Saving Sheileccch

Here's the l8est post from Mike:

April,

Little sis. As I promised you, this is the third installment of my family’s night of excitement. When I left off yesterday I had just finished my manuscript for my novel, I had praised my muse, and I had smelled smoke, and my wife Deanna helped the children put on their boots and coats, while I called emergency. Carrying on from there:

The smoke alarm was still going off and making a lovely “BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE”
sound. You get the idea. There were 54 E’s just in this installment, compared to 68 yesterday. I am not sure, but I think the smoke alarm sound was only audible in our bedroom which could account for the lessened number of E’s. When we were in the children’s bedroom, I could clearly hear Deanna say to our daughter, “We’re going into our room.” And then our daughter said, “Why?” and Deanna responded with that classic motherly rejoinder “Just do as I say!” Then after that I heard the smoke alarm again. So, I thought the smoke alarm had a limited sound projection, or that my wife’s and my daughter’s voices are so loud and shrill, they can easily drown out a smoke alarm. In any case, the effect was less E’s.

Deanna was carrying the duvet from our daughter’s bed and our daughter was carrying her stuffed animal, while I carried my son into our bedroom. It was there I saw my wife Deanna suddenly drop the duvet and pick up 2 large books. Seeing this caused me to think, “If those books are more important to Deanna than having a duvet to cover our children and keep them warm outside, then is there something in the apartment more important to me than helping Deanna get the children all the way down the fire escape and to confirmed safety?” Maybe Weed and Carleen and Ned Tanner, or Lovey and Morrie? "No", I thought. They are in the other apartment building, and not the same one I live in. Then, the answer came to me as swift as a bolt of lightning (which by the way is not the reason why there was smoke in our apartment)--- Sheilagh Shaugnessy and her story. Yes, I suddenly remembered my manuscript, which I had just completed only a few minutes before all this happened.

So, I said to Deanna, “Get the kids out. I’ll be right back!” And Deanna said, “Michael---Where are you going?” And I said, “To get my manuscript! It’s in the attic!” Then Deanna said, “WHAT?!!! The place is filling up with smoke! Are you CRAZY?!!”

I had to pause a moment to contemplate that question. First I had to ask myself if I had done any backups of my manuscript. Of course I had. I had printed it out. So, even if the computer crashed, I still had a paper copy. Alas, both copies would be destroyed in an apartment fire. I could ask one of those computer smart people at Portrait Magazine where I work, if there is a way to make a copy someplace other than your home, but it was too late to think about doing that now. I would probably burn to death trying to figure out how to make a copy someplace else by myself.

With that possibility removed, the next question was whether or not I should go to the attic to get my manuscript. Looking at the wisps of smoke, they didn’t look very threatening, but Deanna did say that the place was filling up with smoke, so there was the possibility that with her keener vision, she could see smoke that I could not see. That told me it would be risky, but would it be worth risking my life to try to save Sheilaugh, in the event my wife’s eyesight was truly better than mine?

What happened then blew me away. It was as if I'd entered the conscious mind of someone else. A woman, whose life story has captivated me totally, as if it were my own. Sheilagh is just a young woman from England. She had to make a terrible decision too, which cost her dearly. She chose to leave her life in Devon, England to live with a brutal man and in brutal conditions in Bodner Saskatchewan. I felt the weight of her decision. I heard her voice, incredulous, vulnerable and lonely; looking for the one man in her life who wouldn’t disappoint her, who wouldn’t let her or her children down. She was looking for the man who had spent the last sixteen months chronicling her life; so that the whole world (or the people who read best-selling books anyway) could see a strong woman, capable of taking care of her children, and capable of handling everything that life had thrown at her, and capable of leaving her abusive husband to die from exposure in the snow. How could I let such a woman die in a blazing fire, if there was anything I could do to prevent it? Michael Patterson is not a man, so consumed by self-interest; he could ignore the pleas of Sheilagh Shaugnessy and her children.

Of course, about then, my daughter was whining about something and it broke my concentration. But it didn’t break my conviction. I said to Deanna, “I’ll go crazy if I don’t get it!!!” And get it I tried.

Now, I know your readers are probably sitting on the edge of their chairs in suspense. Did I get my manuscript? Did I burn to death? Will there be a happy and heart-warming Christmas moment at the end of my story of our excitement that evening? I will give your readers just a little hint to keep them going until my next installment: I am a Patterson.

Love,
Michael Patterson

OK, those of U who bet that Mike wd save the manuscript B4 his kids don't win, but the peeps who were betting he'd risk his life 2 save the MS can collect, I guess. But not real gambling, Paul, pls don't call the OPP in on my friends!

Apes