This is the beginning of my 23rd book, which I have am sketching out now...
Copyright 2025 gwaynemiller.com
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Chapter One
The year 2027
Nothing there
“I love this beach!” seven-year-old Cassie Cabot said. “Mom
and Dad, can we come back here tomorrow?”
“Yes!” said her mother, Daniela Cabot.
“And every day until vacation’s over!” said her father, Jim
Cabot.
“Yay!”
It was the summer of 2027 and the Cabots, who lived in
Boston, had rented a house in Ipswich, Massachusetts, to celebrate good
fortune: Daniela, one of the world’s top video game designers, had just
completed her latest game; Jim, an expert in AI, had just joined the faculty of
MIT as an assistant professor; and Cassandra, who liked being called Cassie,
would start second grade at summer’s end after acing first.
Cassie packed the seashells she’d collected into her
backpack, her parents gathered their blanket and cooler, and they started
toward their car down the long, narrow, tree-covered path that was the only
land access to the beach.
“Dad, can you tell me again how this peninsula got its
name?” Cassie said. She was precocious, but she never flaunted her
intelligence.
“You never tire of that story, do you,” Daniela said.
“Nope,” her daughter said. “Just like you never tire of
telling the story about how you and Dad met.” That was during a PAX East
conference in Boston, when Daniela, early in her career, introduced her first
game, The Deep Blue Sea Calls Your Name. After her presentation, Jim, a
gamer since childhood, asked her to join him for a drink. Soon, they were
dating. They married in a small ceremony in the garden of Jim’s home on Beacon
Hill.
“Cabot’s Neck was named by one of my ancestors, Joseph
Cabot, son of John Cabot, who came to America from England in 1700,” Jim said.
“Joseph was born in Salem and he became wealthy enough to buy this land, which later
Cabots donated to Ipswich for public use.”
“But he made his
money in a bad way,” Cassie said.
“He did,” Jim said.
“In the rum and slave trades,” Daniela said.
“For which Cabots born later made reparations,” Cassie
said. “Tell me again: what are reparations?”
“Amends for terrible things done in the past,” Jim said.
“My family later apologized and paid a lot of money to descendants of slaves.
But money of course cannot undo the damage.”
“Your family was good,” Cassie said.
“Some members, anyway,” Jim said. “Now enough history.
Let’s gather our stuff and get out of here. Hotdogs for dinner and S’mores for
dessert.”
“Yay!” Cassie said. She ran ahead of her parents and
stopped by an old oak tree.
When Daniela and Jim reached her, she was rubbing her hand
along the tree trunk.
“How old do you think it is?” she said.
“It probably was here when Joseph Cabot bought this land,”
Jim said.
“Wow,” Cassie said. “That’s ancient.”
“That lower limb has a rope tied around it,” Daniela said.
It was a small, weathered strand that had been cut near the
knot.
“Probably was a rope swing,” Cassie said.
“Or an ancient gallows,” Jim joked. “Maybe they marched
witches in from Salem to hang them.”
“Not funny, Jim,” Daniela said.
“Sorry,” Jim said. “You know my sense of humor.”
“I think it’s cool,” Cassie said.
She laughed.
“It’s not,” Daniela said. “Stop laughing.”
Cassie did.
Jim collapsed to the ground, his hands clutching at his
neck.
Cassie laughed again.
Daniela was pissed.
“What the F, Jim?” she said. “Have you lost your mind?”
Now blood was frothing from his mouth.
This was no act.
“Oh my God, oh my God,” Daniela screamed.
She bent over him, and realized she couldn’t help him.
“We have to call 911,” she said.
“Is daddy going to be OK?” Cassie said, starting to cry.
“Yes, but we have to get help,” Daniela said.
She pulled Cassie away from her convulsing father. She
couldn’t have their daughter see him like this.
When they were a few steps away, their backs turned, she
called 911.
“An ambulance and police crew is on the way,” the
dispatcher said after she’d reported Jim’s distress.
Daniela and Cassie turned around.
Jim wasn’t there.
“Where’s Daddy?” Cassie said.
“He must have…” Daniela said.
She couldn’t finish. Her mind was reeling.
“Maybe he got better and he’s fooling us again,” Cassie
said.
“I hope so,” her mother said.
She called her husband’s name.
“Jim, joke’s over!” she shouted. “Ollie Ollie in come free!”
Nothing.
No Jim.
No rope.
No blood or signs of struggle on the ground.
The sound of sirens approached and medics and police officers tore down the path
