Linda S. Prather--Author/Paranormal Investigator

Superbowl Sunday - Super Kindle Ebook Deals for $1.00 or less

2012-02-04T14:57:00.000-08:00

$.99

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2012-02-03T07:49:00.000-08:00

Thanks to Google Alert - I didn't miss this one.

The Gifts, A Jacody Ives Mystery (Jacody Ives Mysteries) (Kindle Edition) tagged "action" 211 times | HEADLINE NEWS ONLINE | LATEST NEWS AND ARTICLES FROM ALL OVER THE WORLD | HEADLINE NEWS | CNN HEADLINES

Other Books by Linda S. Prather

Travel Around the World - And Never Leave Home

2012-01-31T17:09:00.000-08:00

For one who reads, there is no limit to the number of lives that may be lived, for fiction, biography, and history offer an inexhaustible number of lives in many parts of the world, in all periods of time.
Louis L'Amour

Valerie Maarten - Florida Author

The Nation's Daughter - Set in Florida

Visit Val's Amazon Page and travel with her characters through Florida, Georgia and New York

Donna Montgomery Fasano - Delaware Author

Merry-Go-Round - Sterling, Delaware

Visit Donna's Amazon Page and travel with her characters to Maryland, VA, Delaware, New Jersey - Delmarva Peninsula

Linda S. Prather - Kentucky Author

Bet you can't...FIND ME
From the horse farms of Kentucky to the seductive pull of the Louisiana Bayou

Visit Linda's Amazon Page and travel with her characters to West Virginia, Virginia and North Dakota

Libby Hellmann - Chicago Author

Doubleback - Arizona and Wisconsin

Visit Libby's Amazon Page and travel with her characters to Chicago, Michigan, Armenia, Soviet Georgia and Iran

Mel Comley - British Author who lives in France

Impeding Justice - Throughout London and France

Visit Mel's Amazon Page and travel with her characters through London and France and on a Caribbean Cruise or Florida

Tania Tirraoro - British Author living in Farnham

Sweet Seduction - Surrey, UK

Visit Tania's Amazon Page and travel with her characters through Surrey

Jim Bronyaur - Pennsylvania Author

The Devil's Weekend - Pennsylvania

Visit Jim's Amazon Page and travel with his characters through Pennsylvania

Lia Fairchild - California Author

Finding Lucy - From L.A. to Texas

Visit Lia's Amazon Page and travel with her characters through Northern California

Barbara Silkstone - Florida Author

Wendy and the Lost Boys - From the Caribbean to a goat farm in Georgia then to Nevis Island and Nevisland

Visit Barbara's Amazon Page and travel with her characters from Miami to London

OR YOU CAN - TRAVEL OUT OF THIS WORLD

Catrina Taylor - Pennsylvania Author

In her debut novel, Catrina takes us to another world to build a new empire

"Yea, though I walk through the Valley. . .Excerpt - Bet you can't...FIND ME

2012-01-29T20:23:00.000-08:00

PROLOGUE

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for You are with me…

But He wasn’t with her.

She leaned against the cold steel door, her eyes closed in prayer. “Father, why have you forsaken me? What sins have I committed that you would punish me this way?”

When you spread out your hands in prayer, I will hide my eyes from you; even if you offer many prayers, I will not listen. Your hands are full of blood.

“Fiank-o!” she screamed.

Her eyes flew open, and she spread her hands in front of her. Blood rimmed her manicured nails. Out of the corner of her vision, she saw the blood-soaked blouse plastered to her chest. So much blood for such a tiny body.

Ripping at her blouse, she mewed like a wounded animal. “Then take my eyes, so I no longer see the blood of my child on my hands. Take my ears, so I no longer hear the shrieks from below, the clanging of the chains.”

Silence met her cry. God was no longer listening. She sank to her knees and ripped at her hair, bordering on madness. How could they do this to her? Had she not served them well for more than ten years?

“You know what you must do, Aggie. I have seen the feux-folet. She is the child of Diablo, and she has cursed you.”

For a moment, rage blocked the pain squeezing her heart. “You!” Her eyes filled with hatred, fists clenched at her side. “You brought this upon us with your superstitions and your curses.”

“Mwen pòv zanj pèdi—you know I speak the truth. I was here when she was born without life, her body blue, her soul already beyond this world. Five years have come and gone. As she grows, so does the evil. They warned you this day would come.”

The old woman’s words washed over her like a river of ice, extinguishing the fire of her rage, leaving only a cold, still emptiness.

“I begged them, Mother. Begged for her life as her blood seeped through my fingers. I have served God, and I have served the spirits. But they have forsaken me.” She raised tortured eyes to beseech the old woman, her efforts met with stony silence and beady eyes filled with accusation. “I begged them!” Her voice tapered to a whimper. “She is only five. I have lost Catherine. Must I lose Mary also?”

The old woman knelt beside her. Taking her right hand, she pried open the fingers and closed them around the cold steel of the knife. “You can’t cure a mad dog, Aggie; you can only put it down. You disobeyed. You have been punished. Now pick up your cross, and carry it.”

The silence in the room was broken only by her whimpers; the old woman had left as quietly as she’d come. The knife lay heavy in her hand, just as the task before her lay heavy on her heart.

She rose and opened the door to the basement, ignoring the shrieks and clang of the chains. Her feet descended the steps slowly, the old woman’s words echoing inside her head: You can’t cure a mad dog, Aggie; you can only put it down.

Momma's Coming to Dinner

2012-01-28T08:05:00.000-08:00

Last week I asked our viewers on Got Books? to post their favorite foods and I would try to weave them into a short story. We had 22 entries and for the story I've brought back two of my favorite characters from Food to Die Smiling For--Sammi and Carrie. I hope you enjoy.

Momma’s Coming to Dinner

Flipping on the TV, I sorted my way through Netflix to find Lord of the Rings, grabbed my bowl of banana pudding and sank into the couch for a nice quiet evening of gluttony and pure entertainment. I should have known it was too good to last. The key in the lock was my first indication my quiet evening was over. Sammi breezed in, humming “Ain’t Love Grand” and carrying two bags of groceries.

“I thought you were going out with Mark?” I looked for a place to hide the banana pudding. Too late.

Sammi’s face screwed up and her mouth poked out in her little “shame on you” pout. “Carrie Thompson, tell me that is not all you’re having for dinner?”

“Of course not.” I couldn’t help the guilty grin. “I was gonna order a pizza, some three cheese enchilidas, and then have a piece of Chocolate Cheesecake and maybe some Apple and Blueberry crumble for dessert.”

Uh-oh. I’ve seen that look on Sammi’s face before.

“You will definitely not be eating any of that garbage.” She shifted the bags, gave me a gorgeous smile and continued. “Mark’s coming for dinner, and you can join us.”

Oh, goody, goody, goody. Instead of a nice peaceful night of good food and entertainment, I’d be stuffing my face with some healthy garbage like grilled salmon and couscous, with a side order of mashed potatoes and cauliflower. Or God forbid—Talapia with rice and beef or even worse Spaghetti Bolognese. And all the while sitting through The Big Bang Theory while Mark whispers sweet nothings. God hates me. He really does.

With one last wistful look at Viggo Mortensen, I paused my movie, stood up and took one of the bags of groceries and headed to the kitchen. “So what wonderful culinary dishes are you planning for the evening?”

“You’re going to love it. We’ve having Sushi with green beans in a dry coconut curry, and for dessert we’ll have blueberries and cream.”

Bleeyuk! Okay, I know that’s probably not a word, but it was the first thing that came to mind. Dropping the groceries on the counter I turned to give Sammi my best “you’ve got to be kidding me” look. Hands on hips I stared her down. “Sammi, how long have we been living together?”

Giving me a flash of those pearly whites she dropped her purse on the floor and put her bag on the counter. “Like forever.”

“Well, then you should know I’m not really a Sushi, green been curry kind of girl. I’m a chili, mac and cheese kind of girl.”

“Oh, poo,” Sammi pouted. “You serve the most delicious cuisine in the world every day, and yet you eat garbage.” She turned to give me a look I’ve never seen before. A cross between scared and elated. “Besides you need to lose some weight before the wedding.”

I could feel my mouth flop open, and did my best to wrap my tongue around something intelligent and spiffy to come back with. Instead I wound up stammering. “Wed…wed…wedding?”

Sammi bit her bottom lip and nodded. A single tear rolled down her face.

Okay, Carrie, this is where you do that high pitched girlie squeal, grab her hands and dance her around the room giggling and bouncing like an idiot. Problem was I just wasn’t the “squealing, giggling, bouncy” girlie type. I’ve never squealed in my life. But Sammi was my very best friend. Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly and grinned. I crossed the room, grabbed her hands and hopped up and down. “Squee! Squee!”

Sammi giggled and pulled me into a bear hug. “That’s the most pathetic squeal I’ve ever heard.” Pushing me away she looked into my eyes. “But I do appreciate the effort. So you’re happy for me?”

“Estatic. So, how long do I have to lose this weight, and how much do I have to lose?”

Sammi started unloading the groceries. “I was only kidding about the weight. We haven’t even set the date yet.”

“But I still have to eat Sushi?”

“And green beans in a dry coconut curry. So go back to Viggio and let me cook.”

“It’s Viggo!” I yelled out, returning to the couch and picking up my bowl of pudding. Funny thing was, it didn’t taste as good as it had before. I’d always known this day would come, and I loved Mark. I really did. Sighing I hit the play button and homed in on Viggo. What a hunk. Now if he asked me to marry him I could probably squeal like a girl.

The phone rang, and I turned up the volume shutting out the giggling and love talk from the kitchen. Bleeyuk!

“Oh, my God! Oh, my God!”

Uh-oh. The sounds of pans clanging lifted the corners of my mouth in a pleasant smile. A new Sammi. I’d seen happy Sammi, sad Sammi, and even on one occasion angry Sammi—but this was new. Frantic Sammi. I knew what was coming, so I wasn’t surprised when I heard the wail.

“Carrie!”

Of course, if I’d known what was coming I would have quietly slipped on my shoes and run like hell. Instead I flipped off the TV and walked toward the kitchen, an unsuspecting fly heading for the spider’s web. The look on Sammi’s face stopped me in my tracks. Not frantic—panicked. “What’s wrong?”

“Mark’s bringing his mother to dinner.”

“Smorgasboard Mary?” I backed out of the kitchen slowly. All I had to do was make it to the door. Screw the shoes.

Sammi caught me, grabbing my arms. “Carrie, you’ve got to help me. The apartment’s a mess. I’ll clean, you cook. Please?”

“Oh, hell no! The last time she inhaled three pounds of barbeque ribs and accused me of trying to kill her because she swallowed a bone.”

Sammi squeezed my arms, her eyes huge. “Please, Carrie. Please, please, please.”

Okay, maybe I could turn this around to my benefit. Have a little fun. “All right. But I get to cook what I want.”

“Anything you want. Just make sure there’s plenty of it.” Sammi gave me a quick hug and headed for the living room.

Opening the freezer I pulled out a pack of pork chops and threw them in the microwave to defrost. That should be nice and greasy.

An image of Mary licking barbeque sauce flickered in front of my eyes. She did love her meat.

Going to the pantry I pulled out potatoes and started peeling. A nice baked potato soup and salad as an opening course. I could probably live with the green beans. Hawaiian rolls would do nicely, and we still had the apple and blackberry crumble as well as a couple of pieces of chocolate cheesecake.

Yet it was missing something. Something special. Going back to the freezer I pulled out the corn on the cob. Perfect. After all if Sammi was going to marry Mark, she needed to realize she was also marrying Mary. Humming softly and grinning from ear to ear I pulled out pots and started cooking, imagining those huge teeth traveling up and down those ears of corn like a manual typewriter. Chew, chew, chew—ka-ching. Chew, chew, chew—ka-ching.

If you enjoyed this - join us on Got Books. We have a lot of fun.

LOOKING FOR A GREAT BOOK UNDER $5.00?

If you love The Mentalist - Check out - Bet you can't... FIND ME

2012-01-24T02:20:00.001-08:00

Author of the DI Lorne Simpkins Thrillers - Mel Comley says: "One of the best paranormal mysteries I've read."

“Imagine a killer who can kill at will from a distance. No gun, no weapon. Nothing more than a thought."

Catherine Mans has the ability to see and hear what others can’t. With the help of Homicide Sergeant Cody Allen, she’s turned that talent into a successful profession as a psychic consultant.

But Catherine’s past is coming back to haunt her. Someone is threatening the lives of everyone she loves.

Nine bodies have been discovered, and Catherine is the FBI’s prime suspect.

To prove her innocence, she must unravel the secrets of her past, and answer the challenge of a deranged psychic.

Bet you can’t…FIND ME!

"If you love the psychic suspense of Kay Hooper and the witty characters of Tammy Hoag, you'll love Find Me!"

PROLOGUE

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for You are with me…

But He wasn’t with her.

She leaned against the cold steel door, her eyes closed in prayer. “Father, why have you forsaken me? What sins have I committed that you would punish me this way?”

When you spread out your hands in prayer, I will hide my eyes from you; even if you offer many prayers, I will not listen. Your hands are full of blood.

“Fiank-o!” she screamed.

Her eyes flew open, and she spread her hands in front of her. Blood rimmed her manicured nails. Out of the corner of her vision, she saw the blood-soaked blouse plastered to her chest. So much blood for such a tiny body.

Ripping at her blouse, she mewed like a wounded animal. “Then take my eyes, so I no longer see the blood of my child on my hands. Take my ears, so I no longer hear the shrieks from below, the clanging of the chains.”

Silence met her cry. God was no longer listening. She sank to her knees and ripped at her hair, bordering on madness. How could they do this to her? Had she not served them well for more than ten years?

“You know what you must do, Aggie. I have seen the feux-folet. She is the child of Diablo, and she has cursed you.”

For a moment, rage blocked the pain squeezing her heart. “You!” Her eyes filled with hatred, fists clenched at her side. “You brought this upon us with your superstitions and your curses.”

“Mwen pòv zanj pèdi—you know I speak the truth. I was here when she was born without life, her body blue, her soul already beyond this world. Five years have come and gone. As she grows, so does the evil. They warned you this day would come.”

The old woman’s words washed over her like a river of ice, extinguishing the fire of her rage, leaving only a cold, still emptiness.

“I begged them, Mother. Begged for her life as her blood seeped through my fingers. I have served God, and I have served the spirits. But they have forsaken me.” She raised tortured eyes to beseech the old woman, her efforts met with stony silence and beady eyes filled with accusation. “I begged them!” Her voice tapered to a whimper. “She is only five. I have lost Catherine. Must I lose Mary also?”

The old woman knelt beside her. Taking her right hand, she pried open the fingers and closed them around the cold steel of the knife. “You can’t cure a mad dog, Aggie; you can only put it down. You disobeyed. You have been punished. Now pick up your cross, and carry it.”

The silence in the room was broken only by her whimpers; the old woman had left as quietly as she’d come. The knife lay heavy in her hand, just as the task before her lay heavy on her heart.

She rose and opened the door to the basement, ignoring the shrieks and clang of the chains. Her feet descended the steps slowly, the old woman’s words echoing inside her head: You can’t cure a mad dog, Aggie; you can only put it down.

GOODREADS - Great Reads - Greta Burroughs

2011-12-31T04:57:00.000-08:00

Gerald and the Wee People
by Greta Burroughs (Goodreads Author)
4.50 • rating details • 6 ratings • 5 reviews
An Exciting Fantasy Novel That Takes You To Another World

Gerald and the Wee People is a novel intended for young adults but readers of all ages will get carried away in the world of the Wee People.

Gerald and his best friend, Vernon literally fell into a new world when responding to a plea for help. A few years prior to that, the boys had discovered an unusual clearing in the woods where only Gerald had the ability to watch the daily activities that took place in a miniature village.

When creatures started attacking the village, Gerald became more and more concerned about the little inhabitants that he had become attached to. Vernon humored his friend but became concerned when Gerald mentioned one of the villagers coming to him and asking for help.

To prove him wrong, Vernon agreed to venture out to the clearing late one night and show Gerald it was all in his imagination. Instead, Vernon was drawn into the enchanted vision and both boys charged off to the rescue.

While in the wee people village, Gerald and Vernon try to fulfill a prophecy overcoming many dangers and obstacles. The boys help the villagers in their fight against the misshapen ones while also trying to defeat a powerful being intent on destroying all life.

The characters in the book come to life and will make you laugh, cry and root for the underdog. Gerald and the Wee People is an action packed fantasy adventure that will keep you spellbound until the last page.

Greta Burroughs loves to read. No matter where she is, there is always a book close at hand. Her love of reading began at an early age and blossomed over time to include many different genres, her favorite now being fantasy.

As a preschool and elementary school teacher, Greta tried to instill the joy of reading in the children she worked with. Books were an important part of her classroom and story time was the highlight of the day.

It has been a while since Greta was in a classroom but she had lots of experience in reading to children of various ages and remembers what they enjoyed listening to. She tries to incorporate that knowledge into her work as an author and believes it makes her a better writer of children’s books.

The adventures in Patchwork Dog and Calico Cat were written several years before the book was published. The manuscript was put away while she concentrated on her career as a freelance journalist and before that in aviation education. When medical issues kept her from being able to work outside the home, the writing bug hit her and the old manuscript was dusted off, rewritten, illustrated and published.

Greta’s one nonfiction narrative, Heartaches and Miracles describes the roller coaster ride she has been on fighting an autoimmune disorder called ITP. She has also published a young adult fiction fantasy novel entitled Gerald and the Wee People and has plans to write a sequel to that called The House on Bo-Kay Lane. That is not the end of her literary itinerary; Greta has several other children’s book in mind for the future.

WHAT REVIEWERS ARE SAYING!

Easy reading and good, December 8, 2011
By Liz Fed - See all my reviewsThis review is from: Gerald and the Wee People (Paperback)
If you like Harry Potter series and the Lightning Thief you will enjoy this book. Easy reading and enjoyable. The story of two boys and their journey with a village of wee people is intriguing. Come and join them in their adventure in saving the village.You wont put the book down. Help other customers find the most helpful reviews.

5.0 out of 5 stars Gerald and The Wee People, December 7, 2011
By HeyJude - See all my reviewsThis review is from: Gerald and the Wee People (Kindle Edition)
I worked with Greta in the newspaper business and was her editor for several years. She has a great writing voice and when she tells a story you become part of it.
I loved her first book, Gerald and The Wee People, and read one of the first editions she received. This is a great book for young readers and many ages will enjoy this magical tale. I highly recommend it as a Christmas gift for children.
Greta is a great writer and I am so happy to see her fulfilling her dream and becoming an accomplished author. I cannot wait to read her newest book!
Once again, if you are buying a book for a young reader then look at this! A great book to read to your children and grandchildren. You will not be disappointed!

4.0 out of 5 stars Coming of Age, December 7, 2011
By D. Williamsen - See all my reviews
(REAL NAME) This review is from: Gerald and the Wee People (Kindle Edition)
In "Gerald and The Wee People," Greta Burroughs speaks to the imaginations of young adults as she catapults Gerald and his best friend Vernon into another world, stretching their ability to believe what is happening. Beyond the strangeness of this new world, however, they soon realize that it mimics their own in many ways. The pettiness, the prejudices, the love, the caring--both the good and the bad exist in both worlds, all contributing to the drama in their lives.

Gerald and Vernon find themselves in a surprising position, one for which they feel ill-equipped, because the wee people are inexplicably depending on them to help defeat their enemy. In the course of fulfilling their destiny, the mettle of the two boys is tested to the point of breaking. In my opinion, this young adult fantasy novel can be especially viewed as a coming of age story for Gerald as his experiences among the wee people contribute to both his psychological and moral development.

Greta Burroughs has a soft spot for children, and it shows in the way she is able to write from their perspective. This story would be enjoyable for adults as well, at least those who still have a little child inside who's alive and well!

Reviewed by Dannye Williamsen, Breakthrough Bookstore

4.0 out of 5 stars Great Book, October 19, 2011
By Sue Owen - See all my reviewsThis review is from: Gerald and the Wee People (Paperback)
I really enjoyed reading this book. The author took a few plot twists that I probably wouldn't have taken and when I read them I wondered how in the world that was ever going to work out but I have to say she surprised me every single time. I fell in love with the wee people and especially the far-seers. As far as I'm concerned they were the heroes here.

The world created by Burroughs was fantastic. I got lost a couple times with where the boundaries were but the story didn't really need them. As the group traveled the world just seemed to go with them. Still a bit unclear on that but I don't feel I've missed out on anything.

The plot was fun, the story believable, the outcome wonderful and the entire book was entertaining. I wouldn't mind coming back to visit the wee people once in a while and probably will!

5.0 out of 5 stars Cool things come in small packages, October 8, 2011
By Vixie UK "vixie666" (london, UK) - See all my reviewsThis review is from: Gerald and the Wee People (Kindle Edition)
This book opens with Gerald trying to persuade his sceptical best buddy, Vernon, to go down to the woods to help the Wee People who he has been seeing in visions since they were at school. Like all good adventures, we have a character who believes & a character who disbelieves... even what he's seeing. This is a book that teens & adults will enjoy, I think. It's good for young readers and there is enough going on to keep adults interested. I like fantasy books where the author builds a new world for you to exist in for a while. This is an enjoyable read and there are a variety of characters here. There's also some morals and lessons to be learnt. Some characters grow, others... The interaction is good and the conversations natural. One of my favourites is the girl who is quite hot stuff - you'll have to read to find out who I mean. I like the ending - everything is tied up at the end, but there is a strand or two that can be picked up in book two, and I look forward to reading it.

5.0 out of 5 stars A wonderful fantasy, July 21, 2011
By Robert H Burroughs - See all my reviewsThis review is from: Gerald and the Wee People (Kindle Edition)
Gerald and the Wee people is a wonderful fantasy novel originally meant for young adults but equally enjoyable by older readers. The plot is well developed,the characters are believeable and the dialog well written.
While walking in the woods Gerald and his friend Vernon accidently fall (literally) into the world of the Wee People who are engaged in a war with monstrous beings from the deep forest. Using modern thinking and making unique weapons the boys help the Wee People conquer the monsters and the evil forest god that controls them. A classic triumph of good over evil.
The book is not overlong and this is a good thing since once the reader begins it is difficult to put down. Two things that impressed me about "Gerald and the Wee People" are the total lack of scatalogical language and that it does not have a dark theme as in much of the current young adult fiction.
Robert F. DeBurgh.

4.0 out of 5 stars great adventure, June 6, 2011
By Mary Daugherty "author, writer, reviewer" (radcliff, kentucky) - See all my reviews
(REAL NAME) This review is from: Gerald and the Wee People (Kindle Edition)
In a clearing, in the dark woods, is a secret society of wee people and Gerald, with his friend Vernon, has just stumbled into a wee war. With wonderful imagery and imagination, Burroughs takes her readers into a magical world filled with terror, adventure and an unsuspecting hero.

Gerald and the Wee People is a book that brings the impossible to life and takes the reader right along with it into a battle that may mean death for the wee people. Without the help of Gerald, who doesn't even know how to help, and his best friend Vernon, all may be lost. With an "Alice in Wonderland" feel, Gerald is shrank down to wee size and is at the mercy of the attacking misshapen ones along with Sheela, Cian and Sean. Can Gerald save himself and his new friends or will they all cease to be.

This is a great story of courage, faith and friendship for any age. Young adults and more mature juveniles ( some violence) will enjoy the action and adventure that Burrough's characters bring to the reader. A pleasurable read and very talented writing make this book a winner. Makes me want to go look for the magic in my own back yard.

