Bound By Shadows
Confusion and pain intertwined to delay Kaylee’s escape from the
depths of a nightmare. Her subconscious’ attempt to alert her to some horror or
another had been common the past two years, but this time the warning came with
physical characteristics she couldn’t ignore.
The pain was an unwelcome element for which she could not account.
Cozy flannel sheets had never felt so rough under her cheek, nor
had her head ached from a glass of wine. Despite the tomboy tag since
adolescence, she appreciated certain creature comforts. The rough material
scratching her face didn’t number among them.
A quiet foreboding swelled within that fuzzy twilight between the
dream state and the hazy stages of surfing to consciousness. Sleep would be
welcome if not for the musty odor and an undefined menace crowding her mind.
Her brow furrowed as her pulse increased, awareness mounting with each painful
throb.
Why is there dirt
in my bed and what the hell is wrong with this mattress?
With each erratic contraction of her heart, the tension in her
head increased, ratcheting like the shell around a drumhead until pain
reverberated along every nerve. In grim anticipation, she reached to touch her
temple. A crusty line of fibrous, threadlike strands crumbled in her brow line
and snaked down to her ear.
Blood? What the
hell?
Moving back to Portland had entailed a certain degree of
compromise, yet shouldn’t include a cotton-mouth morning. This was too much. A
light finger-comb revealed a large tangled knot and a painful lump over her
ear.
Did I fall off
the mattress and hit my head?
“Hey, kid. Wake up, damn it. Hurry.”
The harsh whisper embodied urgency and desperation that replicated
and swelled within her chest.
What the fuck? The voice in her head wasn’t her own.
Enlightenment would come after punching through the suffocating fog and fully
emerging in the suddenly hostile world. Stabbing pain accompanied the dingy
light spearing her eyes after cautiously lifting one lid.
A blur of flashbacks included sitting in an outdoor riverfront
café enjoying the sunset with her favorite camera nestled in her lap. Snapping
the riot of colors slipping into the ocean had equaled the day’s highpoint,
nature’s way of assuring her she’d made the right decision in moving to
Portland.
Now, for reasons evading memory, her gaze soft-focused on a scene
defying logic.
“Kid, open your eyes before it’s too late. Grab the small rock by
your head. Hide it behind you.”
Okaaay, evil mini me is crazy,
and I will never drink wine again.
Five minutes of silence would help her collect her thoughts and
allow time to search her virtual portfolio for whatever was causing the
nausea-producing pests in her brain and stomach. Each vied for the position of top party host. Intuition whispered taking that
time would be her undoing.
Instead of the distant hustle and bustle of city life swarming her
senses, Kaylee found the intense quiet more disturbing than the harsh whisper.
“Wait...what rock?”
Fragments of her surroundings wavered in and out of focus. Brick
walls smeared with dirt were partially visible through the horizontal bars.
Horizontal bars?
She reached with shaking fingers to touch the rusted metal
cylinders then tried to rattle them. They didn’t budge. A cramp in her thigh
from resting in a semi-fetal position
grew in intensity while her feet crowded against hard, cylindrical surfaces and
prevented her from stretching out.
More bars.
She didn’t have the strength to yell.
The quick, indrawn breath was also not her own. “C’mon you stupid
kid. Knock that off, or we’re both dead.”
A shower of dirt sprinkling her face and hair made her cough, the
resultant sandy inhalation perpetuating the cycle.
The collaborative dream, having taken a southern turn into hell,
brought another wave of anxiety along with
nausea. Each of her senses plunged deeper into a dark abyss, taking
logic and rational thought through a twisted, interactive roller-coaster ride.
Disorientation, chaos, and the first stirrings of panic took root
like a well-fertilized seed that sent its growing tendrils sliding deep within
the earth.
Loose dirt and small rocks covered the hard base and abraded her
shoulder as she moved to a cramped position
on her back. The changed perspective brought enlightenment.
That’s why the
bars were horizontal.
“Fuck.” Details assimilated sluggishly. Dirt-covered metal
comprised a bed, but it wasn’t in her apartment. Walls of brick as seen through
her cage, lack of windows, and stale, dank air, pointed to an underground zip
code.
Micro currents ferried a thick, putrid scent and muffled the faint, eerie groans
of venting tunnels.
“What’s your name?” Again, a whisper twisted with annoyance and
despair saturated the air.
Halting breaths and extreme concentration staved off the blind
terror threatening her sanity.
“Kaylee. My name is Kaylee.” Slowly, she searched for the
irritating heckler.
“Listen up, Kaylee. The bastard who took you is gonna be back
soon, probably looking for a bit of afternoon delight. And he won’t be asking. He kidnapped you, too. I don’t know why.”
