Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    The Manifest
    The Manifest
    The Manifest
    Ebook333 pages5 hours

    The Manifest

    By P.J. Lowry

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    Years after a mysterious plane crash, a woman feared dead is spotted at an anti-war rally. A private investigator named Edgar Willis is hired onto the case, however, he must abandon his virtues after learning of the real destiny of the airplane. As Edgar realizes a conspiracy in the crash, life and the world as he knows it takes an unexpected turn.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherP.J. Lowry
    Release dateMay 25, 2011
    ISBN9781458132697
    The Manifest
    Author

    P.J. Lowry

    Born in Hamilton, Ontario on October 28th 1975, P.J. Lowry has been creating fiction, non-fiction and poetry for over twenty years. P.J. graduated from Memorial University of Newfoundland in 2002 with a Bachelor Of Arts, majoring with the department of English language and literature.After traveling abroad P.J. returned home, settled down, and started composing novels and collections of poetry for formal publication. He currently resides in his hometown and is working on his next novel.Gift Shop: If you like PJ's work, wear it too!https://shop.spreadshirt.com/pjlowryshop/

    Read more from P.J. Lowry

    Related to The Manifest

    Related ebooks

    Mystery For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • Article

      Hilton ALS

      Jun 15, 2018

      Hilton ALS
      29 min read

    • Article

      My Queer Southern Lit

      Nov 28, 2018

      My Queer Southern Lit
      6 min read

    • Article

      Metta For My Abuser

      Jun 7, 2022

      Metta For My Abuser
      10 min read

    • Article

      Love & miracles

      Aug 14, 2022

      Delia Ephron, the screen-writer, novelist and wit, was in her apartment in Greenwich Village in New York City when I phoned. She was disappointed we weren’t doing the interview via video. “That’s too bad. I look fabulous.” She is appearing, virtually

      7 min read

    • Article

      Bearing Witness

      May 30, 2021

      Lauren Hough is unicorn-level rare: someone who strode on to Twitter cracking witty and street-wise, a sharp-tongued yet strikingly kind presence. She wrote a cracking essay that went, well, pandemic-level viral, was snapped up for a book deal, and h

      4 min read

    • Article

      The Art of Death

      Jun 13, 2017

      MORE and more of us are writing our own obituaries. Some of us meticulous planners write a few paragraphs that we hope will be printed in our local newspaper or on our funeral programs after we die. However, most of us are creating detailed digital n

      12 min read

    • Article

      The Art of Death

      Jun 14, 2017

      MORE and more of us are writing our own obituaries. Some of us meticulous planners write a few paragraphs that we hope will be printed in our local newspaper or on our funeral programs after we die. However, most of us are creating detailed digital n

      12 min read

    • Article

      This Is Who I Am

      Nov 10, 2023

      This Is Who I Am
      11 min read

    • Article

      The MEN we LOVED and LOST

      Oct 30, 2019

      The MEN we LOVED and LOST
      8 min read

    • Article

      A Poetics Of resilience

      Jun 10, 2020

      A Poetics Of resilience
      13 min read

    • Article

      The Language of LOVE

      Aug 11, 2020

      The Language of LOVE
      5 min read

    • Article

      Ask Dr Louise

      Apr 5, 2024

      Q The war in Gaza may be a long way away but it has affected my life in a very real way because my best friend and I find ourselves on opposite sides of this awful war. I’m horrified by what the Israelis are doing to the Palestinian people in Gaza, b

      3 min read

    • Article

      Books

      Aug 20, 2021

      ‘Brood’ is such a multi-layered word: thinking deeply about something, a group of young animals, something to do with longed-for motherhood… and this beautiful, spare book is about all of those, and more. The protagonist (she’s never named) and her h

      4 min read

    • Article

      The Unauthorised Version

      Mar 28, 2021

      The Unauthorised Version
      13 min read

    • Article

      For Crying Out Loud

      Nov 10, 2020

      For Crying Out Loud
      7 min read

    • Article

      Cup Of Tea

      Dec 28, 2016

      What inspired you to write a novel set in World War II? I really made this decision before even writing my first novel Gallipoli Street which is set during World War I. It was an early goal of mine to write a trilogy of war stories in order to encaps

      5 min read

    • Article

      The Truth

      Sep 16, 2019

      The Truth
      10 min read

    • Article

      This is The End

      Feb 21, 2020

      This is The End
      6 min read

    • Article

      The Left Abandoned Me

      Oct 12, 2023

      The Left Abandoned Me
      6 min read

    • Article

      Required Reading

      Aug 17, 2017

      GABRIELLA M. GEISINGER is a New Yorker now living in London. Her freelance writing focuses on arts & culture, feminism, and human rights. DEALING WITH A PARENT who develops dementia or Alzheimer’s is nothing new to the universe, and, yet, one of the

      6 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for The Manifest

    0 ratings

    0 ratings0 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

      Book preview

      The Manifest - P.J. Lowry

      A novel written by P.J. Lowry

      THE MANIFEST

      Distributed on Smashwords

      Copyright 2010, P.J. Lowry

      License Note:

      Thank you for buying this book. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes.

