Tender Echoes
Excerpt
“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.
Digital Velocity
Excerpt
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?”
Bound By Shadows
Excerpt
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.”
Kirkus Review
Excerpt
Prologue
Death
in degrees
Jackie
Milburn didn’t do fear.
The late-night walk to her car
had never provoked an accelerated heart rate. Tonight, however, a bone-deep
foreboding arose from vestiges of instinctual awareness, all merging to
question her mission’s strategy. If she failed, millions would suffer and life
as anyone knew it, would end.
Indistinct shadows granted a
cozy ambience where she often lurked, but dingy light filtering through
overhead branches mocked her bravado. Shadow limbs shook with laughter as
Fate’s sense of humor conspired with nature to saturate creation’s mindset with
malice.
Regardless of destiny’s
intentions, she squared her shoulders while scanning the deserted parking lot,
alert to any threat. A sense of relief had washed through her after depositing
the damning evidence in the USPS blue box. The evil shits would never expect an
investigative reporter to mail the sophisticated mechanisms across country.
Precautions taken with the dispatch ensured no one could trace the recipient. Always have a backup plan.
This was the biggest scoop of
her career and would spotlight one of Delaware’s billion-dollar companies as a
collection of hi-tech, sociopathic thugs.
It wouldn’t take CSV
Pharmaceuticals long to discover crucial evidence missing and ferret out their
traitor. As corporations went, they were as paranoid as any. She prayed Dr.
Sorenson made it out of the country alive, and not as shark chum. Paranoia had
compelled her to refuse him the number to her newest burner phone. Intuition
saw the last one tossed in the Willamette River after tapping out a quick
message to her old college roommate. Jackie survived by instincts and prayed
they would serve her well—one more time.
Making the last stop to pick up
her go-bag would supply the necessary items to disappear until her story broke.
The finishing touches included copies of lab reports and communication between
the Delaware scientists and a company on the West Coast, ClickChip.
Various colored and styled wigs,
plain lens glasses, makeup, and diverse fashion ensembles would allow her to
blend with any crowd, but wouldn’t prevent CCTVs and facial recognition
programs from pinpointing her location. Planning ahead, she had a well-stocked
safe house outside city limits.
Trembling fingers failed to
punch the unlock button on her key fob. Instead, her headlights cut a swath
through the misty ground cover, a beacon to any waiting goon. Shit. The subsequent knocking of heart
against ribs rivaled the best hammer drill while sweat coated her palms and
face despite her warmed exhalations sending puffed smoke signals in the frosty
air.
A slow, deep breath reclaimed
her sense of calm and allowed the subtle scent from emerging camellia blossoms
drifting on the night’s currents to settle her spirit. There. This is who I am. For visual affirmation of her feelings,
she glanced at her reflection in the driver’s side window.
The sudden thrust of a phantom
arm emerging from the dark pinned her against a hard chest. The steely limb
angled and applied pressure to tilt her head back as if she were a rag doll.
“Oomph.” Collision forced air
from her lungs while shock produced a gasp that inhaled a sickly sweet odor
from the cloth rammed over her mouth and nose.
“Wanna play?” Malice drew out each syllable in
a parody of innocent sport.
Momentary panic barred all
reason. Instinctive reaction initiated clawing at the vise-like grip. Subsequent
kicking and twisting of her body yielded no compromise in her position.
In her periphery, she caught
sight of a malevolent smile and glinting dark eyes under a black fedora. The boogeyman does exist.
Lethargy and disorientation.
Another breath or pass out from hypoxia. No more pain. All her muscles relaxed
against her will. The invading blackness closed in from the margins.
NO!
An enraged cry
died in her throat.
Carbon Replacements
Excerpt – Carbon Replacements
“Wendy, I’m t-tellin’ you, the
man’s a serial killer. He has the body of a Greek God, but his mind is full of
squirming maggots.” Gena stifled a sob with a shaking hand, her body wedging
back against the driver’s door after twisting to face her roommate beside her.
“He’s more depraved than any fucker we’ve ever crossed, and he’s going to find
me.” Aftereffects of the adrenaline rush magnified tremors in her fingers and
lips while increasingly shallow breaths expelled carbon dioxide faster than her
body could produce it. No doubt, the by-products of dizziness, cramps, and
weakness crept into her awareness. Fear-sweat on her forehead glistened from
distant flashes of lightning.
“Hey, slow down. Take a deep
breath. You’re new to this and easily spooked. Just because men are pigs
doesn’t mean they’re murderers. Take the money he gave you and don’t see him
again. Change your number. Lay low for a bit.” Wendy startled with the
repetitive crash of thunder reverberating in the Honda’s dark and eerie
confines. “Can I at least see what’s
got your panties in a twist?” She reached for the black cloth covering her
friend’s evidence only to be pushed away.