Kaylee’s befuddled mind took in more of her surroundings, low
ceiling, dirt floor, cramped, cave-like room, and the caged, bedraggled woman
three feet away. Purple and black surrounded her right eye and busted lip. Her
shirt front hung in tatters, the ripped flannel exposing a large bruise above
her breast.
“How long have we been here?” A torch along the wall cast
flickering shadows over the adjoining cage, just short of her own.
Flickering—indicates
an air current.
“The last thing I remember is shopping.” Tears trailed down the
petite blonde’s mud-streaked alabaster cheeks which sharply contrasted the
bruises marring her face.
“There’s a slight breeze coming from—that way.” Kaylee strained to
see where the tunnel led. Pitch black. Some apparitional entity scuttled in the
darkness beyond the seedy illumination and left the impression of ghostly
stalkers. Stalkers that chittered in the dark. I’d rather see the boogeyman than
rats. “We seem to be in an underground room?”
“Yeah. I think so. I woke up just like you, but the bastard tied
my hands before my head cleared.” A sob choked further words as the victim’s
wide eyes flickered around the room.
A cursory exploration of the small perimeter marked the filthy,
tight confines, then the small,
sharp-edged rock which fit in her palm. Instinct saw her sliding it behind her.
Mud covered her jeans and colored her T-shirt and jacket. Bathing was the least
of her worries.
“Someone slipped us a roofie.” Bruises, tattered flannel, and
bound wrists conveyed the woman’s recent past.
Kaylee’s continued scrutiny yielded no clues of how to escape her
dilemma. Even if she could squeeze her hand and arm through the bars’ two-inch gaps, she didn’t have the strength or
leverage to break the heavy-duty padlock securing her prison.
“Yes. Yes. But at least you’re not tied up, yet.” The girl lifted
her hands to reveal a double loop, plastic
cuff. “See if you can break out.”
Digital Velocity
I move
frequently—but gain no distance.
I am warm,
moist, and dark but give no comfort.
I can stretch
and shrink, giving or taking at will, bringing both pain and pleasure with
each.
“If God wanted you to
tie the knot, he’d give you a near-death experience to better appreciate life,
along with a craving for procreation. Then he’d smother your soul with the
essence of venison, squirrel, frog legs, taters, or beer, to attract a likely
counterpart from the sticks. No, wait. The latter has already happened, hasn’t
it? Sorry.” Ethan narrowly kept his balance on the green-slicked, handmade
bricks leading up the two-story, mauve-colored Victorian. If his 210-pound mass
ended up sprawled on the steps, no doubt the picture would be splashed all over
the precinct by noon with various unsavory captions.
“Maybe you should try it. The stick up your
ass has to cause at least minor discomfort.” Larrick’s early-morning snark was
a common greeting.
“Hey, I’m a normal guy.” Ethan glared over his shoulder.
Larrick snorted.
“Still wet from our early-morning storm.
Watch your step, it’s slippery.” Scanning the myriad amorphous shadows lurking
in the wood line, realization struck that he and his partner were sitting ducks
if a sniper perched among the loblolly pine and oak trees lining the front and
side yards.
Larrick’s reply came in equal measure of soft
tones. “Either that or a large flock of birds dropped in recently to help her
redecorate. Great detective work.”
“Bird droppings are—”
“Sought after for
facials. Especially the Japanese Nightingale shit.” Larrick grinned.
“Only you would know that.” Ethan adjusted
his tie, an acknowledgment of the apprehension filling his mind.
“Are
we whispering because your paranoid gut can’t assimilate food well enough to
distinguish indigestion from an outside threat? This woman lives alone, gonna
think we’re a couple of perverts and liable to shoot us.”
“Word has it she’s a pacifist.”
“Fine. You’re one to talk about
signs—dragging my ass to a stranger’s house at this ungodly morning hour. I
love knocking on a stranger’s door and asking, ‘Lady, are you all right? We’re
police detectives who received an anonymous tip that you might have a hangnail.
Perhaps we could lend you a pair of nail clippers…’ then ask if she needs the
gutters cleaned.” Derision and humor warred for dominance in Larrick’s tone,
yet his sharp gaze continually scanned the perimeter in consideration of his
partner’s unarticulated hunch. Yin and yang, they fit together, a clean-cut
detective and his partner whose hair length had passed regulation specs weeks
ago.
“You know this isn’t the first tip we’ve
gotten, not to mention the fact that the other leads were solid and led to
arrests. And while we’re at it, why don’t you step to the side? Standard police
procedure when approaching an unknown situation.” Ethan turned sideways,
standing by the door with his hand poised to knock on the solid oak. He
hesitated. Moisture coated his palms, a rare occurrence. Scrutinizing the
interior through the narrow sidelights yielded nothing more than expected.
Elegantly upholstered furniture, gleaming hardwood floors, and delicate
bric-a-brac adorning the thick mantle and each side table completed the
sophisticated picture. “Don’t see any problem. Maybe she’s fallen and can’t get
to a phone.”