      If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to purchase their own copy online where they can also discover other works by this author.

      Thank you for your support.

      The masses started to gather around the chosen scene close to an hour before the designated time. They were dressed warmly that night because the weatherman was calling for rain, but the patrons still came in droves holding candles they were eager to light up for their cause. The folk attending were of all ages, wearing their beliefs on their sleeves like a badge, unwilling to conceal a thing. Each person felt secure to do so, as they took comfort in the company of others who were all there for the same reason: the vigil to honor their fallen kin.

      The vigil was an exercise of their freedom, something that many ordinary citizens often took for granted. The people who were gathering represented the family of those who made the ultimate sacrifice for their way of life. The men and women had gathered for the right to cry, scream, and voice any dissent they might have for anyone they felt was to blame. When this many people showed up, the press wasn’t too far behind but they kept their distance and never got in anyone’s faces. It was a rare moment as the guys behind the camera were, to a minimum, slightly respectful.

      At first this vigil was something Jessica did out of respect for the ones she loved and lost. To her, the vigil represented a duty she felt obligated to do every time she was called upon. After attending so many of them, they had started to become a little trivial to her. The honor and significance of the event was dwindling with each experience, as many of the vigils were often booked too close together and a lot of the patrons were frustrated as their cause wasn’t causing any positive change with the politicians who didn’t seem to give lick about them or their fallen brethren.

      Yet Jessica was still there anyway, defiant even to her own feelings and ready to light up. To others is was just one candle, but to her it was a significant boycott of the war that at this point disgusted her. Her ongoing petition for their government to end hostilities and follow the advice of John: give peace a chance. A short time ago Jessica started to view such events as a child would a household chore. Like doing the dishes, cleaning your room or raking leaves in the backyard, it slowly became more of an unwanted assignment than an event to look forward to. Something you know that had to be done despite the fact that you didn’t want to do it. As a result, she had started to pick and choose which events to attend and didn’t show up as often as she used to.

      There were even times when Jessica wanted to completely stop attending, but she’d resume again after a short break. Deep inside she knew there never was a choice; fate had made that decision for her a long, long time ago. Jessica had lost so much, and her aunt as well as her expensive therapist believed that going to these vigils would help her recover from the trauma. They assumed, and even hoped a little bit, that being close to others who knew how she felt would be almost like group therapy. Jessica was surrounded by many people who like herself had lost a loved one to the war. Mothers, fathers, wives, sisters and brothers were there, holding their candles and having a moment to grieve and think about what their loved ones died for. Was it really to disarm a militant nation of nasty weapons? Was it for freedom? Or was it for the no-bid billion dollar corporate contracts that fat cat contributors were carelessly given like peanuts to very hungry elephants?

      Regardless for what reasons each protester clung to, their tears were real as was their pain as they used the event to vent those feelings. Jessica didn't have a son, or a husband, for that matter but she had a family had that been shattered because of the events of the last-half decade. The ongoing war on a concept had broken a lot of families and left a gaping hole in their lives. This was true, for all wars do that and this campaign against terrorism was no exception. Regardless of the politics, everyone seemed to have a beef with the war and how it was being handled, or mishandled in some people’s opinion. She didn’t know when it happened, but at some point the vigils had transformed from moments of pain and became her outlet to protest for an end to hostilities. She no longer wanted revenge for what happened to the people she loved, she just wanted it all to end.

      And yet Jessica kept attending even though it felt like no one seemed to care whether or not she was there. This caused her to always question why she was truly there in the first place. Was it to be rebellious to the constant denials of her father or to show respect for the memory of her mother and brother? She didn't know for sure, but it just seemed like the right thing to do despite her own inner struggle. She knew that one day she would have to accept what happened, let it go, and move on. Like one of her friends always liked to jokingly tell her: build a bridge and get over it. Good advice when you got down to it, but that didn’t change how difficult it was for her to actually apply it. You could still see a ton of old farts harping about Pearl Harbor every December, and they had every right to be there, so Jessica had a hard time believing anyone was going to get over anything for quite some time. She herself had a hard time letting go of as well, despite the endless hours talking to trained professionals about it. She almost thought that shrinks felt like the last five years was a lottery win for them, as the amount of clients must have tripled at least. Shameful to think, but it was clearly true.