5.0 out of 5 stars What a pleasure!, June 2, 2011
By Alex Canton-Dutari (Panama City, Panama) - See all my reviewsThis review is from: Gerald and the Wee People (Paperback)
I love fantasy, especially when it is laced with spices of reality. The adventure of Gerald and Vernon had me traveling from Lilliput to Oz, and even taking a pinch of primitive science. I never thought of someone else thinking about using old bread mold to elicit its antibiotic properties....
Ms Burroughs was able to create easy dialogues among almost familiar creatures, without messing my head with complicated names. This novel was a pleasure to read.

5.0 out of 5 stars A fascinating fantasy, highly recommended, September 11, 2010
By Midwest Book Review (Oregon, WI USA) - See all my reviewsThis review is from: Gerald and the Wee People (Paperback)
It's hard to find help when people doubt who you're helping even exists. "Gerald and the Wee People" follows Gerald as he protects a village of small people who only he seems to be able to see and interact with. But Gerald's troubles only grow when he finds he alone can't protect him, and finding help seems so difficult. "Gerald and the Wee People" is a fascinating fantasy, highly recommended.

5.0 out of 5 stars Great Way to Escape to Another World, September 3, 2010
By Lady Wings (South Carolina, USA) - See all my reviewsThis review is from: Gerald and the Wee People (Paperback)
Gerald and the Wee People is a nice short book that is very easy to read and enjoy. It will captivate any aged reader who likes fiction, fantasy or adventure novels.
The world of the Wee People is a fascinating place to visit with characters that come to life. The quest the main characters undertake will keep the reader entertained until the last page.
Gerald and the Wee People is a great way to escape this world of stress and pressures; just relax and read a good story.

NOOK

SMASHWORDS

Opening Lines - God Save The Queen

2011-12-30T05:54:00.000-08:00

Got Books asked authors and readers to post an opening line to a book they were reading, writing or just to make something up. We had 21 entries. From there we were to combine those opening lines to create a story. Below is mine. The opening lines have been italicized, and I may have broken a few literary rules, but it was fun. The opening lines are posted at the end. Give it a try and have fun.

GOD SAVE THE QUEEN

I love opening lines. They can tell you so much about what to expect, and many times give you a clue into the identity of the bad guy. As a homicide detective I’ve used that trick many times to profile a killer, robber or drug dealer. Often it worked, but not this time. Life was good before I met the monster. After, life was great, at least for a little while. The day I died started out bad and got worse in a hurry. The new super was demanding results or my badge. Some girls get flowers, I get a yard full of dead bodies. I shot a glance at my partner, Adam Shaw. “Throw me a line, Adam.”

“It was a dark and stormy night.” Adam growled, peering through the windshield. July had been blown out like a candle by a biting wind that ushered in a leaden August sky.

“Don’t be a smartass.“ I doodled on the blank page in front of me and flipped it over. “I need something original and spectacular.”

Damn! Adam thought. Just great! It’s getting dark and I have no idea where the hell I am! “What do you think of our new super?” Adam asked, abruptly changing the subject.

I snorted. “She’s so cold, I bet she poops out ice cubes.”

Adam laughed. “The bureaucrat fell from the sky.”

As usual, Adam’s mind never worked the way anyone expected. He jumped from subject to subject without laying the ground work for the change of topic. “What bureaucrat?”

“Your opening line.” Adam said, turning left down Crenshaw Avenue and pulling up in front of the two story brick ranch. Officers were stringing yellow tape from tree to tree, closing off the crime scene.

“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.” Adam turned off the engine and opened the car door. “I count five bodies.”

“Yea, though I walk through the Valley of Death,” I muttered opening my door and climbing out. Winning the lottery wasn’t always a good thing. And for Rick Feldman it had turned out to be a nightmare. The stench of death was overwhelming. Of course, if the rumors were right he’d gotten what he deserved. Someone should have told those poor girls Rick Feldman is best admired from a distance—if you get too close, you might find some of your body parts missing.

I couldn’t quite suppress my satisfaction as I noticed the new super turning a delicate shade of green, one hand covering her mouth. Long after she moved on, she would remember the smells. My satisfaction was short-lived though. She spotted me and clomped her way across the crime scene destroying any usable evidence in her path.

“This is unacceptable, Sparks.”

I bit back the sharp retort on the tip of my tongue and stared at the toes of my shoes. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Can you tell me what this means, or do I need to call in help?”

I raised my eyes and glanced at the sheet of paper she was waving in my face. Taking the sheet I read it quickly. When a burning is announced, the taverns off Smithfield order extra barrels of ale, but when the person to be executed is a woman and one of noble birth, the ale comes by the cartload.

Pulling out my notebook I found the first note the killer had left. Since King Garrick made Samael the province’s official god, Sundays in the saloon were always busy.Ale, saloons, Kings and women of noble birth. So far ten dead bodies, and these were the only clues. Bingo! God, I feel like such a jackass! “Isn’t Sarah McGinty visiting next week, ma’am, along with the Queen? I believe her father is known as the King of Ale. This could be a threat on her life or that of the Queen.”

The Super grabbed the paper from my hand and gave me a long, quizzical look. “I believe you’re acquainted with Detective Inspector Lorne Simpkins. She’ll be arriving this evening. I expect you to grant her every courtesy and share any and all information.”

I felt my fingers curling inwards, spine stiffening as I watched her walk away. How dare that bitch. I breathed deep, shook my hands to loosen them up and watched as Adam approached. He nodded toward the car and I followed, slamming the door behind me. “She’s calling in Simpkins.”

Adam gave me a slow, sensual smile and pushed my hair behind my right ear. “We had a good run, Sparkie. Time to pull up stakes and move on.”

“I can take care of Simpkins.”

Adam shook his head, started the car and glanced at the dash. “Got your opening line. The beer ran out at nine o’clock.”

It was three am. The dead hour. I felt washed out, but Simpkins looked like she’d just stepped out of a fashion magazine. She’d arrived just after midnight and spent the next three hours grilling me while I slaved over a hot stove cooking for her. I lifted my wine glass and smiled at her. “You should be dead in about one hour, maybe less, “I said as I watched my dinner guest eat the dinner I had prepared for her.

Panic has a way of defining an individual. Her eyes widened slightly as realization sunk in and she pushed away from the table. “You poisoned me?”

“I believe the coroner’s report will show you died of natural causes. You should have taken better care of your heart, Lorne. Seems it just gave out on you in the middle of the night.” I refilled my wine glass and took a sip. “And even God can’t save the Queen.”

Never underestimate your enemy. The glass slipped from my hand as the first bullet struck just below my left rib cage knocking me backwards. The second bullet struck two inches higher.

Lorne Simpkins pulled out her cell phone and hit the programmed number. The phone was answered on the second ring.

“Superintendent Marsh.”

“Need an air evac medical team, ma’am. The crazy bitch poisoned me.” Lorne listened for a moment before heading for the door and her car. “What about Shaw?”

“Picked him up fifteen minutes ago. He’s singing like a parakeet.” Marsh said.

“That’s good news, ma’am. I’ll see you at the station.” Lorne closed the cell phone, and opened the car door and sat down. Marsh owed her one for this. As soon as she’d seen the names Candace Sparks and Adam Shaw she’d known exactly what they were up to. What she couldn’t figure out was why they’d used the same names. She’d been searching for them for ten years since the last attempt on the Queen’s life. What the bloody hell. Serial killers were a strange breed. Mistake or destiny, she’d take it.

At the sound of helicopter blades whirling in the distance, Detective Inspector Lorne Simpkins leaned over the steering wheel and peered at the sky. God Save the Queen.

Opening Lines

1) The beer ran out at nine o’clock.
2) Yea, though I walk through the Valley of Death
3) I feel like such a jackass!
4) Damn! Adam thought. Just great! It’s getting dark and I have no idea where the hell I am!
5) Since King Garrick made Samael the province’s official god, Sundays in the saloon were always busy.
6) July had been blown out like a candle by a biting wind that ushered in a leaden August sky.
7) Some girls get flowers, I get a yard full of dead people.
8) She’s so cold, I bet she poops out ice cubes.
9) The bureaucrat fell from the sky.
10) You should be dead in about one hour, maybe less,” I said as I watched my dinner guest eat the dinner I had prepared for her.
11) When a burning is announced, the taverns off Smithfield order extra barrels of ale, but when the person to be executed is a woman and one of noble birth, the ale comes by the cartload.”
12) Life was good before I met the monster. After, life was great, at least for a little while.
13) It was a dark and stormy night. . .
14) It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.
15) The day I died started out bad and got worse in a hurry.
16) It was three am. The dead hour.
17) Panic has a way of defining an individual.
18) Long after she moved on, she would remember the smells.
19) Rick Feldman is best admired from a distance—if you get too close, you might find some of your body parts missing.
20) At the sound of helicopter blades whirling in the distance, Detective Inspector Lorne Simpkins leaned over the steering wheel and peered at the sky.
21) The stench of death was overwhelming.

Featured Goodreads Author - Stephen Hise

2011-12-27T11:19:00.000-08:00

Upgrade by Stephen Hise (Goodreads Author)
Upgrade 4.82 · rating details · 11 ratings · 8 reviews
Brent Schoenfeld is wealthy but unattractive. He is getting an upgrade that will dramatically change his life. Whole new worlds of possibilities will open up to him. Dreams come true; nightmares do, too.

Stephen Hise has worked in the field of emergency medical services (EMS) since the age of seventeen. Stephen was a paramedic by age nineteen, and worked his way up through the system to become one of the few people to have served with distinction in two states as State EMS Director. He currently lives in Phoenix, Arizona where he works as a consultant and author.

Available on: Kindle Nook Smashwords

What are Reviewers saying?

5.0 out of 5 stars Entertaining and well written!, December 7, 2011
By Sue P - See all my reviewsThis review is from: Upgrade (Kindle Edition)
Let me begin with the ingredients: Take a decent amount of science, add to this quite a lot of sex, then introduce mystery and intrigue, mix it all up, give it a twist right at the end and you have a superb , end product-Upgrade!

The author's way with words and jaunty style of writing makes this book a very lively and entertaining read. He tells the tale of an unattractive but wealthy man seeking to change his life by neuroscience .The procedure is successful and we follow the protagonist, Brent Schoenfeld through his new style of life, now focusing on females ( which I hasten to add have very different and colourful personalities of their own )and the exploits in their effort to woo him.
As the story progressed, the author builds up the feeling that something just isn't quite right , the suspense was growing .I actually found myself trying to second guess the ending with all sorts of scenarios and although I got somewhere close , he still managed to outmanoeuvre me with a totally unexpected and dramatic conclusion. Superb twist!

This story is original, sexy, extremely well presented with excellent grammar and editing. Also, in addition to the clever mix of genres, the author also incorporates a serious message with this book ; be careful what you wish for , the grass isn't always greener on the other side!
I enjoyed Upgrade from the first page to the last and I will now look forward to reading anything else Stephen Hise has to offer. He is talented to say the least!

5.0 out of 5 stars Expect the Unexpected., December 7, 2011
By K. S. Brooks "ksbrooks" - See all my reviews
(REAL NAME) This review is from: Upgrade (Kindle Edition)
I'll admit I had no idea what I was getting into when I started reading Upgrade. I'd read a few of Stephen Hise's blogs and found his wit and writing ability both impressive and refreshing. I wanted to see what his book was about. From all the buzz, I thought it was going to be a futuristic psychological thriller - and I wasn't far off.

Stephen Hise has written a piece of work that amazes me. I'm a very picky reader - one who gets easily bored and skips over bits and pieces and paragraphs, and sometimes even pages. I read every word of Upgrade. Not only did I read every word, each page turned nearly on its own, beckoning me with the tease of knowing something was going to happen - something that I didn't see coming. And it was right about that.

Upgrade's theme reminded me of Oscar Wilde's "The Picture of Dorian Gray" as it's about a man whose good looks undermine his good nature. It reminded me of "The Sixth Sense" because the end slaps you in the face and sends your mind reeling back over the rest of the book to check and see where you should have picked up on the clues. They are there. You're just so wrapped up in the story that you didn't see them.

Hise's talent for writing sensual scenes is evident. The pace of his writing is fluid and carries the reader along nicely. His style is almost minimalistic - but in a good sense. It's not burdened with lots of description and it doesn't need it. Something about Upgrade draws you to focus on the characters whilst the scenes somehow set themselves.

Some folks are going to expect `psychological thriller' to include a lot of action. Upgrade's not that kind of book. It's got a "Twilight Zone" kind of feel to it, but you don't realize that while you're reading it. Frankly, I could see Upgrade becoming a series which follows different people and how they deal with the interesting cosmetic `reprogramming' procedure that is the foundation of this book.

Upgrade wasn't what I was expecting, yet was more than I expected at the same time. How is that possible? You'll have to read it to find out. I give it five stars.

5.0 out of 5 stars Very interesting, November 3, 2011
By Lady Wings (South Carolina, USA) - See all my reviewsThis review is from: Upgrade (Kindle Edition)
Stephen Hise's idea of enhancements to a person's outward appearance made me start thinking, would I like this or not? It did lead his central character, Brent, into a very sticky situation, actually several sticky situations.
I enjoyed reading this novel even though it is not in the genre I usually choose my books from. The characters are well developed and I truly felt sorry for a couple of the ladies in Brent's life, while not being too fond of another one.
The ending was a surprise. Even though I tried to guess what was going to happen, I was not totally prepared for the final outcome. I recommend Upgrade to anyone who likes a different approach to getting the perfect lover.

5.0 out of 5 stars No upgrade needed!, October 7, 2011
By Alex Canton-Dutari (Panama City, Panama) - See all my reviewsThis review is from: Upgrade (Kindle Edition)
Upgrade by Stephen Hise
Reviewed by Alex Canton-Dutari
Nothing will hook me to a book faster than a hint that the plot is based on some interesting psychological aspect. I was not disappointed.
The reader will find characters that could be described as having loose morals, though they do not seem to produce any negative reaction as the surrounding society seems to adapt to them... or vice-versa.
I like the way Stephen Hise plays with words, even walking a thin line from a male writer's stand: "A man as handsome as that would never have been interested in her, no matter how smart and good she was."
In the end, even Shakespeare gets a cameo role, which I found quite fitting.
This is a story that does not need an Upgrade.

5.0 out of 5 stars Yummy box of chocs, September 10, 2011
By Vixie UK "vixie666" (london, UK) - See all my reviewsThis review is from: Upgrade (Kindle Edition)
I enjoyed reading this book. It's well-edited and flows along really smoothly. It's also fun. The idea is novel and you dive into the story pretty swiftly. Here you have Mr Average Geeky Guy who would love to be Brad Pitt. The idea is: what would you wish for? And if you get your wish will it make you happy? Surrounded by what you wish for, what option would you choose? Imagine a box of chocolates, all tantalising and yummy... this book is like that. The female characters are all different and well developed (some more than others!!). Everyone is an individual - some have agendas, some don't. Brent is a curious character. Watching him deal with his new-found confidence is cool. What would you do in his position? Would you take advantage? Would you be nice? Would you stay the same? I also loved the ending. A well-written, fun, interesting and original read. I recommend it.

5.0 out of 5 stars Brilliant !, May 30, 2011
By Beeshon - See all my reviewsThis review is from: Upgrade (Kindle Edition)
I do love books that leave you open-mouthed at the end - this was certainly one of them. It is very well written and the author deftly manages to portray the main character, Brent, as a slightly pathetic figure; very rich and successful but lacking in the looks department, so much so he is prepared to undergo an irreversible process to make people or, more importantly, the female of the species, notice him. He is not a likeable character at first because he wants to become attractive to women merely, it seems, for sex. However, as the story continues you warm to him as he tries to focus on doing the right thing by the woman he loves and you almost start to feel your sympathy cords being tugged. The nearer I got to end the more I realised I had really no idea how a satisfying (for a reader) conclusion was going to be reached. I knew from some reviews that there was a surprise ending, and with only 10% to go, I smugly thought I had guessed it. In fact, I only half guessed it. What I hadn't predicted left me speechless.
I liked Stephen's style - I found it sophisticated, and easy-flowing and I had a laugh-out-loud moment when he used a very analogical adjective which was perfect for the situation being described - `Clintonian'. It was brilliantly apt!
There was certainly a very serious moral to this excellent story - be very, very careful what you wish for.

5.0 out of 5 stars Looking for an Upgrade?, May 5, 2011
By Reese Ring - See all my reviewsThis review is from: Upgrade (Paperback)
I thoroughly enjoyed reading Upgrade by Stephen Hise. Having previously heard about the science behind it, this book provided an interesting perspective and storyline regarding that science. I found the male POV in this book intriguing and appreciated his take of the human psyche and relationships. Great twisted ending!

Jump - One Year Anniversary - Jen Wylie

2011-12-15T15:14:00.000-08:00

I love birthdays. And today I'm celebrating a good friend's One year Anniversary of her very first published work. You have to agree that's worth celebrating. Happy Birthday JUMP!

Wow, how times flies! A year ago today my very first published work came out!

Jump by Jen Wylie

Genre: Urban Fantasy, Young Adult, Short Story

Published Dec 15 2010 by Echelon Press

Word Count: 3 288

Jump became #1 on Omnilit’s Best Seller List right away, and stayed on the chart for over 6 months! My first published story certainly is a my baby. It was fun to write, fun to edit and fun to market! Considering any complaints about it have been ‘it’s too short!” I’m quite happy with how it was received. (It is a SHORT story after all- they’re supposed to be short- or they aren’t short stories!)

Thanks to all of my readers and fans for their support and trying out a new authors work! Hugs and rainbows!

Description:

If you were told to jump off of a bridge would you?

Perhaps it would depend on who was doing the asking. Our heroine has spunk and a sense of humor, however suffers from an extreme case of inappropriate clothing. When things take a turn from dangerous to worse what will she do when fantasy becomes reality? Warning: May include hot leather clad men, singing and demons.

Available for 0.99 at :

OmniLit http://www.omnilit.com/product-jump-493574-234.html

Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/37227

Amazon http://www.amazon.com/Jump-ebook/dp/B004FPYT4O

Amazon UK http://www.amazon.co.uk/Jump/dp/B004FPYT4O

Barnes & Noble http://search.barnesandnoble.com/books/product.aspx?ean=9781590807354

Excerpt:

“Jump.”

My mother’s voice popped into my head; “Would you jump off a bridge if so-and-so asked you too?”

I would of course reward her with my classic eye roll and a dragged out, “M-o-o-o-m!”

But there I stood on a bridge being asked to jump. Well, more like told to jump. The knife poking, none too gently, into my lower back clearly indicated the asking part wasn’t really applicable.

I pursed my lips together tightly, as a very childish, Don’t wanna, threatened to escape them.

Being a smart ass right now probably wouldn’t make my situation any better. My cheek still stung from the backhanded slap Mr. So-and-so had given me when we’d first met, as he tried to pick me up on my way home from Avery’s Bar. He hadn’t appreciated my witty negative comment then, and I doubt he’d like one now.

“I told you to jump.” His voice growled low in my ear as the knife pushed harder against the center of my back. He leaned into me from behind and I shivered at the his closeness to me.

His sanity level couldn’t be very high. What a piece of work, this slimeball. I decided Slimeball would be the perfect name for him. His dark greasy hair, smelly clothes and the filthy hands he had used to grab me off the street, and drag me up here with.

“Why?” I suddenly asked, staring down into the darkness below the bridge. It was an old abandoned railway bridge, not even overly high. The likelihood of me splattering to my death wasn’t very large. I’d probably just end up breaking a whole lot of bones.

I didn’t get why he wanted me to do this. Other than smacking me around a little, and some gentle prodding with the large nasty knife, he hadn’t tried anything with me. I’d expected to be dragged off and raped, or murdered, or at least robbed, but not told to jump of a little bridge.

Slimeball didn’t answer my question; he just poked me with the knife again. “Jump.”

“You are seriously demented,” I muttered and winced as pain suddenly erupted in my back. Guess he heard me.

He poked again, more like jabbed harder, and I spread my arms slightly as I wobbled, trying to maintain my balance. I stood a good foot away from the edge, but I had my favorite black bar boots on and the stupid things had three-inch spiked heels. They’re great for showing off my legs, but not so great for balance, or running. I’d tried running when I saw he wasn’t just some ass following me home. I knew he was serious trouble. I hadn’t gotten far when I pulled the classic “lady in distress” trip and fall bit. I’d been seriously surprised, and pissed, when I fell to the ground. I’d always scowled at the stupid chicks who always fell down in my favorite fantasy books. Scenes like that had always seemed extremely unrealistic to me, but apparently it does happen, especially when you’re wearing three inch heels. The black mini skirt didn’t help much either.

Bio:

Jennifer Wylie was born and raised in Ontario, Canada. In a cosmic twist of fate she dislikes the snow and cold.

Before settling down to raise a family, she attained a BA from Queens University and worked in retail and sales.

Thanks to her mother she acquired a love of books at an early age and began writing in public school. She constantly has stories floating around in her head, and finds it amazing most people don’t. Jennifer writes various forms of fantasy, both novels and short stories. Sweet light is her debut novel to be published in 2011.

Jennifer resides in rural Ontario, Canada with her husband, two boys, Australian shepherd a flock of birds and a disagreeable amount of wildlife.

My website: www.jenniferwylie.ca

twitter: @jen_wylie

goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4499919.Jen_Wylie

facebook fan page: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Jennifer-Wylie/151266004895266

My blog: http://jlwylie.wordpress.com/

12 Days of Christmas - Stocking Stuffers and More

2011-12-11T20:03:00.000-08:00

Got Books loves playing Santa, and for the next 12 days we'll be giving away books, and a chance to win a Gift Certificate. Stop by, like our page and watch the fun. Each day will bring a new give-away with a few surprises thrown in. After all, what kind of Elf would I be if I didn't throw in a few surprise presents.

Got Books

Armed Services Christmas Thank You!

2011-12-10T08:48:00.000-08:00

Each year I try to find something I can do to say thank you to the members of our armed services who spend their time, and risk their lives protecting my freedom. So this year I decided I would gift ebooks copies of The Gifts, A Jacody Ives Members with a special thank you, and mention from the family member. If you have a family member or friend serving in the armed forces and they like mysteries, then email me their amazon email address and I will gift a copy of The Gifts, up to 100 copies. An ebook is a great gift, and wonderful way to pass the hours.

You can email me at: Email me

Please include your name, relationship and what you would like me to say on the gift card.

Looking for more Christmas Gifts and Stocking Stuffers? Check out the 12 days of Christmas on Got Books. We'll be kicking off on Monday, December 12th, and running all the way through Christmas.

Got Books?

100+ Free Kindle Books - 12/3/11

2011-12-03T17:30:00.000-08:00

Not your "Cozy" Mysteries! $.99 for a limited time.

2011-12-03T09:57:00.001-08:00

New covers, coming soon!

Excerpt - The Gifts, A Jacody Ives Mystery

“Mr. McAllister . . .” Marisa stopped just inside the door, her eyes wide, taking in the disarray of the room. “What are you doing?”

She wanted to say something else, scream, but the cloth pressed over her mouth and nose was making her feel funny. The smell was familiar. She tried to remember what it was. A hand slipped under her blouse, cupping the small breast. Marisa tried to pull away, but her arms were too tired. She felt herself being lifted, placed on the bed. The smell pulled her deeper. No, she had to fight to stay awake. She had to tell him she wouldn’t tell anyone. Had to make him stop. Everything seemed to be happening from a distance. Marisa fought her way through the fog, hearing his curse as the zipper on her pants stuck. Hearing the fabric rip, feeling the cool draft as her body was exposed. He lifted the cloth from her mouth, shaking her awake. “You’re going to scream for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?” He placed a pillow over her mouth and nose, just as a sharp pain between her legs brought her to full consciousness. Her eyes filled with tears as she stared into the black eyes above her and screamed.