“You expected an old
lady brandishing her curling iron? As for leads, I get mine from three-dimensional people while you get yours from a bunch
of ones and zeroes. Why can’t our IT department trace your anonymous texts
further than the loony bin? Though that’s probably appropriate since your
secret admirer’s last present consisted of a flower basket bigger than my TV
along with fur-lined cuffs. I’ve never laughed so hard I pissed myself. I
thought that was hogwash, a myth made up by old ladies.” Larrick leaned over
the iron railing to peer through the window. “Can’t see squat, bottom sill’s
too high.”
“As my partner, you’re supposed to have my
back, not stab me in the back. You didn’t have to broadcast it through the
whole department by hanging the cuffs from the sprinkler system with a bunch of
roses twined in them. Now my brothers won’t let up, and I’ve been subscribed to
every kinky magazine known to the publishing world. You think I should know why some whacko chose me
for their personal marionette?” Ethan suppressed
a shudder before his partner gained more verbal ammunition. If his suspicions
were correct, his informant was in fact a beautiful enigma with waist-length,
chestnut hair and an emerald gaze capable of melting steel.
“Maybe because you were the youngest to make
detective? Rising star, golden boy, and all that shit.”
“No. Probably afraid
your redneck ways would rub off on them, or maybe because I’m the biggest sap.”
Ethan’s gut rumbled, more of a warning sign from a well-heeled intuition than
hunger. “Larrick, this doesn’t feel right.” Behind him, the slide of metal on
leather let him know his partner just palmed his Glock. Three years of working
together circumvented the formality of dissecting gut reactions.
A creak of leather
sole betrayed Larrick’s backtracking to scrutinize the surroundings. “Side
windows are lower. I’ll take a look.”
“Hood of her BMW is cold. Didn’t go anywhere
recently.” Larrick’s harsh whisper halted a nearby squirrel scampering up a
tree, its head cocked to one side while studying the strange human interlopers.
Sunshine warmed the first spring buds on the
low shrubbery bordering the walkway to complete the idyllic setting. Nothing
but peace and serenity, yet Ethan’s heart hammered against his ribcage like an aggressive
punk drummer. With his partner disappearing around the corner, he again scanned
the perimeter while the morning’s corrupted equanimity formed a sour wad in his
chest. A lazy March breeze combed its cool fingers through his short hair while
the deep foreboding received with the initial text message blossomed into
multiple horrific scenarios, leaving one of them a corpse, their life’s essence
forming macabre shapes on gleaming hardwood floors.
“I see bare feet beyond the kitchen island. Toes up. Probably female.” Larrick’s
disembodied whisper just provided probable cause. “Backup?”
Tender Echoes
“Jesus, Charlie. Hold on. I’ll get you to
a hospital.” Lexi swallowed hard against the rising tide of acid degrading her
throat’s lining as the unfolding scene corrupted her sanity. Pressure against
the makeshift bandage on Charlie’s belly wound yielded a deeper crimson soaking
her jacket, the provisional dressing secured by fingers encased in a
thickening, sticky glove. So much blood.
This could’ve been Lexi’s fate—stabbed,
slashed, disfigured for all time, blood forming rivulets pooling in the alley’s
filth. Maroon puddles mingled with body fluids common to alleys sheltering the
homeless as if destined to couple in a macabre, virulent concoction.
“R-run, Lexi. D-don’t let him make you a
w-whore. I wasn’t—strong enough. Y-you were never p-part of the street life.”
Trash and other filth from the narrow passageway cushioned Charlie’s bruised
and battered head. One front tooth was missing, probably swallowed, while blood
seeped from jagged slashes on her cheeks and brow, both career enders in the
event she survived. “You shouldn’t be here. It was a mistake to text you, but
the cops wouldn’t believe us girls.”
“Did your pimp do this, Charlie? What’s
his real name?” Tell me so I can help
you.
Remnants of a cardboard box, a vagabond’s
homemade privy, retained odors of the dispossessed, rivaled only by the
excrement saturating every molecule of thickened air drawn into her lungs. This
was no place and no way to die.
“Yeah—said I stole from a customer. But I
didn’t. The b-bastard just wanted a freebie.” Otherworldly pain glazed eyes
forecasting a nonexistent future while icy wind leached color from a
once-beautiful face now smeared with crimson streaks and pain. “Won’t tell you
his name. I didn’t want to die alone. You’re f-free. You made it.”
“No, Charlie. I’ll get help. Lie still
while I secure a pressure dressing.” This late at night, there’d be few cars to
flag down and no foot traffic from which to enlist help. She was forced to rely
on emergency personnel who’d classify the incident as NHI, no human involved.
Terror-induced flashbacks spewed forth of
a stranger offering refuge to a teenager standing on a precipice, a choice.
