched, it wanted out through my ribs, up my throat.

Thought this was great, as if his heart has a mind of its own. (I know, way to point out the obvious, eh)

I can barely remember what I thoughts were spinning in my head.

This looks like you went to write one sentence, but then began to write another?

I would find her and love her again.

This sounds odd. Did he not already love her? Unless you had a different meaning that I didn't grasp, which is pretty likely.

He had told a joke that had set the three truckers off laughing when I walked out of the bathroom.

I feel like if Ross had just walked out of the bathroom, he wouldn't know that Joe had told a joke. He would see the truckers laughing, but I doubt he would think much of it.

He followed me and outside of the men’s, his glare darted between my eyes, reading me.

I don't think you should have the 'and' there, and perhaps this could turn into two sentences? OR OR, rephrase it a bit (for ex- take out the and, turn 'darted' to 'darting'.

“I want to show you something Joe,(Period) You remember that guy in the cowboy hat, he was here earlier.”

Also, he's leaning more towards a question than anything else, so I would recommend ending the dialogue with a question mark.

He was a lot shorter than I was(period) with a bald head and a girth like a horse.

“Just look," I said(comma) opening the men’s and he entered.

I think what this work struggles with the most (grammatically) is punctuation.

A second later, I could hear the distinct sound of bile splashing on the tile cement floor.

Tile cement floor. Hm. I would remove the 'tile', seeing as, if the floor is tiled, it's not really cement, but if the floor is cement, it doesn't really have tiles. You know? Another thing I noticed - your characters seem to throw up a lot. I don't think everyone throws up when they see something horrific. Perhaps Joe was sickened, so he rushed out, holding his hand to his mouth. Or, you know, not.

A partially muted ‘Shit’ escaped the bathroom,

Don't think you have to capitalize 'shit', even though it's semi-dialogue.

but no one in the diner seemed to notice hear.

Suggestion only here.

Joe emerged with blue cheeks.

When I think of people having blue faces, I think of them losing oxygen. I don't think of someone's face after they've vomited. I think his face would be red, if anything.

“I need everyone to leave, there has been a death.”

Bit odd. You'd think that he would keep the 'death' a secret, you know? Not be so blunt about it. But eh, I don't really know Joe, maybe he's just a blunt fellow.

“Is this some kind of Joke?” Mike Fisken was saying.

You use 'was saying' a lot. And of course, by a lot, I don't mean every other bit of dialogue, but enough that it's noticeable. I'm not a huge fan of it, I think it sounds awkward. Here, I would imagine Mike Fisken asking it, rather than saying it.
OH, almost forgot - get rid of the pointless capital.

“I’m sorry people(comma) but you all need to leave until the authorities get here.”

The biggest trucker(comma) with a bandana and leather jacket(comma) stood(or instead of those, put a comma here) and he looked at me as if he wanted to throw one of those big hanging knuckles across my jaw.

I think you need to work on breaking your sentences up with commas, or making them into two.

He shrugged past me and into the bathroom and the others followed.

The three of them emerged seconds later, one was crying, (period)Shane McGregor clasped his hands over his mouth and flaming beard.(no period) and the bull came back out with mad eyes.

These sentences needed to be mixed differently. Of course, there are many ways to do it, but I just gave you a suggestion.

The young couple went to leave but stopped(comma) still engrossed by what could be behind the bathroom doors.

not him,” the bull said(comma) tilting his head towards me,

“Not until the Five-oh gets here,

I don't think 'Five' should be capitalized.
ALSO, put a period after 'here'.

“I’m also going to arrange some protection,(period) He has a gun,(instead of a comma, insert an 'and') I have something in case he decides to use it.(comma)” he said, revealing big yellow teeth under a snarl. Down the aisle charged the bull, between the tables and he pushed through the doors. I have a hard time getting this image in my head. I think it's the way it's phrased that puts me off

I feel like this is the most nitpicks I've ever done on any of your works. Either I'm being too nitpicky, or this wasn't your best chapter.