"Scream for me, sweetheart. Scream for Daddy."

Marisa screamed with every painful thrust until lack of oxygen made her body go limp, her mind numb. He continued to grunt and thrust long after her body became limp and lifeless. His climax was exhilarating. He was renewed. Humming his favorite tune, he jotted the words on the small pink card. A gift from me. You’re next.

#WW Indie Spotlight Thank You

2011-11-29T19:16:00.000-08:00

My Wednesday Twitter #WW Indie Spotlight Thank You for retweeting and being my twitter friend.

And let's not forget those wonderful people out there that help us as Indie authors in promotion and launching our books. @Indie_Kindle @AuthorsLaunch @Kindle_Max @PixelofInk @Kindle3

Indie Spotlight - Twitter Pay It Forward

2011-11-27T19:29:00.001-08:00

Looking for a good book to read, or some new twitter friends to follow? Look no further.

@YK_Greene @jameswriter @chrispetersentx @JChaseNovelist @Virgilsbaby @PmcKinnes @ValMaarten @theaatkinson @AnnettePaul1 @BetCar1 @ElsaRieger @SusanLeighNoble @stevenkonkoly @jonno_go @LynneEllison1 @JohnBetcher @jacodypress

Cyber Monday Ebook Special - The Jacody Ives Mysteries $.99

2011-11-27T16:00:00.000-08:00

Cyber Monday Special - Both The Jacody Ives Mysteries available on Kindle for $.99 - a savings of $4.00

THE GIFTS, A JACODY IVES MYSTERY

Setup: Sheriff Sarah Burns was born with what her grandmother calls “The Gift”. In the final throes of death, souls reached out to her with dying messages. Only this time the message was for Sarah.

“He’s coming, Sarah. He wants to destroy you.”

SACRED SECRETS, A JACODY IVES MYSTERY

Setup: Charity Froste is one of three women missing. A prostitute, a nurse and a voodoo woman (Charity). Two of them are already dead.

Charity looked around her, her heart fluttering as reality closed in. She was in an old farm cellar. From the looks of it no one had been here for years. Tears formed, she bit her lip, steadied the candle. Her whispered words stirring fear into full blown terror. “Yous’ in trouble now, sugah. Yous’ done been buried alive.”

Coming in 2012--Bet you can't. . .FIND ME

2011-11-22T03:48:00.000-08:00

"Imagine a killer that can kill at will, from a distance. No gun, no weapon. Nothing more than a thought. And then imagine a world of women, men, children, that occasionally, sometimes without conscious knowledge, reach out intuitively."

PROLOGUE

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for You are with me . . .

But He wasn't with her.

She leaned against the cold steel door, her eyes closed in prayer. "Father, why have you forsaken me? What sins have I committed that you would punish me this way?"

When you spread out your hands in prayer, I will hide my eyes from you; even if you offer many prayers, I will not listen. Your hands are full of blood.

"Fiank-o!" she screamed.

Her eyes flew open, and she spread her hands in front of her. Blood rimmed her manicured nails. Out of the corner of her vision, she saw the blood soaked blouse plastered to her chest. So much blood for such a tiny body.

Ripping at her blouse, she mewed like a wounded animal. "Then take my eyes so I no longer see the blood of my child on my hands. Take my ears so I no longer hear the shrieks from below, the clanging of the chains."

Silence met her cry. God was no longer listening. She sank to her knees and ripped at her hair, bordering on madness. How could they do this to her? Had she not served them well for more than ten years?

"You know what you must do, Aggie. I have seen the feux-folet. She is the child of Diable and she has cursed you."

For a moment rage blocked the pain squeezing her heart. "You!" Her eyes filled with hatred, fists clenched at her side. "You brought this upon us with your superstitions and your curses."

"Mwen pòv zanj pèdi, you know I speak the truth. I was here when she was born without life, her body blue, her soul already beyond this world. Five years have come and gone. As she grows, so does the evil. They warned you this day would come."

The old woman's words washed over her like a river of ice, extinguishing the fire of her rage, leaving only a cold, still emptiness. "I begged them, Mother. Begged for her life as her blood seeped through my fingers.

I have served God, and I have served the spirits. But they have forsaken me."
She raised tortured eyes to beseech the old woman, her efforts met with stony silence and beady eyes filled with accusation.

"I begged them!"

Her voice tapered to a whimper. "She is only five. I have lost one already. Must I lose them both?"

The old woman knelt beside her. Taking her right hand she prized open the fingers and closed them around the cold steel of the knife. "You can't cure a mad dog, Aggie; you can only put it down. You disobeyed. You have been punished. Now pick up your cross and carry it."

The silence in the room was broken only by her whimpers; the old woman had left as quietly as she'd come. The knife lay heavy in her hand, just as the task before her lay heavy on her heart.

She rose and opened the door to the basement, ignoring the shrieks and clang of the chains. Her feet descended the steps slowly, the old woman's words echoing inside her head: "You can't cure a mad dog, Aggie; you can only put it down."

Tuesday's Indie Spotlight

2011-11-15T18:12:00.000-08:00

Dagon's Blood by Virginia Lee - Four 5-Star Reviews - Reviewer Says: Excitement and intrigue abound in this book. Its filled with drama, suspense, romance and more action than the pages can contain. Diabolical schemes of epic proportions entertain and delight you with mind blowing twists and turns through a labyrinth of plots. You won't be able to catch your breath nor put it down, this book draws you in from the beginning and keeps you hooked until the end.

This Last Summer by Tania Tirraoro Three 5-Star Reviews - Reviewer Says: What a perfectly fitting title for This Last Summer. Maddie Chambers, a TV journalist, has more than any person can handle in one Summer. Tania Tirraoro has created a very real and relatable character in Maddie who struggles with her career, relationships and family.

Double Back by Libby Hellmann - Eleven 5-Star Reviews - Reviewer Says: "Doubleback," the latest from Libby Fischer Hellmann,is my first exposure to her work. Hellmann is the author of a series of suspense novels featuring video producer Ellie Foreman, and "Doubleback" is her second novel to feature Private Investigator Georgia Davis. Fans of the Ellie Foreman series will be pleased to learn that Ellie appears in "Doubleback" and helps PI Georgia Davis run down the bad guys. The relationship between these two very independent women is, in fact, so much fun to watch that I will be looking for Hellmann's earlier books.

Love's Labours Won by Sheilagh Lee - Reviewer Says: A well crafted story filled with unexpected twists and turns. Young Sarah Dexler takes us on a journey into the realm of the paranormal, where she finds the dark and mysterious, Demetrious Blackstone.
The determined Sarah discovers family secrets and hidden powers in a world she never dreamed existed. We encounter wonderful characters with a rich family history that leaves many exciting possibilities for future stories.
Available at Smashwords

Looking for Great Books, Reviews, a place to host your work?
Check out: K3Books

Indie Spotlight-Paying it Forward

2011-11-14T04:34:00.000-08:00

One of my all-time favorite movies was Pay It Forward. So I decided to do the same for my twitter friends who are constantly paying it forward for others. Thank you.

Nine 5 Star Reviews - Imagine your wife dying in your arms. What would you do to find her killer?

Thirteen 5 Star Reviews - Tear In Time is an excellent novel of time travel, war, alternate history, and the bonds of friendship. It is well written and very enjoyable.

Twenty 5 Star Reviews - The character personality is real and true. The plot line is fascinating and, though predicatable, fascinating in the course of events.

One 5 Star Review - Inspired by historical novels, which was Lynne Ellison's favorite reading material for many years, she created a Masterpiece of historical adventure.

Twenty-Four 5 Star Reviews - There's something to be said about what 'was'. That time before we became what we are as adults, often funny, sometimes sad, but always important.

Five 5 Star Reviews - Nothing will hook me to a book faster than a hint that the plot is based on some interesting psychological aspect. I was not disappointed.

Writing For a Cure- Indie Chicks

2011-10-30T19:23:00.000-07:00

Is Your Life Whispering to You?

By Cheryl Shireman

I believe life whispers to you and provides direction. I call that life force God. You can call it whatever you want, but there is no escaping it. If we are open, and brave enough to say yes, life will take us in directions we never expected, and you will live a life beyond your wildest dreams.

Those whisperings often come in the form of a “crazy” idea or a nudge to move into a certain direction that seems odd or silly or daring. Then there is that moment when you think, Well, that’s weird. Where in the world did that come from?

And then there’s the second moment, when you have to make a choice. You can dismiss the crazy notion, and probably even come up with a dozen reasons why it’s a bad idea. You don’t have the time, the money, or the resources. Besides, who are you to do such a thing? What in the world were you thinking? So, you dismiss the idea. We always have that option - to say No.

But it comes back - that whisper. Sometimes again and again. But if we are practical, and safe, we can squash the notion until it is almost forgotten. Almost.
Such a notion came to me a couple of months ago. I began to think of an anthology composed of women writers. An anthology that would be published before the rapidly approaching holiday season. The title came to me almost immediately - Indie Chicks.

It was a crazy notion. I was working with an editor who was editing my first two novels, and was also in the middle of writing a third novel. Working on three books seemed to be a pretty full plate. Adding a fourth was insane.

But the crazy notion kept coming back to me. It simply refused to be dismissed. So I sent out a “feeler” email to another writer, Michelle Muto. She loved the idea. I sent out another email to my writing buddy, J. Carson Black. She loved the idea, too, but couldn’t make the time commitment. She had just signed with Thomas & Mercer and was knee deep in writing. I took it as a sign. I didn’t have the time for the project either. Perhaps after the first of the year, when final edits were done on my own novels. I dismissed it, at least for the present time. I’d think about it again in another couple of months, when the timing made more sense.

A week later I surrendered, started developing a marketing plan for Indie Chicks, and began sending out emails to various indie writers - some I knew, but most were strangers. I contacted a little over thirty women. Every one of them responded with enthusiasm. Most said yes immediately, and those who could not, due to time commitments, wished us well and asked me to let them know when the book when the book was published so they could be part of promoting it.

One of the first writers I contacted was Heather Marie Adkins. Earlier this year, while I was browsing the internet, I came across an interview with Heather. The interviewer (oddly enough, Michelle Muto) asked Heather, When did you decide to become an indie author? Heather’s answer was: About a month ago. My dad had been trying to talk me into self-publishing for some time, but I was hesitant. One night, I sat down and ran a Google search. I discovered Amanda Hocking, JA Konrath, Victorine Lieski; but it was Cheryl Shireman that convinced me. This is the field to be in. I was shocked (Astonished! Flabbergasted!). I had no idea that I had ever inspired anyone! To be honest, it was a bit humbling. And,okay, yes - it made me cry. So, of course, I had to invite Heather to be a part of the anthology. Heather not only said yes, but she also volunteered to format the project - a task I was dreading.

As Heather and I exchanged emails, I told her about how I had been similarly inspired to become an indie writer by Karen McQuestion. My husband bought me a Kindle for Christmas of 2010. Honestly, the present angered me. I didn’t want a Kindle. I wanted nothing to do with reading a book on an electronic device! I love books; the feel of them, the smell of them. But, very quickly, I started filling up that Kindle with novels.

One day, while looking for a new book on Amazon, I came across a title by Karen McQuestion. I learned that McQuestion had published her novels through Amazon straight to Kindle. Immediately, I began doing research on her and how to publish through Kindle. I had just completed a novel and was ready to submit it through traditional routes. Within 48 hours of first reading about McQuestion, I submitted my novel, Life Is But A Dream: On The Lake. Twenty four hours later, it was published as an eBook on Amazon. Within another couple of weeks it was available as a paperback and through Nook. Did I jump into this venture fearlessly? No! I was scared to death, and I almost talked myself out of it. Almost. The novel went on to sell over 10,000 copies within the first seven months of release.

As I shared that story with Heather, another crazy notion whispered in my ear - Ask Karen McQuestion to write the foreword for Indie Chicks. Of course, I dismissed it. We had exchanged a couple of tweets on Twitter, but other than that, I had never corresponded with McQuestion. It was nonsense to think she would write the foreword. I was embarrassed to even ask her. Surely, she would think I was some sort of nut. But, the idea kept whispering to me and, with great trepidation, I emailed her. She said yes! Kindly, enthusiastically, and whole-heartedly, she said yes. Karen McQuestion had inspired me to try indie publishing. I had inspired Heather Adkins. And now the three of us were participating in Indie Chicks, that crazy whisper I had been unable to dismiss.

The book began to develop, and as it did, a theme began to form. This was to be a book full of personal stories from women. As women, one of our most powerful gifts is our ability to encourage one another. This book became our effort to encourage women across the world. Twenty-five women sharing stories that will make you laugh, inspire you, and maybe even make you cry. We began to dream that these stories would inspire other women to live the life they were meant to live.

From the beginning, I knew I wanted the proceeds of this charity to go to some sort of charity that would benefit other women. While we were in the process of compiling the anthology, the mother of one of the women was diagnosed with breast cancer. Almost immediately upon learning that, Michelle Muto sent me an email. Hey, in light of *****’s mother having an aggressive form of breast cancer, can I nominate The Susan G. Komen foundation for breast cancer? I mean, one of our own is affected here, and other than heart disease (which took my own mother’s life), I can’t think of anything more worthy than to honor our sister in words and what she’s going through. A daughter’s love knows no bounds for her mother. Trust me. I know it’s a charity that already gets attention on its own. But, that’s not the point, is it? The point is there are 25 ‘sisters’ sticking together and supporting each other for this anthology. I say we put the money where the heart is. We had our inspiration. All proceeds would go to the Susan G. Komen foundation for breast cancer research.
The stories started coming in. Some were light hearted and fun to read. But others were gut-wrenching and inspiring - stories of how women dealt with physical abuse, overwhelming grief, and a host of bad choices. It was clear; these women were not just sharing a story, but a piece of their heart. I felt as if I were no longer “organizing” this anthology, but just getting out of the way so that it could morph and evolve into its truest form.

Fast forward to just a few days before publication. Heather was almost done with the enormous task of formatting a book with twenty-five authors. We were very close to publishing and were on the homestretch. That’s when I received an email. An unlikely email from someone I didn’t really know. Beth Elisa Harris and I were involved in another indie project and Beth sent an email to all of the authors in that project, including me. She attached a journal to that email. For whatever reason, Beth had been inspired to share a journal she wrote a few years ago. She cautioned us to keep her confidence and not share the journal with anyone else. I tend toward privacy and don't tend to trust easily. This is a HUGE step for me. I've only read it once since I wrote it. Intrigued, I opened the journal and began reading. It dealt with her diagnosis, a few years back, with breast cancer! Before I was even one third of the way through the journal, I felt I should ask Beth to include this journal in the Indie Chicks anthology. It was a crazy notion, especially when considering her words about privacy and trust. We didn’t even know each other, how could I ask her to go public with something so personal? I tried to dismiss the notion (are you noticing a pattern here?), but could not. I wrote the email, took a deep breath, and hit send.

She answered immediately. Yes. Most definitely, yes.

Indie Chicks: 25 Women 25 Personal Stories, with foreword by Karen McQuestion and afterword by Beth Elise Harris, is now available through Barnes and Noble and Amazon. The book includes personal stories from each of the women, as well as excerpts from our novels. And it began as a whisper. A whisper I did my best to ignore.

What whisper are you ignoring? What crazy notion haunts you? What dream merely awaits your response? I urge you, say Yes. Live the life you were meant to live. Say yes today.

Stories included in Indie Chicks:
Foreword by Karen McQuestion
Knight in Shining Armor by Shea MacLeod
Latchkey Kid by Heather Marie Adkins
Write or Die by Danielle Blanchard
The Phoenix and The Darkness by Lizzy Ford
Never Too Late by Linda Welch
Stepping Into the Light by Donna Fasano
One Fictionista’s Literary Bliss by Katherine Owen
I Burned My Bra For This? by Cheryl Shireman
Mrs. So Got It Wrong Agent by Prue Battten
Holes by Suzanne Tyrpak
Turning Medieval by Sarah Woodbury
A Kinky Adventure in Anglophilia by Anne R. Allen
Writing From a Flour Sack by Dani Amore
Just Me and James Dean by Cheryl Bradshaw
How a Big Yellow Truck Changed My Life by Christine DeMaio-Rice
From 200 Rejections to Amazon Top 200! by Sibel Hodge
Have You Ever Lost a Hat? by Barbara Silkstone
French Fancies! by Mel Comley
Life’s Little Gifts by Melissa Foster
Never Give Up On Your Dream by Christine Kersey
Self-taught Late Bloomer by Carol Davis Luce
Moving to The Middle East by Julia Crane
Paper, Pen, and Chocolate by Talia Jager
The Magic Within and The Little Book That Could by Michelle Muto
Write Out of Grief by Melissa Smith
Afterword by Beth Elisa Harris

Indie Chicks is available for your Kindle on Amazon and your Nook on Barnes and Noble. You may also read it on your computer or most mobile devices by downloading a free reader from those sites.

http://www.amazon.com/Indie-Chicks-Personal-Stories-ebook/dp/B0060ZTM62

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Indie-Chicks-Personal-Stories-ebook/dp/B0060ZTM62

http://search.barnesandnoble.com/books/e/2940013212725

Stop by our Facebook page - http://www.facebook.com/IndieChicksAnthology

Follow our Indie Chicks hash tag on Twitter! #IndieChicksAnthology

#samplesunday Coming in 2012 - Bet you can't....FIND ME.

2011-10-29T19:11:00.000-07:00

A Psychic Thriller that will keep you on the edge of your seat and turning pages. This isn't the official cover, but one I've played with until the official cover can be designed.

PROLOGUE

Leaning against the cold steel door, she closed her eyes in prayer. "Father, why have you forsaken me? What sins have I committed that were so bad that you would punish me in this way?"

When you spread out your hands in prayer, I will hide my eyes from you; even if you offer many prayers, I will not listen. Your hands are full of blood.

"Fiank-o," she screamed opening her eyes and spreading her hands in front of her. Blood rimmed the manicured nails.

Her gaze fell to the blood soaked blouse sticking to her skin. So much blood from such a tiny body. Her clothing was soaked in it.

Ripping at her blouse she mewed like a wounded animal. "Then take my eyes so I no longer have to see the blood of my angel on my hands. Take my ears so I no longer have to hear the shrieks from below, the clanging of the chains."

Only silence met her cry. God was no longer listening. Sinking to her knees she ripped at her hair, bordering on madness. How could they do this to her? Had she not served them well for more than ten years?

"You know what you must do, Aggie. I have seen the feux-folet. She is the child of Diable and she has cursed you."

For a moment rage blocked the pain squeezing at her heart. "You!" She screamed, her eyes filled with hatred, fists clenched at her side. "You brought this upon us. You with your superstitions and your curses."

"Mom chere ti chou, you know I speak the truth. I was here when she was born without life. Her body blue, her soul already beyond this world. Five years have come and gone. As she grows so does the evil. They warned you this day would come."

The old woman's words washed over her like a river of ice, extinguishing the fire of her rage, leaving only a cold still emptiness. "I begged them, Mother. Begged for her life as her blood seeped slowly through my fingers. I BEGGED THEM!" She screamed.

Her scream tapered to a whimper, her voice a mere whisper. "She is only five. I have lost one already. Must I lose them both?"

The old woman knelt beside her. Taking her right hand she prized open the fingers and closed them around the cold steel of the knife.

"You can't cure a mad dog, Aggie. You can only put it down."

The silence in the room was broken only by her whimpers. The old woman had left as silently as she'd come. The knife lay heavy in her hand, like the task before her lay heavy on her heart.

Rising she opened the door to the basement, ignoring the shrieks and clanging of the chains. Her feet descended the steps slowly, the old woman's words echoing over and over inside her head. "You can't cure a mad dog, Aggie. You can only put it down."

I hope you enjoyed this prelude of things to come, and I hope you'll check out The Jacody Ives Mysteries while you're waiting. Tentative release date for Find Me is February 2012.

Excerpt - Sacred Secrets

2011-10-28T18:51:00.000-07:00

Charity woke with another splitting headache. She struggled to sit up, her huge frame cramped in the tight space. Memory returning. He’d come back, made her lie down in the back of the jeep. Then he’d drove for what seemed like days. Made her get out, walk down steps. That was the last thing she remembered until now.

It was dark as a cave and smelled of mildew. Charity felt around in the dark, looking for something, anything to tell her where she was. Her fingers closed around what felt like a candle. Pulling it close she continued to feel blindly. Where there was a candle surely there had to be matches. God just wouldn’t be that cruel. Her fingers closed around the box. She shook it gently. One rattle. Okay, so she had one chance of getting light into this place. Did she really want to do that?

Charity chided herself for her cowardliness. What would Ms. Laveau think if she saw her, sitting here on the cold concrete shivering like a baby.
Opening the matchbox, she took out the single match, set the candle between her legs and steadied herself. Holding her breath Chastity issued a silent prayer before running the match along the side of the box. It sputtered, flickered--caught fire.
Charity swallowed the urge to laugh hysterically, the effort of holding her breath making her somewhat giddy. She held the candle to the flame, her hand trembling so badly she was afraid for a moment she’d drop them both. The candle caught, its flame casting eerie shadows around the small room.

Charity looked around her, her heart fluttering as reality closed in. She was in an old farm cellar. From the looks of it no one had been here for years. Tears formed, she bit her lip, steadied the candle. Her whispered words stirring fear into full blown terror. “Yous’ in trouble now, sugah. Yous’ done been buried alive.”

Excerpt - The Gifts - never send to know for whom the bell tolls; It tolls for thee

2011-10-15T23:16:00.001-07:00

“Fire’s out, Sheriff. We opened the windows, but the smell is still pretty bad.”

Sarah nodded, her eyes misting. “Thanks, Billy.” Swallowing hard, she tried to stop the gagging reflex that hit her the second she entered The Lodge. There was nothing in the world worse than the smell of burned flesh. Tommy and three of the volunteer fire fighters were still outside vomiting, and Joshua looked slightly green, although he was holding up better than most. Dammit! They weren’t prepared for this. She wasn’t prepared for this.

“Are you okay, Doc?” Sarah noted the grayness of the doctor’s face, the blueness around his mouth as he slipped on his mask and nodded.

Sarah allowed her gaze to drift around the room, looking for something, anything to look at besides the badly charred body of what she knew must be Marisa Hutchins. They had caught the fire in time to save most of the room, but the body was burned beyond recognition. She swallowed hard again, concentrating on breathing through her mouth. She had to focus on her job, not her feelings. Her gaze fell on the small pink card on the dresser. Picking it up, she shivered as emotions ran up her arm, making her skin crawl, chilling her to the bone. Evil had its own special feel, and this was evil. A gift from me. You’re next.

“Anything on McAllister’s whereabouts?”

Sarah felt Joshua’s keen gaze on her face. She would have to look at him eventually. Struggling to control the overwhelming fear that threatened to pull her into the darkness, Sarah placed the card inside a plastic package and handed it to Joshua. She wanted a hot shower.

“He told me he was going to Richmond, but I didn’t ask where. Said he’d be back tomorrow.”

“I’m finished.” Doc Hawthorne rose, his shoulders drooping more than usual. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. He’d delivered these children, watched them grow up. He shouldn’t have to sign their death certificates. “Not much more I can do here. I’d say it’s Marisa Hutchins. You can wait for the autopsy to make it official.”

Sarah grimaced. She didn’t need an autopsy.

“The Edgewood forensic team is on their way. Said they’d be here within the hour,” Joshua stated.

“Thanks, Joshua.” Sarah had hated calling in outsiders, but they just didn’t have the equipment, or the expertise, to handle this type of situation. Nothing like this had ever happened in Glade Springs. Gavin McAllister had a lot to answer for.

“What do you make of the card?”

