Second to None
Chad, an aspiring author, sank into his easy chair and drifted into a
reverie.
He found himself, not in his apartment but in a dusty courthouse at the center
of a nameless small town. The kind of town with cracked sidewalks, sagging
porches, and secrets whispered over pie at the diner. Inside, four of his
secondary characters were holding court.
Jay, the informant, leaned on the prosecution table. “Chad, man, this whole
book’s a trite monstrosity. Amy, your golden-haired D.A., gets the verdict,
the headlines, the man. While the rest of us get stuck with cliché scripts
and no backstories.”
Minerva, pale and wired, added. “I’ve OD’d six times in this book.
That’s not a character arc, that’s malpractice. Instead of chasing
cartels, you could’ve written me a second chance.”
“Or a proper job,” added Preston Brightham III, lounging with disdain.
“I sell luxury sedans to corn-fed cowboys. Brilliant. And Detective Rachel
here. She’s a goddamn widow who lost her husband in a bust gone wrong. Yet
you have her fetching coffee for that insipid Detective Adam.”
Rachel rose from the bench in her judge’s robe. “I buried my husband in
this town. They buried the truth, too. You want noir, Chad? Start digging.”
***
Chad jolted awake. That courthouse… He used it in his novel. He’d based it
on the old county building in his hometown, where rumors once swirled about a
sheriff who vanished after threatening to expose corruption.
He opened his laptop.
New pages.
Adam led a failed raid. Shot dead. Rachel triggered explosives, burned the
cartel headquarters and drug lord to ash. Then she collapsed into Preston’s
arms in a steamy post-battle embrace.
Chad blinked. Had he written that?
That night, in Chad’s sleep, the characters reassembled, this time in the
courthouse basement.
Jay lit a cigarette. “Rachel got her redemption. Me and Minerva want
ours.”
Minerva screamed. “And Amy? Time the truth came out.”
***
Next morning, Chad scanned the pages, horrified and amazed.
Minerva was reborn, a public defender exposing town corruption one rigged case
at a time. Jay? A local hero. His wiretap work brought down half the town
council. The FBI dubbed him “The Whistleblower in Cowboy Boots.”
And Amy?
Turns out, the D.A. had been protecting a ring of powerful men. Jay caught her
fleeing with cartel cash.
There was no arrest.
Only gasoline.
A lighter.
Amy burned.
***
Chad’s novel won the Ellery King Award. Readers praised the gritty
authenticity in uncovering small-town secrets.
But in a corner of Chad’s mind—or maybe on the pages—the characters
gathered again.
Rachel pounded the judge’s gavel. “We don’t need Chad anymore. The
town’s ours.”
Jay grinned. “Let’s make it official.”
***
On a foggy backroad after a book signing, Chad’s vision blurred. His hands
fell from the wheel. The last thing he saw was the courthouse steeple rising
behind the trees.
Then impact.
Headlines called it a tragic loss.
But behind the scenes, the secondary characters began the sequel.
Alone.
Neil Weiner been published in a variety of professional journals and fiction in magazines. His psychology books include Shattered Innocence and the Curio Shop. Non-psychology publications are Across the Borderline and The Art of Fine Whining. He has a monthly advice column in a Portland Newspaper, AskDr.Neil.