by Jonas Saul
“Sarah!” he shouted.
Aaron launched off the ground and ran into the street.
A horn blared, tires screeched. The bumper of a car smacked his thigh as it stopped. Aaron kept on his feet, but faltered and turned to the car. The driver hopped out.
“Are you fucking crazy?” the driver shouted. “I could have killed you.”
Aaron looked back at the blonde girl on the other side of the street but she was gone, only two high-school aged teens, and an older woman with a child in tow.
“What’s wrong with you?” the driver asked.
He went to push Aaron off the road.
Aaron deflected the man’s hand, spun left and ducked under his extended arm. He ended up behind the man who turned around to face him.
“You’re crazy,” the driver said and walked back to his open car door.
Aaron checked the road to make sure it was clear of traffic before crossing. He couldn’t exist having visions of Sarah. He couldn’t exist locked in depression. Grief had overpowered him. First he lost his sister and now Sarah. Two women he loved deeply, taken from him in a few short years.
Any other man would crumble, but Aaron realized in that second that he needed to collect himself up and be strong. What if Sarah was okay? What if she came back one day? What would she say if she saw him now?
It was time to get back to living because anything else was dying and he wasn’t ready to die yet.
He strode to the restaurant’s door and entered the well-lit lobby of The Keg.
He was told his friends were waiting for him on the second floor.
He walked up the stairs and searched for their table but didn’t see them right away.
Someone touched his elbow. A cold piece of metal rested against the base of his neck.
“The mess will make these fine folks vomit if you move and I have to pull this trigger.”
Sarah!
He went to turn around but the hand gripping his elbow tightened and the metal piece pushed harder into the nape of his neck.
“You don’t listen well.”
His heart raced, his pulse gyrating. “It’s never been one of my stronger suits.”
The metal pulled away, the hand on his elbow let go.
“Turn around and hug me like you’ve never hugged me before. Oh how I’ve missed you, fucker.”
Aaron spun and stared into the eyes that had haunted him for months. He took in a sharp breath, opened his arms and passed out.
“You made us miss a lovely meal at The Keg. I wanted to order a juicy prime rib.”
Sarah?
He opened his eyes.
Sarah looked down at him. The real, the only, the alive, Sarah Roberts.
“What?” he asked. “How?”
She touched his lips with her finger. “Shhh. All in good time.”
“I deserve to know.” He sat up. They were in his living room.
“Daniel and Benjamin helped carry you up.”
“What happened? At least some of the basics. You were gone for months. We thought you were dead.”
“It’s better if the world still thinks so.”
“Why?”
“Long story.” Sarah limped to the balcony doors.
“What’s wrong with your leg?”
“Bullet to the thigh. Almost healed.”
“Sarah.” He sat up. “Please. Give me the abbreviated version then.”
She faced him. It was dark outside. He couldn’t see her face, only her silhouette.
“You’ve heard of The Cowboy?”
Aaron nodded. “His work has gone international and gotten a lot of people arrested.”
“He sent out an email.”
“I heard about it.”
“This email was intercepted and read by a friend and his wife. Consider this friend a man who believes in survival of the fittest.”
“He’s a believer in Darwinism?”
“Exactly. Well, this friend read the email, showed up at the hospital and stayed on the sidelines as the police cordoned off the area. When I left in an ambulance, he gave chase. He pulled in front of the ambulance and made the driver slam on his brakes. The bad guy—”
“De Luca? Parkman told me.”
“Yeah, him. De Luca bested me and was about to shoot me when our friend shot him. I was already wounded in the leg.”
“They said you lost almost four pints of blood.”
“It felt like more.” Sarah walked to the armchair and sat down. “This friend took me in his car and threw De Luca’s body in his trunk. We left before the police showed up.”
“Where have you been for two months?”
“Recuperating at this friend’s home. De Luca was buried out there. No one will ever find De Luca’s body and you can never repeat any of this.”
“Why haven’t you told the authorities?”
“I can’t reveal the identity of my friends.”
“Why?”
“They have enemies throughout the world. Think of them as someone like me who often gets mixed up in things bigger than them. They got away and are secure now. If anything happens to threaten them, he will take on De Luca’s image and deal with it. Through my friend, The Ghost will live on.”
“But how? What happened to you?”