Joshua was turning the package over in his hands. Sarah glanced at it, a cold chill running down her spine. . . . never send to know for whom the bell tolls; It tolls for thee.

“You’re next.” Joshua read the card out loud and glanced at Sarah. “Who do you think he means?”

“Not a clue,” Sarah lied. “We’ll run it through the system, see if anything like this has happened anywhere else.”

“Good idea.” Joshua hesitated, “Sarah, I think this card is for you.”

Sarah didn’t bother answering. She’d known the second she touched the card it was for her. You know, echoed in her mind.

“Joshua, stay here, lock it down and wait for Edgewood. Go ahead and do the photographs and sketches of the scene. I have to go tell the Hutchins.” Sarah knew her voice was quivering. She cursed silently at life’s cruel joke of giving her the ability to feel what others felt. She was having enough trouble controlling the pain and fear she’d picked up in this room. She didn’t know how she was going to handle the parents’ emotions.

“Sarah, why don’t you stay? I’ll go.”

Sarah met the concerned green eyes, not trying to disguise the pain in her own. “It comes with the territory, Joshua. It’s my job.”

“What do I do if McAllister shows up?”

Sarah considered her answer carefully. She knew Gavin McAllister hadn’t killed Marisa. The evil she’d felt in that room wasn’t attached to him. He could, of course, sue the city, but at the moment she didn’t give a damn. It wouldn’t hurt him to cool his heels for a couple of hours. And, dammit, he was partially responsible. If he hadn’t come here none of this would have happened. At least in jail he’d be safe and one less thing for her to worry about.

“Book him.”

Joshua nodded. Sarah was in charge. “The Hutchins are pretty religious people. Why don’t you call the new minister, have him meet you out there?”

“Bless you, Joshua. You always seem to know the right thing to do.”

“Comes with the territory, remember? It’s my job.”

Sarah exited The Lodge, her thoughts serious. Joshua would make a good sheriff. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about that when she left. She turned her thoughts to the new minister. She hadn’t had an opportunity to meet him or his wife. What was his name? Cooper. Picking up the cell phone, she automatically dialed the number and hoped it hadn’t been changed. How was she supposed to address him? Was it Reverend, Father, Pastor?

“Hello.”

“Mrs. Cooper?”

“Yes.”

“This is Sheriff Burns. I’m sorry I haven’t had the time to call on you and welcome you to Glade Springs, but I wonder if I could speak with your husband, please?”

“He’s asleep, Ms. Burns.”

Sarah frowned. No Sheriff Burns, and the Ms. Had been spoken with disapproval. It was apparent Mrs. Cooper didn’t believe in women sheriffs. She probably didn’t believe women should work at all.

“Could you wake him, please? It’s an emergency.”

“Oh, no, I could never do that. Never.” The voice had changed, a slight tremor just beneath the words.

Good Lord, she’s afraid of him, Sarah thought. What kind of minister instilled fear in his wife?

“Mrs. Cooper, I’m sorry, I’m a little upset, and I’m afraid I haven’t made myself clear. I know it’s late, but we’ve had a,” Sarah paused. “We’ve had a death in the community. The family is going to need him. Please put your husband on the phone.”

“I’ll have him call you in the morning.”

“Mrs. Cooper . . .”

The phone went dead. And people wondered why Sarah didn’t go to church. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe in God; she just didn’t believe in organized religion. As usual, she was on her own.

A half hour later Sarah stood outside, breathing deeply in an attempt to control the tears streaming down her face as she waited for Doc Hawthorne. Thank God he’d been here. She should have known he would feel an obligation to do just that. He’d been there for thirteen years through every broken bone, every cough or late night fever. He wouldn’t desert them now.

Sarah watched his approach, realizing for the first time just how old he was getting. She’d ignored the Mayor’s ravings at the council meetings that they needed to start looking for a younger doctor, someone more up to date. How much longer could he last? And getting a doctor to come to a small town like Glade Springs wouldn’t be easy. Of course, there was always Edgewood. It was only a two-hour drive, but what about emergencies? The next time the mayor brought up the subject, Sarah would be more open-minded. Not a replacement, because no one could ever replace Doc Hawthorne. Maybe a partner.

“I gave Irene a sedative. She’ll sleep until morning.” His eyes never left Sarah’s face, the question left unspoken between them.

“Dammit, Jim, I can’t stop him if he wants to see her.”

Doc nodded. Edsel Hutchins wanted to see his daughter. “Call me when he comes in. I’ll be there.”

Sarah nodded, not trusting herself to speak. He would be there, sedative in hand. They both knew sedatives weren’t going to help Edsel Hutchins when he saw his daughter’s body. It was almost two a.m. and Sarah felt a desperate need to hold Nikki. To know she was safe. That, like sleep, was a luxury she didn’t have. It was going to be a long night.

A chilling glimpse into the mind of evil

2011-10-14T11:54:00.000-07:00

Wayfaring Stranger - A short story

2011-10-05T12:26:00.000-07:00

Another first draft, and not my normal genre, but I hope you enjoy.

WAYFARING STRANGER

Carrieanne Burton felt her feet stop in mid stride, a strange chill washing over her. Something was wrong. A feeling of urgency started deep in the pit of her stomach as she turned around and sprinted back towards the apartment. She'd left Lizzie's breakfast on the table, just like she always did, knowing her mother wouldn't wake from her drunken stupor for hours. The apartment was locked. What? A fire? Had her mother fallen asleep again smoking?

Her breath came in ragged gasps as she continued to run, arms aching from the load of books she was carrying. If she missed school again the welfare people would be back. What if they took Lizzie away from her? They'd threatened that the last time. Told her mother to straighten up or else.

Another thought crept in, one that terrified her even more, causing her to toss the books and run even faster. She should have checked. What if her mother had brought one of special "friends" home again? What if. . .

The stitch in her side threatened to take her breath, as the mist behind her eyelashes threatened to overflow. The rundown apartment building came into sight and she paused for a second. No smoke billowed out from partially opened windows. No abnormal screams echoed off the bricks. Just the normal sounds of the angry, hopeless residents as they struggled to meet another day.

Grabbing the railing, Carrieanne took the steps two at time, almost colliding with old Mr. Fodderman as he opened the door.

"Where's the fire, girlie?" He called over his shoulder.

"Sorry, Mr. Fodderman," Carrieanne called back never breaking stride as she raced toward the last door on the right. The door was still locked and Carrieanne fished around in her purse for the keys, opening the door slowly before closing it softly behind her. If nothing was wrong she didn't want to wake her mother, or alarm Lizzie.

The apartment was cold, colder than normal, and dark with a musty smell. She could hear the sound of sniffles coming from the bedroom she shared with Lizzie. A feeling of relief washed over her. Lizzie was okay. Opening the door she glanced in, eyes searching the dim room for the small figure. Lizzie was hunched in the corner. Closing the door softly Carrieanne flipped on the light. "What's wrong, kitten?"

"I spilled the milk." Lizzie managed between sobs.

Carrieanne sat down on the floor and pulled her into her lap, stroking the auburn mess of curls. "It's okay. I'll get some more milk."

"Anna was mad." Lizzie snuggled in closer.

Carrieanne felt the chill once again wash over her, followed by a flush of rage. Pushing Lizzie away just enough to raise her head, she examined the tiny face. The full imprint of her mother's hand covered the left side of Lizzie's face.

Pulling Lizzie back into her arms, Carrieanne struggled to control the influx of emotions raging through her. Anger, helplessness and hopelessness. She wouldn’t turn eighteen for another seventeen months. The date was circled on the calendar above her bed. The one star in her otherwise miserable life. The one goal. Graduate, get a job, take Lizzie away from this.

Lizzie shivered in her arms, the small body suddenly seized by a deep, hacking cough. Lizzie wouldn't last another seventeen months. It was bad enough their mother made them call her Anna because she didn't want her "friends" to know how old she was. Bad enough that she had to spend hours in school, knowing Lizzie was locked in the bedroom while her mother entertained. Bad enough that she had to then work to buy the few groceries that kept them alive before coming home and cleaning the apartment and giving Lizzie the few moments she could spare before bed time. But none of that was as bad as the thought of losing Lizzie.

Standing up Carrieanne picked up Lizzie, amazed at how light her five year old body was. Was Lizzie losing weight? Carrying her to the bed she covered her up, and gave her a quick kiss. "You get some rest. I'm going to clean the kitchen."
Lizzie raised her head, blue eyes open and trusting. "Can we go outside later?"
Carrieanne felt the vice twist around her heart. Since she'd gone to work after school and on the weekends Lizzie had been confined to this hellhole twenty-four seven. No wonder she was so pale. Summoning as much bravado as she could, Carrieanne smiled at her. "Let me talk to Anna, get the kitchen cleaned and make you some breakfast and we'll go to the park."

Lizzie nodded before lying back down and pulling the cover over her head. Her normal excitement about going to park totally overshadowed by the "let me talk to Anna".

Carrieanne closed the door softly, taking a deep breath and swiping at the single tear that had finally escaped. She felt like she'd been holding back an ocean for a long time. Eventually she was going to drown in her own unshed tears.

Taking a quick glance into the kitchen she shook her head. Anna hadn't even bothered to pick up the half empty gallon of milk, or wipe up the spill. She could deal with that. What she couldn't deal with was the image of that handprint on Lizzie's face.

Going to her mother's bedroom door she knocked. "Anna?" No sounds came from within, not even the sluggish snore she'd become accustomed to. Carrieanne knocked louder. "Anna, we need to talk."

She reached for the doorknob just as someone began pounding on the front door. "What now?" Carrieanne muttered as she headed for the front door opening it slowly and peering out into the darkened hallway. Stepping into the hallway she closed the apartment door behind her.

"Mr. Johnson, how are you?" Carrie smiled at the landlord her efforts met with a stony glare.

"Rent's due, and I ain't waiting this month. Pay or get out."

Carrieanne knew she had to think fast. She'd given her mother the money yesterday to pay the rent. "I'm sorry, Mr. Johnson, my paycheck couldn't be written until today. I was just getting ready to go get it and then I'll be right back to pay the rent."

Mr. Johnson eyed her suspiciously, gaze going to the closed door behind her. Carrieanne kept smiling.

"Why ain't you in school?"

"Lizzie wasn't feeling good this morning, so I stayed home to take care of her. She's doing better now though, so I can go get my check and pay you."

Mr. Johnson gave her another cold glare before turning away. "Ain't paid by five o'clock you better not be here when I come back."

Carrieanne leaned against the closed door. Her strength was fading, and even her anger at Anna wasn't going to hold her up much longer. She'd lied to Mr. Johnson. There was no check to pick up. And if Anna had wasted the rent money they would be out on the street before the day was over. Lying to people was becoming a habit, and much too easy. That wasn't what she wanted Lizzie to learn from her. It wasn't the way things were supposed to be. Swiping at another tear she opened the door and headed for Anna's bedroom while she still had the strength to deal with her.

Not bothering to knock this time, Carrieanne opened the bedroom door, her earlier anger resurfacing. "Anna, what did you do. . ." she stopped just inside the doorway. The room was icy cold and silent. An unnatural silence. Swallowing hard she approached the figure lying prone on the bed. Bloodshot eyes were open and staring, but clearly seeing nothing. Carrieanne closed the eyes, felt for a pulse even though she knew it useless.

Stepping back into the hallway Carrieanne leaned against the wall. Mr. Johnson would be back soon. And once the authorities were notified the welfare people would come and take Lizzie away. She couldn't let that happen. Lizzie was all that kept her going. All she had in life. Without her she'd die.

Going back into her mother's room she made a quick search. A hundred dollars was all that was left of the two hundred and fifty she'd given her yesterday. Stuffing it into her jeans pocket she closed the bedroom door quickly crossing to her own bedroom. They wouldn't be able to take much with them, just a change of clothes maybe, and one toy for Lizzie.

Lizzie had fallen back to sleep and Carrieanne shook her gently. "Lizzie, get up baby. We have to leave, and we have to leave right now."

Lizzie sat up, wiping the sleep from her eyes. "Is Anna going too?"

Carrieanne knew she'd have to tell her, but not yet. Not until they were far away from here. "No, kitten, Anna isn't going with us this time."

Lizzie smiled, her tiny face lighting up with pleasure as she hopped off the bed and began looking in her drawers for something to wear. "Where are we going, Carrieanne?"

"It's a surprise," Carrieanne stated, realizing that she had nothing to carry their clothes in. Two kids on a bus with a sack, or a pillowcase full of clothing would stand out. "Think Carrie. Think." Her mother had that big old purse she sometimes carried. She hated the thought of going back into that bedroom, but she hated the thought of leaving without a change of clothing even more. "You finish dressing, and I'll be right back."

In less than a minute she was back, pulling out her second pair of good jeans, a shirt and one change of underwear. She rolled them carefully and stuffed them in the purse before going to help Lizzie with her shoes.

"I thought Anna wasn't coming with us." Lizzie whispered, staring at the huge purse on the bed.

Carrieanne fluffed her hair before going to the battered chest and pulling out a change of clothing for Lizzie and rolling them together to fit inside the purse. "She isn't. She just loaned us her purse."

Carrieanne knew she'd made a mistake the moment the words were out of her mouth. Anna never "loaned" or gave them anything. Lizzie was back in the corner, thumb in her mouth, eye's misting as she hunkered down, waiting for the bedroom door to burst open and the screaming to start.

Kneeling in front of Lizzie, Carrieanne removed the thumb from her mouth, and forced her to look at her. "Do you remember Mrs. Simpson's poodle, Lizzie?"

Lizzie nodded, her eyes growing huge. "Someone poisoned it and it died."

Carrieanne nodded. "Well, the liquor poisoned Anna. She's dead, Lizzie, and we have to get out of here before anyone finds that out. Okay?"

Lizzie nodded, her gaze straying to the door again, her words a mere whisper. "Where are we going, Carrie?"

Carrieanne pulled her close. "I don't know, kitten, but as long as we're together we'll be okay."

Carrieanne knew her words were much braver than she felt inside. First she had to get them far away from here. Then she'd take a moment to think about the future.

Carrieanne felt her last hopes sink as she took Lizzie's hand and walked out of the bus station. She didn't have enough money for two tickets to Miami, and they needed to go somewhere warm until she could find a place for them to live. A job. Some way to survive.

"Hey, did we hear you two say you were trying to get to Miami?"

Carrieanne turned toward the voice and the older couple standing next to a motor home. "Yes, we were planning on visiting our aunt, but I guess we'll have to wait."
The older man stuck out his hand. "George Matthews, and this is my wife Maude, but I call her momma. We're heading that way if you want to tag along."

Carrieanne opened her mouth to say no, but Lizzie was tugging on her hand. "Please, Carrie. I'm tired of walking. And I'm hungry."

Carrieanne took the outstretched hand and shook it. "Carrieanne, and this is Lizzie. We could use a ride if it wouldn't be too much trouble."

Mr. Matthews smiled, opening the door to the motor home and hefting Lizzie inside. "No trouble at all. Momma was just getting ready to fix us a sandwich for the road. Hope you girls will join us."

Carrieanne tucked the blanket around Lizzie, fighting the urge to join her on the cot. She could hear Mrs. Matthews snoring next door. The old couple seemed nice, and they'd gone out of their way to make sure the girls felt welcome. Still, she should be teaching Lizzie not to trust strangers. Walking towards the front of the motor home she took a seat next to Mr. Matthews. "How long before we get to Miami?"

"At least another six hours, honey. Why don't you join your little sister and get some sleep. I'll be waking Momma in another three hours to take over for me."
Carrieanne stared at the passing scenery. Her eyes were heavy, her body tired. She should sleep while she could. Giving Mr. Matthews her best smile she stood up. "I think I'll take you up on that. Would you like something to drink, or anything before I go?"

Picking up the thermos next to him, he grinned and shook it. "Momma fixed me up with a fresh pot of coffee before she retired. I'm good for at last three hours."

Carrieanne said goodnight and went back to the cot where she'd left Lizzie. Moving her gently to the side she lay down allowing the gentle motion of the motor home to lull her into a deep sleep.

Carrieanne woke to the sounds of hushed voices. Lying completely still she held her breath listening.

"George, are you sure we're doing the right thing? I mean any fool can see they're runaways."

George grunted and cleared his throat. "Did you see the handprint on that little 'un's face, Momma? Whatever they're running to has gotta be better than what they're running from."

"But we can't just leave them. They're babies."

George turned the motor home into a gas station and stopped. "We'll check out this aunt story. Make sure they've got a place to stay before we go back home."

Maude laughed softly. "Wonder what they'd think if they knew we just got back from Miami?"

George shook his head and smiled. "Gotta go where the Lord sends us. Wasn't no other reason for us to stop at that bus stop except He wanted us to be there."

Carrieanne made a noise to let them know she was awake. She didn't want to hear them talk about God. There was no God in her world. Just endless days and nights of fear, struggle and hunger. That's all she'd ever known. All Lizzie had ever known. If there was a God He'd deserted them a long time ago.

Making her way to the front she covered her eyes against the glaring sunlight she smiled at Mrs. Matthews. "Good morning. Are we there?"

"Almost, sweetie. Now where did you say your aunt lived?" Maude busied herself pouring a cup of coffee and adding cream and sugar.

Carrieanne sat down behind her. It was getting harder and harder to come up with new lies. "I'm not sure. She said somewhere near the ocean, but she won't be here until tomorrow. We were just going to get a room and call her to let her know where to pick us up."

Maude continued to stir the coffee. "No sense in you two staying in a room all alone. George and I can find a place to park and you can stay with us until she picks you up."

Carrieanne searched her brain for a counter to the proposal but could think of nothing that wouldn't sound exactly like what it was--a lie. "That sounds wonderful, Mrs. Matthews, but we can't keep imposing on your generosity. Lizzie and I will be fine for one night."

"Call me Momma, and it's no problem at all. Why George and I will be happy for the company. Be good for us to spend some time in the company of young people. Take that little one for a romp on the beach. Put some color in her cheeks."

Carrieanne heard Lizzie stirring and went to check on her. There was no way she could really argue with the Matthews. Nothing she could argue with. She would just have to wait until they fell asleep tonight and then sneak away.

Eight hours later she dried Lizzie's hair and dressed her in her one clean outfit before putting her to bed. "Why am I sleeping in my clothes, Carrie?"

Carrie brushed the curls away from her face, noting the pink tinge from the wind and sun. It had been a good day. She was glad Lizzie had been able to experience that. The road before them was long, and with less than a hundred dollars in her pocket the future bleak. "I'm going to wake you up later, and we'll have to be really quiet okay? We have to leave."

Lizzie stuck her thumb in her mouth, a clear indication the words upset her. Mist was gathering beneath the long dark lashes. "I don't wanna leave."

Carrieanne hugged her, her own eyes misting again. "I know, baby, but we have to. It'll be okay. I promise."

Lizzie rolled away from her, hugging the blanket as her small shoulders shook with silent sobs. Carrieanne continued to rub her back until she fell asleep.

Carrieanne joined the Matthews outside, her eyes scanning the area. She needed to
plan their escape carefully. Maybe there was something on down the beach.

"Would you mind if I took a walk?"

George glanced up, glad for the diversion from the checker game Momma was slaughtering him on. "Like some company?"

Carrieanne shook her head and laughed. "No, I think you need to finish your game."

Mrs. Matthews picked up a red checker and jumped around the board capturing the majority of George's pieces with a satisfied, "got you."

Giving Carrieanne a sly wink she reset the board. "Don't you stray too far, honey."

George shrugged and sighed as he reset his own pieces. Handing Carrieanne the key
to the motor home, he smiled. "Just in case we're asleep when you get back."

George and Maude watched as Carrieanne set off down the beach. "That child's carrying a whole lot weight on some awfully small shoulders," George muttered, moving a checker.

"Planning her escape, I imagine." Maude answered, moving a checker in place to block his move. "Have you noticed how much she looks like Maryanne when she smiles?"

George studied the checkerboard. If he moved right she'd take his game piece. If he moved left she'd take two. Might as well let her have two. Then maybe he could get to bed early. "Hardly smiles enough for me to notice. What are you thinking, Momma?"

Maude jumped his two pieces, sacrificing one. "I'm thinking we need to do something to help these children, George Matthews. And you need to stop letting me win."

Carrieanne walked slowly, letting the cool breeze from the ocean lift her hair away from her neck, enjoying the warm salty mist. The key the motor home felt hot in her hand and she stuffed it in her jean's pocket feeling even more dejected than she had before. They trusted her. Why did they have to trust her? It would be easier if they'd just dumped them on the beach and walked away. They'd done their civic duty, given them a ride. Fed them. Why did they have to be so damn nice?

Finding an outcropping of rock, Carrieanne took a seat, letting the tears that had threatened for days, perhaps even years slowly fall.

"It can be a cold world at times, but there are good people in it."

Startled Carrieanne leapt from the rock, turning toward the voice. She fought the urge to run as she studied the man sitting on the opposite side of the rocks. She was pretty sure he hadn't been there when she sat down. So where had he come from? He looked clean enough, but the tattered clothing gave him away. Another homeless soul seeking refuge on the beach. Is that what she and Lizzie would look like in a few days? Fresh tears flowed from beneath her lashes.

"Please, sit back down. I didn't mean to startle you, and I assure you, Carrieanne, I mean you no harm."

Carrieanne sat back down on the rocks, more from the weakness in her legs than a desire to be there. "How do you know my name? Who are you?"

He walked toward the water, picking up pebbles along the way and tossing them into the surf as it rolled onto the beach. "I know you're running way because you think you had no choice. I know deep down inside you hate lying. I know you love your little sister more than life itself."

He turned and smiled at her, showing even white teeth, his clear grey eyes full of compassion. "Turn around, Carrieanne. Go back to the motor home. Tell the Matthews the truth and go home. Something awaits you there. Something you haven't had in a long time."

Carrieanne shook her head, pulling her knees into her chest and wrapping her arms around them to stop the trembling. "I can't go home. If I do they'll take Lizzie away from me."

He walked back to her, taking her face in his hands and turning it upwards. "The Matthews trusted you tonight. Isn't it time you trusted someone? Trust me, Carrieanne. Go home."

"Who are you?"

He smiled again, touched her face gently and turned to walk away. "I'm just a wayfaring stranger."

Carrieanne watched him as he made his way down the beach around a corner and out of sight. The wind picked up. The mist was no longer warm, but instead seemed to chill her to the bone. She couldn't keep Lizzie out here at night. The Matthews were good people. Maybe they'd take Lizzie in until she could finish school and get a job. At least Lizzie would be safe and cared for.

Carrieanne walked quickly back towards the motor home. She hoped the Matthews weren't asleep yet. She didn't know if she would still have the courage in the morning to do the right thing. She breathed a sigh of relief when they came into view.

"Have a nice walk, sweetie? I've got some fresh hot chocolate on the stove if you'd like a cup. Gets kind of chilly out here after the sun goes down." Maude pulled out the third chair and motioned for Carrieanne to have a seat. "You can finish my game while I refill the cups."

Carrieanne glanced at the board, noting there were only a few red checkers left. She glanced at Mr. Matthews who gave her a grin and wink. "She likes to win. I don't care to lose."

For some reason Carrieanne couldn't quite fathom the thought of loving someone that much tipped the scale and the tears she'd been holding in broke through the floodgate as sobs racked her body.

"George Matthews, what did you do?" Maude set down the cups of chocolate and pulled Carrieanne into her arms. "There, there, sweetie, you just go ahead and have a good cry. We all need one at times."

Carrieanne felt herself snuggling into the warm embrace much like Lizzie snuggled in her arms. The feel of the gentle hands softly stroking her hair. She cried until there were no more tears, only a slight hiccupping as she tried to breathe. Pushing back, she took the Kleenex Mr. Matthews held out to her, and wiped her face and blew her nose. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Nothing to be sorry about, child. That storm's been brewing for days." George sat back down, clearing away the checkerboard and setting the cups around the table. "Momma and I are pretty listeners any time you want to talk."