Janey still sat with the family,(period instead) I didn’t want to look at her, something like this isn’t good for a little girl, isn’t good for anyone.

I had to act before the Bull came back with what I can only imagine is a weapon.

I was going to point out this pointless capital, but then I realized something. You've pretty much named that guy 'the bull', so why not capitalize it? Of course, you should do it like: The Bull . Not: the Bull.

He was at that age, not too young to haul a truck but still too young to shave.

So he was... 14? I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm no shaving expert, but don't boys shave by at least 15/16? I would imagine that a trucker would be older than even that, especially considering he still has to go to school (unless he dropped out), and get a real licence.

“What is it(comma, I believe) Neil?” the younger trucker said, with a quiver in his voice.

Also, I would say 'asked'. He is asking a question, after all.

His eyes were like Rafa’s, blood-red and searching.

And Janey suddenly sat up, the gun fixed on her and Janey.

When you say "the gun fixed on her", I immediately think you're talking about Janey. This sentence is weak in that sense.

The shotgun hit the ground and the bull stumbled back,

Wonderful pointless capitals

Somewhere amongst it all(comma) he squeezed of a shot.

Oh damn. I enjoyed the action at the end, it was a nice change of pace. I don't have much to say to wrap up what I thought of this chapter, I think I've said it all with nitpicks and whatnot. I stand by what I said, this wasn't your strongest chapter, and I do hope that the next one rises above this. That's not to say that this was bad, but it wasn't great. Hope I'm helping somehow! Caio

Hello again!

I looked back into the cubicle at his face. He was dead, not dying. The blood had seeped most of the way from his wrists to the door. His cowboy hat still sat on his head, casting a band of shadow across his dead face. I turned again, and hurled. The mirror was cracked with a shard missing. It was in Mick Sabre’s hand.

Buhwhat? I had to go back and look at the end of part 4, because I sure didn’t remember any dead cowboy in the bathroom... And there is no mention of a dead cowboy in the bathroom at the end of chapter 4. I’m thinking you’re missing a very important chunk of narrative here.

I doused my face with cold water a few times. While I was thinking about what I can say to him, while I was fetching a flare gun to protect my daughter from him, he was dying.

At first I thought this was a weird tense switch, and Ross was thinking about what to say to him right now, while he was washing his face. Change it to “while I had been thinking about what I could say to him”.

My heart lurched, it wanted out through my ribs, up my throat. Any exit. The blood had drained into the corner of the bathroom, which sloped.

You’re talking about Ross’ heart, ribs, throat, and then you suddenly mention blood, and it sounds like it should be Ross’ blood, not the cowboy’s.

It came again and again until the sink was full of pancake and coffee and black bile.

Ew, gross.

Right then, part of me wanted Tara so bad, I would leave as soon as this was clean, I would find her and love her again.

This is kinda cluttered. Changing the bolded comma to a full stop would help, because as well as breaking it up, it puts his feelings towards his wife all in their own sentence, giving them a lot more impact.

He had told a joke that had set the three truckers off laughing when I walked out of the bathroom.

The repetition of “had” makes this run a bit lopsided. Maybe change the tenses?

“I want to show you something Joe, you remember that guy in the cowboy hat, he was here earlier.”

“Yeah, yeah I know the guy he’s been in before, where is he? He didn’t sneak out the back door did he?”

This needs some punctuation aside from just commas. Break your dialogue up to give us a better idea of how it’s being spoken.

Little black eyes peered out from his fat suspicious face. He was a lot shorter than I was with a bald head and a girth like a horse.

Why description now? You’ve just introduced a dead body in the bathroom—that’s the focus right now, not what the diner guy looks like. The corpse should have the spotlight.

Just look, I said opening the men’s and he entered.

Missing punctuation.

“Everyone I have news –

Missing punctuation. Also (uber-nitpicky) but your dashes could do with being longer. If you type this out on Word and put several little dashes together, it makes them into one long one, and it just looks better.

