Elizabeth Laborde

Opening scene to literary suspense novel "Between Two Deserts" -- introduces the protagonist, setting, tone, and primary conflict 

Chapter 1

     I was seventeen years old the second time I tried to die. But it wasn’t like I got out of bed that morning with the end in mind. To tell you the truth, I didn’t have much talent for predicting the future. Much as tarot cards intrigued me, the combination of pentacles, wands, and swords left me with more questions than answers. And no matter how many times I studied a cup of tea leaves, I couldn’t figure out how my life was going to turn out, let alone anyone else’s. This deficiency, if that’s the right word for it, closed off several career options including psychic friend, clairvoyant, and roadside prophet.

     But you know what really got to me? It was how the one afternoon that changed everything in my life started out totally normal – the Mojave sun spilled through the classroom window. The air conditioner spit a thin stream of cool air against my neck. And at two o’clock the school bell rang. Mr. Jackson stepped up to the podium and saluted the American flag.

     “Thank you to the brothers and sisters and sons and daughters and mothers and fathers who are serving our great country.”

     Mr. Jackson’s crewcut reminded me of my fiancé, Alejandro. Okay, not technically my fiancé because I didn’t have a ring yet but he promised to buy one when I turned eighteen. I ran my fingers over the frayed ribbing at the bottom of Alejandro’s letterman’s jacket. Tonight, he was calling from Kabul. The sound of his voice made me feel like a rabbit inside a magician’s hat, like this amazing show was about to begin. Sometimes, I listened to his messages so many times I dreamed of them all night long, his words twining through my sleep.

     Mr. Jackson’s voice rumbled. “How do we attain success?”

     By getting out of here and never looking back. But like we had been trained, all twenty-four seniors answered in unison. “We follow three principles.”

     I wanted to roll my eyes, but if he caught me giving attitude, I’d have to write a five-hundred-word essay about the importance of character.

     “What are the three D’s?” he asked.

     “Diligence. Dignity. Discipline.”

     All of us chanted the same three words except Alejandro’s younger sister, Leticia, who was busy applying a layer of red lipstick. She was over high school. Unlike the rest of us, she didn’t pretend to care.

     Mr. Jackson addressed her directly. “What does TEAM stand for?”

     She shoved the tube in her back pocket and flashed him a wry look. With her painted nails, she swatted the air. “Dude, when are you going to learn how to hit it and quit it?”

     The class laughed. The boy next to me stared at Leticia like she was the cherry on top of a Fosters Freeze banana split. When the boy moved his arm, his shirt slipped to the side, exposing raised pink roman numerals, XVIII, the symbol for the 18^th Street gang. Why did he join up with only a few weeks left before graduation?

     A cheerleader bustled in from the hallway and handed Mr. Jackson a pink note. Where I had angles, she had curves, and lots of ’em. He paused to read the summons before passing it to Leticia. Pink meant it came from the vice-principal’s office.

     Leticia reached for her purse and sashayed in tight jeans toward the door. Her giant sparkly earrings twinkled under the fluorescent lights. A few seniors jeered, Someone’s gonna get it!

     She crinkled her face and mouthed Relax.

     Mr. Jackson continued his lecture, circling MOTIVATION like this was a new word we needed to learn before he went on for another twenty minutes about civic duty while nobody listened. My cell phone vibrated. I slipped the phone from my pocket and tapped the screen. A text from Leticia.

          ALEJANDRO’S DEAD.

     I gasped. A couple students heard me and turned around. I couldn’t close my mouth. I kept staring at my phone, putting the two words together and not putting them together. It didn’t make sense. A decent person would tell you in person which made me wonder what Leticia was up to, if she was messing with me or speaking in riddles or if this could be...

     No. This wasn’t real. It was just another one of Leticia’s games. Ever the jealous sister, refusing to leave me and Alejandro alone. I shot back.

     Not funny. WTF?

     Mr. Jackson placed his large fingers on my desk. The peppermint on his breath was strong. “Hand me the phone, Chelsea.”

     “I can’t do that, sir.” I waited for another text with j/k or gotcha!

     “You know the rules. Give it here.”

     I didn't look up.

     “This isn’t like you,” Mr. Jackson said, “You and me. Coach and counsel after class. Lima Charlie?”

     Lima Charlie. Loud and clear. Are you serious already? You think any of us like being lectured to? I could hear him inside my head – he’d ask about my brother, Martin, who had enlisted two years before Alejandro. I begged him and Alejandro not to enlist, told them it was not the right way to escape. But they didn’t listen. They wanted out of here so bad they’d risk their lives for it.

     Mr. Jackson reached for my phone.

     “Don’t,” I said.

     He tried to snatch my cell while I held on. As if he was in charge of me, as if I had no rights. Fine. Take my flip phone. I let go of it and he stumbled back a few steps while I shoved my desk into the next row. I sprinted out of the class like it was the last curve of a 400-meter relay. My high tops squeaked as I made my way down the hallway, determined to track Leticia down. Years of track meets had taught me to run fast and hard. I raced past dozens of gray lockers while Coach Mayes at the other end of the hall waved for me to slow down.