Maude picked up her cup of now cool chocolate. "The child's worn out, George. We'll do this in the morning."

Carrieanne shook her head, sitting down in the seat across from them. "I need to do it now, Mrs. Matthews if you don't mind."

Maude took a seat, reaching for George's hand. "We're listening."

"I think you already know there isn't an aunt in Miami."

George and Maude nodded.

"I was on the way to school yesterday when I just got this crazy feeling that I needed to go back home. Mom drinks a lot, and sometimes she falls asleep smoking or sometimes she. . ." Carrieanne looked at them, pleading for understanding. "The welfare people said if I missed any more school they were coming back and they would put Lizzie and me in foster care. But I knew something was wrong."

George took a sip of his chocolate, anger boiling just beneath the surface. "Seen the imprint on the little un's face. Figured something like that."

Carrieanne shook her head. "It's worse than that. When I got home I found Lizzie in our room and I went to talk to Anna--our mother. I don't know if she drank too much, or her heart gave out or what happened, but she was dead and the landlord had already told me we had to pay by five o'clock or get out. I knew he was coming back, and I knew the welfare people would take Lizzie." Carrieanne hung her head, tears once again streaming down her face. "I didn't know what else to do, so I got Lizzie dressed and we ran."

Maude rounded the table and placed an arm around her. "Don't you worry that pretty little head. George will take care of it, won't you George?"

The trip back to Knoxville was a much more somber occasion. George, a retired attorney, had been totally honest with Carrieanne, giving her the pros and cons of what could happen, and what most likely would happen if no family could be located. She would have to be patient as the system was slow, but it did work and George and Maude would do everything within their power to make sure Carrieanne and Lizzie stayed together until a suitable home could be found for them. And if the state would allow it, they were more than welcome to stay with the Matthews until Carrieanne finished school and could provide a home for the two of them. But first they had to go through the system, and Carrieanne would have to be patient.
The closer they came to Knoxville the more nervous Carrieanne became. The stranger had said something awaited them there. Something she hadn't had in a long time. She thought he'd meant the Matthews, but they were with them now. "Trust me, Carrieanne."

It was almost dark when the motor home pulled up in front of the rundown apartment building. George parked on the street, raising one eyebrow and frowning as he looked at Maude before turning to Carrieanne. "This it?"

Carrieanne nodded and waited for him to open the doors and let them out. "You're going with us aren't you?"

"Actually I thought we'd leave Lizzie here with Momma and you and I would go inside. How's that?"

"I think that's a good idea," Carrieanne stated.

George felt more than saw Carrieanne stiffen beside him when she saw the tall young woman standing outside the last door on the right. "Someone you know?"

"Welfare worker." Carrieanne whispered, fighting the urge to turn and run.

"That's a good thing," George stated, placing his arm through Carrieanne's. "You just let me do the talking okay?"

Carrieanne nodded, letting him pull her slowly down the hall.

"Carrieanne? Thank God. We were worried to death. Where's Elizabeth?"

George stuck out his hand, placing himself between Carrieanne and the woman. "George Matthews, ma'am. Elizabeth is outside with my wife."
"Sherry Moberly. I'm a social worker. We've been looking for these children for the last twenty-four hours, Mr. Matthews."

"Don't doubt that at all, Ms. Moberly. Carrieanne, why don't you go on inside and pack a few of your things and Lizzie's things. Let me and Ms. Moberly have a little chat."

Carrieanne worked quickly, stuffing things into pillowslips. She still had most of the hundred dollars. If worse came to worse she could grab Lizzie and run. She glanced up as Ms. Moberly came into the room.

"I'm sorry about your mother, Carrieanne. We did try to help her, you know. Sometimes we fail."

"Thank you." Carrieanne mumbled as she kept stuffing things into the pillow cases. The quicker she got out of here the better. Mr. Matthews was nowhere in sight. She'd been stupid to come back here. "So what happens now?"

Ms. Moberly smiled and sat down on the edge of the bed. "I made a phone call. Your grandparents are coming to get you and Elizabeth. We've been looking for them since the first time I came here, but your mother had changed your names. Your grandparents are James and Maryann Barton. Your mother changed your names to Burton. We found them two days ago. I stopped by yesterday to tell you, and talk with your mother, but," Ms. Moberly shrugged, "I guess you know what I found."

Carrieanne felt the pillowslips fall from her hands as a forgotten memory nudge its way out. A Christmas tree surrounded by bright packages and a gentle voice reading Little Red Riding Hood. She'd buried that memory along with the harsh words screamed by her mother before she'd been dragged into the night. "You will never see your granddaughter again."

Her hands trembled as she picked up the pillowslips and continued stuffing clothing into them. "And what if they don't want us?"

"We never stopped wanting you, Carrieanne. We've searched for you for eleven years."

Carrieanne turned toward the voice. Her grandmother stood in the doorway, eyes wet with unshed tears. She had aged, the years of searching, not knowing if her daughter and granddaughter were dead or alive, etched in deep lines on her face.

"Look what I found outside."

Carrieanne recognized the voice, even before her eyes searched the gentle face, noting the strong arms holding Lizzie. More memories surfaced as her trembling hands once again let go of the pillowcases.

Lizzie wiggled in his arms, her face alight with joy. "Carrie, I found grandpa."
Carrieanne swallowed the lump in her throat as Ms. Moberly stood up to leave handing her a card. "I'll check in on you in a couple of days. If you need anything don't hesitate to call me."

"Hey, Lizzie poo, why don't you and I go out and see what George and Maudie is up to. Let these two get your things packed."

Carrieanne swallowed again. The lump in her throat seemed to be growing, and she couldn't find her voice. Her grandmother came to the bed, picked up one of the pillow cases and placed the remaining clothes in them. "Your grandfather and I would love it if you'd come home with us, Carrie. We'll understand though if you need some time."

"You know the Matthews?" Carrieanne picked up the second pillowcase, pulling at the frayed edges.

"Why, yes, sweetheart. They're our next door neighbors. We've known them for years."

Carrieanne felt the weight slowly lift as realization dawned on her. Was it mere coincidence that of all the people they could have met, they met the Matthews? "Gotta go where the Lord sends us. Wasn't no other reason for us to stop at that bus station except He sent us there."

"Grandma, what's a wayfaring stranger?"

"Why, that's a soul, sweetheart, heading home. Almost an angel."

Carrieanne remembered the gentle touch, the compassion in the light grey eyes. "Something's waiting for you there. Something you haven't had in a long time."

The last of the weight lifted, as the last of the pent up tears flowed down her face. Turning into her grandmother's arms she held on tight. "Let's go home, grandma."

#samplesunday Soul Retrieval

2011-10-01T20:18:00.000-07:00

Still in keeping with the spirit of October, souls and ghosts, I thought I'd do a repost of an old flash fictions. Hope you enjoy it.

Soul Retrieval

Prophetic. The things we say. The things we do. They all move us in a general direction, pushing us toward our final destination.

At ten a.m. this morning, Hon. Jeremiah Sed Mason had opened his mouth and sealed his fate.

Now here I was. Standing on a street corner. Waiting for fate to intervene. Destiny to arrive.

The cigarette tasted kind of strange. Not at all like I'd remembered them. The body was nice though. A real traffic stopper. Not like the last one. Seniority had its benefits.

"Hey, sweetheart, I've got a hundred bucks, if you know what I mean."

Tossing the cigarette I turned toward the voice. I knew exactly what he meant. I even knew who he was. George Chatman. By day a floundering accountant. Tonight a pawn in destiny's plans. He'd been standing across the street for over an hour trying to get up the courage to make this move. Problem was poor Gina had officially retired about ten minutes ago. Letting my gaze move slowly down the oversized, unattractive, virtually repulsive frame, I smiled slowly, coming back to the nondescript beady eyes. "Sorry, I'm busy."

Gina had a nice voice. Deep and rather sultry. She probably had a lot of repeat clientele. Undoubtedly she would be missed.

"Oh, I see, my money's not good enough for you."

Lighting another cigarette I took a deep drag, blowing the smoke in his direction. The taste might have changed, but the world hadn't. Still full of pompous jerks who believed that money was God and bought all things. I'd like to believe that even Gina would have turned this one down.

"That's right, sweetheart, your money isn't good enough, and neither are you."
I could feel the rage growing inside him. One too many rejections in a world full of rejections. And this time by a woman he considered low on the scale of humanity. Someone so beneath him that the mere possibility of rejection had never entered his mind. The beady eyes twitched, hands clenching and unclenching just as the red convertible pulled up to the corner and parked. Right on time.

"Hey gorgeous, you ready?"

Without even a glance at my would-be suitor I let those long, luscious legs carry me towards the car. Throwing in a little extra swing of the hips. After all, Gina had the package. I might as well work it.

I wasn't surprised when the bullets struck, but Jeremiah was. I liked the look of shock and pain that crossed his face right before his soul exited his body. Pain was something he would need to get used to.

Things happened rather fast. People screaming, rushing for safety. The police officer yelling at George to drop his gun. Which of course he did. Putz.
Pushing out of Gina's lifeless body I waltzed over to Jeremiah. Another benefit of seniority. I got to keep Gina's image until the next time.

"Let's go, Jeremiah," I stated in that deep sultry voice taking him by the arm.

"Where are we going? What happened? Are we dead?"

Always the same. "Don't you remember what you said this morning, Jeremiah?"

"What I said this morning?"

Some jerks were worse than others. "Yes, Jeremiah, this morning. When you signed those documents to let an innocent man take the fall for your good friend Judge Lehman. Don't you remember how the two of you laughed, and Judge Lehman asked you where you were going?"

I loved the look on his face as realization slowly dawned. I smiled. Gina's warm, sexy smile.

"You said, 'To hell if I don't change my ways'. "

Love mysteries with great plots and subplots that keep you guessing all the way to the end? Take a moment and download a sample of The Jacody Ives Mysteries. Not your cozy mystery. Contains strong adult language and some graphic scenes, so be sure to check out the sample first.

WIP - The Road To Hell

2011-10-01T09:58:00.000-07:00

As it is October 1st, and most of us turn our thoughts to fall shutdown, Octoberfests, and "ghostly" things I thought I'd share and reup Chapter 2 of The Road To Hell. Hope you enjoy it.

Chapter Two

There were a million questions running through my mind, but a subtle kind of peace had settled over me and Jolly, and the thoughts of that pack of Red's Best kept my smart ass mouth closed until we reached the corner.

An old woman was standing there, grey as me, and twice as ugly. If life had been cruel to her, death sure as hell wasn't treating her much better.

"There she blows. So, how do I clean her up?" She sure needed somebody to clean her up.

Now, I knew that last part hadn't been spoken out loud, but the old woman turned to face me.

"Ah, sweet Jesus."

"Where?" Jolly squelched, a look of sheer terror on his face.

"It's a figure of speech dumbass. Look at her. Dammit, Jolly, she's drooling." What a mess. How the hell was I supposed to clean her up?

Jolly recovered quickly, but he seemed to lose some of his bluster. Almost sounded sad, like he was hurting or something.

"That's not your soul. That's Molly."

"So, what's a Molly?" I asked, feeling uncomfortable as those empty sockets continued to stare me down.

"That's what happens to a soul if you fail."

I took a good long look at the old woman. "Shit."

"Exactly, Jake Savior. Fail to deliver your soul on time and he will wind up lost here forever, slowly going insane until he becomes nothing more than a demented drooling mess." Jolly paused for emphasis. "And you will wind up like me."

Now that was a sobering thought and should have been enough to shut me up. Momma always said I was the prettiest one in the family, just not the smartest.

"Well, Jolly," I slapped him on the back in good humor, "looks like my soul is a no-show. What say I clean up old Molly and we all go home?"

Damn, there's those red eyes again. Thankfully Jolly wasn't in the mood to burn me to cinders this time.

"It doesn't work that way. There's rules."

"Rules, huh?" Well that was something to think about. Wherever there were rules there was a way to break the rules. "So, we just gonna leave her here to rot? That don't seem quite fair, does it? I mean it ain't her fault whoever was supposed to clean her up failed."

Jolly didn't answer, but I could tell the thought appealed to him. I was getting to him.

"Your soul is about to arrive."

If you've ever visited Lexington you know that traffic never stops on New Circle. Anytime of night or day you can find a steady stream heading somewhere.

I glanced at the highway expecting to see cars collide any second. Instead what I saw was a kid on a skateboard headed straight for the middle of the street.

"Oh, hell no, Jolly. I don't do kids." Screaming I headed for the street. "Get off the road kid. What the hell's wrong with you?"

Jolly was yelling something behind me, but I couldn't hear him over the old woman's squawks. Wouldn't have made any difference anyway. I kept right on going screaming at the kid and waving my arms at the car. It passed right through me and I heard the sickening sound of metal against flesh, the screeching of wheels on wet pavement and finally total silence except for my own labored breathing. Jolly joined me in the street.

"Rule Number 1, you can't stop it."

"Anybody ever tell you your rules suck, Jolly?

"Rule Number 2, stay on the path. And Rule Number 3, don't lose the manual."

With that Jolly handed me a small leather book with the words Good Intentions burned into the leather binding.

"So what do I. . ." Shit. Jolly pulled a disappearing act right in front of my eyes.

Okie dokie, Jake old man, looks like you're on your own. At least I had the manual to tell me what to do. Opening it I found the first page was a map, golden streets leading straight to the Pearly Gates. Sweet.

The kid looked about six years old so I wasn't totally surprised. I mean, all kids went to Heaven didn't they? This gig was gonna be a piece of cake. Get the kid there quick, find Jolly and get my reward.

Turning the page I couldn't help grinning. Jolly had a sense of humor after all. Rule Number 4, don't break The Rules." Ah, Jolly, and I was just starting to like you.The third page wiped the grin off my face and was the final straw that broke the camel's back in convincing me God really did have a sense of humor. The words seemed to glow on the page, burning with an eerie blue flame. One more mocking reminder that if life ain't fair, death's even worse.

THE ROAD TO HELL IS PAVED WITH GOOD INTENTIONS.

Friday Excerpts and Teasers

2011-09-30T03:48:00.000-07:00

For a limited time only you can purchase both for less than $5.00 - Nook, Kindle and Smashword.

THE GIFTS, A JACODY IVES MYSTERY

Setup: Sheriff Sarah Burns was born with what her grandmother calls “The Gift”. In the final throes of death, souls reached out to her with dying messages. Only this time the message was for Sarah.

“He’s coming, Sarah. He wants to destroy you.”

SACRED SECRETS, A JACODY IVES MYSTERY

Setup: Charity Froste is one of three women missing. A prostitute, a nurse and a voodoo woman (Charity). Two of them are already dead.

Charity looked around her, her heart fluttering as reality closed in. She was in an old farm cellar. From the looks of it no one had been here for years. Tears formed, she bit her lip, steadied the candle. Her whispered words stirring fear into full blown terror. “Yous’ in trouble now, sugah. Yous’ done been buried alive.”

The Gifts, A Jacody Ives Mystery

Sacred Secrets, A Jacody Ives Mystery

The Jacody Ives Mysteries - Limited time only--get both for less than $5.00!

2011-09-29T03:31:00.000-07:00

Have a Kindle? Now you can enjoy both the Jacody Ives Mysteries for less than $5.00.
The Gifts $2.99 and Sacred Secrets $1.99. Also available on Smashwords and B & N.

Excerpt From The Gifts, A Jacody Ives Mystery

Sheriff Sarah Burns pulled off the road and parked near the site of Saturday night’s tragic accident. Unnatural deaths were rare in Glade Springs, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d missed something.

An image of Morgana Nelson clutching the body of her daughter, her heartbroken cry echoing through the morgue, flashed through Sarah’s mind.

Maybe it was only wishful thinking. The Nelsons were good people, and Johanna had been their only child. The accident made no sense. Johanna wasn’t the typical eighteen year old. She didn’t run off to Edgewood or Richmond after graduation, looking for a larger city and more excitement. She didn’t stay out late. She didn’t drive fast. She didn’t drink. So why had she been here, driving so fast she missed the curve? The toxicology reports weren’t in yet, but the body had reeked with the smell of alcohol. The Nelsons had questions, needed answers.

Climbing out of the Explorer, Sarah walked toward the curve as she closed out the noises around her, traveling the path Johanna had driven. Emotions were strong here. She could feel the sadness—and the anger. Johanna was upset.

Sarah moved into the curve slowly, feeling the shift in the emotions surrounding her. Panic took over, quickly turning to fear. She retraced the path the car had taken as it skidded off the road into the huge oak tree.

Crouching near the point of impact, she placed her hand on the earth and closed her eyes. For a brief moment she felt physical pain and then all emotions ceased.

Sighing, Sarah stood up. She wasn’t sure what she had expected to find. Let it go, Sarah, she chided herself. Some questions have no answers.

Heaving another sigh, Sarah started toward her vehicle. She was tired, looking forward to a quiet evening at home. Last night’s dream had upset her. All day she’d been haunted by the image of the dark brown eyes filled with pain, the heart-wrenching cry that had jerked her from an uneasy sleep. The whispered message that had kept her lying awake, trembling as she listened to the sounds of the night.

She hated the dreams. Hated the feeling of helplessness they created inside her as the dying reached out, sending messages to loved ones, or crying out for vengeance against their attacker. Only this time the dream had been different. This time the message was for Sarah.

Sarah shook herself mentally, pushing away the memories, the fear. It was just a dream. And this was just a horrible accident. Accidents happened—especially when teenagers drank. Her foot touched the passenger tire track imprinted in the soft earth near the tree. A feeling of panic clutched at her, growing stronger, making it hard to breathe.

“Jesus,” she muttered as she stepped away from the track, breathing deeply.

Kneeling, she touched the earth, holding her breath, as emotions flowed through her fingertips. Unlike the driver’s side, the panic here continued to escalate. There was no physical pain, no ceasing of emotion. This was what had been bugging her. The something missing. Johanna Nelson had died almost instantly, but she hadn’t died alone. Someone else had been in the car with her when she crashed into that tree.

Murder She Said!

2011-09-27T20:25:00.000-07:00

Murder She Said ~ Diana Rivers, sexy, feisty sleuth.

After solving the truth concerning the bloody murders in, The Assassins’ Village, our sexy, feisty sleuth and heroine, Diana and her partner, Steve decide they deserve a holiday. On their arrival at their luxurious palm fringed plantation hotel in lush, tropical Malaysia; things don’t quite work out as they imagined.

Diana is asked by the hotel owner, the inscrutable Miss Chalcot, titled, imperious and secretive, to take a look through some old family documents. Miss Chalcot possesses a burning ambition to put right a dreadful wrong that occurred over forty years ago – and Diana is given free rein to pursue the mysterious past of the family and discover what lies behind the dark stories.

Diana enters into a dangerous world of the 1950’s and 1960’s, where lies, deceit, illicit love, jealousies and perhaps murder all feature.

What really happened all those years ago? Who was Paul, Hermione and the beautiful but selfish Eleanor? Who was responsible for events that shocked the whole family and plunged it into despair? And what is the real story behind all the façade?

Will Diana triumph against all odds yet again?

Children Of The Plantation

Prologue

Opening the kitchen door, she spotted a vixen standing near the refuse bin. Hermione clapped her hands, and it shot through the hedge at the bottom of the garden.

Hermione's heart was thudding in her breast as she considered what next to do. Casting a look around, she gave thanks that the clouds scudding overhead made it a dark night. This had to be done in complete privacy.

Giving herself a mental shake, she crossed the damp grass to the shed and picked up a spade. A clod of earth still clung to the sharp blade from where she had been digging in her vegetable patch earlier that afternoon. It seemed such a long time ago now. She paused, still not completely certain she was doing the right thing. Making up her mind, she walked over to the newly turned earth.

The air smelt fresh after the rain shower, and a light breeze blew the mixed garden scents her way while she dug. The hole was to be small but deep, especially as she had just driven the fox off. Satisfied, she stood back and peered down into the soft loamy material, a sorry place for such a pathetic bundle.

Sick at heart, but knowing they had no choice, Hermione laid down her spade and walked back into the kitchen. She picked up the tightly wrapped package and carried it outside; it weighed no more than a couple of pounds as she gently laid it down into the hole.

Covering it with fresh earth, she scattered pebbles around and knelt on the grass. Had there been any other choice? Whatever were they going to tell him when the time came?

About the Book. Children of The Plantation will be first published as an eBook and later as a paperback by Topsails Charter. As a special lead-in price (eBook) and a Thank You to my friends and followers it will be offered to you first for $0.99c for the first month. All I ask is (when you've bought your copy) for you to please write me a fair review. Thanks!

About the Author. Faith Mortimer was born in England. Her father was in the Royal Air Force and from the tender age of five, Faith learned the meaning of travel and living in different parts of our beautiful world. Faith now spends her time between England and Cyprus where she lives with her husband. She’s filled her life with different careers, Registered nurse, entrepreneur and writer. She loves the outdoors, acting and writing. She has written two other bestselling novels and a short story collection. Visit Faith Mortimer’s website http://www.faithmortimerauthor.com/for more information.

Sacred Secrets, A Jacody Ives Mystery

2011-09-27T04:34:00.000-07:00

Set up: Nurse Sally Morse realizes that something is wrong with Katie O'Connor's heart transplant. The doctors don't believe in cellular memory, but Sally does. Determined to find out why Katie woke screaming "take it out" Sally breaks hospital rules to find out more about Katie's donor.

Excerpt from - Sacred Secrets, A Jacody Ives Mystery

Sally Morse opened the file drawer slowly, avoiding the squeak that generally met her ears. She looked around nervously. She’d be fired if she were caught. But she had to know. She shivered as she remembered Katie’s screams. Screams Hollywood would have paid dearly for. The kind that raised the hair on the back of your neck, quickened your heartbeat. Screams of terror.

But it was the whispered words that perturbed Sally, made her pull the file from the drawer. It was more than a dream. And she didn’t care what Dr. Wagner thought, she believed in cellular memory.

Sally’s face burned, humiliation washing over her as she remembered Dr. Wagner’s scathing remarks.

It wasn’t her fault life hadn’t given her the perfect figure, gorgeous hair and a winning personality that doctors loved to fawn over. Instead she’d been cursed with stringy black hair, a bean pole frame that would never have curves no matter how much she ate, and eyesight that required thick lenses. The other kids had laughed at her. She’d grown up with the taunt of “raccoon eyes” forever imbedded in her brain, like bits of jagged glass. Cutting occasionally, just enough to make her miserable. Like now.

“Dammit, I’m a good nurse, and I care about people. That counts more than big boobs and a tight ass in my book.”

Sally hesitated a scant second before opening the file. What she was doing was wrong. A violation of her oath. Yet, there were times, like now, when she felt the oath was wrong.

Her hands started to shake as she fumbled with the clasp on the folder. Angry with herself, she jerked it open. She’d never been a coward, and she wasn’t going to start now. So what if she did get caught? Wasn’t Katie worth it?

Sally read the notes quickly. A priest? She breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn’t some psychotic maniac. What harm could a priest’s memories do? Still the absolute terror in Katie’s eyes, the whispered “take it out” made her read more. Suicide? Why would a priest commit suicide? “Because he did something unthinkable,” her mind whispered, causing her hands to shake even more as she closed the clasp, replaced the file in the cabinet.

Sally closed and locked the cabinet. She’d risked her career, but at least she had a starting point. Something she could look into, and maybe something she could help Katie with. Dr. Wagner was wrong. Something was wrong with Katie’s situation.