He shrugged past me and into the bathroom and the other’s followed. The three of them emerged seconds later, one was crying, Shane McGregor clasped his hands over his mouth and flaming beard.

Other’s should be others, without an apostrophe.

I want to know who was crying. Details like this build the scene, and this is an important moment, so I want to see it clearly. You could also break up the second sentence, because it feels very loosely strung together with all those commas.

“You’ve got it wrong he did it to himself,” I said, trying to keep the contempt out of my voice.

Why contempt? It seems like an odd emotion to have right now.

“Nobody’s going anywhere, especially not him,” the bull said tilting his head towards me, “Not until the Five-oh gets here, I heard you arguing, you killed him.”

Thing with the commas again. They’re not strong enough to hold up a sentence this long made up of so many different parts. The bolded comma should be a full stop.

“I’m also going to arrange some protection, he has a gun, I have something in case he decides to use it.” He said, revealing big yellow teeth under a snarl.

Comma to end dialogue, capital to start the tag.

Down the aisle charged the bull, between the tables and he pushed through the doors.

The passive voice here ruins the action. Be direct!

Janey still sat with the family, I didn’t want to look at her, something like this isn’t good for a little girl, isn’t good for anyone.

I quickly looked over at the clock it was almost 11 and the fog still choked the sun.

Punctuation.

I found myself wanting her young body. Her blonde hair, her big doe eyes.

K, dude, this is really bland and heartless. Just a little while ago, he was saying how much he wanted to be with his wife and that was good, that was sweet, that was real. Now he’s suddenly lusting after another man’s wife? Unrealistic. Previously I’d been very sympathetic towards Ross, but now I feel like I couldn’t care less.

The bull took two steps. In one hand was a shotgun; in the other was his mouth and blood seeped through his fingers as though he was squeezing an overripe plum.

Wait, what? How can he be holding his mouth? Okay, you mean he had his hand over his mouth, but the way you worded it made me wonder if his lips had somehow come off and he was holding them in his hand... >_<

The Shotgun hit the ground and the bull stumbled back, the flare rocket still working, the phosphorus melting the skin.

Unnecessary capitals, and again with the commas.

What happened then, I can still barely describe. I can’t say why, or how really. The bull let out a hoarse scream, the timbre of which sent the children, including Janey, into a raucous bawling fit.

This is a key moment and it falls down flat. The first bolded sentence gets in the way and slows everything down needlessly. The bolded parenthesis is unnecessary—you say that the children started screaming, Janey’s a child, I’d assumed that she’d be screaming too. I think you could find better wording than “raucous bawling fit”. “Raucous” sounds harsh and negative, as does “bawling fit”, which sounds like the kind of thing you’d ascribe to a tiresome spoiled toddler that you’d had enough of. Not the kind of words you want to describe your genuinely terrified daughter.

Thatched with black hair, his big arms clamped around Mike’s neck and his head started up and down against Mike’s face with a sickly thud like an axe on wet timber.

Dude, I do not need to know about the hair on his arms. If it’s important, tell me later, but not right now when he’s about to kill someone. Anyway, the word “thatched” is typically used to describe hair on one’s head, because it’s on top. Arm hair isn’t on the top in the way that head hair is.

Somewhere amongst it all he squeezed of a shot.

Of = off.

The bull died. His blood washed over the floor.

You lose subtlety points for being so obvious.

“You saw him, you all saw that,” he began frantically looking about, “He would have killed me, I- I had to.”

I get where you’re going with this, but it seems unrealistic for him to immediately start babbling about how it wasn’t his fault. He’s just been beaten up, his nose likely broken, and he’s just shot someone. I’d assume him to be in severe shock, more of “what the fudge just happened? Am I all right? Is my nose broken? Can someone help me get up?” Not to immediately try to clear himself. This seems more like the kind of situation where everyone’s in stunned silence and then someone else points out that he killed the guy, and then he starts protesting his innocence.

