forum Looking for Editors

Started January 16, 2018 by Grace G.

tune

Try this: https://docs.google.com/document/d/143Ph1a3A1geN91Z-I7HxtiWtVie–dL-PEUhXjHAx78/edit?usp=sharing

the link doesn't work

I tried it too. It says "Sorry, the file you've requested does not exist".

Because of the Assassin
By Grace Goodwin
May 3rd, 2018, 8:01 a.m.
So this was it. Today was the day. Carter picked at his slightly over-cooked toast. He was too nervous to eat much. Two years ago, Carter received news that he had won a lottery. This wasn’t an offer he would turn down, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. He had the chance to time travel. Immediately he knew when. December 31, 1999.
He had chosen this date for a single reason. His parents had died that night, when he wasn’t more than a few months old. There had been a shooting at a formal party, his mother had been killed instantly having been shot in the head. His father had enough time to write a short note to Carter and Carter’s older sister Claire before he too, was shot. Claire says “He had just enough time to grieve for his wife and now-motherless children before he was murdered.” By the time the year 2000 arrived, Jennifer and Alexander Bouchard were dead.
We love you. Never forget it.
It had been written on a crumpled gum wrapper, found by police, and given to Carter and Claire’s foster parents. Often, Carter found himself simply staring at the letter. His father’s last words to him. That was one of two artifacts Carter had of his parents. The other was a rather blurry photograph of his parents on top of Mount. Washington, taken from far away. The night of December 31 1999 had been a windy one. So windy, in fact, that a telephone pole just outside their home had snapped, causing an explosion and destroying all of the Bouchard’s belongings.
Maybe it had been an unfortunate coincidence. But Carter refused to believe that. Too unlucky for two lucky people. He knew in his mind that it was a coincidence. But his heart refused to believe it.
December 31st, 1999, 6:36 p.m.
“Jenny, are you almost ready?” Alex called up.
“Yes,” I replied as I fastened and earring onto my ear.
Alex stepped out of the bathroom, shrugging on his overcoat. His hair was still wet from shower and combed back. I inhaled. He smelled like aftershave.
Downstairs, I put Carter in his seat. The baby squirmed and cried.
“Shh,” I cooed. He made a sound of displeasure but stopped wiggling. I buckled and tightened the straps.
“Mumma! Mumma! Do you like my dresth?” Claire shouted from the top of the stairs. She twirled.
“Yes baby, I love your dress.” She wore the pink one with sequins and a headband to match. Her fine blond curls bounced as she skipped down the stairs.
“Mumma guesth what,”
“What baby girl?”
“I’m gunna stay up all night.”
I picked up Cater’s seat with one hand and with the other, I hoisted Claire on my hip. “All night?”
She sucked her thumb and nodded. Alex grabbed the car keys and his wallet.
“You think Mandy is going to stay up all night?” Mandy was the babysitter. I felt a little bad for making her work on New Year’s Eve. I made mental note to pay her extra. Still, she had offered. And this was a party I simply couldn’t skip. Not because it would be that much fun. It wouldn’t. But because tomorrow I would premier a ground-breaking discovery: Time travel.
I had been working for almost a decade until finally I got it. This was why I worked so many late nights in the lab, why I wasn’t home on weekends. After tomorrow things would only get more hectic.
Of course, we weren’t the only ones who had been working on time travel. Another company, Radinc, had been working on it. But Intercorp had gotten there first, and that other company was, needless to say, bitter. There was a rumor that Radinc had begun a top-secret, super-classified project. But we knew that was a lie.
“Have fun!” Mandy called from the small porch in front of her house. Mandy waved Carter’s hand.
“Bye.” I climbed in the car. We were backing out of the driveway when suddenly there was a person right behind the car
“Alex!” He slammed the breaks. The person swayed on his feet and then kept walking.
“Drunks.” Alex muttered as he backed up, more slowly this time.
We arrived at the party. It was loud. Alex disappeared in the direction of the bar. I stood around for a minute, looking for—
Someone bumped into me. A blond boy, not possibly older than eighteen nearly knocked me over.
“I’m very sorry ma’am.” He said. He sounded sincere. “Do you know if Jennifer Bouchard is here yet?”
I was surprised to say the least. Here I was, probably the most well-known person at this party. Here he was, wondering where I was.
Stop Jenny, you’re over thinking it.
I straightened. “Yes, she’s here. In fact, I’m Jennifer Bouchard. But you can call me Jenny.”
He looked sad. So, so sad, but anxious too. Anxious like his whole purpose was to say something he had yet to say.