She’d first thought him relatively handsome, not understanding the slimy base
of his character. She’d had no experience with pimps. Still, something inside
steered her away from his pleasant façade. Perhaps she’d sensed his underlying
character. Instinct had directed her to the unknown, where a small group of
prostitutes offered shelter and nurtured her mind.
With one hand, Lexi freed her belt and
maneuvered it under the fallen girl’s tiny waist amid groans and mewling cries.
Youth and a livelihood from flatbacking
necessitated a svelte figure, which facilitated her efforts to cinch the
leather strap tight. Lexi reached for the cell clutched in Charlie’s hand,
knowing the late hour meant a longer wait for help. Her fingers, covered in
sticky crimson ropes of blood, tangled briefly with Charlie’s, a squishy
squeeze to lend encouragement. Another bolus of acid rose in her throat.
“No.” One word spoken from the disembodied
voice behind her could flash freeze Hell and instigate the formation of ice
crystals in any world, under any circumstance.
The cold, hard scrape of death filled her
mind. Slowly, her gaze turned, lifted. At the head of the alley and backlit by
dingy sodium-vapor light, the corpulent flesh-peddler stalked forward.
“I knew we’d meet again, Lexi. Remember
me? I’ve dreamed of this day for years.” Moon glow shimmered off his blade,
which weaved a figure-eight motion, the steely threat weaker than his words. “I
always wondered how you’ve managed to elude me…Now I know.”
“And I always wondered if the perverted
psycho my friends feared was you, since they kept your identity a secret. Now I
have a face to put to their terror.”
In twenty yards, she’d either breathe her
last as a human shish kabob or replace Charlie in the pimp’s stable. He stopped
and tilted his head to the side as if inventing a new and horrific way to
terrorize before he began his sociopathic playtime.
“I need to call an ambulance or she’ll
die.” The chill shimmying down her spine spread outward to encase every nerve
and muscle with the knowledge of his intentions. No one should die in a filthy
alley.
He merely shrugged.
Carnal Obsession: His Heart's Prisoner
CARNAL
OBSESSION is a fast-paced romance that weaves layers of drama, grit, raw
emotions, eroticism, a bit of darkness and, of course, obsession. With her
sensual prose, Garrett entices readers to enter into a new realm where
sexuality and passion collides with mystery and intensity. Well done! , RT Book Reviews.
“You? You own this animated horror
show? Conner, what happened to you?” A decade ago, he and Billy had filled her
head with fantasies only an innocent could dream, back when sex in a t-shirt carried the easy grace
of a natural predator and filled her delusions of eternal love. Time had lent
fuel to her imagination. Like a boiler that continued to build up too much
pressure, her thoughts skated along the razor’s edge of a volcano. The age-old
longing persisted despite current reality’s intervention and the memory of how
Conner had led Billy into the military, to his death.
“Hello, Kendra. I’m glad you and
your band could make it tonight. I look forward to hearing you sing again.”
That sweltry intonation could curl an iron bar, yet there dwelt a deep sadness,
as if memories pulled him down a road too often traveled.
An audible gulp. Her mouth opened
and closed several times without issuing a sound.
She couldn’t look at him, not when
her face flamed with the memories of first infatuation. The disappointment
invading her mind now stung the back of her eyelids. “When did you turn into a
pervert?” It was too much to bear. She needed the quiet and peaceful white
noise of the street, wind chimes on someone’s front porch, a car backfiring, a
breeze sifting through the trees and blowing the road’s detritus in small dust
devils.
“Nice place you have here, Mr.
Crofton.” Daeron, ever the peacemaker, stepped forward to shake Conner’s hand.
“Yeah, all it needs is some spider
architecture, pointed hats, and magic wands. Oh, and I think you’re missing a
vat of boiling oil.” Mumbled words lost the bite of her intent.
“Can’t say spiders do much for me,
but we do have plenty of oil and violet wands. Most women think of them as
magic.” Conner’s husky laugh scorched the knot in her throat like melted sand,
changing its consistency until acid threatened to spew forth.
“Looks damn interesting.” Daeron’s
comment would earn him an all-out brawl later.
Freaking
traitor. Men always stick together.
After a moment, Conner’s words sank
in. No!
“Violet? You’re gay?”
It seemed bystanders thought her a
comedian or imbecile, their laughter creating more blazing heat to encompass
her face.
Marc, brother of her current
tormentor, took pity as he stepped forward. “Hi, Mackendra. It’s been a long time.”
Sympathy radiated from him in waves to envelop her in a maelstrom of cloying,
sickly sweet flashbacks she couldn’t handle. Of the four brothers, he’d been
the nice one.
“Hi, Marc. Let me guess, you’re
also part of this zoo?” Regardless of his intended sincerity, she couldn’t rest
her gaze on either man. “This den of perverts?”