      Thank you all for coming, the organizer said as she started to share her thoughts on the war and how they felt about the government for waging it. Jessica could see her talking, but never really paid attention to what was being said. If you've been to one vigil, she thought to herself, you've pretty much been to them all. Jessica lit her candle with everyone else and stood there in silence, looking into the flame as if the answers to all her questions were burning deep inside it. She kept looking down, unable to look all those mothers and wives in the face and share in their grief and sorrow. She had lost someone as well, but compared to them she sometimes felt like her loss wasn't as significant. She felt like a pot smoker in a room full of crack or cocaine addicts, her issues being immaterial compared to what everyone else was feeling. She had lost so much herself, but could only imagine what it would be like to lose a life mate, her own children… something she herself hoped that she would never have to experience in her lifetime. She wasn’t married; she was only a young, inexperienced twenty-three year old woman who hadn’t lived long enough to know how these people truly felt. It always made her feel out of place; most of the women at the vigil were at least ten to twenty years older.

      Everything had started for Jessica with the death of her mother. She was only eighteen when this had happened, but for many reasons would be the one day she'd never forget. She had been devastated, and took the loss much harder than her father and brother ever had. Her father, in particular, was in complete denial and was never around much to help. After the initial shock had worn off, he bunkered himself into his den and drowned himself in his work and alcohol. He couldn't look anyone in the eyes and moved all of his work from the offices to his den at home, living a very sheltered life there for the first three years.

      It was Jessica’s brother, who was usually a reasonable guy, that had decided to handle things more directly. He’d marched off to the nearest recruiting station and immediately volunteered for the military. It was a move that had stunned everyone, as he was usually a very passive and diplomatic person. It had turned out his anger and eagerness to hand the enemy their asses had made him quite the soldier. Jessica had received letters from him every month, but each letter depressed her. It was nice to know he was all right, but letter by letter the brother she knew was going away and being replaced by a very efficient killing machine. His letters had detailed how happy to be handing out death to people he thought had deserved it, and it was disturbing on many levels for her. About two years after her bother have shipped out, her father got the call no family ever wants to receive. Jessica was expecting the cliché of a uniformed soldier delivering a letter like you see in the movies, but this time out it was a call on the phone because they had to move quick before names were released on network television. Her brother had died in an ambush, but had gone down taking as many as he could with him. Her father was very proud of what he had done, which made her protest of the war so much harder to tolerate. In his eyes, she was disgracing not only the memory of her mother but the hard work of her brother to protect their freedom. She didn't really understand the truth of that statement; she couldn't approve of all this death when there had been too much bloodshed to begin with.

      Jessica had good reason to be there as the tragedy of the last five years had claimed half her family and scarred her for life. Thinking of her mom was too much for her to handle; she could feel a tear running down her cheek. She always tried not to be that person, but there were times when she just couldn’t help it. Jessica wished someone would attend these events with her, but her aunt had kids and a life of her own to deal with. Dad was too deep into his work and often was too drunk to even acknowledge her existence, let alone hang out with her long enough to share a moment. She was so young and so detached, yet longing for someone to be there and share this with her. Being with all these people made sense to her, but it never seemed to fill the void that was present within her. Sometimes she would stare into the flame of her candle for a while, hoping it would blind her so she wouldn't have to face anyone else for the rest of her life. It never seemed to work.

      As usual, Jessica wasn't listening to anyone and hoped that this was going to be a brief vigil as she wanted to go home and try to get a decent rest before going back to work tomorrow. She didn’t mean to be so insensitive about it, but going here so many times seemed to have desensitized her from the whole belief of mourning to protest. She felt bad for not caring as much as she should anymore, but overexposure seemed to have drained what confidence she had left in the event.

      Jessica raised her head to see who was speaking now and out of the corner of her eye she could have sworn she saw someone familiar. She put her head down and tried to act like she saw nothing but curiosity forced her to look again. The woman she was looking at was on the other side of the field and yet there was no mistaking that face: it was her mother’s.

      Jessica couldn't believe her eyes as her hands let go of her candle; it hit the ground and almost burned her foot. She stomped the flame out and looked back up, but the woman that had so resembled her mother was gone. She scrambled to the other side and ran over to the area where she had spotted her.

      She grabbed the nearest woman to her. What happened to a woman that was standing here just a moment ago? she asked, rudely and without patience.

      I don't know. I'm not paying that much attention to anyone else here. the women answered, slightly annoyed, Just leave me alone.