“You have to leave.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed. He looked hurt. I turned and found my way out of sight of that boy. Honestly, this party was about me. And I just got here, why should I leave? It’s not like I was going to be assassinated or anything.
December 31st, 1999, 4.10 p.m.
“You know the plan, then?” The boss asked. Danny nodded. He wasn’t yet thirty years old but he had already killed dozens.
The mood was solemn. The assassin wore a heavy leather jacket. Inside the jacket was a strap, pulled tight against his skin. And held by that strap was a silver, gleaming gun.
Unlike many assassins, Danny cared about his victims. He didn’t kill because he liked it, but because it was something he was good at. For most assassins, Hunters they liked to call themselves, killing was easy. Second nature, like walking. See a throat, slit it. But for Danny, killing was hard. See a throat, hesitate, close eyes, breathe, slit it.
Every face of every victim was one that he carried with him. Almost a weight in his chest making it harder and harder to breathe. He had killed 38. So many made it difficult to lift a gun, to raise a knife. But he would keep killing.
Maybe it was that he secretly hoped one day he would get caught. He would be killed, surely, once he confessed, he would confess, how many people he had killed. Murdered in cold blood.
That was the easy way out, he knew it. Danny was a coward. If any of the other Hunters knew what he thought, well, Danny knew what they would say.
And he would stop, if he could. He knew the consequences. They would blackmail him if he stepped out of line. The Hunters knew everything about his life. If he didn’t complete an assassination, they would report to the authorities.
Daniel was not to take a car, but go to the party on foot. His head was buzzing with alcohol, which was how he liked it. The knew the faces, the names. Jennifer and Alexander. He was working for a big company this time, Radinc. Another grudge, probably, or someone they needed “out of the way”. He guessed this one would be harder than the others. If Danny didn’t kill Jennifer, he would be killed.
May 3rd, 2018, 9:24 a.m.
Messages from Claire: say hi to mum for me (:
Messages from Carter: i will
Messages from Claire: u have to meet someone when u get back
Messages from Carter: who
Messages from Claire: luv u ugly duckling <3
Messages from Carter: WHO?!?!
The facility was white. He noticed that much. The walls were white, the floor was that white tile with the weird brown speckles. The LED lights gave everything a blue tint. It made his skin look vaguely sick.
He was lead to a room. There was a single table. And on it rested two pills, one green and one red. He expected to see a large machine, but no. Carter closed his eyes. He picked up what he knew to be the green pill. It dissolved on his tongue, bitter and chalky. He felt. . .nothing. No rushing wind, not even the slightest prick on his arms where goosebumps rose.
December 31, 1999, 12:09 p.m.
He opened his eyes hesitantly. He stood on a busy street corner outside of a small cafe. Across the street was a shop he recognized: Jason’s Shoes and Apparel.
Wind bit at Carter’s cheeks as cars whizzed by. Now that he was here, Carter was even more nervous than he had been this morning. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket but then realized that the iphone 5 hadn’t been invented yet. He slid it back in his pocket before heading to an address he had memorized years ago.
December 31, 1999, 11:53 p.m.
I sipped my drink in a corner. Angela, one of my friends from the lab, was chatting in my ear but I only nodded absentmindedly. My thoughts were home finishing Moby Dick, again. But instead I was here, at a party I didn’t want to be at with people I wouldn’t have been friends with if I had spent less time studying as a child.
While Angela talked, I thought about the things I would have to do when I got home at about one o’clock tomorrow morning. Take out the trash, put Claire and Carter to bed, take a shower. . .
A slow song came on. This is my chance. “Excuse me Anj, I have to go find Alex,”
She raised her eyebrows at me and smiled mischievously.
I found my husband talking football to James, my boss. I grabbed Alex’s hand and pulled him onto the dance floor. My head hummed, my thoughts blurred. Alex held me tight to his chest as we swayed and spun, making my brain matter slosh around. I watched the door open and a man step in. He stood in the doorway for a split-second before disappearing to the edge of the room. Alex turned so that my back was to the man. For some reason, knowing that he was behind me instead of in front of me made me nervous.
I saw Angela waving from the edge of the crowd that wasn’t dancing. I gave her a small smile and rested my head on Alex’s shoulder.
December 31, 1999, 11:57 p.m.
Danny stepped into the club and knew something was wrong almost immediately. The air was just a little bit off. The song was slow and romantic, but only a few couples dancing on the floor. He caught the eyes of a pretty young woman. The woman, Jennifer Bouchard.
