“Why, Ivey?” Mistle demanded. Ivey rolled his eyes and let out a deep exhale. “I already told you, Mistletoe. You abandoned me and our unit." "I was discharged." "Whatever—you left and my hand, my life, got blown off!" Ivey shouted, hoisting the stump of his left hand in the air. Enough with the theatrics, Mistle thought. He swallowed hard as beads of sweat began to drip from his brow. “Ivey—Hank, I’m sorry for what happened, but please let my family go," he pleaded, his voice turning soft. "They are innocent. I’m the one who messed up.” Ivey wiped the tears from his bloodshot eyes and turned…
Before Mistle or Meredith could blink, Ivey had pulled a gun from his coat pocket. “Shut up and let’s move,” he said to the two Sea Life staff members in front of him, pointing the gun at them. Ivey's eyes narrowed as he glanced over to Mistle and Meredith. “You too.” “Hank, what the h—?” Mistle started. “Just move!” Ivey bellowed. Mistle stared back, bewildered at the man he had just started to trust. What is going on here? What happened to the Hank Ivey I knew from the Marines? "Do I look like I'm kidding, Tim?" Ivey said, pointing the barrel of the gun at Mistle's forehead. "Now!" *** “…
At Mistle’s suggestion, he, Ivey and Meredith headed with the toolbox toward the aquarium. “What’s our plan?” Meredith asked in a low voice. “Let’s just get down there and check it out,” Ivey said with impatience. Arriving at the front entrance, they found general chaos associated with a group of children having a birthday party. Surveying the scene, Ivey noticed a door marked “Aquarium Staff Only.” Nearby, kids messed around with fins and snorkels. “Follow me,” Ivey told the other two. Ivey pushed the door open, triggering a screeching alarm that pierced their ears. Momentarily panicked, …
One minute he was muscling a dolly containing enough explosives to bring down a shopping center, the next he was back inside of his Grandma Anna's kitchen, entranced by the saccharine scent of a homemade apple strudel baking in the oven. "Gunter," his beloved Grandma sang in German. "You need to go wash your hands before you can have any sweets." The German, now in his 40s, looked down at his hands, suddenly realizing they were much smaller than he recalled. His Oma Anna had passed away nearly 20 years ago. Wait a second, Gunter thought, Is this all just another daydream? The blaring of a car…
The crew hopped into Meredith’s car—Mistle behind the wheel and Ivey beside him. Meredith jumped into the backseat gripping her cell phone. Meredith was still in disbelief over the text message just forwarded to her from Congressman Frankenmuth. He knew she was fluent in German. What he didn't know was the grave nature of the text: Am Fall of America, träumt von Weihnachten wünscht, werden viele Ihrer Leute bald mit den Fischen schwimmen. Meredith relayed the message to Ivey and Mistle in clear, articulate speech, “At the Fall of America, dreaming of Christmas wishes, many of your people …
Less than 10 miles from the people hunting for him on a hunch, a man called Jorgen stared at a red wire in his left hand, then shifted his gaze to a black wire in his right. Mein Gott, it's chilly in this place, he thought to himself as he shivered in his black hoodie. Biting his lip, he carefully soldered the bare copper tips to points on a cellphone circuit board—no bigger than your palm—and slid it back into its housing, carefully replaced the phone's battery and taped it into place. Jorgen brought the device back to life, the green glow of its screen a welcome contrast to the harsh …
Holly peered into the car. She sized up the young woman in the driver’s seat: Couldn't be more than 21. A little lean, a little nerdy. Not Tim’s usual preference, but under 25 is any man’s type, Holly thought with bitterness. The girl looked back at Holly impassively. “First things first. Who the hell is she?” Holly hissed, jerking her head in Meredith’s direction. Tim reddened. Holly always had a jealous streak a mile wide. “She’s an intern with—" Mistle began. “An intern! I should have known,” Holly scoffed. “It’s not like that,” Tim protested. “Don’t insult my intelligence, Tim,” Holly …
Mistle began to feel a wave a panic rush over his body. His cheeks were on fire while his knees felt as if they were about to be knocked out from under him. He transferred his gaze from Holly to Kayla and then to Ivey, and then back again, stopping at his wife. Things were not exactly on stable ground when he left two weeks ago for an extended business trip. Tempers had flared, things were said and Mistle’s prized beer stein—which he had purchased 20 years ago at a Pink Floyd concert—eventually laid shattered on the kitchen floor. Man, she crossed the line, Mistle thought as he relived their …
Ivey looked at Mistle and flashed a wry smile. At the urging of a direct “Goodbye now” from a flight attendant, the two men began to walk down the causeway from the plane into the airport terminal. We have a situation here? You’re the only one I trust? Those were Ivey’s words just moments ago, but what did they mean? Mistle began to think about his days with Ivey. The two had been Marines together during the first Gulf War. They were standard-issue jarheads, except they had a specialty—the two men now reunited in a Minneapolis airport were once bomb technicians. When troops feared a mine …
Chapter V Ivey paused for a moment to glance across the aisle and around the plane to see if anyone was paying attention. Leaning in closer to Mistle, he said with more than a hint of sarcasm, “I thought you’d never ask.” He then lifted a portion of his shirt to reveal what Mistle recognized as a slightly more modern, higher-tech version of a standard-issue U.S. Marines olive-drab belt with rectangular pouches above the man’s waist. Mistle knew those pouches typically contained ammunition and he began to shift in his seat. What the hell are we dealing with here, Mistle thought. Ivey leaned in…
Chapter IV "Would you like some pretzels, sir?" The bronzed flight attendant leaned in toward Mistle, flashing a million-dollar smile as she awaited his reply. But his eyes were glued to the mysterious man seated next to him, studying every last detail of his seatmate in a desperate attempt to place him. Had he seen him in the newspaper? Was he a long-lost relative? Perhaps they had worked together in the past? "Sir?" the flight attendant hammered, finally losing her patience. "Pretzels?" Mistle snapped out of his head and back to reality. "Sure," he said. "I'd love some." She launched a …
Chapter III This was straight out of Mistle’s worst nightmare. Images of bombs on airplanes regularly made appearances in his hallucinations. Eyeing his seatmate and the suspicious bulges beneath his shirt, he wanted to scream “Terrorist!” But he didn’t—he couldn’t. That was the worse thing he could do. He’d kill them all right then and there. Mistle practically tripped over the one-armed man as he journeyed from his window seat to the aisle. Maybe I can still get off this plane! His head buzzed and his teeth clenched without his direction. He approached the nearest flight attendant. “I …
Chapter II "They ought to make this an obstacle course on American Ninja Warrior," Tim Mistle said, panting as he paused to catch his breath in the middle of O'Hare International Airport. He was halfway to his gate, with only minutes left on the clock before his 737 shoved off and took its place in the long line for take off. Hoisting the duffel on his shoulder, he tightened his moist right hand around the handle of his roll-away suitcase and his kid's Christmas present, and moved out. Thump-thump-squeak-thump-thump-squeak. Mistle dodged and weaved through the crowd, his roll-away biting at …
EDITOR’S NOTE: November is National Novel Writing Month, and we need you to help Minnesota Patch write a holiday novella. Here's how it will go: We’ll post a new chapter every Monday, Wednesday and Friday for the next four weeks, each written by one of the Local Editors from a Patch in the Southwest Metro. But we can’t write this novella without your help. At the end of every chapter, in the style of "choose your own adventure" books, your answer to a simple poll will help us choose our next plot twists. But we’d love it if you dove right in with us. Right here, you can also upload personal …