“They nursed me back to health. I was shot, spent and used up. I slept for almost two weeks straight. Then the physiotherapy was another form of hell, but here I am. I’m back. Only you and my parents will know for now. I need quiet, calm and time off.”
“I can understand that. You’ve been going for a long time. Have you told Parkman?”
She nodded. “I called him when I returned.”
“How did he take it?”
“Somewhat like you. But then he told me to watch my back.”
“Why? What now?”
“He wouldn’t tell me over the phone. Said he would come to Toronto next week to tell me what’s going on.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“Doesn’t matter. Kierian and his band of fuckups—”
“You mean the authorities?”
“Yeah, fuckups, like I said. They all think I’m dead. I want to leave it like that as long as I can. There’s something to what Frank De Luca taught me.”
“What’s that?”
“Being a ghost has its advantages.”
Aaron leaned back on the couch and wiped his face with his hand. “What did you place against the back of my neck in the restaurant?”
“This.” Sarah held up a lipstick container. “Hilarious, right?”
“No. Not so much.”
“I’ve missed you, Aaron.”
“You have a funny way of showing it. No call for two months.”
“We have a lot of making up to do.” She got up from the armchair. “Come with me. Let me show you how much I’ve missed you.”
He followed her toward the hallway.
“I’m curious about this friend of yours.”
“Curiosity will get you killed.” She stopped halfway down the hall. “Do you want to die?” she asked in her bedroom voice.
“Stupid question.”
“Then don’t be curious. Stupid question for someone who knows better. Aaron, be quiet and do what you’re told. Don’t be stupid and I won’t hurt you.”
“Oh, Sarah, you’re truly back, aren’t you?”
“Shut up and take me to bed. Or would you rather watch TV, go for a walk or stare into space and think about insects.”
“Random.”
She raised her eyebrows, waiting for an answer.
“Let’s go.” He passed her and entered the bedroom. In the darkened room he didn’t see her dive at him. They landed in a heap on the bed, Sarah giggling.
“It’s good to have you back, woman.”
“It’s good to be back. But don’t forget, it’s safer if I remain dead.”
“Got it. You’re dead.”
She kissed his mouth. “No, you’re dead.”
Then
she rolled over and jumped on him.
Aaron realized in that moment that they were both very much alive and that he would never let anything happen to her ever again.
He would rather be dead.
Dear Reader,
*Spoiler Alert—read only after you have read The Rogue.
Italy is a beautiful country to visit. During the research of this novel, my wife and I spent seven months in Italy, six of those in Umbertide. We ate at the Ristorante Capponi, (renamed Ristorante Capitone in the novel) in the piazza called April 25. The food was amazing and we recommend this intimate restaurant if you ever make it to Umbertide. I blew this restaurant up in The Rogue because it is in fact the only restaurant with a hotel above it in centro storico, the historical center of Umbertide, and I needed a hotel for Frank’s bombs to be effective.
We have toured the entire area on the regional trains. We walked by the broken down tobacco farm with the caved-in roof where Sarah found the bodies of the dead farmer and his wife. The house used in the farmer’s field where the GMO conference was held was the house we lived in for four months in 2011 while researching The Crypt, another Sarah book that took place partially in Italy. The large bathroom actually had a window right beside the toilet that looked out from the second floor onto the huge fields in the back.
Many of the sites you went to in The Rogue were actual buildings, actual locations. The rest was fiction. For example, in Roma Termini, the train station in Rome, there is no train heading to Perugia—that’s fiction. Yes, you can take a train to Perugia, but that is the Ancona train which stops in Perugia on the way to Ancona. The sign Sarah read in Termini would not have said Perugia.
Sarah meeting Jonas Saul and his wife, Brenda, was added for fun. When Darwin hears the name, he pauses, wondering why he knows it, too. I did this because I love it and I had a great time writing it. My hope is that it translates to the reader in a goodhearted way. I’ve read another author who wrote this in his novels and every single time he did, I absolutely loved it. There was a time when Stephen King’s movies included a cameo of him somewhere in the film. I remember going to the theater, after having read the book first of course, and waiting, watching for the chance to see him pop up for his bit part. Even Quentin Tarantino does it with his films.
Antico Giardino Caffè is a real coffee bar. Gabriele owns it and serves the best espressos in Umbertide. Because of his generosity and kindness, I featured his coffee bar in The Rogue out of respect. He actually has black curly hair as the story says. I recommend stopping in if you ever get to Umbertide—say Jonas Saul sent you. Thanks, Gabriele, for many wonderful memories—you and your woman, Giamiaca, will not be forgotten.