“Oh God, Wendy. I shouldn’t have
dragged you and Remie out here tonight. The creep knows I’m a sophomore, but I
didn’t tell him which college. I don’t want him to find either of you.”
“Shit, Gena. I may be a student,
but I can take care of myself.” A note of uncertainty snaked through Wendy’s
voice.
From the back seat, Remie
contemplated the wind’s increasing fury, so like her own, sweeping, all
encompassing, erratic. Parked along a deserted back road hours before dawn
didn’t equate to a tranquil setting when listening to accusations of murder. I should’ve brought my dog. Buckeye would’ve
waited in the SUV. She’d just moved back to Portland and lacked the normal
discreet channels of investigation derived from time-developed working
relationships. Not that I’ve figured out
what the problem is yet.
Small raindrops pattering the
passenger window progressed to a heavy deluge that silvered with the
dashboard’s ambient light. It was a perfect night to snuggle under a blanket
with a cup of cocoa and a scary book. Living the scenario brought the rancid
taste of bile scalding Remie’s throat.
“Girls, you know I’m a doctor, not
a cop, right? What happened to toning life down to live like normal human
beings? No more adrenaline junkie. Gena, it’s not like you need the money for
tuition. Jesus, if your parents knew what you were doing for thrills, it would
kill them both.” Years of schooling in forensic pathology aged Remie decades in
the eyes of college girls too naïve to avoid such foolish and dangerous
behavior. More than ten years difference thrust her into the role of adopted
mentor to the neighborhood wild child with crazy
tattooed on her brain.
“Jesus. I’m so sorry, Remie. You
spent a night in the hospital last week after wrecking your car. You don’t need
this.” Unspoken recriminations gathered around Gena like a smoldering blanket,
the flameless combustion withering her resolve.
“I’m fine. The few scrapes and
bruises have already healed.”
“I figured a few tricks for kicks,
no harm. It’s not like I don’t use condoms, and we’ve only done it a couple
times.”
“The harm is that there are real
nutjobs out there. Deranged people you do not want to meet. Trust me. I see the
results of their work every day during necropsies. It’s what I do… remember?”
Visions of Gena lying on a cold slab while an ME separated the upper part of
her cranium to create a removable skullcap strengthened Remie’s determination
to see the situation resolved.
“Roomie, what makes you think he
was a killer? Did he threaten you? Did you see a gun?” Wendy laid a calming
hand on her roommate’s arm. “Hell, everybody has guns these days. I’ve got a .357
stashed in my bedside table. Let some
psycho come to my dorm looking for easy targets—he’ll get a hollow-point
surprise.”
Gena, the cute little kid from the
farm next door with wide hazel eyes and curly brown hair had grown up with a
nose for trouble, yet usually lacked affiliation with high drama. With the
start of the spring semester, the risky escapades should’ve ceased.
“While he was in the can, I picked the lock on his briefcase,
thinking he was some kind of lawyer or something.” If not for the frightened
gaze bouncing between the proof clenched
in her fingers and the nebulous woods on either side of the lonely road, Gena
could’ve been any college student recounting a dicey hazing ritual. The tone
and pitch of her voice increased when she unfolded the fabric covering her
stolen treasure. “I saw syringes full of something,
along with empty containers, and these. I also found alcohol swabs and betadine
solution. Who carries betadine in a briefcase?”
“You stole from a John? Are you
crazy?” Wendy snatched the wooden box with a huff and a groan.
Detailing around the container’s
top edge included an intricate inlay bearing a darker grain. Similar designs
decorated urns. “You better hope we can return them before he notices they’re
gone. Where did you hook up?”
Wendy slid the lid back on the
six-by-six inch square. The smooth glide on concealed grooves further testament
to the boosted prize’s value.
Shadows shielded the contents from
Remie’s view.
Wendy’s high-pitched scream
rendered the burgeoning storm to white noise, instinctual awareness hurling the
box’s contents against the windshield. Their arc proved too fast to visually
track. Two pink lumps, small and irregularly shaped, formed the basis for a new
nightmare.
The rattle and thump of the
container ended when it landed perched on the steering wheel, upside down.
“Fuck! What the hell are those?”
First medical school, then forensic pathology, enlightened Remie to evil’s
worst-case scenarios. Her mom once said that after indoctrination, nothing new
would appear under the sun. Whoever created this mayhem transcended anything
evolved from humanity’s convoluted gene pool.
A sudden gust of wind and rain
blew in as the driver’s door flew open. Gena lurched forward and hunched away
from the torrent of slashing storm riding the invading cool blast. Her descent
into hell included a flash of silver and guttural laugh.
