Luisa Prieto's Blog, page 3
October 10, 2012
because I can never choose just one winner...
Thank you to everyone who entered my first October contest. Here are the people who'll be getting a copy of Written in Blood:
brenopa
Sarah MacCallum
Cornelia
brenopa
Sarah MacCallum
Cornelia
October 2, 2012
october contest
At last! It's my favorite month of the year :)
In honor of this time of the year, I've decided to peek out from behind my laptop and, *gasp* blog. And hold a contest every week.
For the rest of the month, I'll be giving away one book every week. with the exception of today, I'll announce the book to be given away each Monday. People will have until the Tuesday of the next week to e-mail me at l_prieto @ att.net, and then I'll announce the winner on Wednesday morning.
This week's book will be: Written in Blood.
In honor of this time of the year, I've decided to peek out from behind my laptop and, *gasp* blog. And hold a contest every week.
For the rest of the month, I'll be giving away one book every week. with the exception of today, I'll announce the book to be given away each Monday. People will have until the Tuesday of the next week to e-mail me at l_prieto @ att.net, and then I'll announce the winner on Wednesday morning.
This week's book will be: Written in Blood.
August 14, 2012
arr
Over the past few years, I've occasionally mentioned pirate tomatoes. They were the reason I first got into writing. At twelve, I really wanted to be a comic book artist. I began drawing pirate tomatoes, creating what then felt like a vast, sweeping storyline.
The storyline lasted two and a half issues.
It was then I decided that my comics would do better if I could write. So I began writing, fell in love, and never looked back.
Well... I looked back a little.
Here's a peek at the captain, the leader of the pirate tomatoes (here's a peek at his foot, anyway). I've put the full pic over at my pseudonym's site. Since I made the pseudonym so I could play with things outside my genre, I figured I could post the pirate tomatoes' pictures there occasionally.
The storyline lasted two and a half issues.
It was then I decided that my comics would do better if I could write. So I began writing, fell in love, and never looked back.
Well... I looked back a little.
Here's a peek at the captain, the leader of the pirate tomatoes (here's a peek at his foot, anyway). I've put the full pic over at my pseudonym's site. Since I made the pseudonym so I could play with things outside my genre, I figured I could post the pirate tomatoes' pictures there occasionally.
August 13, 2012
drum roll, please
And the winners for the End Game contest are...
Judi Pech
Sue Webster
Congrats, Judy and Sue :) Thank you to everyone for entering the contest.
I really enjoyed doing this contest. I think I'll do another one in October. I'll give away one of my books every week, perhaps post snippets from the WIP. I think it'll be fun :)
Judi Pech
Sue Webster
Congrats, Judy and Sue :) Thank you to everyone for entering the contest.
I really enjoyed doing this contest. I think I'll do another one in October. I'll give away one of my books every week, perhaps post snippets from the WIP. I think it'll be fun :)
August 10, 2012
August 7, 2012
live action research
Jen and I are toying with going to Halloween Horror Nights this year. I say "toying with" in that I'm climbing the walls to go to it but we need to wait and see what else they add to the scare zones/haunted houses and if Jen could get the time off.
So far, HHN has zombies, which is an automatic win for me. I mean, think of the research: Half Lives has Necrowolf, and we all know he'd love to bite a ton of people and start a zombie flavored apocalypse. I totally need to experience that in a nice, safe manner. Plus, I love zombies, so you never know when else they'll show up in my work.
Admittedly, the research argument would go better if HHN had more things I could use. Silent Hill is a maybe (a haunted town! I could totally see myself doing something like that one day) but the New Vegas one is iffy. I like the idea but the implications are iffy. My brother, his family, and our parents are there. I'd hate to see my brand new baby nephew go bye-bye. I haven't begun to spoil him yet.
Oh man, I can't wait until he's older (way older) and he can join me at HHN.
So far, HHN has zombies, which is an automatic win for me. I mean, think of the research: Half Lives has Necrowolf, and we all know he'd love to bite a ton of people and start a zombie flavored apocalypse. I totally need to experience that in a nice, safe manner. Plus, I love zombies, so you never know when else they'll show up in my work.