Infomatica is the Internet store in Umbertide. It exists, but not so much in The Rogue anymore after the shootout there. I decided to destroy this store for fictional reasons, but man, sometimes the Internet in Italy was atrocious! Sorry, but it’s the truth. One of my biggest complaints I have about Italy is the Internet. Don’t come to Italy and expect high quality access to the web unless you stay in Rome.
I had a blast writing this novel and received a massive amount of help from numerous people.
First, my amazing editor on this novel is Robb Grindstaff, a man I simply cannot live without. He’s down to earth and not afraid to tell me what I need to work on, what works, and what needs to be deleted. I could not publish without him.
Second, my insegnante d’ Italiano, or Italian language teacher, Francesco Candelori, was instrumental in making sure the local dialect, vernacular, and Italian was perfect. Google Translate has nothing on this guy. He came to our home every week while we were in Umbertide to give us Italian lessons. If you’re ever in Umbertide and want to learn the language, his number is posted all over town.
Lastly, my beautiful wife, Brenda. Oh man, what would my novels look like without her? What would Sarah sound like without her? My wife is my first reader. She laughs, grimaces, exclaims, and cries with Sarah. Then she gets up from wherever she’s reading when she’s done with the novel, finds me in my office and punches me in the arm, all the while shouting at me to find out what happens to Sarah next. But the next novel is always being worked on. I am paralyzed without her. She is my life, my woman, my breath, my existence. She has saved my life and supports me in everything I do, even the stupid things—but that’s what real love is—something I have found with her, without even knowing it was lost. Everything I do, my honey bunny, is for you.
Now I want to talk about GMOs. They are a real problem. Although the murder of the Italian Agricultural Minister was fictional, GMOs are killing people.
All data covered in The Rogue is real. They have injected the DNA of an Arctic flounder into the DNA of tomatoes. They have taken spider DNA and forced it into a goat’s DNA to extract the web proteins from the goat’s milk in order to produce better bulletproof vests.
Crops are laced with pesticides—nerve gas—that kills pests. What does it do to humans over time?
One Danish farmer said, “We won’t be remembered as the generation who introduced science to the farmer’s field, but as the generation who sacrificed our own children for the profits of a few multinational corporations.”
Read about the whistle-blowing regulator in Brazil who claims all GMO approvals in his country are illegal:
http://www.naturalnews.com/041784_GMOs_regulators_Brazil.html
Join the conversation at Natural News and subscribe to the daily email—mind-blowing information:
http://www.naturalnews.com
Watch the trailer for “Food Matters” on YouTube, a movie I highly recommend:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eFIwbDYxoEk
Watch the truth about GMOs explained in a ten-minute animated cartoon:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KGqQV6ObFCQ
“The World According to Monsanto” is brutal:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N6_DbVdVo-k
Then do more research on your own to examine how far and how bad this catastrophe has become.
This afterword wouldn’t be complete with a dedication to you. None of this is possible without you, the reader. So I leave you with the parting thought of how much I love and appreciate you.
Because of you, I’m eternally grateful.
Therefore, The Rogue is dedicated to you—yes, you—the person still reading this. May happiness find you wherever you are and when life gets in the way and pisses you off, do what Sarah would do, minus the weapons, and go headfirst at the problem, solve it and move on with life. Take care of yourself and the people you love. Stay strong and be well.
Until the next novel …
Yours,
Jonas Saul
P.S. “Like” my Facebook page to view pictures of where The Rogue took place. There you will find all the pictures of Italy, the train station, the houses in the story and the Umbertide piazza. Each picture is labeled and described. Return often for updates and new pictures from other novels.
God bless you all.
PUBLISHED BY:
Imagine Press Inc.
ISBN: 978-1-927404-30-0
The Rogue
Copyright © 2013 by Jonas Saul
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Killing Sarah
by
Jonas Saul
Chapter 1
Overwhelmed, Sarah felt like everyone and everything was killing her. How much could one person take? How much should someone endure for the safety of others?
The decision was long overdue. It was time to leave it all behind before someone succeeded in killing her. There had been too many close calls, too many bullets that depended on a fraction of a second in time to determine if they would kill, maim, or miss.
The scars accumulated over the years had become a collage of memories, some good, some bad.