      Jessica let the woman go and started to file through the crowd. She didn't see anyone moving around, but once she’d reached the back of the crowd she saw a woman in a black trench coat entering a small black car that immediately drove away. Knowing the grounds well, she quickly darted across the field and moving as quickly as she could and almost managed to cut the car off as it arrived at the main gate of the park. She couldn’t beat the car to the gate, but as she got to the fence she was able to look into the passenger side and see the woman's face again.

      There was no doubt this time - it was the same woman she had lost five years ago. She had aged a bit and had a few more wrinkles, but it was her mother. The woman noticed that she was at the gate and turned away from her as the car raced into the main road. She stood there, holding the bars of the gate as though she was a prisoner. She felt trapped and unable to free herself. Her mother was still alive!

      There were so many questions floating around her head at that moment, she didn’t know where to start. Was she there to see her, or was this meeting just a horrible coincidence? She didn't know, but one thing seemed clearer than ever: things were not as they seemed. She stood there at the gate as the sky started to cry with her, raining down on everyone's parade. She didn't move as her feelings about what happened over the last five years started were washed away with her tears. She didn't know what or who to believe anymore; seeing her mother in that car had changed everything. She didn't know who to tell first. Did anyone else know, or was this something only her mother knew and kept from everyone else?

      After standing there at the gate for what seemed like hours, she determined there was only one person she should talk to about this right now. She walked back to her car and stepped inside. She paused there for a moment, wondering if this was really the right course of action to take.

      She pulled out of the park and drove as fast as she could to her childhood home. She hadn't lived there in years, as the relationship with her father was pretty much nonexistent. Using her key to open the front door, she called out for her father but received no answer. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out where he was. She tore off her coat and walked into his den, and sure enough there he was. He was face down into a pile of paper, still working late into the night. He didn't even notice that someone was there until Jessica slapped a hard hand on the desk. The desk shook and her father, who’d bolted up, seemed a tad surprised.

      What the... her father paused for a moment when he realized who it was, What are you doing here?

      What am I doing here? she repeated. She was eager to rip right into him, but instead she paused for a moment before asking the one question she had come there to ask of him. How long have you known?

      Known what? her father asked, taken aback by her aggression.

      About Mom! she snapped back, Were you ever going to tell me?

      Tell you what? He seemed confused.

      That she's still alive! Jessica said, kicking the side of her father's desk in obvious frustration.

      Her father’s face turned to stone. Jessica, this isn't funny.

      I saw her, Jessica replied, trying to remember exactly what had happened, She was at the vigil tonight.

      That's not possible! her father spat back.

      Why not? she asked. How is this so inconceivable?

      Because she's dead! he yelled at her.

      She didn't look that dead to me tonight, Jessica said, showing no signs of wanting to let this matter go.

      Look, he started as he tried to approach her calmly, perhaps it was just someone who just looked like your mom; I mean there are people out there who just have that kind of resemblance. I think the kids on the net call them doppelgangers. Maybe you saw someone you thought looked like her and concluded it was her because that’s what you wanted to see. The mind can play tricks sometimes hun…

      Jessica grabbed a glass from her father's desk and threw it against the wall. It shattered into a million pieces, again shocking her father.

      I'm not making this up! she roared at him, Mom’s alive!

      Her father, stunned by her outburst, really wasn't ready to handle something like that. Instead of reaching out to her to try and calm the wild woman down, her father backed away into another room. She could hear the lock on his door click, signaling the end to their short yet disturbing conversation. It was obvious that her father didn't want to deal with this; the mere suggestion scared him. Chances were that her actions were too much for him to handle, but Jessica couldn’t help how she felt any more than he could. She couldn’t read her father at all at this point. She kept asking herself whether or not this was an act. Regardless of whether he knew or not, he wasn't going to lift a finger to help her find the truth about her mother. She was going to have to do this herself. Jessica picked up her coat and slowly walked to the door of her father’s den. As she stepped left his sight, Jessica knew that there must be someone out there that could help her. She didn't know where to find that help. She'd have to try to find someone in the morning, after she had a chance to sleep on it. Jessica left the key on a table by the main door and quietly left the house. She would never come home again.

      It always started early in the morning when the alarm went off beside his bed, and habitually ended when he parked in his usual spot right outside the building where he worked. As always, he would resist that urge to hit the snooze for a fifth time and begrudgingly hit the showers. Then he’d fight the craving to get off the highway several times, to avoid driving himself to work. Each exit closer was a greater struggle, but he carried on. Now, parked before the building where he made his living, the inner conflict returned; he was fully aware of what he had to do. Deep down inside he wanted to go back home, veg on the couch with Meredith and make fun of her soaps while she tried to watch them, munching loudly on cheesy puffs. Yet today that was not an option, and he knew it. Not when Tuck had a few new clients coming in to plead their case and barter them down to a good price for their services.

