THE Fisherman
by
Glenn Shadbolt
SMASHWORDS EDITION
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PUBLISHED BY:
Glenn Shadbolt on Smashwords
The Fisherman
Copyright © 2010 by Glenn Shadbolt
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Acknowledgements
There are a few people I have to thank, and without whom The Fisherman would never have been written. Ashley, the idea for this short story was born as a result of the paper you were writing for your socials class, and the resulting discussion we had. Colleen, thanks for many late night conversations on books, reading, religion & the nature of sin, all of which helped me see the potential for turning The Fisherman into a full-length novel (currently in progress). In that respect, I am very much in your debt, and the tale is as much yours as it is mine - I am simply the one chronicling it. Finally, my warmest and sincerest thanks to Fiddler, Deriamz, Whiskeyjack and the rest of the "dragon people." They know who they are, and why I am forever indebted to them.
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THE Fisherman
Luc took a hackle-quill from the Clorox-water solution it was soaking in and inspected it quickly to ensure that all the fibers had been burned off the capon’s neck feather, before he returned it to the beaker. Working swiftly, he moved with a surety & dexterity that belied his 47 years, and selected two stripped and dyed quill feathers of exactly the same size diameter and length. He placed a #16 hook in his bench vise and secured it tightly before attaching a light, creamy-coloured #6/0 thread to the hook. Luc tied on a few strands to act as tailing feathers and clipped off the ends a few hook-eye lengths behind the eye of the hook. He then snipped off the quills at a point where their diameter closely approximated the diameter of the hook’s shank. Starting about a third of the way back from the hook-eye, he tied-in the tips on top of the hook shank and began spiral-wrapping the thread over the quills towards the bend, forming a cigar-shaped body for his fly, which would emulate a mayfly. Luc tied-off the quill butts on top of the hook with five turns of thread and clipped off the excess ends. Lastly, he covered the clipped ends with more thread to create as smooth a body as he could before tying-on the wings. It wasn’t quite as good as a store-bought fly, but for Luc, tying flies wasn’t done for economy’s sake – he enjoyed the psychological aspect of being the predator, learning his prey’s likes, dislikes and habits so he could present a more attractive and irresistible bait. Rising from his stool, his face broke into a smug, self-satisfied grin, and he paused for a moment to gaze admiringly at his work.
Luc was also grinning because Jenny had taken the kids to her parents’ place for the weekend. He would miss her, in some ways. But, truth be told, of late his relationship with Jen was more like that of a room-mate with whom he shared expenses and the occasional meal, and less like that of a husband that shared her bed. He couldn’t really say he’d miss the kids. He had married Jen when she was a single mom with three young children, and he had always accepted and loved them as his own, enjoying what he felt was a good relationship with them for the longest time. Things didn’t really go downhill until they crossed the threshold from puberty into surly teenage adolescence. Ever since that seminal moment in their respective young lives, his relationship with them had completely disintegrated. It wasn’t that he didn’t like kids…he did. In fact, he worked as a school bus driver and volunteered his time as a Little League coach in the summer. Still, he wouldn’t miss the kids. When they were around, there certainly wasn’t solitary time to spend tying a fly on a lazy summer afternoon – they just seemed to get in the way, always meddling in his business and foiling his plans. This was the first time in a long while that Luc could remember a free, unencumbered weekend and he was greedily treasuring the notion of some “me” time to spend on his pursuits.
Leaving his basement workshop, he padded up the stairs, and poured himself a fresh cup of coffee before settling into his favorite chair. Luc had two whole days all to himself, and he knew exactly how he was going to spend his free time. Even though he didn’t get there as often as he would have liked, he still maintained a cottage on Steeprock Lake. It was a pretty, secluded spot nestled in the Porcupine Mountains, and he was definitely going to spend some time there this weekend. Before he left for the cottage, though, there was one thing he needed to do first. The carnival was in town this weekend, and he hadn’t been there in years - not since the kids had outgrown it, or at least outgrown the need for adult supervision to attend.
He smiled as soon as he
arrived at the carnival, and reminisced fondly about his last time at
the county fair. He had taken the kids here one lazy Saturday
afternoon a few years back so that Jen could take a much-needed
mental health day, and not have to parent - for an afternoon, at
least. Walking down the midway, he heard the shouts of the barkers
drowning out the screams emanating from the Tilt-A-Whirl, The
Scrambler and the other thrill rides. He was snapped out of his
reverie when he noticed a group of four boys bullying a much smaller,
younger boy who couldn’t have been more than 11 or 12.
“Hey!! Break it up! Four against one, real fair…go
on, beat it. Get lost!”