     "Chelsea, are you OK?” he asked.

     Mr. Jackson shouted my name. With two teachers closing in, I careened towards the west exit and slammed the panic bar like I was trapped. By now, somebody must have alerted the school’s guards. They’d be yammering on their walkie-talkies about a 5’8” wiry female, long brown hair in an over-sized letterman’s jacket and jeans.

     My car was parked near the security booth. I cut left and brushed against the chain-link fence. I flew past the school’s motto painted in royal-blue letters:

Welcome to the Rock!

     It was a daily reminder that high school was a four-year prison sentence, a modern-day Alcatraz where adults held all the keys. I maintained a fast clip. A blob in a blue windbreaker jogged towards me. I cut a 90 around the blob and dashed across the brown grass towards my car while the flagpole clanked in the hot Antelope Valley wind. My hair flew in all directions, mostly in my face. Twenty feet ahead, my Kia was tucked between a red 4Runner and a lowrider. By the time I got in my front seat, no one was in the rearview mirror. I turned the engine over and twisted the wheel, clearing the parking lot the quickest way, right over the sidewalk lip.

     After skidding past the school’s grass, I roared down East Avenue R, a road with a letter instead of a name because Littlerock was too cheap to spring for the extra paint. I looked for Leticia’s car which she always parked on the same street two blocks from school. But in the spot where her Hyundai was normally parked, there was just an empty space. No matter. I’d track her down. If she was lying about Alejandro, I’d tear her apart. All the while, a question nagged at me – if she was making this up, why hadn’t she texted back? I tossed my doubts to the side, knowing Leticia and “Lies” both started with the same letter.

     I was sick of her. Sick of letting her get away with it. If she wasn’t home, I’d check the mall, the gas station, and the rough crowd she ran around with. I hooked a left and parked in front of Leticia’s house. Even with my engine running, I could hear her brother, Jose, shouting the lyrics to an Oside Blaze rap song on the stereo. He was the baby of the family but that didn’t make him innocent.

     He shuffled onto the front porch like an alley cat, skinny and smart, clutching a brown paper sack. Though I wasn’t surprised to see him cutting school, he wasn’t what I’d call a day drinker.

     Jose smirked. “You came back for me, Guera.”

     Alejandro’s family didn’t think much of the white girl from a broken family who believed in ghosts instead of God. After all, what kind of person didn’t care about the Pope? I walked up the porch steps, cautiously keeping my distance.

     “Give me a hug, girlfriend.” Jose’s eyes were bloodshot.

     “When did you become a King?” A fresh crown tattoo darkened his neck. I figured he was tipping his hat to the infamous Latin Kings.

     “I always been the king, Guera.”

     “I didn’t tag you for a gangster.”

     “That’s what you think when you see a crown? There are other kinds of crowns, little girl. How many times did I school you about the King of Israel who brought down Goliath with a single stone?”

      OK, maybe it wasn’t a Latin Kings tattoo. Maybe I misinterpreted it, but that didn’t mean I misunderstood Alejandro’s brother. He lived for Old Testament justice, an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. His whole family blamed me for Alejandro going to war. They thought me and my family had pushed him into the Marines. Which was ridiculous. Mom was furious when Martin joined. And me? I hated what happened to my brother over there. What I wanted was for Alejandro and me to have a better life, and that didn’t include living on a Godforsaken base in a shitty little town.

     Before Alejandro enlisted, we’d dream up all kinds of escape plans. We considered moving to a small Midwestern town his family had never heard of or a tiny bungalow in San Diego where we’d keep the window open and listen to the ocean crash against the sand. With his people sprawled across Antelope Valley and the Inland Empire, the only option was a faraway place.

     The screen door busted open and Leticia joined us on the porch, her eyes puffy like she’d been crying. That didn’t mean much. She tried on emotions like tank tops, changing the color to suit her needs.

     She folded her arms. “I don’t remember inviting you over.”

     “You send a text like that then shine me on?”

     “That’s what you came to say?”

     “If I had a dollar for every time you tried to break me and Alejandro up, I’d be living in Beverly Hills. But that message you sent, that lie about Alejandro. That was a whole new low.”

     Leticia cackled like she was crazy and I started to think maybe she was. She turned to Jose whose eyes were glassy like the stars.

     “Alejandro and I are getting married. And I don’t give a goddamn if you people approve or not.”

     “¡Chale! Using the Lord’s name in vain. No respect.” Jose said. “You got no respect, Guerita.”

     Leticia put her arm around her brother. “We know about you. We see your nose pointed at the sky, looking down on us.”

     Jose took a swig from the bottle before tossing it hard against the pillar. The glass shattered inside the bag, a sound that set something off inside me. Like the earth underneath was shaking when it wasn’t.

     “These fucks in military gear come to our door and say Alejandro died for a purpose,” Jose said. “You believe that shit?”