“You got it, hon. You ready to
work? I’ve missed hearing your zany and spirited songs.” Marc stepped forward
to offer a hug yet stopped short of contact.
No! She couldn’t abide
the company of men whose lives had been twisted by pain and despair, the last
men to see her brother alive. Conner’s presence ushered Billy’s last words to
fill her mind before he ditched her for another military stint, his final tour.
“You’re being selfish, mongrel. I need to
do this, protect my brothers. You’ll be safe here, yet they won’t be unless I
go back. When I return, we’ll start a new chapter in life, together.”
Well
that sure as hell happened. Just not the way I’d planned.
The physical ache in her heart
wasn’t relieved with the pressure of fist against chest. She turned and ran,
just as she’d always done when the agony of memories washed over her. She would
never again allow anyone to witness her suffering.
AmazonCarnal Whispers, Mind Stalker
Excerpt
A massive, ornate iron headboard stood against
the far wall. Woodsmen style bedspread and soft, satin sheets covering the
king-size bed with storage cabinets underneath provided the perfect stage for
exciting nighttime activities. Surely, the occupants rarely slept.
Her life, like the cottage she’d occupied,
remained spartan and utilitarian, unlike this room designed for a man with
particular tastes and who could afford the best.
Pete nudged her forward. She choked on the
images flashing through her mind on a continuous, lascivious reel of orgiastic
play. Both headboard and foot board contained vertical iron spindles in their
grills, perfect for bondage.
Several steps in, she stumbled over a thick,
soft rug, geometric shapes in neutral shades, thicker than anything she’d ever
felt. Ambient light reflected off the mirror on the tray ceiling, daring her to
move forward.
He owned Ambrosia, a BDSM club.
Pieces fell into place as she looked around
again with new eyes: leather vest and pants hanging from a hook beside the
closet, mirrored sliding closet doors hiding untold devices, and deep storage
drawers under the mattress. The entire scene left her speechless. Yet—she
should have expected it all. The darkest fantasies in the farthest reaches of
her mind couldn’t conjure such a rich, luxuriant setting tailor-made for any
depravity conjured.
How long she stood there, she didn't know. Soft
footfalls announced his advance. It wouldn’t do to have him witness her gawking
like a star-struck kid. No wonder he
unnerves me. With a few toys added, this would be the perfect stage for a
theme room at his club, according to her erotic romances.
Refolding the blankets let her size them for
the injured shepherd. In hurried motions, she arranged a comfortable bed in the
corner.
"Hey, looks good. Thanks. Do you mind
bringing in his water bowl?"
His tongue sliding along his bottom lip
encouraged a flush of warmth in her belly, the heat radiating to her face.
Though he held Darius in his arms, the combination of potent virility and
standing in what she imagined to be a well-used bedroom stretched her nerves
beyond capacity to think clearly.
"S-sure. B-be right back."
The soft tilting of his lips on one side
defined her entire focus as she staggered back, turning and stumbling away.
Grateful for the tall ceilings allowing more air to circulate, she plucked at
her shirt to fan the heat from her chest. Claustrophobia wasn’t an issue in the
great room without Marc’s presence.
Two ceramic bowls sat on either side of the
kitchen’ alcove, one was blue with black paw prints, the other green with black
paw prints. Each had a chew bone and ball beside it. Maybe those leathers were
for horseback riding…
The chew toy and rubber ball slipped from her
grasp twice before she’d secured it along with the blue and black dish. Filling
the bowl only two-thirds full ensured she wouldn’t spill as she carefully made
her way back to his bedroom, probably the last place she should go. Hell, he owns Ambrosia, for God's sake. What
the hell do you think he rides?
"Here we go." Setting the bowl in
front of a groggy Darius, a little water sloshed over the sides. She couldn't
resist a slow caress of his soft coat after setting his bone and rubber ball
beside the bed within easy reach. "I'm so sorry you got hurt, boy."
When she stood and pivoted, Marc loomed over
her, his overwhelming presence knocking her off balance both mentally and
physically. "I brought his rubber ball."
"Yes, I see." He took a small step
forward. A few scant inches separated them. Again, his infuriating smile let
her know he realized and exploited his arousing effect.
"Y-you don't give them tennis balls. I'm
glad…because the felt is extremely abrasive on their teeth. It contains a
glue…" How can the room lack oxygen?
"Yes. It does." A half step.
Only her quickening breaths separated them. His
predator’s smile widened.
"I-I've seen canines worn down to nubs
before the owners got a clue. They worry and wonder but don't bring the dogs in
to figure out what's causing it."
"Yep, I believe it." His warm breath
fanned across her cheek, minty from the candy he favored. They shared the same
space, the same air, intimate in a way she’d never known.
"I'm…I'm glad you take good care of your
ball—ah, your dogs."
"I always take care of what's mine."