She was dancing with a man Danny assumed was her husband. They were too young to die, Danny thought, but regretted it almost instantly. The more he thought about his victims, the less he wanted to kill them.
He made his way to the bar. He wasn’t drunk, not yet. Danny didn’t want to be sober for this, if he was, he would regret it more.
The gun, stiff and hard and cold, refused to let him forget it was there. It shifted on his bare skin with every step, every breath.
It was nearing midnight, Danny knew. He checked his watch. 11:58. Now or never. He wanted to start off the next century with a clean slate. Not that his slate would ever be clean, of course. There would always be more that he would try to scrub away.
He pulled out his gun, already loaded. Safety off. Everyone was so absorbed with their own silly, stupid lives to notice what he was doing until it was too late.
The handle of the gun was solid in his hand. He raised his arm and held it steady. He squeezed the trigger. He heard the shot ring through the room, suddenly very small. He felt the kickback in his shoulder and knew it was time to run.
Danny knew he had hit his target without having to look back.
The shock registered in the crowd. Danny ran.
Outside, the air seemed colder. Danny ran down Main Street, and turned onto Parkway. He could hear the sirens. A sharp, explosive sound ricocheted through Miami. A gunshot. He knew there was going to be another Hunter there, another killer. He was to take out the husband. Who knew what Jennifer had told him? Tomorrow there would be throats slit, other scientist. Jennifer’s coworkers, assistants, and staff. But his job was done.
Danny turned onto another street and flew. His too-long hair blew out behind him. He left all of his guilt behind for a few short hours. He threw his weapon into a dumpster as he passed it, glad to be rid of that weight. That gun had killed so many.
December 31st, 1999, 10:51 p.m.
Carter stepped into the club. Cool Miami night air washed over his neck before the door closed. He would find his mom and dad and then tell them to leave. They had to go. He took a single step forward and bumped into a woman.
“I’m very sorry ma’am,” Carter said. She had spilled a bit of her drink on his shirt. He had bought a suit for the occasion. “Do you know if Jennifer Bouchard is here yet?”
Carter registered the woman’s face, she was beautiful. Blond hair swept back, and a shimmery black dress that brushed her knees.
“Yes, she’s here. In fact, I’m Jennifer Bouchard. But you can call me Jenny,”
She didn’t recognize him, Carter realized. His face fell, his hope sagged.
“You have to leave.”
She tried to suppress a small laugh. She shook her head like Claire did when she laughed. She looked just like Claire. Just like Carter too.
She didn’t believe him. She walked away. Carter wanted to call after her, to tell her who he was. Surely she would believe him then.
He walked up to the bar. He wasn’t old enough to drink, but they didn’t know that. He surely looked old enough and he had had alcohol before. A man walked up next to him and ordered his own drink. “You old enough to be drinkin’ this?” The man took a swig from his glass and winked at Carter. “Ah, don’t worry. I won’t tell. Alex Bouchard,” The man—Carter’s dad—held out his hand.
Carter shook it. The bartender set Carter’s drink in front of him.
“Thanks,” Carter muttered and downed half the glass. His throat burned.
December 31st, 1999, 11:59 p.m.
I dropped as soon as I heard the shot. It was instinct, really. The lights seemed impossibly brighter and every sound that I had blocked out while dancing was now swinging back in full force.
Alex’s had his arms under my back before I hit the floor, cradling me.
Then the pain hit. It was like burning and throbbing and stabbing all wrapped up in a neat little bundle. Warm blood seeped down my neck and pooled on the floor.
My emotions shut off. The science part of my mind stepped in. Make a plan, Jennifer.
“Alex,” I gasped, “Tell Claire and Carter I love them.”
I was sinking. Falling through the floor. This wasn’t right. I felt like I was slipping into a warm bath. But. . .but I don’t want to take a bath right now. I want to go home and tuck my kids into bed and finish the last chapter of Moby Dick.
Reality sweeps in as I realize I will never do those things again. As I realize I’m dying.
January 1st, 2000, 6:58 a.m.
Danny woke as soon as sun entered his room. He groaned and rolled over, hoping for more sleep. His small studio apartment filled with the light of early morning sun. His head ached, even more as soon as the guilt of yet another assassination set in.
Danny pulled on a pair of old jeans and a smelly t-shirt. He swallowed a mouthful of water and two painkillers.
Outside, the air was too warm for winter. Danny, having grown up in New Hampshire, longed for snow and frost. His stomach growled but he ignored it. He would get his paycheck later today, then he could eat.