“Oh, crap,” Sally exclaimed, glancing at her watch. She was late for her meeting with Wagner. He’d be furious. Opening the door cautiously she scanned the hallway.
Sally locked the door, heading for the elevator at a quick pace. It was too quiet here. Almost like the morgue. Ominous. She turned once, hearing footsteps behind her, the soft sound of breathing. “Is someone there?”

Silence. Sally started walking again, this time her pace quicker. Reaching the elevator she pushed the button as she glanced over her shoulder down the hallway. She could see the shadow hidden within the shadows of the basement. There was someone there.

The ping of the elevator caused her to jump, but she quickly entered, hitting the button to close the doors. Only when the doors were completely closed did she dare to breathe. Pushing the button for the third floor she leaned against the wall, her thoughts frenzied. Why had someone been watching her? And even worse, why hadn’t they wanted her to know they were there?

Buy Now:
US

Sacred Secrets, A Jacody Ives Mystery

The Gifts, A Jacody Ives Mystery

UK

Sacred Secrets, A Jacody Ives Mystery

The Gifts, A Jacody Ives Mystery

Meet The Characters

2011-09-25T08:23:00.000-07:00

Ms. Charity

Charity Froste closed her eyes. She could see the huge ugly bird as it descended. Red eyes glowing like the embers of fire. Snow white fangs that devoured everything in its path.

The wind howled, shrieked and sent forth blood-chilling screams. Tree limbs slapped and scraped the sides of the house, like the huge bird’s dagger-like talons.

The bones never lied.

Charity tossed the fossil stones, her eyes still closed. She would not easily be devoured. The white fangs, red eyes and razor sharp talons of the Piasa held no fear for her. She had faced it before. She feared little beyond the balance. And the balance had shifted. Billy had called the white wolf, weaved the dreams, and she had done what she had to do.

A distinct chill blew across her nape.

She opened her eyes, studied the bones. The bones never lied.

Billy

Coming into another curve Billy shifted his right foot, letting off the gas pedal, allowing the vehicle to gradually slow. His gaze drifted to the leather satchel on the seat beside him. His destiny. His grandfather had been so proud when he’d killed the buck. They’d worked side by side for days as his grandfather explained every stitch, each design, so that one day Billy could make the satchel for his own grandson. Pass on the gift.

He’d been too young to understand why his grandmother had turned away from him, hands clenched at her side, eyes brimming with tears. She had known. Even then she had known this day would come.

Father Michael

Father Michael sighed, placing his hand over the knotted arthritic joints of Father Peter’s fingers. “I have prayed, Father. I pray daily that God will take this cup from me.”

Father Peter felt the trembling in the hand covering his. Felt the despair. His words came unbidden. Words he knew not the source. Words he would ponder and regret in the days to come.

“Perhaps you must take the cup and drink from it.”

Father Michael embraced him. He had the forlorn feeling of being alone in the world. And that loneliness threatened to crush him. He whispered the words that sealed his fate. “Perhaps, Father. Perhaps I must.”

Claire

Claire felt her steps falter, a cold chill moving down her spine, descending down her legs. He sounded so smug. So sure of himself. Pretending to care. She wasn’t going to fall for his tricks. Not this time. And never again. They had been fine without him. Fine until he came back into their lives. Somehow this was his fault. She didn’t know how, but she knew Simon was behind Aaron’s unhappiness.

Claire refused to look at him. Give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d struck a nerve. She stood, hand poised over the doorknob. “You don’t know when to quit do you, Simon. You never understood Aaron, and you never will. Even at one in a million he’ll match. Katie O’Connor is one in a million. Don’t you go near Aaron again, and you stay the hell away from me.”

Katie

Katie wrung her hands in her lap as the intern took another curve, maneuvering the car onto the main highway at a rate of speed that was surely against the law. Everything was moving so fast. The tearful goodbye with Clover. The trip home. She had barely gotten unpacked before exhaustion overcame her. She’d slept most of yesterday, and then the phone had rung. Now the mad dash to the hospital. What exactly had Dr. Wagner said? We may have found you a heart. And what did that mean anyway? Was it possible that someone was dying as they rushed to the hospital? Could they maybe live? Had she truly gotten a pardon from death row, or was this some cruel joke of the executioner.

Clover

“Don’t go getting all happy on me, okay? I’m dying. You’re dying. That gives us something in common. It doesn’t make us best friends. In fact, if you look at it realistically it makes us pretty pathetic. We should be doing something absolutely amazing like diving to the bottom of the ocean, bungee jumping off the tallest building, or getting boinked by some good looking guy.” Clover paused for breath, swallowed hard and stated through gritted teeth, “Instead we’re just sitting here on death row.”

Jacody

Jacody Ives smiled, flexed the fingers still gripping the sink. Evil attracts evil. He’d heard its call in the nightmare. He would answer. There’d never been any other choice for him. Evil knew his name.

Tall Feather

The old man cackled, gumming away on another piece of bacon. “I tell you story.”
Tall Feather made himself comfortable on the couch, rubbing his greasy hands on the fabric.
“I, too, at times have a great hatred for those who have taken so much with no sorrow for what they do. But hate wears you down, and does not hurt your enemy.
“It is like taking poison and wishing your enemy would die. I have struggled with these feelings many times.”

Synopsis with spoiler removed

Haunted by dreams he couldn't control of murders he couldn't stop, Gavin McAllister a/k/a Jacody Ives teamed up with his adopted brother and his brother's partner to find an elusive killer the papers had termed the Mother's Day Killer. For five years they'd followed a trail of bodies across the United States finding no clues to help in their pursuit. But this time the killer had made it personal not only by choosing his last victim in Gavin's hometown, but the evidence showed the same killer had murdered Gavin's twin sister, Corrine Larson.

Corrine Larson was a noted journalist in search of a story. No one knew what, or where until Gavin received a post card shortly after her death followed by a ghostly visit from his sister, begging him to save someone.

Faced with the mental breakdown of his adopted brother, and the sure knowledge that the killer had already chosen his next victim, Gavin travels to Glade Springs, West Virginia. A small town with secrets. Some worth killing for. There he meets the beautiful Sheriff Sarah Burns and her five year old daughter, Nikki. It doesn't take him long to figure out that Nikki has been chosen for the killer's next victim.
As the small town's secrets slowly unravel Gavin realizes he will have to break every rule he's set for himself if he's going to stop the killer. He would have to get involved, and he would have to get close to the beautiful Sheriff if he was going to protect her and her daughter.

Sarah Burns also was born with what her grandmother called "The Gift". Sarah knew in reality it was a curse. What good was it to be psychic and dream of murders if she could do nothing to stop them? Only this time the dreams were for her. A ghostly vision with spine chilling words "He's coming, Sarah. He wants to destroy you." The news that Gavin McAllister was coming to Glade Springs only served to add validity to the dream. McAllister a/k/a Jacody Ives was famous for uncovering secrets, and destroying lives. And Sarah had secrets. Secrets worth killing for. To protect her daughter Sarah must overcome her fears and learn to trust again.

Teaming up with Gavin and her deputy, Joshua Cross, they three must work together to unravel the meanings of Gavin's and Sarah's dreams to stop the brutal murder of Gavin's adopted brother and his FBI partner, Carl Jackson.

Both books are available on Amazon, Nook, Sony, Kobo, Diesel and Smashwords. Download a sample today and ENJOY!

Overnight Success?

2011-09-23T21:15:00.000-07:00

Another throw me an opening line suggestion. Titles - Overnight Success? Watch The Money Roll In?

There once was a man from Nantucket….

Damien poured another glass of Kentucky Bourbon, took a sip and stared at the words he'd just written. He'd heard them somewhere before. Where?

Booting up the computer he ran a quick Google search. Crap. Emptying the glass in one quick gulp he shook his head, jerked the paper from the typewriter and tossed it into the trash. He was an idiot. Everyone had used that line. So what now? He'd quit his job, bragging he was going to write a best seller. Be the next Stephen King. Famous. Rich. And he'd failed. He couldn't even come up with an original line.

Pouring another glass of bourbon, Damien stared into the cool amber liquid. What was it Stephen King had said? Something about ideas and writing. There were no new ideas, just new ways of writing old ones. That was it.

Flipping another piece of paper into the typewriter Damien started again.

There once was a man from Nantucket. A different kind of man. One the world had never seen before. A mere glance from his caliginous eyes and you were seized with fear. A fear that froze your limbs and numbed your brain.

Damien sat back, reading the words he'd just written. That was good. Darn good. He counted the words. Forty-three words already. Whoot! He was good. Really good. If he worked really hard he could have 80,000 words in the next few days. Then up on Amazon and he was on his way. All he had to do was sit back and watch the money roll in.

Random Musings of a Disturbed Mind?

2011-09-23T20:18:00.000-07:00

I played with titles for this. Moon Walker. Woman of Conviction. And Random Musings of a Disturbed Mind. What do you think?

"Judge not, lest ye be judged."

The words were strong and clear in the crisp morning air. Spoken with conviction. I remember them daily, just as I remember the report of the rifle, the sound of the bullet penetrating flesh. The warmth of the blood that splattered across my face and neck. The hush of the crowd, just before the screams rang out.

I was eight years old when Shannon Johnson killed my father. Shannon was a man of conviction. He believed my father was the voice of the devil, and that angels had told him he must kill him or the world would be destroyed. There are many Shannon's in the world. People of conviction who believe acts of evil are in truth acts of God.

"You ready girl?"

I nodded to Cameron as I sheathed the knife at my waist. I had not spoken a word in eight years. My voice had died with my father. But there was strength in silence. Strength in the words that were not spoken. That silence allowed me to move without sound, kill without remorse and sleep at night without the screams of my victims ringing in my ears. In many ways I was a woman of conviction. I believed in what I was doing, but that didn't make it right. Perhaps the people I killed deserved to die, but not by my hand. Somewhere down deep, in a place where the silence could not reach, could not penetrate the pain I knew I was no better than the rest of the Shannon Johnson's in the world. I judged, and some day I would be judged.

"Moon's almost up, let's move." Cameron picked up his rifle and headed for the warehouse door.

I followed him out the door, closing it softly behind me. Somewhere a robbery was being committed, a rape, a beating, a mugging, a murder. Somewhere someone needed my help. The world has grown so much that God can no longer do it all. So when the moon rises, so do I. They call me Moon Walker, and in the darkness of the night, and the silence of my world I go forth and proclaim judgment.

All Out Of Hope

2011-09-22T19:43:00.000-07:00

A twitter friend gave me an opening line and I wanted to see where I could take it. Not as good as I wanted, but I don't think it's too bad in 15 minutes. Thank you, Brian.

ALL OUT OF HOPE

He had two choices, drink the last swallow of water in the canteen and extinguish the fire in his throat or keep trudging through the sand, praying that someone would come along and save him. The odds were against that, but as long as he had those few drops left he had hope. Once they were gone. . .

Brian Smith thought back to the beginning of the day as he struggled to keep placing one foot in front of the other. It should have been simple. Pick up the package, deliver it, get the cash. How the hell was he supposed to know the guy was a cop? And where had Javez gotten the gun? Three minutes. That's all it took, and now his life was over.

Sinking to his knees in the sand Brian held the canteen close to his heart. Hope? For him there was no hope. If the drug lords didn't get him, the cops would. Kenny Rogers had said it best. You got to know when to hold them, and know when to fold them. Well, it was time to fold them.

Unscrewing the top on the canteen Brian poured the water into the sand watching as the last few drops slowed, hanging onto the edge of the canteen mouth, like he had been hanging on to that elusive hope. Laughing he shook the canteen, forcing the last few drops to fall away. Lying down in the sand he spread out his arms, staring at the sky for a moment before closing his eyes. God was all out of miracles and he was all out of hope.

#SampleSunday One Man's Justice

2011-09-10T17:02:00.001-07:00

When life is busy, and I know I can't spend hours working on my lastest novel, I do love to tinker with flash fiction. Working in the judicial system day in and day out, I often see the injustice of people set free on mere technicalities. I once had to watch what clearly was a murderer walk free, a mistrial declared on a technicality. Before we left chambers the prosecutors reminded counsel and the judge this same person was on trial next week for raping an eight year old. I hope you enjoy -

One Man's Justice

Monica Stacy holstered her pistol. "They're all dead."

"Shit happens." Silas Cornwell glanced at the three bodies stretched out on the warehouse floor. Each had taken one shot, but each of those shots had been carefully placed and deadly.

"Silas, they're kids. None of them could be over eighteen." Monica knelt by the first body. She'd heard great things about Silas Cornwell. He was the main reason she'd transferred here last month. But if this was how he treated crime scenes she'd made a mistake. A big mistake.

Tapping the first body with his boot, Silas spit contemptuously. "Marty Crenshaw, eighteen. His first love was Cocaine, his second hurting woman and kids." Moving to the second body he bent down and turned him over. "Simon Benfield, seventeen. Child molester, and if he'd lived long enough, a future serial killer." Moving to the third body, Silas stopped long enough to light a cigarette. Taking a deep drag he exhaled slowly. "Timothy Bradshaw, fifteen. In and out of Juvie Hall since he was ten. Raped his own grandmother last year, and only God knows how many others."

Monica joined him and stood staring down at the third body. "Why weren't they in jail?"

Silas tossed the cigarette and turned toward the door. "You said it yourself, they're just kids."

Monica ran to catch up with him. "Shouldn't we call it in, get forensics out here? No matter who or what they were, we still have to do our job."

Silas stopped walking, his fingers twitching, curling into rock hard fists. "We'll do our damn job."

Monica took a step backwards as he turned. His pupils were mere dots locked inside a glacier of ice. "This was one man's justice. And I'll arrest him, but I sure as hell don't have to like it."

Monica swallowed hard. "One man's justice?"

Silas stepped outside the warehouse, breathing in the chill night air. "Two months ago those three brutally beat and raped a ten year old girl right here inside this warehouse. Everyone knew they did it, but little Jennifer Hidalgo suffered severe head injuries and she was left blind and unable to speak, so she couldn't identify her attackers. "

Silas lit another cigarette, offering the pack to Monica. She hadn't smoked in five years, but suddenly that Marlboro Red looked like manna from heaven. Shaking one out with trembling fingers she leaned into the flickering flame of Silas' lighter and took a deep drag. Exhaling slowly she wondered why she'd ever quit. "So what happened?"

"A slick lawyer, and minor technicality and the judge set them free yesterday. Insufficient evidence." Turning back to the warehouse a slow smile played around his lips. "James Hidalgo did what any father would do. I'm only surprised he killed them so quickly."

Monica tossed her cigarette, a sudden longing to rush home and hug her own little girl washing over her. If it had been her child she wouldn't have killed them with one bullet. She would have tortured them for days, weeks, months. She would have skinned them alive, one little slice at a time. She would have. . . .

Silas slapped her on the back and headed for the car. "Let's go do our job, partner."

Monica followed him, her heart heavy. "All right, Silas. I'll do my damn job, but I sure as hell don't have to like it."

The Year is 2056 - Let Larry Enright Entertain You!

2011-09-10T01:20:00.000-07:00

The Year is 2056

The year is 2056. Much has changed in the neighborhood of Caswell Drive in the hundred years since Tom Ryan lived there. The expansive forest at the end of the street has been developed to the point where there is little of it left. Most of the 1950s houses have either been demolished or rebuilt. Construction has begun on a convenience store where the Ryan house once stood. It is indeed a very different place from when Tom Ryan and the Caswells grew up there.

During the course of the excavation of what used to be the side yard of their home, several interesting artifacts were uncovered — a BB rifle, a partially decomposed giant turkey dinner, and a composition notebook. Specialists in archaeological restoration were immediately called in from the Carnegie Institute to begin the process of bringing these important artifacts of the 50s back to their original condition.

These specialists have been able to restore the cover of the book, thought by historians to be the only remaining copy of the legendary work, the Book of Tom, the most-quoted compendium of knowledge and history from that time period. Sir Nigel Wigglebottom, ageless historian and book reviewer has been quoted as saying that the Book of Tom is the period’s sole work of significance pertaining to the fabric of modern society. He has also been quoted as saying that the Captain Midnight Decoder Ring was used to break the German’s secret code during the Battle of the Bulge.

We are privileged to be able to show you the exclusive image of the cover of the Book of Tom and one excerpt from it, transcribed from Tom Ryan’s barely decipherable handwriting by the noted handwriting expert, Arnold Q. Palmer, inventor of the Palmer Handwriting method and distant relative of the noted professional golfer. So without further ado or adon’t, here is the cover.

As you can see, there is a rather explicit warning about reading it, similar to the curse on King Tut’s tomb. We didn’t lose any workers getting it open, but several poundings at the dig site have been reported. Note in particular the underlining of the words “Stop now.” This was a typical 1950s form of emphasis not present in 21st century writings, absolutely verifying its authenticity.

Here is the excerpt we have been given permission to share with you. It should be noted that there is some dispute about its authenticity. One side of the argument says it was written by Tom’s youngest brother, Harry from his remembrances of sneaking into Tom’s room and reading his book. The other side says that Tom actually wrote it in such a way to make you think he was Harry. You be the judge.

A reading from the Book of Tom:
There are three places you never want to be caught dead: at the Isaly’s without a quarter, downwind when Big Bob is farting, and anywhere near Sister Concepta’s office.

We didn’t get a story about puddles that afternoon. We got something much different. Mrs. Baxter had just opened her storybook to read to us when Sister Del Rey, the school disciplinarian appeared out of nowhere at the classroom door. Mrs. Baxter closed her book and stood up, smiled and nodded to the expressionless nun. I liked Mrs. Baxter. I wasn’t so sure about Sister Del Rey though. She never smiled. She never frowned. She never laughed. She was never angry. Tom said she was a robot Sister with super powers that the nuns had gotten from the Sears catalog. When her robot eyes looked around the room, I knew she was there for me.
First, she pointed at me, and the desks around mine slid away, leaving me by myself. Then her hand turned palm upward and she curled her long knuckly finger back, yanking me out of my desk and almost knocking over my milk. I stood, arms frozen at my sides. I couldn’t move. When she turned her hand again and pointed to a spot at her feet, an invisible force grabbed me and pulled me forward across the floor until I was standing beside her. She looked down at me, and without a word walked out. I followed. What else could I do? Sam, Kate, Mary, and even Tom couldn’t resist, and one by one she collected us, and marched us down to the principal’s office.
Sister Concepta. Just say the name and it strikes fear in the heart of the bravest of the brave. The waiting room outside her office smelled old and had the most uncomfortable wooden chairs for us to sit in. The room had two doors — one that went back to the school secretary Mrs. Apple’s desk and freedom, and the other leading to Sister’s inner sanctum and certain doom. Both were closed. Three of the walls in the waiting room were white painted wood panels with windows above. Sister Concepta’s wall was faded yellow plaster covered with portraits of the principals before her at Saint Catherine’s. The blinds had been drawn on the two sets of windows that looked into other offices, but between the secretary’s desk and waiting room they were open so Mrs. Apple could keep an eye on us. I waved to her and she waggled her finger at me.
Tom pulled me back into my seat. “Sit down, Harry.”
“Why does Sister Concepta want to see us?”
Mary shushed. “Keep quiet or you’ll get us all in trouble.”
Sam shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re already in trouble, big trouble.”
Mary shushed us again. “Listen.”
It was Frankie Marx. He was in Sister Concepta’s office. “It’s all their fault my shoes are ruined, and when I tell my father…”
“He’s ratting us out,” Tom said. “We need a plan. We have to stick together on this.”
I got down off my chair and peeked through the blinds into one of the other offices. There was Sister Del Rey staring at me from her desk. She raised her finger, but before she could fire it at me, I let go of the blind, ran back to my seat, and hid behind Tom.
Kate was trying to straighten out a crease in her skirt, but wasn’t having much luck. She rubbed her palms across it over and over. “We should just tell.”
Tom looked up to make sure Mrs. Apple wasn’t watching and whispered, “Tell what?”
Sam gave up on prying loose a piece of gum someone had stuck to the underside of his chair. “Does anyone have a piece of paper? I’m going to write my last will and testament.”
Kate was rubbing her skirt so hard she was going to wear a hole in it. “We should tell her the truth, Tom.”
“And squeal? No way.”
Mary’s face scrunched up in that funny way she did when she knew she was right. “But he started it.”
Mrs. Apple heard her and looked up, and we instantly became statues in different poses in a game of 1-2-3 Red Light. She went back to reading her book. I whispered, “Green light.”
“He started it; we’ll finish it, but no squealing.” Tom was the king, and the king had spoken.
Mary sat up straight. “What was that?”
We all turned around toward Sister Concepta’s door. There was a grinding, whirring noise, then a creak and a chunk. There it was again.
Tom knew what it was. “It’s a robot machine that chews up kids and spits them into the wastebasket.”
Sam hid behind the chair back. “If I don’t make it out alive, Harry gets my Roy Face.”
Tom didn’t like that at all. “You said the Roy Face card was mine, and Vernon Law, too.”
“That was when you were sitting on me, and besides, he’s the only Pirate Harry likes.”
“You little welsher.”
“I know you are, but what am I?”
Mary looked like she was going to cry. “I don’t hear Frankie any more. I don’t like this. Why didn’t he come out yet?”
“It’s a one way door,” Tom whispered. “No one ever comes back, at least not alive.”
Footsteps, big heavy footsteps were coming closer toward the door from the other side.
Kate had squeezed herself together in a little ball. “I have to go.”
“Tommy, did Sister Concepta eat Frankie’s brain so he can’t talk anymore?”
“Frankie doesn’t have a brain, Harry.”
“Then how does he talk?”
Something clanked up against the door, something metal, and the doorknob started to move.
Tom was the first to turn around and sit up straight. “We’re dead ducks. Turn around. Don’t look into her eyes or you’ll turn to stone.”
We followed his lead, sitting like statues with our hands in our laps. The door creaked slowly open. Yellow light from inside Sister Concepta’s office spilled out into the waiting room, and the shadow of a giant robot nun inched across the floor under our chairs.
“Line up and come inside now, children.” The shadow moved back into her office.

Thank you for taking the time to read this excerpt from the newly released A King in a Court of Fools, the prequel to the best seller Four Years from Home.

About the book: A King in a Court of Fools, originally published as a serial novel, is Larry Enright’s second published work. It is humorous, nostalgic fiction about kids growing up in the 1950s and has been already enjoyed by thousands, ages ten through ninety-one. It is available in both eBook and paperback from Barnes & Noble and Amazon.com. Click for details to Purchase or sample A King in a Court of Fools.

About the author: Larry Enright was born to Irish Catholic first-generation immigrants and raised in Pittsburgh. After college, he moved to the Philadelphia area where for the past 40 years he has filled his life with many careers including musician, teacher, programmer, researcher, and writer. He has written three other novels, including the best-selling Four Years from Home. Visit Larry Enright's site.

#fridayflash Cookies For Davey

2011-09-08T21:34:00.000-07:00

Cookies For Davey

Davey Crimmens wheeled his bike around the corner of Third Street, slammed on the brakes and skidded to a stop less than two feet from the old woman. Jesus, where did she come from so fast?

"Davey, could you help me, please?"

Davey hesitated, weighing his options. He could keep on riding and ignore her, but he was already in trouble for sneaking off to the swimming hole yesterday. One more incident and mom would ground him for sure. And the old woman knew his name, which meant she most likely knew his mother. Parking his bike against the old wooden fence, her followed her through the gate.

"What do you need?"

She smiled at him, and motioned for him to follow her inside the house. "Could you move my rocking chair in front of the window for me please? Been trying to move it all day, but these old hands, you know." She held her hands out in front of her.

Davey shivered as he looked at the bent and gnarled fingers. Must be some kind of disease. The quicker he got out of here the better he'd feel.

Grabbing the rocker he hefted it toward the front window. "Here?"