---
This wasn’t your best chapter. Your sentence structure really needs work. Your sentences are often too long and too full to be held together by commas, and as a result they sag awkwardly and don’t flow right. The ending doesn’t feel right either. Maybe it would be better to end it at once after the bull’s death and then in the next chapter start with the “you killed him!” “I had to!” conflict.

-twit

Not my favorite chapter.

Firstly, it makes absolutely no sense that Ross would get his flare gun in the first place. You provide us only with a tentative and halfhearted reason: that he wanted to defend himself from the cowboy. For some reason you expect the reader to just go with it when you say that Ross finds the cowboy to be dangerous; perhaps Ross doesn't like him that much, but dangerous? That's a massive overstatement. What was Ross's intention, to shoot him? Both he and I and you know that Mick never did anything remotely near violence, and never would. That's the first reason that your justification is tenuous. Reason number two is that even if Ross found Mick to be somewhat dangerous, is he really so unintelligent as to not think that he would stir suspicion? Does he not want to remain on good terms with everyone else? Can he not see two feet in front of him, does he have no discretion?

Together, these observations are reason enough to convince me that Ross's action was extremely unrealistic.

So guess how perturbed I was when the truckers started pointing at the flare gun and calling Ross a murderer. The flare gun shouldn't have been there in the first place! Was it really that hard for him to foresee this happening? I find it bizarre, also, that The Bull would jump to conclusions that fast. What evidence does he have? What in the world does he hold so fast against Ross?

Okay. At this point I'm thinking, Yeah, whatever. Let The Bull do what he wants to do. He's probably not the brightest guy around, anyway. But what then? Everyone else begins blaming Ross for the death as well. Why? Why? It makes no sense.

"You murdered him," Joe began.

Erm, wasn't it obvious that Mike had to? Is Joe completely blind? He accused Ross of murder as well, so I'm beginning to think so. In fact, I'm beginning to think that everyone in the diner, including Ross, possesses no logical capabilities.

What everything boils down to is that you tried to precipitate the human-turning-on-human inevitability much too early, and in doing so caused this chapter and much of last chapter to come across as terribly unrealistic. The tension buildup between characters should be gradual, not sudden; the accumulation should be subtle, discreet, but still noticeable, so that when it at last peaks, the reader sees clearly the events that led up to the heated zenith. Here I see no reinforcement - I didn't think Ross and the trucker even knew each other, much less that the trucker was presumptuous enough to point fingers at someone he's never met.

Have you read Lord of the Flies? That's a great example of the buildup of animosity between characters. No one event caused either of the two head boys to despise each other.

Alright. Halfway there.

-Kafka

Line By Line

1. Good descriptions at the beginning and it was pretty unexpected so nice work there.

2.

Right then, part of me wanted Tara so bad. I would leave as soon as this was clean, I would find her and love her again.

Slightly awkward phrasing here, doesn't he love her already? Unless you was using 'love' as a milder way to suggest having intercourse with her? That seems like a strange thought to be having though so I'd suggest rewording either way.

3. Not sure about your end there. Wasn't it Ross who pulled the flare on the guy first? Technically I'd think they'd still be mad at him if they are at anyone? I'm not sure that I found the accusations or the defence very realistic though. Someone might say 'you killed him' in a surprised tone or in panic. But I think the killer's first response would be something like 'shit' or 'what the hell just happened'.

Overall

I haven't much to say for this chapter. There was some good pacing going on but it wasn't you best. I think you ned to tighten your description up in places and the dialogue is lacking the dynamic that its had previously. It's all pretty standard/ thrown together in this section. I'm also confused as to why Ross is being so slow in re-claiming his kid. He was very reluctant to leave her and now he's happy to just have her sit over there with the family? Not buying it. I'd want that kid back in my arms rihgt away, all the more so after seeing the dead guy.

I'd like to hear more from Joe too. At the moment he's very background and I'd like a stronger feel for his personality since he's the closest thing we have to a side kick or second main character. I was surprised when he didn't back Ross up so clearly I don't know him well enough because I'm making false judgements here. Give us some more dialogue, some more facial expressions. Just a slightly stronger indication of who he is.

Heather xxx