Admittedly, the research argument would go better if HHN had more things I could use. Silent Hill is a maybe (a haunted town! I could totally see myself doing something like that one day) but the New Vegas one is iffy. I like the idea but the implications are iffy. My brother, his family, and our parents are there. I'd hate to see my brand new baby nephew go bye-bye. I haven't begun to spoil him yet.
Oh man, I can't wait until he's older (way older) and he can join me at HHN.
August 3, 2012
so, about that pseudonym...
I mentioned in my last post that the next time I wrote something out of my genre, I would release it under a pseudonym. Well...
The pseudonym is Jennifer Brooks
and Musa will be releasing the story next Friday :)
EG is a bit more sci-fi ish than my usual work (nary a vampire or werewolf in sight). It's about a journalist named Jessie. After his cousin is murdered, he reunites with his estranged lover and investigates his cousin's death. Very serious zaniness ensues.
Having a pseudonym will be interesting. I figure it's a place I can talk about things that don't don't fit here. My love affair with the elliptical (it's like being in one of those 80's Japanese manga robots), my love-hate relationship with Transformers Prime (damn it, leave Starscream alone and kill Miko), my growing temptation to draw a pirate tomato (yar, they be from space, matey).
Obviously, Brooks will one day write a robot story.
Right after Half Lives and the After series are done. Or maybe it'll be a break project during Nano. The muse is not my bitch. In fact, she's the one with the whip.
The pseudonym is Jennifer Brooks
and Musa will be releasing the story next Friday :)
EG is a bit more sci-fi ish than my usual work (nary a vampire or werewolf in sight). It's about a journalist named Jessie. After his cousin is murdered, he reunites with his estranged lover and investigates his cousin's death. Very serious zaniness ensues.
Having a pseudonym will be interesting. I figure it's a place I can talk about things that don't don't fit here. My love affair with the elliptical (it's like being in one of those 80's Japanese manga robots), my love-hate relationship with Transformers Prime (damn it, leave Starscream alone and kill Miko), my growing temptation to draw a pirate tomato (yar, they be from space, matey).
Obviously, Brooks will one day write a robot story.
Right after Half Lives and the After series are done. Or maybe it'll be a break project during Nano. The muse is not my bitch. In fact, she's the one with the whip.
July 20, 2012
they don't speak for me
I really wish Stop the GR bullies wasn't real. I wish they would find another outlet for their anger (I recommend treadmill therapy; walking things out really clears things up for me). I wish readers and reviewers and writers weren't being torn apart, with each having this, "they have so much power" fear about the other.
The group exists, though. Their anger is hurting people. I feel sick.
My first thought was that there's nothing I can say to stop this. I can't lessen their damage. I can't make anyone feel safe. Then I thought, who knows? This started with one person. One person who was angry over a review.
Maybe the anger started because they thought they were defending their book. Maybe it was for a book they loved. I don't know. I do know their anger grew. It will continue to grow.
What it can't do? It can't speak for me.
So I say thanks. Thank you to everyone who's ever read my work. Even if you didn't like it, thank you for trying it.
Thank you to the reader on GR who thought Written in Blood was boring. It was really nice of you to try it. Thank you to the readers on GR who DNF Dark Designs and Shadow Hunt. I hope you guys like my next story or find another author you like more. Thank you to the reviewer who read the original After Dark and thought Devon should've known he was a werewolf. When I was revising AD for print, your words made me decide to delve deeper into that.
Thank you to the readers who wrote me to tell me that they loved Cooking with Ergot but hated WiB because it wasn't funny. Next time I write something outside of my genre, I'll release it under a pseudo-name so you won't inadvertently read something you'd prefer not to. Thank you also to the reviewers who pointed out that I put the bridge in the wrong place in WiB. You're totally right, I did.
Thank you to the readers who've read my work and enjoyed it. Thank you for telling your friends to read it or for posting reviews on Amazon and GR. Thank you to the reader who put DD on their Amazon list, describing Kyler as a horseman of the apocalypse. I was delighted to read that. Thank you to the reviewer who's read both versions of AD and thought the newer one was awesome. That made me smile for days. Thank you to the reader on GR who preferred the original version of AD. That's cool too.
Thank you, my blog readers, for being here. Thank you for being patient with me when I'm quiet. Thank you for reading this now. If you hate this post, that's okay. Maybe the next one will be more interesting.