The air was a typical early-fall brisk and fresh wind mused Danny’s hair.
He wandered aimlessly and found himself in a white-picket-fence neighborhood. That was what he called this part of Miami, where rows of perfect houses with neat gardens lined the streets.
But mid-way down the street, there was a hill of charred rubble and a tangle of wires. Danny felt it, somewhere far below the surface, that this was no coincidence. That the night when a famous scientist and her husband were assassinated, a telephone pole would fall on a house.
Danny walked, slower than before to the destruction. Sure enough, the mailbox bore the name Bouchard. He felt anger surge within him. Yesterday, Danny learned that Jennifer and her husband had a daughter and a young son. They would have nothing left of their parents. Danny felt a dam building up inside him, ready to burst from the pressure behind it.
December 31st, 1999, 11:58 p.m.
Carter watched the man, not much older than him, slowly pull out a gun.
Carter watched the man raise and aim the gun with a steady arm.
Carter watched the man squeeze the trigger.
Carter watched his mother fall.
Carter watched the man run.
Carter tried to lunge at the man, but his legs wouldn’t cooperate. COWARD, Carter wanted to scream as the door swung shut, unnoticed by the shocked crowd. He wanted to chase him and pound him into a thousand pieces. But Carter couldn’t move, his feet were frozen. He watched the blood drain out of his mother.
There’s nothing left for me here, Carter thought. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the red pill. He closed his eyes. With the last of his drink, Carter downed the pill.
When he opened his eyes, he was back in the white room.
May 3rd, 2018, 9:24 a.m.
He saw comfort in the white walls, white ceiling and white floor tiles with weird speckles. Compared to the loud and the dark of the club, the silent white room sheltered him from his emotions. He wore the same plaid shirt and light jeans that he had left in the dressing room of Jason’s Shoes and Apparel.
Carter noticed something that shouldn’t have been out of place. Property of Radinc was printed on the table as well as the door. Carter recalled a snipet of conversation he’d overheard, “. . .and a representative from Radinc was saying that they had started a new project. Made a big deal of it too. . .” Carter had learned very little while he was in 1999 but he had learned that there was a big rival company called Radinc. Carter had also learned that Radinc and Intercorp had been racing to finish a super-classified project. Carter didn’t know what to make of that.
Messages from Claire: 3147 Oceanside Boulevard
Messages from Carter: what
Messages from Claire: just go
Messages from Carter: why
Messages from Claire: listen to me for once
Messages from Carter: fine
Oceanside Boulevard, despite its name, was a street of shabby apartments with no ocean in view. 3147 in particular looked neglected and empty.
Carter knocked on the door. A man opened it. A man with nearly-black hair flecked with silver at the temples. “Come in, come in,” He said, voice gruff.
Carter studied the studio. Claire was seated at a table in the middle of the room, swirling cream and coffee in a chipped mug. A bed was pushed into one corner and clothes strewn over the floor. Plates and cups were piled on the small counter. Trash spilled out of the receptacle and two dirty windows flooded the room with light.
“Daniel,” the man held out his hand.
May 3rd, 2018, 9:38 a.m.
A knock at the door. Danny wiped his damp palms on his pants. A pretty blond young woman stood outside. Danny felt as though his legs had been swept out from underneath him.
“Um, hi. I’m Claire,” She looked exactly like her mother. “Can I um, come in?”
“Of course,” Danny stepped to the side and Claire strode in. “I’m Da-”
“Yes, I know who you are,” She snapped. Her demeanor had shifted, now she was bitter and cold. She did, Danny had to admit, deserve to treat him this way. He was the reason her mother was dead. Claire pulled out a chair.
“Would you like some coffee?” Danny asked
She nodded, keeping her eyes down. Danny was glad she didn’t want to look at him. Her blue eyes would surely crush him.
Danny snagged a clean mug off the counter and filled it with lukewarm coffee. He shoved the mug in the microwave. “Cream?”
Claire nodded again. Danny set the dark coffee in front of her and the little container of cream.
Again, someone knocked at the door.
Carter. Danny knew instantly.
“Come in, come in,”
Carter closed the door behind him.
Danny held out his hand. “Daniel,”

Maybe make it more clear when the perspectives change? It was slightly confusing to me…Other than that it was a really good read and I can't wait to find out what happens next! Also, I would explain how the lottery came to be as well. <3

Thank you so much. On the original doc (the link didn't work) I changed the fonts whenever the perspective changed. each character had their own font

Oh ok, that's a great Idea!!