She smiled at him again, running a hand over his dark curls. "That's perfect, sweetie. There's a plate of chocolate chip cookies for you in the kitchen. Why don't you take some to your friends?"

Davey made his way to the kitchen, stopping short when he saw the card placed next to the plate of fresh baked cookies. "Cookie's for Davey."

That was strange. How could the old woman know he'd be the one coming by today? His mother must of have told her. Good thing he stopped. Grabbing a handful of cookies he turned back to thank her, but she was gone.

Shrugging he shoved a cookie in his mouth, closed the front door behind him and grabbed his bike. He'd thank her tomorrow, or better yet tell his mother to thank her. That should score him some points.

Mike Thomas was waiting for him at the end of the street and Davey pulled up next to him, handing him a chocolate chip cookie. "Sorry, I’m late."

Biting into the cookie Mike grinned at him. "Was beginning to think your mom locked you up."

Davey shook his head. "Naw, she was mad, but not that mad."

"So what took you so long?" Mike licked the chocolate from his finger. "You got anymore cookies?"

Davey handed him another one. "I had to stop and help the old lady on the corner move a chair. Worth it though. These are the best cookies I've ever tasted."

Mike dropped the cookie he was holding. "You mean old lady Harrod?"

Davey hopped off his bike and picked up the cookie. "Five second rule."

"Don't eat that cookie!" Mike's voice trembled slightly, but still came out just short of a scream.

Davey stared at his best friend, his hand automatically stopping short of his already open mouth. Mike was pale, eyes huge, body shaking. "What's wrong with the cookies?"

Turning his bike around, Mike headed in the direction of his house. "I’m going home, Davey. Old lady Harrod's dead. She hung herself yesterday."

Davey stared at Mike's retreating back as he grew smaller and smaller in the distance. Dead? Sniffing the cookie he broke it open. It looked real. Could she have baked them before she died? But he'd seen her. Talked to her. Tossing the cookie in the ditch he wiped his hands on his jeans, a strange feeling washing over him. He suddenly felt hot and cold at the same time, and his hands were shaking.

Grabbing his bike he set off toward home, wobbling slightly. I'm not scared. Mike's acting like a baby. Probably lying anyway. Trying to scare me. Well, I'll show him. I'm ten years old, and I'm not scared of no ghost.

Davey managed to get past the corner without looking directly at the house, peddling fast he sped down Main and turned on Parrish, eager to get home. "Mom, you'll never guess what Mike told me."

"I'm in here, Davey." Claire Crimmens called out from the living room. Smiling at her son, she put aside the paper and gave him her full attention. "What did Mike tell you? I hope he's not trying to get you sneak off again."

Davey shook his head. "Naw, he said the old lady on the corner hung herself yesterday. But I know she didn't, 'cause I seen her when I rode by. Helped her move her rocking chair in front of the window."

Davey saw the color drain out of his mother's face, but she was still smiling. "Mom?"

Claire patted the seat next to her on the couch. "Come here, Davey."Waiting until he was seated next to her, Claire placed her arm around him. "Mrs. Harrod was old, sweetheart, and she had crippling arthritis." She gently stroked his hair, running her fingers through the curls. "She had a son, and he always visited in May. He was supposed to be here today, but there was a car crash and he was killed. I guess she just couldn't face the thought of going on without him."

Davey swallowed, blinking hard at the wetness behind his lashes. "But I saw her mom. Talked to her. She gave me cookies."

Claire pulled him close, continuing to stroke his hair. "I was supposed to go over today and move her rocking chair for her. She liked to sit in front of the window and watch for his car. Always had a huge plate of chocolate chips cookies on the table with a little card that said "Cookies for Davey." Claire raised his head, looking into his eyes, noting the unshed tears. "Her son's name was Davey too. Don't be scared, sweetheart. You did a good thing and I'm very proud of you."

Davey leaned in closer. "I ate the cookies, mom," he whispered.

Claire hugged him and stood up, pulling him up with her. "And I'll bet wherever she is right now she's smiling knowing that her "Cookies for Davey" didn't go to waste. Come on, you can help me cook supper."

Davey followed his mother to the kitchen, his step a little lighter, back a little straighter. He was ten years old and he'd seen a ghost. Heck, he'd not only seen a ghost he'd talked to one, and he'd eaten cookies. Just wait until he told the guys about that. Maybe Susie Whitlow would sit with him at lunch.

Kay Hooper - A wonderful "Touch of Evil"

2011-09-07T12:05:00.000-07:00

I think my very first Kay Hooper book was Finding Rachel and then Haunting Laura, but I totally became hooked when I read her "Evil" series. What pulled me in? Her characters were both believeable and fascinating. As I strive toward my own writing career, I hope to develop some of Kay's skill in creating memorable characters with compelling stories that keep the reader turning pages all the way to the end.

Ripple In Time - WIP Part 2

2011-09-05T08:21:00.000-07:00

I haven't decided exactly what I'm going to do with this. Short story, novella or novel. Ideas are running rampant and I hope to really get started on it this week.
Hope you enjoy.

Part 2

Fumbling with the doorknob she finally got it open and sprinted across the room to Casey's bedroom, turning the handle and pushing. The door wouldn't budge. "Casey!" Valerie pounded on the door, continuing to push.

"What?" Casey pushed the chest away from the door and opened it a crack. "Jesus, Val, it's only four a.m. I knew you wanted to get an early start but this is…" Casey took a good look at Val's face, noting the paler than usual complexion, as well as the tears streaming down her face. Pushing the chest completely out of the way she opened the door. "What's wrong?"

Valerie struggled to bring her breathing back to normal. "I heard a scream. I thought. . ." She couldn't finish the sentence, instead she reached out and pulled

Casey into a tight embrace. "I thought he'd killed you."

Casey broke the embrace. "Who, that sweet little old man you rented this place from?"

Valerie had the decency to flush. "Okay, so he gave me the creeps too. But I did hear voices and then there was this horrible scream."

Sighing, Casey knew she wasn't going to get back to sleep so she headed for the kitchen and a fresh pot of coffee. "Maybe it was your lady in white?"

Valerie perked up at the idea, but immediately discarded it following Casey into the kitchen. "Ghosts don't usually talk in groups, and I've never heard one scream like that."

Casey filled the coffee pot and turned it on taking two cups down from the cabinet. "You're always telling me that it's an unknown phenomena. How do you know ghosts don't scream like that?"

Valerie pondered the question for a moment. She couldn't be sure, but it sounded human. Too human. "Well, I'm going to ask Mr. Jenson if there's anyone else around here, and if there is we're going to get at least part of our money back."

Casey chuckled, and shook her head. "We stole this place as it is, Val. Two hundred dollars for a full month? I expected it to be run down, poorly furnished and a real dump. Instead it's clean, and the furniture looks almost new. Where else could we find a deal like that?"

Casey's words sunk in and Val felt the hairs rise along the back of her neck. What had she been thinking when she'd read the brochure? "Yeah, where else could anyone get a deal like that?" She whispered.

# # #

Grabbing her easel, canvas and paints Valerie headed to the clearing at first light. Two pots of coffee and daylight had gone a long way in dispelling her earlier fears. It really was beautiful here, and she couldn't wait to start painting.

At least Mr. Jenson hadn't lied about the clearing. Setting up her easel and canvas Valerie walked around the clearing, getting a feel for the place. She had the feeling something had stood here in the past. Perhaps another cabin. The grass was lush and green as if tended by some unknown hand. The forest closed it off in a perfect circle.

Returning to the easel she prepared her pallet and picked up a brush. "Okay, guys. Show me what you want me to see."

Valerie knew she often tranced out when painting and hours passed like minutes. Still she was surprised when she looked around and noticed the deepening shadows and sun disappearing below the horizon. Where had the day gone? Standing back she looked at the canvas and frowned. She recognized the clearing, but there was definitely something new there. A huge stone occupied the center. More disturbing though was the water-like ripples flowing from left to right. The painting was ruined. Sighing she packed up and headed back to the cabin. Casey was just coming out the front door as she trudged up the porch.

"Hey, I was just coming to look for you. I had to cook supper again and it was your night."

Valerie shrugged, mumbling as she passed her. "Sorry, I lost track of time."
Casey followed her into the cabin. "You better put something on that sunburn. What happened anyway?"

Tossing the painting into her bedroom, Valerie put her easel and paints away before coming back to the living room and flopping on the couch. "Bad paint, I guess. A total day wasted."

"I doubt that. You only buy the best paint. Let me have a look." Casey picked up the discarded painting, frowning as she noted the ripple effect. "Is this the clearing you were in?"

Valerie nodded. "With the exception of the rock in the middle."

Casey looked closer. "That's not exactly a rock, you know."

Valerie joined her looking closer. "Looks like a rock to me."

Casey gave her a condescending look. "You really need to get out more. It's an altar."

"Altar? What kind of altar? And what's for dinner?" Valerie took the painting and propped it against the wall. Maybe it wasn't a wasted day after all.

"Looks like a sacrificial altar to me, and we're having franks and beans."

Valerie grimaced. "We had franks and beans last night."

Casey grinned. "Maybe tomorrow night you'll cook."

#samplesunday Ripple In Time - A WIP

2011-09-03T21:17:00.000-07:00

"Okay, tell me again why Connecticut?" Casey Burgin asked, wiping the sweat out of her eyes as she geared down to take another rocky hill on the road from hell, which supposedly would lead to the cabin of their dreams.

Valerie Marsh grabbed for the door and dash as they hit another bump in the road, wondering not for the first time if Casey's beat up '97 CRV was going to make it to the cabin. "You said you wanted something off the beaten path." She grinned as the road finally evened out. "You have to admit this is definitely not a beaten path."

Casey slowed to a snail's pace as overgrown tree branches closed in around them. "I don't think anyone has been up this path in years, Val. Where the hell did you find this place?"

Valerie pouted and pulled out the brochure, tossing it across the seat. "Someone mailed it to me right after my last art show. Said it was just the kind of place for my paintings."

Casey cast a quick sideways look, eyebrows raised and jaw set as they hit another rut in the road. "Meaning?"

Valerie shrugged. "I guess because of the lady in white."

Casey cursed under her breath, rolling her eyes toward the heavens. "Another lady in white? I mean, what is that about 20 in the last two years? I think every state has one."

"Not like this one," Valerie smirked. "She's been documented on video and photographs."

"Oh, and that makes it real." Casey grimaced, avoiding another hole in the road. "Do you have any idea how much of that stuff turns out to be fake every year?"
Valerie sat back in her seat and stared at the passing countryside. "I'd know if she was fake. There's something here, Casey. Something really strange. I can feel it."

Casey turned a corner and the cabin came into view. "And just where is this lady in white supposed to materialize? You can't expect me to maneuver up and down this God-forsaken road in the dark."

Valerie shook her head. "A lot of people have seen her along Route 59 and inside the Union Cemetery. They say she actually darts in front of passing cars. One driver even thought he'd hit someone the night she darted in front of him, but they could never find a body even though there was a dent in the hood of the car. A lot of renowned ghost hunters have been here. One group even documented hearing a woman weeping one night in the cemetery."

Casey pulled up in front of the cabin and parked turning to give Valerie her best "you're kidding me look". "Really, Val? A woman weeping in a cemetery. That would sure convince me it was haunted," she replied sarcastically as she looked at her home away from home for the next month. She was already thinking the cabin was a perfect backdrop for "The Hills Have Eyes" when the front door opened and a perfect character for the next "Texas Chainsaw Massacre" movie walked out.

"Who the hell is that?" She whispered.

Valerie grabbed the brochure, stuffed it in her purse and opened the door of the CRV with a smile. "If you'd read the brochure you'd know. That's our landlord, Mr. Jenson."

Casey followed her from the vehicle at a much slower pace. She wasn't afraid of ghosts, or anything already dead. It was the living you had to worry about.
Landlord my ass. That man's the next serial killer in my newest novel, and you can bet a sweet penny I'll be pushing furniture against my bedroom door every night.

Shaking the proffered hand, Valerie continued to smile while fighting the urge to rush inside and wash her hand. There was no way she was going to let Casey know the sight of Mr. Jenson had totally freaked her out. The picture on the brochure had to be from another century when he still looked human. The bony fingers that had clasped hers were cold and stiff, belying the 90 degree temperature outside the cabin.

"Mr. Jenson, this is my friend Casey Burgin. You may have heard of her, she has several best sellers on the market."

Casey shot Valerie a withering glare as the cold bony fingers closed around her hand. "Nice to meet 'ya. Afraid I don't read much." Handing Valerie the key, he stepped down from the porch. "Live about a mile south of here. You girls need anything you just let me know."

Casey and Valerie stood on the porch watching as he shuffled slowly down the overgrown lane and disappeared into the trees. Casey wiped her hand on her jeans. "You can't tell me you didn't find him just a little creepy, Val."

Opening the screen Valerie stepped inside the cabin calling over her shoulder. "With the things you write and things I paint, most people find us a little creepy. He's probably just a nice old man."

Casey doubted that, but followed her inside pleasantly surprised that although the cabin was small, it was immaculate. She'd imagined a ratty old sofa with rusted springs, and spider web covered furniture. Peering into the bedrooms she called out. "I've got dibs on the blue room. The view is gorgeous."

Valerie joined her at the window. "See, told you you'd like it here. You can set up right here in front of the window and kill all the people you want."
Casey grinned at her, flopping on the bed. "Yeah, but what about you?"

Valerie continued to stare out the window. "Mr. Jenson says there's a clearing about a quarter of a mile from here that I might find interesting."

Casey sat up, pulling her knees to her chest and resting her chin on her knees. "I don't like the idea of you going out there alone. Especially to some place he recommends. He may be a sweet old man, but there's something in his eyes that sent chills down my spine."

Valerie nodded. She'd felt it too, but then she often had that chilled feeling. Especially when she was painting. "Let's get unpacked. I saw a grill out back, and you're cooking tonight."

Casey groaned leaving the comfort of the bed. She hated cooking. "I saw a nice bed and breakfast on the edge of town. If we stayed there we could order room service."
Valerie chuckled. "And miss all this ambience? You can't tell me you don't already have a murder rolling around underneath that curly mass."

# # #

Two hours later unpacked, fed and feeling the effects of the long drive they retired to the porch swing with a bottle of wine. Nightfall was descending fast and a multitude of sounds cascaded from the forest. Valerie could tell Casey was itching to get started on her new novel. She felt the same itch, wanting to grab her easel and paints. Standing up she stretched and turned toward the cabin. "I'm calling it a night. I want to make an early start in the morning."

Casey refilled her glass and sipped it, enjoying the cool breeze that had sprung up. "Go ahead. I'll lock up."

Valerie woke to the sound of muted voices, rising and falling in a song-like crescendo. Rolling over she punched the pillow, irritated at the thought of sharing their getaway with other campers. Mr. Jenson had promised they would be the only ones in a ten mile radius. Closing her eyes she allowed the warmth of the bed coupled with the cool air from the air conditioner to lull her back to the pre-sleep stage. A blood-curdling scream broke the silence of the night as a thin line of hairs stood up all over her body. Tossing back the covers she sprang from the bed. Casey.

#samplesunday Food To Die Smiling For

2011-08-27T20:44:00.000-07:00

America has a new reality show. Can unknown Chef Carrie Thompson prepare 'Food To Die Smiling Food'

Short Story, flash fiction and some great recipes.

DAY ONE - BREAKFAST

Ian McGregor had chosen me.

The letter shook within my tightly clutched fingers. It didn't make sense. I wasn't some great chef with a million followers. I couldn't even get on Hell's Kitchen. My small International Cuisine restaurant was so far off the map that Google didn't even recognize me. So why would the notorious serial killer pick me to prepare his last meals?

Rolling my eyes toward heaven I grimaced and muttered. "You hate me don't you? You really, really hate me."

"Who hates you?" Sammi asked, shoving a cinnamon roll into her mouth.

"God hates me. And Ian McGregor is going to destroy me."

Sammi swallowed the roll, eyes growing huge. "Ian McGregor chose you?"

I nodded, holding out the damning letter.

"Woot!" Sammi screamed, doing her little happy dance. "We're in the money. We're in the money."

"Only if he dies smiling." I scowled, taking back the letter. "And in the last five years no one has died smiling."

Sammi stopped in mid hip roll, the seriousness of the situation sinking into the brain beneath all that blonde hair. "Ooh, crap."

"Yeah, ooh crap is right. All our work, money, everything will be lost. All he has to do is frown, burp or God forbid fart, and we're destroyed. And he's made it plain his intention is to kill me."

Sammi took the letter frowning as she read it again. "I don't get it."

"He killed his first two women in Ireland, and he wants an Irish breakfast. The second two in Italy, and he wants an Italian lunch, and the last two in Louisiana, so he's chosen a Cajun dinner. What's that say to you?"

Sammi grinned, breaking into song. "Memories, like the corners of my mind. . . ."

Flopping down on the sofa, a remembrance of our first and only month's profit, I sighed. "Better enjoy them. In three days or less, memories are all we'll have left."

A lot of people believed that just because Sammi was your typical California blonde, gorgeous beyond what any woman had a right to be, and with those honey gold locks, that she would be your typical 'dumb blonde'. In truth, she was brilliant, and her next words reinforced that beyond my wildest dreams.

"You're looking at this all wrong. They called him the 'Killer Food Date' because he always chose a restaurant employee, preferably a chef, and he always took them out to eat before he killed them. He's a sadistic, mentally unstable connoisseur serial killer. And what does every serial killer want?"

I shrugged, sinking into my misery, reading the letter again. "Dessert and he doesn't even tell me what country he wants it from."
Sammi started her little happy dance, again. "Memories. They want to remember and enjoy their killings. That's his dessert."

"Sammi, that's sick."

Sammi laughed and punched me on arm. "Carrie, you're so you. Get with the program. Of course it's sick. But all we have to do is find out what he ate on the majority of his "killer dates" and I guarantee you he'll die with a smile on his face."
Taking the letter, she scanned it again. "Tomorrow is breakfast. Let's see what we can find."

Pulling out the laptop she clicked away. "Easy as pie."

"Pie for breakfast?"

Sammi rolled her eyes. "Of course not silly, although that's not a bad idea. The restaurant owner said he had bread with some kind of cream spread and tea."

"What kind of bread?"

Sammi shrugged. "Doesn't say, but it was Irish bread. Can't be that many Irish breads, can there?"

"Dozens. What kind of spread?"

Sammi glanced at the article. "Doesn't say."

Great. Just great. All I had to do was pick the right bread, the right spread and pray. Of course, God hated me so prayer wasn't going to do much good. I was dead. My career over before anyone besides Ian McGregor even knew I existed.

"Wasn't your grandfather Irish?" Sammi cooed excitedly, still counting that imaginary money she saw falling from heaven.

My grandfather was Irish and I had some of grandma's recipes. "This could work," I mumbled, Sammi's excitement becoming contagious. "I need to grab grandma's recipes and start cooking."

Sammi nodded still rolling her hips in a happy dance and singing under her breath, "We're in the money. We're in the money."

I didn't have a clue who made up this silly death watch game, but after a long, sleepless night I had a real good feel for being on death row and waiting for the clock to count down. Glancing at my watch I loaded up the breakfast basket. Where the heck was Sammi? Shouldn't your best friend and business partner be here when they led you to the gallows? Three days. I had three days of this nightmarish hell. If I made it through today.

"Look what I bought you!" Sammi flounced into the room, long hair swaying. "You're going to be lovely."

"I am not wearing that hat." I shivered, glancing at the chef's outfit from hell.

"Oh, yes, you are!" Sammi pulled at my arms, shoving them into the jacket before pushing the hat down on my head and turning me towards the mirror. "See, lovely."

"I look like a buffoon," I stated, trying to pull off the hat as Sammi pushed and pulled, arranging it over my strawberry curls.

"You have to dress the part," Sammi stated, pushing a few stray curls under the hat.
I glanced at her hot pink mini. "So what about you?"

Sammi grinned mischievously. "I'm eye-candy. If the food doesn't make him smile, maybe the thoughts of slitting my throat will."

"Jesus, Sammi." I buttoned the coat, taking one last glance in the mirror.

Grabbing the basket, she examined the contents pulling out the jar of ice cold water. "Where's the tea?"

"We'll have to make it at the prison. You can't reheat Irish tea. Makes it taste bitter."

"No problem." Sammi took me by the arm, pulling and pushing me toward the door. "We have to make our way through the media, so let me do the talking."

"Media?" I squirmed under her intense gaze. "No one said anything about media."

Sammi didn't bother answering. Instead she pasted a radiant smile on her face and led me out into the glare of camera flashes and microphones shoved my way.

"Ms. Thompson, were you surprised when Mr. McGregor chose you?"

"Carrie, is it true you had an affair with Ian McGregor before he started killing women?"

"Is it true that Hell's Kitchen turned down your restaurant because it was beyond repair?"

The questions were fired at me from left and right. Sammi never lost her smile as she opened the limo door and pushed me inside, and with a swivel of her hips and show of long luscious legs climbed in beside me. "Ms. Thompson has no comments."

Pulling off the hat I tossed it on the seat beside me as the driver weaved his way through the media. "You should have let me answer them. Where do they get that stuff?"

Sammi shook her head. "They'll change their tune when this is all over. And they don't get it anywhere. They make it up."

The limo pulled through the prison gates and Sammi rearranged the hat on my head. "Now, show those pearly whites, and let's go make a killer smile."

"What you got for me for, sweetie?" McGregor posed the question to me, but his eyes were traveling up and down Sammi's body, a slow smile spreading across his handsome features.

I swallowed hard, trying to find my voice. "We have a delicious Soda Bread with cream spread and tea." I placed the plate in front of him and poured the cup of tea. "I hope you enjoy it."

He raised an eyebrow, finally allowing his gaze to drift to my face. "Take off the hat."

Pulling the hat off, I pushed the curls back from my face.

"Aye. That's what I wanted to see. Those strawberry curls. My first date had strawberry curls, you know." He picked up a slice of bread covered in cream spread, bit off a huge chunk and washed it down with tea. "I like women with strawberry curls."

"Thank you," I whispered, glancing at Sammi who simply smiled and shrugged. What difference did it make what he liked as long as he smiled. The single film crew Warden Temperman had allowed inside the cafeteria was hanging on to every word, cameras honed in on McGregor's face.

"I'd like to see you in strawberry curls." McGregor turned his attention back to Sammi. "Think you could do that for me? We could do lunch tomorrow."
I felt Sammi stiffen by my side. This wasn't what we had expected. McGregor was up to something. The implication was clear. Sammi wore strawberry curls and he'd smile. If she didn't. . .

Sammi started to speak, but I cut her off. "I'm sorry, Mr. McGregor. Strawberry's not a good color on Sammi. I guess you'll be eating alone tomorrow."

Taking Sammi's arm I pulled her back toward the entrance. My career might be over, but I wasn't playing this lunatic's game.

We'd taken only a few steps when the camera crew went wild. "There you have it, ladies and gentlemen, Chef Carrie Thompson has pulled off day one of our death watch contest by preparing Food to Die Smiling For."

I glanced back to find McGregor smiling from ear to ear holding a second piece of bread. Sammi was humming "we're in the money," and I could hear the prisoners in the background screaming and clapping. I met McGregor's gaze, noting the gleam in his eyes, slight nod of the head as he took a bite. He'd let me win day one, but tomorrow was a new challenge. He didn't think I was up to it. I smiled back, nodding just slightly. "I'll see you tomorrow."

McGregor laughed, shaking the chains that held him to the table. "I'll look forward to it."