     I grabbed hold of the pillar near the steps.

     Leticia’s dark eyes bore into me. “You forced my brother to make a choice. It was us or you. Every night, you wanted him to call. But you didn’t think it through. Soldiers gotta focus. In that split second when he worried about your bitch ass life, a jihadi shot him in the head.”

     Something blasted into my gut, something harder than a fist. But there was no bang. No gun. Jose and Leticia were huddled together on the stoop while I was separated from them, close to the edge.

     “Alejandro was my brother,” she said. “All of us. Everyone in our family loved him.”

     My ears rang like a bomb had exploded. “You’re wrong. He’s going to call tonight from Kabul.”

     Jose pulled papers out of his pocket, white papers, folded three times. “This is what that man in uniform read to my mama: The Commandant of the Marine Corps has entrusted me to express his deep regret that your son, Alejandro, was killed in action –”

     “Stop lying,” I said.

     Jose stared hard at me. “My brother deserved so much better.”

     Deserved? Past tense, not present tense. My breath caught in my throat and time twisted around a blind corner spinning on a patch of black ice I didn’t see. I needed them to stop talking but Jose kept running his mouth.

     “Stop lying.” I yelled.

     Leticia pointed her finger at me. “Get the fuck away from our family. And don’t you ever come back.”

STORY STATEMENT

Find the will to survive amidst the dangers hidden so close

 

THE ANTAGONIST

Escalus in Measure for Measure claims that “Some rise by sin and others by virtue fall.” Certainly, this is true for Martin Stevens whose excess of virtue paves the path to ruin. After four years in Afghanistan, he personifies two of the three Marine Corps values: commitment and courage. These characteristics make him a reluctant antagonist. Martin does what he thinks is right, no matter the cost. After his mother’s cancer diagnosis, he is unswervingly devoted to her care. When his sister refuses to move back home to help, Martin won’t let up until she does the right thing.

The same goes for society at large. Seventeen of his brothers have sacrificed their lives for America, yet the civilians in the Mojave Desert couldn’t care less. They’re more interested in the next mall sale than a war paid for in human lives. When society deals one fateful blow after another to Martin, he decides to send a message. He will avenge his brother’s deaths by meting out justice Hammurabi style, an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.  

 

BREAKOUT TITLE(s)

         Between Two Deserts   

         West of Registan

         A Desert No Longer

 

GENRE and COMPS

Suspense

Between Two Deserts melds The End of Everything's family-based crime drama with Notes on an Execution’s finely-crafted prose.

 

LOGLINE with conflict and core wound

Between Two Deserts, a suspense novel, is a modern reinterpretation of The Heart of Darkness told by two very different siblings. After her fiancé is killed overseas, eighteen-year-old Chelsea Stevens searches for a raison d'etre when her older brother returns from the Iraq War broken and disturbed. 

 

OTHER MATTERS OF CONFLICT: TWO MORE LEVELS

At the beginning of the novel, Chelsea learns that her fiancé has been killed in Iraq. Crushed with grief, she wants to end her life. But another part of her wants to find a reason to live. To do so, she must avoid the mother who has earned her major in alcoholism and her minor in manipulation. When Mom is diagnosed with aggressive pancreatic cancer, Chelsea’s caught in a major dilemma.

In the meantime, her brother, Martin, has become increasingly violent and erratic. Haunted by war memories he cannot escape, he’s pulled into a precipitous descent. Chelsea wants to save him, but doesn’t really know how to help. Chelsea’s primary conflict, then, relates to family. How much should she give up to save her brother? Is her family worth her life? Are they worth her dreams? 

*****

In terms of the secondary conflict, grief is a ubiquitous presence in Chelsea’s life. One night, she joins her friend at a nightclub hoping to forget the past. Chelsea winds up getting drugged and date raped – pictures of the debacle get posted online. Strangers tear her apart on Reddit and other sites. Ashamed, Chelsea walls herself off from a world adeptly skilled at dishing out pain.

When a new friend continues to show up in unexpected places, Chelsea is suspicious of his motives. Though he seems like a genuinely good person, how can she be sure? Her brother doesn’t like the new guy, which adds fuel to the primary conflict. The secondary conflict, then, relates to love and trust – should Chelsea allow herself to get close to someone again? Is the gift of love worth the potentially substantial cost? 

 

SETTING

The Mojave Desert has no clear beginning and no clear end. Cannibalistic creatures like the desert wren thrive in this harsh environment. Flora, such as cottonwoods, brittlebush, and yucca dot the landscape – plants tough enough to withstand brutal afternoon sandstorms and frozen high desert winters.

In this waterless place, the sun is a kind of Leviathan. Even when not directly overhead, it bears down like an enemy, taking no prisoners. During twilight the cicadas emit a rhythmic whir. They gossip about the sun, the overlord hidden on the other side of the world. In celebration of their freedom, mad dogs and coyotes howl into the big wide sky full of stars.