The group exists, though. Their anger is hurting people. I feel sick.
My first thought was that there's nothing I can say to stop this. I can't lessen their damage. I can't make anyone feel safe. Then I thought, who knows? This started with one person. One person who was angry over a review.
Maybe the anger started because they thought they were defending their book. Maybe it was for a book they loved. I don't know. I do know their anger grew. It will continue to grow.
What it can't do? It can't speak for me.
So I say thanks. Thank you to everyone who's ever read my work. Even if you didn't like it, thank you for trying it.
Thank you to the reader on GR who thought Written in Blood was boring. It was really nice of you to try it. Thank you to the readers on GR who DNF Dark Designs and Shadow Hunt. I hope you guys like my next story or find another author you like more. Thank you to the reviewer who read the original After Dark and thought Devon should've known he was a werewolf. When I was revising AD for print, your words made me decide to delve deeper into that.
Thank you to the readers who wrote me to tell me that they loved Cooking with Ergot but hated WiB because it wasn't funny. Next time I write something outside of my genre, I'll release it under a pseudo-name so you won't inadvertently read something you'd prefer not to. Thank you also to the reviewers who pointed out that I put the bridge in the wrong place in WiB. You're totally right, I did.
Thank you to the readers who've read my work and enjoyed it. Thank you for telling your friends to read it or for posting reviews on Amazon and GR. Thank you to the reader who put DD on their Amazon list, describing Kyler as a horseman of the apocalypse. I was delighted to read that. Thank you to the reviewer who's read both versions of AD and thought the newer one was awesome. That made me smile for days. Thank you to the reader on GR who preferred the original version of AD. That's cool too.
Thank you, my blog readers, for being here. Thank you for being patient with me when I'm quiet. Thank you for reading this now. If you hate this post, that's okay. Maybe the next one will be more interesting.
April 17, 2012
after dark trailer
April 2, 2012
contest winners
An interesting thing I've discovered about myself: when I do a contest, I can never just pick one winner ;)
I'm now happy to report that the winners of the After Dark contest are:
Sara
Nadja
Sylwia
I haven't gotten hold of any print copies but when I do I'll do another contest. In the meantime, here's a snippet from AD:
The rain slipped past the edges of Andrew Sutter's black umbrella, driving cold slivers into his fingers. Frowning, he drew his umbrella lower.
The movement cut his world in half. The Oak Hill Memorial Park graveyard disappeared, taking with it the trembling sequoias, oaks, and rows of gray stones. It was just him, the midnight silver casket before him, and the lower halves of his fellow mourners.
The subtle dismemberment sent a thread of uneasiness through Andrew. It was just a trick of his sight. They were fine.
Flesh is so fragile, Andrew.
Andrew raised the umbrella, giving the people around him life.
The three other mourners stood in an uneven circle around the casket. Their umbrellas were low, doing their best to shield them from the storm. Past them, the gravestones circled out, creating a precision of death.
Thunder rumbled above.
An old childhood game clicked in Andrew's mind. It was something he'd picked up after watching Poltergeist, a film that had made others fear clown puppets and things that might be under the bed. Andrew hadn't. His older brother, Tyler, had shown him that people could be scarier.
Tyler was dead, though, and the lightning, while ephemeral, could be deadly. Andrew focused on the game, the numbers. One one thousand, two one thousand, three-
Light flashed overhead.
The brief brightness cast everything around him into monochrome. As it faded, shades of gray and green returned. There was an open grave to Andrew's left. Before him, Tyler waited beneath the casket's slick surface. Above, the sky mourned his brother.
Its tears were heavy. Cold. When it cried, its voice thundered close. Tyler Sutter was dead.
Thank God.
A sob cut through the rain.
A few feet away, Julia's umbrella shifted. Her son's umbrella followed as he leaned into her. The domino movement made something inside Andrew ache. In spite of how long he'd been on the phone that week, the service was small. Apart from them, there was a caretaker, haunting the edges of Andrew's sight. Across from Andrew were Julia and Sean. Beside Andrew-
The wind yanked his umbrella forward.