His gaze could command the very devil himself.
She gulped, looking around frantically for an
escape. His close proximity blocked out everything, including her ability to
think or decipher anything other than the carnal hunger disseminating from him
in waves.
Maybe spontaneous orgasms aren’t a myth.
Carnal Innocence
Timing remained her key to survival. The erratic pounding pulse in her
ears rivaled a snare drum’s buzz roll, executioner’s beat. Before the
adrenaline in her blood circuited again, either she’d be free or dead,
depending which card destiny threw her way.
Long sleeves failed to thwart the effect of icy crystals intent on
covering her. The deep shiver originated from equal parts emotional and
physical parentage.
“Whatever happens, don’t look back, and don’t hesitate regardless of what you hear.”
A rearward glance revealed the frosty night breeze glazing the sheen of
sweat on Jake’s forehead to a cold luster. The steel in his gaze
matched the resolve in his harsh whisper.
An impressive first snowfall whirled its frozen burden in quarter-sized
swirling flakes creating a misty veil camouflage for their escape.
Thick, quivering Camellia leaves further crippled her scrutiny of the
facility’s front.
A mind for facts and logic hampered her ability to incorporate or
balance the chaotic pandemonium swirling in her head just as snow-laden
whirlwinds hindered her view. If she wasn’t such a concrete thinker
regarding things such as karma or kismet as hogwash, perhaps she’d see
things differently. But this was her world.
Anxiety innervated and stimulated her senses, twisted higher by the
potential for failure. Yet her body couldn’t distinguish between the
urges to run or freeze, caught in a limbo of her biological making.
Beside her, Franklin leaned forward. His outstretched arm was a
reminder of the bars she’d see if they failed tonight—and survived.
“But, Jake, you’re coming too…” One hand gripped the corner of the building to counterbalance her sudden panic.
This
storm fit seamlessly into their plan, obscuring their images on the
cameras at each corner of the facility. Yet reality trumped fiction in
eccentricity, making the possibility of unlikely circumstances cropping
up and interfering with their escape a probability.
Always considerate regardless of the situation, Jake wrapped his jacket
about her shoulders. The warmth of the heavily lined sleeves expelled
the last of her hesitation. “Thanks.”
“Of course I’m coming. We’re in this together. You’ll have a life
independent of these bastards. You’re the reason I’ve worked here for so
long and this is our best chance at freedom. Now let’s go, time to set
you free, flaxen-haired warbler.” Confidence radiated in concentric
circles from him as he alluded to one of her favorite diversions,
singing. Yet thick, elongated fingers of moonlight filtered through the
gauzy clouds in sporadic streaks to capture the doubt in his eyes.
“But the guards are still up in their booths. I thought they’d be
gone…” The earlier excitement of escape dulled with the reality of the
threat they now faced. These two men risked their lives for her.
“No, Callie. Unnecessary. They are sympathetic to our cause, namely,
your escape. They know both the risk to themselves and what’s at stake.
I’ll be right behind you.”
Jake’s words failed to blunt the taste of bile rising in her throat.
The gentle reminder in his sotto voice energized her more than his
slight nudge. With a quick glance at each visible corner of the
building, one to her left, the other behind her, hair on her nape
prickled. Something felt—off.
profiles
on the second story corners. Light glinted off the barrels of their
automatic rifles as a reminder of their intended purpose. Did she know
them?
Beside her, Franklin’s nod further bolstered her courage. Crouching
low, she bolted across the well-maintained yard bordering the
institution. Franklin grasping her right hand and urging her faster lent
additional strength.
Islands of shrubbery stood in stark relief against the thickening snow.
Mother Nature’s tempest now blanketed the earth with its slippery
covering which delineated every step she took.
Jake
wouldn’t explain the details but at least twelve men and women
conspired to participate in her daring escape. Most of these
conspirators comprised the skeletal crew currently inside.
Even if someone raised an alarm, Jake guaranteed those collaborators
would come to her defense. The only wildcards were the perimeter guards
and those watching the security camera feeds from the bowels of the
institution.
Twenty meters into her daring bid for freedom, concurrent circumstances
doubled her frantic pulse. An earsplitting siren blasted behind her,
eliciting a gasp, and Jake rushing forward to grab her left arm.
Additional pressure urged her to tap into her energy reserves.
Wind droning through nearby tree limbs didn’t swallow the low thwacking
sound nearby—like snapping rubber bands that had been stretched tight.
Jake stumbled into her path.
Franklin’s
harsh lateral jerk created a brief shuffle step as they raced for the
fence. A small strop of light revealed his grim, determined look.
“Damn it. You okay, Jake?” The wind’s murmur consumed Franklin’s harsh whisper.
“Keep going, Callie. Don’t stop. I’m okay.” Jake’s strained voice galvanized her determination even as he tugged harder.