#samplesunday Lessons From The Sparrow - A short story

2011-08-18T16:23:00.000-07:00

Pulling the faded green sweater closer around my thin shoulders I shivered slightly. The office was cold. Perhaps Dr. Burgess had turned down the thermostat, hoping the cold would somehow distract me from the words he was saying. He was still talking, but my mind wandered away from him. Away from the cold office to another time. Another place.

"Did I ever tell you the story about the Sparrow, Dr. Burgess?"

"Ms. Caroll. . .no. No, you didn't."

I smiled at him across the desk top as my thoughts continued to wander back seventy two years.

# # #

"Mary Elizabeth!"

Mother's voice was shrill and the use of both names told me I was in deep trouble.

"What'd you do, Mary?" Jimmy Lee whispered, his eyes growing huge as only a six year old's can. Like me, he knew both names meant mom was really mad. Not just stand you in the corner mad, but really mad.

Standing outside my bedroom door I listened to mom mumbling to herself. "This child is going to be the death of me."

"Oh, no." I whispered glancing sideways at Jimmy Lee. "Bobber."

Opening the door I stepped inside, my gaze going to the shoe box in the middle of my bed. Mom stood on the opposite side of the room, hands on her hips, eyes glaring as her nostrils flared. Her flaming red hair, much like my own, seemed to stand on edge. Another indication her Irish temper was flaring out of control. Picking up the box I glanced at the tiny brown bird inside. His head was still bobbing up and down. He was still alive.

"He flew into the window." I stated, my own temper starting to flare. "We named him Bobber, because his head keeps bobbing up and down. See?"

I held the box out so she could look inside, believing that the sight of Bobber's little head going up and down would melt her heart, like it had melted mine.

"You know birds have lice and they carry disease. Now you take that bird outside right this minute and you bury it."

"Mom, he isn't dead yet!"

She sighed, jerking the bedspread from my rumpled bed. "Well, he's almost dead. Or at the very least he's dying. It'd be a kind thing for you to do, Mary Carroll."

"Would you bury me if I wasn't dead, mommy?" Jimmy Lee stared at her, eyes huge, face pale.

"Of course not, honey, but you're not a bird."

"God made the birds too, mom." I whispered, horrified that my own mother would contemplate such a thing. I watched as emotions flittered across her face. Anger, frustration, and finally acceptance. I knew I had her. She couldn't argue with God.

"Okay, but get it out of your room."

Grabbing Jimmy by the hand I took the box outside and placed drops of water along Bobber's tiny beak. He managed to swallow a few drops.

"Can we take him to the vet, Mary?"

"I don't think so, Jimmy. I don't have enough money."

"How much does it cost?"

"More than two dollars, and that's all I've got."

Jimmy glanced into the box, a huge tear clinging to the edge of his eyelashes. "Gosh, that's a lot."

The tiny head continued to bob up and down as if he had pounding headache. I could tell he was suffering.

"Mom's right, you know. I should probably go ahead and kill him." My voice quivered as hot tears ran down my face.

"If I were a man I'd do it for you."

Jimmy wiped at his own tears and I hugged him. "I know you would."

Forgetting about the lice and diseases I picked Bobber up in my hand and his head stopped bobbing. My closeness seemed to comfort him.

"You know the sparrow was the bird that stayed around Jesus when he was on the cross." I smiled at Jimmy as I sat down crossed legged on the grass.

"Really?" Jimmy asked, joining me in the grass.

"Yep. This is a very special bird."

Jimmy scooted closer and placed an arm around my shoulder. "He likes it when you hold him."

"Yeah, it seems to make him feel better. He knows he's not alone. " Sighing I stroked the small head. "Well, little bird it's up to you and God now. You have to choose. No one has the right to make that choice for you."

I held him until he stopped breathing. Jimmy and I buried him under the old oak tree in the front yard. We both felt good. Bobber didn't die alone, and he made the decision, not us. That moment set the pace for the next 72 years of my life. I'd learned a lot from that little sparrow.

# # #

"Ms. Carroll?"

Coming back to the present I reached across the desk and squeezed Dr. Burgess' hand gently. He was such a nice young man. Seemed like as I got older the doctors kept getting younger. And he seemed to be taking this so personally. Almost as if somehow my illness was his fault.

"Ms. Carroll, did you hear what I said?"

"Yes. Yes, I did."

Dr. Burgess sighed, standing up and coming around the desk. "Is there someone with you?"

"Why, yes. My granddaughter is in the waiting room."

"Would you mind waiting here just a minute? I'd like to talk with her."

I listened as they whispered outside the door. He was afraid I hadn't understood. I understood just fine. I was old, not senile. My cancer was growing at a rapid rate. Maybe six months, no longer.

"Grandma, are you ready to go home now?" Mary Carol, my namesake, looked at me through teary eyes.

"Yes, I'd like that." Grabbing my walker I stood up and started the slow process of making it from the office out the front door to the car.

Mary Carol was quiet all the way to the car and the short ride home. I knew she was hurting. Thinking about my death. My funeral. Well, I wasn't dead yet.

"How's art school?" I asked to break the silence.

"Oh, I don't know, Grandma. I was thinking of dropping out and coming home. Maybe it was all just a dream. I mean, there are too many great artists out there already."

"Did I ever tell you the story about the sparrow?"

Mary Carol grinned. "Yes, Grandma, you did. About a hundred times."

"Well, Mary Carol, you remember it. Don't you go burying things before they're dead. Not dreams and not people. Life is everlasting. People die and babies are born every day. Dreams never die. Unless you let them."

She looked at me thoughtfully. I knew for the first time the true meaning of the story had come out for her. Pulling into the driveway she parked the car and hugged me. "I won't forget, Grandma."

The old house looked comfortable. In my eighty years I'd lived many dreams there. The sparrow had taught me never to bury anything before it died. Not dreams, not people, not things. I snorted remembering the doctor's words. Six months, no longer. Made up my mind right then and there I'd live at least eight just to show him I could.

My gaze drifted to the ancient oak in the front yard. "Look, Mary Carol, the sparrows are nesting. We'll have babies soon."

Excerpt- The Gifts, A Jacody Ives Mystery

2011-08-14T06:12:00.000-07:00

Sheriff Sarah Burns pulled off the road and parked near the site of Saturday night’s tragic accident. Unnatural deaths were rare in Glade Springs, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d missed something.

An image of Morgana Nelson clutching the body of her daughter, her heartbroken cry echoing through the morgue, flashed through Sarah’s mind.

Maybe it was only wishful thinking. The Nelsons were good people, and Johanna had been their only child. The accident made no sense. Johanna wasn’t the typical eighteen year old. She didn’t run off to Edgewood or Richmond after graduation, looking for a larger city and more excitement. She didn’t stay out late. She didn’t drive fast. She didn’t drink. So why had she been here, driving so fast she missed the curve? The toxicology reports weren’t in yet, but the body had reeked with the smell of alcohol. The Nelsons had questions, needed answers.

Climbing out of the Explorer, Sarah walked toward the curve as she closed out the noises around her, traveling the path Johanna had driven. Emotions were strong here. She could feel the sadness—and the anger. Johanna was upset.

Sarah moved into the curve slowly, feeling the shift in the emotions surrounding her. Panic took over, quickly turning to fear. She retraced the path the car had taken as it skidded off the road into the huge oak tree.

Crouching near the point of impact, she placed her hand on the earth and closed her eyes. For a brief moment she felt physical pain and then all emotions ceased.

Sighing, Sarah stood up. She wasn’t sure what she had expected to find. Let it go, Sarah, she chided herself. Some questions have no answers.

Heaving another sigh, Sarah started toward her vehicle. She was tired, looking forward to a quiet evening at home. Last night’s dream had upset her. All day she’d been haunted by the image of the dark brown eyes filled with pain, the heart-wrenching cry that had jerked her from an uneasy sleep. The whispered message that had kept her lying awake, trembling as she listened to the sounds of the night.

She hated the dreams. Hated the feeling of helplessness they created inside her as the dying reached out, sending messages to loved ones, or crying out for vengeance against their attacker. Only this time the dream had been different. This time the message was for Sarah.

Sarah shook herself mentally, pushing away the memories, the fear. It was just a dream. And this was just a horrible accident. Accidents happened—especially when teenagers drank. Her foot touched the passenger tire track imprinted in the soft earth near the tree. A feeling of panic clutched at her, growing stronger, making it hard to breathe.

“Jesus,” she muttered as she stepped away from the track, breathing deeply.

Kneeling, she touched the earth, holding her breath, as emotions flowed through her fingertips. Unlike the driver’s side, the panic here continued to escalate. There was no physical pain, no ceasing of emotion. This was what had been bugging her. The something missing. Johanna Nelson had died almost instantly, but she hadn’t died alone. Someone else had been in the car with her when she crashed into that tree.

#samplesunday Colors of Love-Introduction

2011-08-06T20:26:00.000-07:00

I started writing this a couple of years ago. My first attempt at non-fiction on a subject I love. Colors of Love is a "help yourself book" designed to lead you through the exercises necessary to write your own book on healing with colors. In the next few weeks I'll be revamping my website and uploading many of the programs talked about here related to relaxation, visualization and healing with colors.

INTRODUCTION

Life is much like the water in a small stream. It flows gently around curves in smooth puddles until it hits an embankment of rock, tree limbs and debris. Here the water struggles, tumultuously pushing against the barrier, frothing, struggling valiantly until it makes its way to the smooth pool beyond the dam. If you think about it--each drop of water is an individual, but no single drop could make this difficult journey alone. And no individual drop will ever pass the same way twice.

In summary, life is chock full of smooth pools and difficult dams. We are individuals and yet at the same time, parts of a whole. And it is much easier to push past the embankments with a little help.

I have never truly been a proponent of self-help books. I have read many, and the information contained therein was informative, however as the title implied it was a self-help book. I was slightly depressed to find that simply reading it did not help me. There are many great books on many subjects that are titled self-help, and the information contained therein can be helpful, but it is not truly a self-help book unless you understand that YOU MUST HELP YOURSELF.

My purpose in writing this book was to share my own story, along with bits and pieces of knowledge gleamed along my journey in hopes that together the obstacles placed in your path may be more easily crossed. To help you learn the tools to help your self, and to guide you through writing your own self-help book.

The DVD’s **(programs will be uploaded to website) attached hereto contain step-by-step instructions and guided meditations to teach you relaxation techniques, imaging techniques, sensing techniques, and how to use your colors for enhancing your physical, mental and emotional well being. I hope you enjoy your journey, as much I enjoyed mine.

PART ONE
GETTING READY

CHAPTER ONE
“Give a man a fish and you feed
him for a day. Teach a man to fish
and you feed him for a lifetime.”
Chinese Proverb

PURPOSE
Have you ever driven through the country in fall, mesmerized by the beauty of the changing colors? Uplifted by the glorious, awesome beauty that God created all around you. Can you truly take this drive without for just a moment forgetting the outside world and just allowing yourself to soak in the picture of love painted all around you?

I ask this question because I awoke one day, looked outside and saw the trees beginning to bud. I was in my late thirties, and it struck me that I had never before really seen the trees bud. I felt so lonely inside. As if I had lived my life without ever opening eyes. This is where my journey began.

You are about to embark upon a journey that will hopefully enhance your life physically, mentally and emotionally. In this chapter I will share a little of my own story, as well as ask you to make a commitment--not to me--but to yourself. I will ask you to commit to take this journey one step at a time, at your own pace and for your own benefit.

There are many things that you won’t find in this book. For instance, you won’t find the history of colors in the following chapters. I’m not going to talk about molecular structure and pigmentation. Those subjects can be found in a thousand places on line, and will be available once you finish your journey should you care to study and become more knowledgeable in that field.

You’re not going to find a description of the twelve pathways to enlightenment, or the seven paths to the garden. Nor do I intend to explore herein religious backgrounds and the use of colors. I will mention religion and God only in this chapter wherein I relate a portion of my own story.

It is my intention in writing this book and taking this journey with you, to hopefully “teach you to fish”, thereby giving you the tools you need to create your own self-help book and make positive changes that enhance your physical, mental and emotional enjoyment of life.

INDIVIDUALISM

As we journey through life we are unique individuals. Outer appearances make us unique, but even identical twins have subtle differences, and they too are unique. Our thoughts, mannerisms and emotions make us the unique individuals we are. We have categorized ourselves into good and bad, happy or sad, wealthy or poor. If we are honest with ourselves we all have our good and bad moments. They don’t make us good or bad, they are simply a part of our individuality. We all have our happy and sad moments. We cannot always choose which one, but we can choose how long we stay within that emotion. We all have our wealthy and poor moments. Times are good, and then for some reason beyond our control, times are bad. Once again, we may not be able to control the outside forces on our lives, but we can take charge of our lives and control how these moments affect us.

WHO I AM

Often when people meet me for the first time their reaction is that I have it all together. I know who I am and what I want. I love people, love speaking in public, and just truly enjoy life. All of this is true on a minor scale. But I have not always been like that. In fact, there was a time when I considered suicide. A time when I hurt so badly inside that even the thoughts of my children were not enough to make me leave my bed. Many would say that the following was just my imagination, or perhaps an overload of stress. It really doesn’t matter. To me it was the miracle I needed to turn my life around and realize who I am.

MY TURNING POINT

I lay in bed in the early morning hours realizing I was broke, smoking my last cigarette, drinking my last cup of coffee. A voice whispered in the darkness, “Who are you?” I thought about this. And for the first time in my life realized that I was nobody. I had been my parents’ daughter, but they were gone now. I had been my husband’s wife, but the divorce was final. I had been my children's mother, but they were growing up and no longer needed me. I had been all these things for so long that I had no clue who I truly was. Who was this woman who smiled at the right time, laughed at the right time, and made her way through life as a walking talking Barbie doll? She had no emotions. She had no needs. She had nothing left to live for.

The pain hit then in riveting waves of raw emotion. Sobs shook my body, as I suddenly realized that it was all my fault. I couldn’t blame my parents, my husband or my children. I couldn’t even blame God. The decision to be where I was had been mine, and mine alone. I had decided to live my life for others. I had decided to exist in a world in which I played only the parts that were given to me. I had given up my identity, my individualism. I had given up God.

I cried until there were no more tears inside me. I cried until my body ached as if I had been brutally beaten.

The voice whispered in the darkness, “Who are you?”

My throat was raw, and though I wanted to scream out in frustration, I could manage no more than a whispered reply. “I don’t know.”

This was a turning point in my life. I had always believed in God, but until this moment I was unaware of His power. A warmth enveloped me, as if arms of love had suddenly been placed around me. The voice whispered, “You are my daughter, and you are loved.”

It was at this moment I took charge of my life. There will always be smooth pools and obstacles. I will always be good and bad, happy and sad, wealthy and poor. I no longer allow those things to control me. Instead I began a wonderful journey of internal exploration. I wanted to get to know the most important person in my life--ME. And I wanted to learn to love that person as God loved me.

It was at this point I started studying metaphysics. You may wonder why I chose this path instead of a traditional religious path, and the truth is I don’t know. I only know it seemed the path I was supposed to be on at this point in my life.

For many years I felt somewhat like a child, seeing the world through fresh new eyes. The beautiful garden of colors He had created for us. Eventually I learned who I was. I am a daughter of God. I am a co-creator of the world around me. I learned to love myself, which enabled me to love others. I sometimes imagine a world where only love exists. That world is glorious with the colors of spring, summer, fall and winter. That’s my idea of what Heaven must be like.

Through my studies in healing, meditation and hypnosis I learned that the colors of our garden have deeper meanings and many healing properties. I learned to use colors to alter my emotions, relieve stress and physical pain, and create a more healthy, loving environment around me.

YOUR COMMITMENT

If you decide to take this journey, you must do it as an individual. Colors have been categorized with universal meanings, but their application must be taken from an individual baseline. Many self-help ideas and books fail simply because in their universal approach they mistakenly forget that WE ARE UNIQUE INDIVIDUALS.

You are an individual and the meanings and benefits of colors will be unique only to you. I say this to you because I want you to experience your own Colors of Love. To do this, you must take your own beautiful journey. If you feel compelled to skip ahead instead of following the book, please stop for a moment and ask yourself “Whom am I doing this for?” The answer should be simple--you are doing this for you. So take the time to get to know yourself, the unique, beautiful, wonderfully multi-faceted you. Find your healing colors and use them with the meditations to create your own world with COLORS OF LOVE.

So before we begin, fill out the commitment form below, sign it, date it and read it daily, cherishing the unique wonderful individual you are.

I, _____________________________, do hereby promise that I will be faithful and true to myself, and that I will take this journey one step at a time, at my own pace and for my own benefit.
_____________________________________

This ___ day of _________________, 2______.

Good Intentions

2011-08-05T06:42:00.000-07:00

Started this one as fun, but not sure where I'm going with it. Short story? Novel? All comments welcome.

The Road to Hell is paved with - GOOD INTENTIONS

CHAPTER ONE

You grow up poor you've got to wonder if God's got a sense of humor. All the crap life throws at you. And He gives you mothers. It's kind of like that guy Brandon Lee said in the movie The Crow--"Mother is the name for God on the lips and hearts of all children."
He got that right. My momma wasn't just a good woman. She was a Saint. Somehow she managed to raise four kids on a waitress' salary. And three of them turned out pretty good. Or would have. But that's another story.
Sometimes when I'm thinking about momma I have to wonder if she knew about God's sense of humor. She read us the good book every night, but she never said nothing about no sense of humor. Still, she had to know something. I mean, after three girls she got me. She had to figure God was up to something.
I’m Jake Savior, and yeah you might as well go ahead and laugh. Everybody else does. My clients are always telling me God's got a sense of humor. The people looking for me weren't looking for a savior. They were mostly searching the want ads for killer for hire. That's me. For the right price I put a lot of people out of other people's misery. Heck, I even done some for free. Some people deserve to die, and being the nice guy I am, I gladly obliged them.
But I'm digressing. Let's get back to God's sense of humor.
I'd had a pretty good day. Won a few bucks on the horse races. Did a little charity work by ridding the world of one more piece of garbage. The courts seen fit to let a pedophile go--I didn't. So I was feeling pretty good about myself, except I was out of cigarettes.
Now anyone that knows me knows I love a good smoke. Last count I was up to five packs a day. Momma always said those thing were going to kill me. Turns out she was right.
Only a die-hard smoker goes out at 2:00 a.m. for smokes. Especially since all the safe places close down early, leaving only a few gas stations and convenience stores open at that hour. Still, I was willing to take my chances. It was too damn cold for thieves to be out and I really, really wanted that last cigarette before I turned the lights out and called it a day.
You've probably already concluded that I'm a smart ass bastard that beats my own drum. Some people will smoke anything. Not me. I'm a strict Kentucky Red's Best smoker. Which means whether I liked it or not I was gonna have to hoof it over to Winchester Road at this time of night. Not everybody carried Red's Best.
Being the cautious person I am, I scouted the parking lot and looked inside for milling customers. No cars and only one customer at the counter. I quickly ascertained he was one of the good guys like me, needing that last deep drag to calm his nerves before he called it a night. Boy was I wrong. Wrong place, wrong time and wrong guy. Five minutes after I entered the door of the Shaky Seven Gas to Go bullets started flying.
I've always heard that your life passes before your eyes when you're dying. Trust me, that's all bull. My last vision was that pack of Red's Best I held in my hand, and my last thought was how good that cigarette was gonna taste as soon as I got outside. Of course, that wouldn't have surprised anyone who really knew me. It wasn't any big surprise to me. I was surprised though. Having listened to momma all those years and growing up with three sisters extolling virtues that I never needed or wanted, I was expecting either that bright light to take me to Heaven, or most likely in my case, a little fire and brimstone trail leading to Hell. That didn't happen either.
# # #
"God, I'd kill for a cigarette."
"You're kidding right?"
I glanced over at the convenience store clerk floating next to me as we both looked down at our bullet ridden bodies. I had to chuckle a little. That pack of Red's Best was still clutched tightly in my outstretched hand.
"Yeah, mom always said those things were gonna kill me. Guess she can say 'I told you so' now."
"So, what do we do now?"
"Beats the hell out of me," I stated turning to really look at the clerk. He was young, probably in his early twenties and looked like he was gonna cry any minute.
"Jake Savior," I stuck out a hand. I sure as hell didn't need someone blubbering all over me.
"Ronnie Smith," he stated, gaze still riveted to his body. "Mom's gonna be really pissed. I don't know how she's gonna pay the rent this month."
"Maybe she'll get lucky. Sue the store and get a million dollars."
Ronnie finally looked at me, took the hand I still had stuck out and shook it heartily. "Really? You think she can do that?"
Truth was I didn't know shit about civil lawsuits. Criminal law, yeah, I could advise you all day long on criminal law, but civil suits were a different animal with a whole new breed of greedy demons. Still, we were dead and what was he gonna do, sue me if I was wrong?
"Sure kid, happens every day."
"That would be nice."
"Hey, look, another late night smoker coming in." We watched as the guy entered the store, took one look at the blood and immediately jerked out a cell phone. A good Samaritan all the way. So what if he loaded up on a few cartons of cigarettes, a couple of gallons of milk, some bread and snacks and three cases of beer while he waited.
Sirens blared away and we watched as the local cops pulled up, followed by paramedics. The good Samaritan stayed just long enough to give a statement before hopping in his now loaded Toyota and hitting the road. He'd be celebrating tonight and nobody the wiser.
I watched as the paramedic leaned over my body, checked for a pulse and shook his head. "This one's dead."
"No, shit, Sherlock. I mean, really, there's a hole right between my eyes."
"Hey, Jake. . ."
"Where the heck are you going?" I yelled. Ronnie was slowly drifting backwards as if drawn by some unseen force. I headed in his direction only to find myself up against an invisible brick wall.
"Well, that sucks," I muttered, kicking the wall only to find another long held belief wasn't true. You could feel pain after death.
Being the naturally curious person I was, and since death so far had held a hell of a lot more surprises than life, I drifted back inside the store.
"We got a pulse."
The kid was still alive. Hallelujah. Hope he doesn't tell his mother about that million dollars. She might really be pissed then.
"Marty, you bag and tag that one when the coroners done."
I'd always had a lot of respect for guys like Marty. The things they had to deal with every day. Bet his friends called him the bag and tag guy. I really wanted to pat him on the back until the fat bastard leaned over and picked up my pack of Red's Best, stowing them in his front pocket. "Don't guess he'll be needing these anymore."
They all laughed. Laughed.
I hope you get lung cancer you son-of-a-bitch and die a long, slow, painful death.
I watched as they loaded the kid into the ambulance, lights flashing, sirens blasting. Might have been happy about that if the fat bastard hadn't chosen that moment to light up one of my Best's. Smoke drifted my way. A tantalizing aroma of pure Heaven.
"Hey, Marty, you got that body bag?"
I watched the red tip as it arced through the air, landing a few feet away. There was still half a cigarette left. Dumb bastard. You don't throw away half of one of Kentucky's best brands. You smoke it slowly, savoring the aroma and taste.
I spent the next five minutes trying to wrap my newly dead fingers around that cigarette. I could see it. Smell it. And if I closed my eyes, I could even taste it. But try as I might I couldn't pick the damn thing up.
Frustrated I sat back down on the curb, listening as the cops made jokes as they loaded my body into the wagon. It wasn't funny. Wasn't funny at all.
So the next time you're sitting around feeling sorry for yourself and you think life ain't fair, try dying at a late-night convenience store for a pack of cigarettes and then find out you've got to sit and watch some other lucky bastard enjoy them.
That's when it hit me. Yep, God's got a real sense of humor. At least if Ronnie was here I'd have somebody to share my misery with.
So this is hell. Stuck here in what I can only describe as grey matter to watch life pass me by, totally unable to intervene or enjoy even the simplest of things. That's what I was beginning to think. But that was before the kid. The kid changed everything and hell started looking pretty good to me.