      Being a private investigator wasn’t the most glamorous job these days, but he knew it paid the bills. And no one in his work place was better at squeezing a client for every penny they could get, so it was essential that he be present for these meetings. Even though Edgar Willis was very good at what he did, that didn't mean he always enjoyed his work. He was just like everyone else: one miracle lottery ticket away from retirement, and this mundane job was the fall back plan. Things could always been worse, he thought to himself. At least he still wasn’t on the force. If he were, then he would definitely be late and likely to get another rip from the staff sergeant. That was one thing he didn’t miss since leaving the force; those early morning rants from that fat, donut-munching bastards that hadn’t seen the street in years. He often wanted to punch those ignorant sergeants in the nose, which instigated his desire to make detective as quickly as he possibly could, but that only led to more political bullshit rather than less, and that’s what caused him to eventually burn out and quit.

      Deep down Edgar liked the force and even missed it sometimes, but then he’s remember all the politics and ass kissing and those feelings would fade. He was envious of his Dad and the times he had served the people. The bullshit wasn't as obvious, and it made ignorance truly worthy of being considered blissful. Today that bullshit was in your face too much to be ignored, as party lines were clearly drawn in the sand. People were being forced to pick sides, even though black and white never really worked that well in a high definition world. Working privately gave him the freedom he’d never had on the force. In Washington D.C., the capital of all things political, it was easy for a PI to flourish and make a good penny. There were always politicians, lobbyists and other layers of scum in the city that wanted him to do their dirty work. While he had the power to dictate what did or did not qualify as a good job, the money made some of the jobs easier to tolerate.

      Thinking of those bills and all the alimony he still had to keep shelling out was more than enough to make Edgar think better of his potential day off and get out of the car. He was only a robust thirty-eight, but still managed to give a deep huff as he heaved himself out of the car. Being behind the desk had made him a little lazy but it was what he did now. He had his own people to do the grunt work now that he and his partner were in charge of operations. That didn’t mean he wasn’t willing to do a little grunt work, but he got to pick which he felt like doing and delegate whatever bull he wanted to avoid.

      It was sunny outside and the day was looking to be a scorcher, so Edgar showed up for work wearing only a casual dress shirt and some beige colored trousers. He had a jacket but carried in with him as it was too hot to wear. He had no intention of going into the field today and would be content to rest in the cool confines of his air-conditioned office. Today was going to be a typical Monday: talk to a few potential clients, listen to them and their lame stories, and then decide if any of them were capable of financing the operations they were demanding out of them. Only those close to him knew that he had an uncanny ability to tell which ones were going to be able to pay up and which ones were going make the effort to stiff them. This led to good business deals as Edgar’s people never questioned his instincts, because they all liked having a payday every now and then. His gut was the deal breaker when it came to any business transaction, and he learned a long time ago to never question his gut. If he wasn't feeling right about any job, it just didn't happen. Period.

      As he was stepping into the elevator, Edgar watched a young man darting to get inside the doors before they closed. Always in the mood to collect a little good karma this early in the week, Edgar held the elevator door open for the young man.

      Thank you, the young man huffed, stumbling into the elevator.

      What floor are you looking for, son? Edgar inquired.

      Third, please. the young man gasped, trying to catch his breath.

      Same floor as me, Edgar thought to himself as he hit the button, pretending it wasn't already pushed. Wondering what the young man was there for, Edgar remained calm and kept watching as the young man exited the elevator first. Keeping a distance, he strolled a few steps behind him while watching the young man walk through the door to his place of business. There wasn’t a front desk receptionist, but rather a handful of workers who did all that kind of work collectively. They all used to be cops that were used to doing their own paperwork, and he and Tuck preferred to keep it that way. Not having an official receptionist saved them a bundle on payroll, which meant more for them to split. Yet not having someone at the door also meant people could walk in at any time, welcome or not. Something they’d likely have to address in the future, Edgar thought, as he watched the young man walk into the large room and stop before the small clutter of desks

      I'm looking for an Edgar Willis. he asked out loud.

      Present, Edgar called from behind, swiping the brown envelope right out of the young man's hand. I assume this is for me?

      Yes, it is. The young man answered, as he wasn’t used to be people stepping up willing to accept their summons. You've been served.

      I know the drill, sport. Edgar said, Thanks for your efforts and have a good day.

      The young man was stunned for a moment, and then immediately vacated the office. Once inside his own office, Edgar

      Enjoying the preview?
      Page 1 of 1