Carnal Beginnings
The steady slap and scrape of his windshield wipers whisked the few drops of rain from his windshield, evidence that heaven cried for its angels. He stomped the accelerator. His Mazda ate up the miles as he tried to focus his mind. The closer he got to her house, the more his mind screamed with recriminations…Too late. You should have come to her house this morning.
Stones skittered into the grass bordering her driveway as his car slid to a stop in front of her bungalow. The one with the front door ajar. Oh God, I am too late. Not again. He had little recollection of getting out of his car or running into her house. He knew in his gut, he’d failed. He’d promised her he’d help, and he failed. It didn’t matter that she’d ignored his advice.
In the middle of the living room floor, she lay face down, remnants of pain still etched in her expression. Naked, blood pooled under her abdomen in an ever-widening arc. Spatters of red adorned the surrounding wall cabinets, TV, and sofa. Her hair, burnt copper in the fading light streaming through the bay window, didn’t cover her wide staring eyes. His heart pounded in his chest, sweat beaded his forehead. With shaking fingers, he bent and touched her neck, a pulse, a weak one, fast and thready. She’ll never make it, his subconscious roared through his head as he snatched up his cell to dial nine one one.
There were no second chances. His excuses wouldn’t comfort her now.
A combination of ignorance and nonchalance framed the bull’s eye she wore on her forehead. He’d advised her to leave home two days ago. They could handle legalities later but not if she lacked a pulse. Stubborn woman insisted on returning. Her late morning call today surprised him, finally ready to pack and leave. Failure to meet him at his office did not.
The setting sun reminded him her husband would be off work soon, probably carry his rage home looking for a target. Lord, this brought back some of his own buried memories. No time for that now.
Kurupira Series
Tiago
Directly ahead, drooping leaves from large Durian, sub-canopy trees, further blocked her view from ground level.
“Holy shit!”
When Gus turned to her, she expected his smug, superior, visage—at the very least, a sneer followed by the bite of bullets tearing through her taut muscle and bone.
Shock and confusion radiated from him in waves.
“Time for me to run, sweetie. Sorry, but you’re on your own. I don’t do… ants.” The ribbon of fear grew to make his voice shrill and trembling as he glanced over his shoulder at whatever approached. "Thanks for the crystal. I’ll figure out what this key opens on my own."
“Damned convenient I don’t even have to dispose of your body, sweetie. What the horde leaves behind, their following of scavengers will finish.” The soft crunch of dead leaves from his retreating steps drifted back to mock her.
With nothing nearby to cut her bonds, she had no hope of escape. Naked, in pain, numb hands, cold and damp in spite of the heat—all factors combined to overload her senses. In defeat, she lay her head on outstretched arms. A deep breath of courage would help right now, but her lungs constricted with a ferocious pressure, built on fear of the unknown.
A second later, Gus was gone, leaving an eerie silence filling the atmosphere. The flap he'd released had brushed her forehead as it came to rest, denying her the sight of what her mind conjured. A sour sample of what her stomach wanted to heave burned the back of her throat.
Even if she had the ability and strength to run, she wouldn’t get far before one predator or another claimed her. Bleeding from her wrists and ankles issued an open invitation to one and all carnivores.
In her mind’s eye, she could see the elongated mandibles of the soldier ants chomping through anything in their path, the formic acid venom they emitted dissolving the flesh of its prey. Though blind, they were sensitive to movement. Even if they only moved forward at a rate of an inch in several seconds, she didn’t stand a chance with the drugs lingering in her system and other predators nearby.
Off to her left, the hisses of many leopards morphed into growls and snarls. The staccato spitting of rapid gunfire followed angry curses, which then morphed into pathetic screams. Perhaps Gus wouldn't survive this, after all.
To hear the guide beg from the very creatures that he’d endeavored to kill lent a primal satisfaction, even if it was the last she’d ever enjoy. At least, the residents of the jungle and women in the nearby villages would remain safer.
Digging her elbows and toes into the tent’s canvas floor, she inched forward, compelled to watch death approach.
Swishing and slapping leaves opposite the last tent brought her attention to her final threat. Only minutes existed between this life and feeling her mom’s arms around her again. Yet fear wouldn’t give her strength to flee.
She was too tired, too overcome with grief from so much loss.
Acid released from the ants’ mouths would be painful beyond anything she’d ever endured, yet a calm and peaceful mantle settled about her shoulders. Nothing lasted forever, despite what her mom’s journal declared. “One day, you’ll join with an incredible man who’ll stand by your side for eternity. From that point on, you’ll know peace as you never have.” How could her mom spout such nonsense? How could she have believed it all these years?
Confusion bore down faster than the oncoming ant swarm, dulled by her inability to sort out her situation. Perhaps the mind couldn't comprehend some terrors, so it instead exuded a sense of euphoric peace in its place.