The group of four young ‘toughs’ retreated rather meekly and without opposition, other than the occasional vulgarity and obscene gesture directed Luc’s way. Pausing at a concession stand to get a cotton candy, he cautiously approached the boy, who had risen to his feet and started to dust himself off. He reminded Luc of Jen’s son, with his unkempt mop of sandy blond hair and piercing blue eyes. He held the cotton candy out at arm’s length, waiting for the boy to take it from his hand.
“Thanks, mister. My brother and his stupid friends think they’re real tough, picking on somebody younger than them”. The boy’s gaze hardened as he took in his savior, assessing both him and the current situation. “What are you doing here?”
It was an honest question—it wasn’t exactly normal for a grown man to be at the carnival, unaccompanied by children, a girlfriend or both - and Luc didn’t give an immediate response. This one is a little wary, he thought, wary but maybe not completely untrusting. Smiling wickedly, he took a sip of soda from his Styrofoam cup, and said sarcastically, “Okay, kid – you figured me out. I’m a pervert, alright.”
A look of shock
appeared on the boy’s face before the realization occurred that
Luc was screwing with him. He grinned back and decided to play along,
“Oh, right. Of course. So, having any luck?”
“Oh,
sure, plenty of luck, kid. I mean, it’s the carnival, isn’t
it? If you’re looking for kids, you have to fish where the
fish are, am I right? Now, do you want this cotton candy, or are you
going to let it melt all over my hand?”
The boy laughed a bit, and reached out to take the cotton candy from Luc’s hand. As he did, Luc smiled and thought once more that the most successful fishing trips were first & foremost about knowing & understanding one’s prey, and then choosing the right location along with the appropriate bait.
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Author's notes:
The genesis of The Fisherman is that it was born one night after discussing a paper a friend was writing about genocide, and I got thinking about the capacity in all of us for ultimate good or extreme evil. Shortly after that discussion, and the seed of the idea, I learned that someone I knew casually was a child pornographer, and that rattled me to my core -I was shocked at how normal the guy appeared. A year later, I'm still trying to process that…and maybe this short is my way of trying to do just that. The best way I can describe it is to say that I felt compelled to write this story.
I tried to use some imagery and foreshadowing to maximum effect. In the beginning, he is in the basement with his tools meticulously laid out, and it's not much of a stretch (metaphorically) from there to a torture chamber. He also refers to his hobbies as "pursuits" - creepy!
Beyond that, did he marry Jen because she had pre-pubescent kids? Is this why he volunteers as a Little league coach, and drives a school bus?
At the carnival, I mention one sound (albeit in the context of someone having fun) - I mention screams.
Luc is a name laced with a wonderful duality. Pronounced "Luke", it is also a shortened spelling of Lucifer, and above all else, this guy is E-V-I-L. The name serves a couple of purposes. Firstly, there has been tons of press and scandal about child abuse and molestation occurring within the Catholic church, and I wanted to (very vaguely and abstractly) reference that fact. This is where the idea for the title came from - the Biblical quote "I will make you all fishers of men." Going back to the name Luc, one aspect is the reference to Lucifer, but the other is a reference to the Gospel Luke. The duality to this name wonderfully mirrors the fact that within each of us, there exists both the capacity for ultimate good…or pure undiluted evil. Later on, I further play up the religious aspect (ironically) when the boy refers to Luc as his "savior."
I tried to portray Luc as a fairly normal guy, and I hope I accomplished that. Even more, I hope that some of you started to actually identify with Luc, and relate to him in some ways, so that when his true character is revealed, you, Gentle Reader, are a tad revolted at having indentified with an evil monster.
The purpose of this exercise was to show that anyone (myself included) shares commonalities with pure distilled malevolent evil. Most people don't want to face that - part of a conscious effort to keep our rose-colored spectacles on.
Finally, the kid I leave nameless simply because all too often, the victims of child abuse remain silent and nameless.
~ Glenn
*****
About the author:
Glenn is a two-time
runner-up of the annual "Short, fat, bald-headed guys 1 mile
downhill run" and is training hard to win it all -despite a
recent doping scandal and allegations he is neither short nor bald...
Glenn is currently seeking a long-term employment position as
a on-call chauffeur for a young, nubile, nymphomaniac billionnaire
heiress so that he can spend more time on his writing
Before
briefly filling for Satan (during Lucifer's brief flirtation with
transcendental meditation...), Glenn ghost-wrote "The Da Vinci
Code" for Dan Brown, and discovered every element on the
periodic table...except Boron. In his spare time, Glenn enjoys
walking on the beach with his dog, and ruling Cyprus with an iron
fist.
Where to find Glenn online:
Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/gshadbolt
The Sage's Page: http//glennshadbolt.wordpress.com/