In the distance, a warm glow bathed the drooping Durian leaves, not from above but seemingly from within. A glow she associated with Tiago.
Then, in the midst of all the chaos, a chestnut-colored arm brushed the small branches aside, revealing Tiago’s form.
“Run! For God’s sake, run. There’s a swarm of army ants…”
After a quick inhale, she struggled through the tent opening on bruised hands and skinned knees, hands and feet still bound.
Another fast breath and she stood, naked, on shaky legs.
Immortal Lovers Series
Unholy Alliance
Centuries of experience honed him into an expert assassin and tracker for evil’s myriad and divergent forms. Yet each kill left a new stain on his spirit that darkened his aura and took him further from the light of man. Since defeat had never left its toxic breath in his extended history, this mission would prove one more in a long series of significant encounters.
Minutes later, the scent of demon filled his nostrils. Descending to skim the void above the treetops rewarded him with a stronger stench. Whether this demon held the precious artifact or proved another dead end didn’t matter. Its removal fell among his duties as an ancient vampire and benefactor to humans, a win-win situation in the grand scheme of things.
“Demon, face me. What do you have to lose? You know I can’t kill you...Perhaps facing your boss, defeated, frightens you?” Rare was the demon that could resist a taunt. The thunder in Lukas’ voice scattered a small herd of deer grazing beside the fast-moving river nearby. A meticulous search below yielded no visual of anything in demonic form.
The hunter in him was determined and ready to finish this task and knew the evil nearby would sense his presence. Why can’t I get a lock on its position?
Shadows lengthened and crawled over the earth below, denoting rise and shine for the creatures of the night while daylight critters scurried to find comfort and cover in the obscure niches of darkness. In counterpoint, the soothing sounds of the nocturnal forest punctuated by the lonely call of a wolf reminded him of his goal.
With a slight shift of the wind, he sensed movement in the forest below. Off to his right and just ahead, the demon’s obvious attempt at a stealthy passage failed to camouflage the swish and slap of branches flung back in its wake.
“Ugh. I don’t fear you, vampire. However, I do fear my master if I fail to deliver this objet d’art.” Like most of its kind, the harsh guttural voice grated Lukas’ nerves.
Altering his course delivered a stronger hellish stench, searing a path to his nostrils as the repetitive crunch of dead leaves and snapping twigs guided him. Maybe the assignment would end this night, allowing him to revisit and re-evaluate his current path in life.
Now, with no apparent concern over the noise made or the swath it cut, the fleeing pestilence would’ve attracted the youngest of vampires with the snapping and shuddering of branches even without its odor and aura.
“You’re kidding me, a demon with intelligence? Your boss educates you clowns now?” Dropping through the web of interlocking limbs, Lukas used his telekinesis to clear a path, providing a fleeting visual of his prey. The clicking and swishing of branches and leaves muted the demon’s heavy grunts.
Damn shame my psychic talents don’t work on these deviants. He hit the ground running, his adversary near.
“You’d be surprised, bloodsucker. You’d be surprised. Once upon a time, I attended an ivy-league school. Why do you think master chose me to find and return this treasure?”
Broken and bowed branches whipped back along the path to provide a stroboscopic view. A second passed, then another, followed by the sounds of accelerated movement and the demon’s occasional growl punctuating its hoarse breathing.
“Huh, and now you’re just a flunky. Is that where you became a demon?” A burst of speed increased the terminal case of sulfuric fetor blazing a trail through Lukas’ senses but yielded more frequent flashes of his objective. Footprint-sized patches of wilting vegetation betrayed the demon’s exact steps. Few living things could survive evil’s deadly contact.
Large exposed roots and mid-size saplings necessitated agile footwork at breakneck speed to avoid losing ground. Skirting these obstacles with flight would drain even an ancient vampire’s energy reserves. He’d need them all to fight a demon possessing such unusual speed.
A steep incline presented more slags and escarpments to negotiate, some snagging his leather vest in passing. Vaulting over the next two outcroppings demanded even more of his strength.
He didn’t break stride.
“If you have no fear, why run away like a schoolgirl?”
Budding underbrush foiled a good visual, though this thing’s odor and noise rivaled that of a trumpeting elephant. He’d never tracked such a swift and agile creature. With practiced ease, he gripped the pommel of his Falchion. The slide from its fur-lined scabbard muffled the blade’s draw even as the material kept the steel oiled.
“Ah ... just want you to have a clear view of approaching death.” The demon’s chuckle boded ill.
A moment of uncertainty flashed in his mind when the crashing noise ahead stopped. Thinning trees gave way to tall grasses on the rock-strewn promontory, reminiscent of a shelf tucked in the side of the mountain.
Silvery moonlight gilded a small open plain as he left the forest behind, the sudden rush of air focusing his thoughts. Why would a demon give me the advantage of open ground?
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