Wet shards slipped past the brim, stabbing Andrew. His wireless frames tried to shield his eyes but the rain darted around the glass, attacking them.
Andrew tightened his grip, fighting to bring his umbrella back up.
Something moved at the edge of Andrew's sight. A moment later, Devon was there, grabbing the brim of his umbrella and steadying it.
"Thanks," Andrew said. "For a moment I was afraid I was going to lose it."
The wind jerked Devon's umbrella out of his hand. The black shape tumbled over the casket, past a startled Julia, before disappearing into a cluster of oaks.
"Damn," Devon said. "That worked a lot better in my mind." An English accent haunted his voice, turning the quiet words into a secret.
Andrew braced his umbrella against the wind. When his grip felt more secure, he stepped up behind Devon, shielding him. Sometimes things worked out better in his mind too. Sometimes, things were worse.
Devon glanced at him. In the moment the rain had with him, it had left its mark. His hair was drenched, making the pale blond strands cling to his face and half hide his eyes. The tips of his hair brushed over his shoulders, leaving wet shadows wherever they brushed over cloth.
Andrew suspected that his partner kept his hair that long because he wanted to hide an embarrassing truth: he was beautiful.
It wasn't something most thirty-odd year old men wanted to hear, but it was there, hidden behind the long black coat and the shoulder length hair. Devon had a boyish face, long lashes, and eyes the color of deep woods, a green so sharp, so alive and beautiful, that...
That sometimes Andrew was left without words.
He didn't know if he'd ever find them, just like he didn't know where Tyler had buried the body of Andrew's first love. For now, that was all right. Andrew intended to keep looking.
"How're you doing?" Devon asked.
Andrew shrugged. He'd killed his brother. He suspected he felt better than he probably should.
He could never say that out loud, so he said, "Okay."
The wind tugged at the umbrella, allowing shards of rain to strike him. Andrew lowered the umbrella.
After the summer fires devastated parts of the Santa Cruz Mountains a few months before, Andrew had worried that the first rain in September would weigh on the soil. Trees could break free, pulling down wires, smashing cars, houses. In the more damaged areas, the very earth might slide free and sweep over everything in its path.
His brother had smiled at the thought and reminded him that their closest fire had been far enough away to not be a concern. It'd been difficult to breathe outside for a few days, but then things were fine.
Tyler had been wrong. Those few days had stretched into nearly three weeks, and the danger, while subtle, was as subtle as his brother.
September came and went, dry as the yellow grass along the hills. October came, bringing with it the lightest of rain. It had Tyler's teasing touch, letting Andrew know it was close, and then disappearing when others noticed.
Then November came. Day of the dead. Encroaching clouds. Tyler's accident at Castle Rock Park. The sky trembled.
And broke free.
The wind mourned. The trees shook. The clouds cried.
Wait. That wasn't the clouds.
Andrew looked across the casket.
A tremor shook Julia's thin form, allowing the rain to stab her. Her hair hung limply, with several strands clinging to her pale face. Her dark, almond-shaped eyes stared at the casket. Her husband was dead. Something inside of her probably was too.
Thunder snapped overhead.
One, one thousand. Two-
Light.
Fuck. It was getting closer.
Andrew pressed his umbrella into Devon's hand. "I'm going to talk to her."
"Take the umbrella."
"No. I-" Thoughts and emotions jumbled together, destroying Andrew's ability to create a pleasant excuse. The rain was cold. The afternoon dark. Between the two of them, Andrew would rather Devon be safe.
The words were caught inside of him, so Andrew gently squeezed Devon's hand and left.
One step out from beneath the umbrella and the rain attacked him, driving cold into his skin and creating a chaotic smear across his glasses. Andrew walked around the black shape that was the casket and approached Julia and Sean.
She slouched near her son, half hidden beneath the wide brim of her umbrella. When she trembled, Andrew caught flashes of her. She was dressed in a long black dress, and when she shook, the sleeve of the hand holding the umbrella slipped down, exposing the limb to the cold.
Andrew stepped up to Sean. He wanted to ask his nephew something. How he was doing, was he okay? Andrew wanted to know, but he was afraid the questions would sound foolish. How was he doing? Oh, great. Dad just died. And you?
"The lightning's getting close," Andrew said. He didn't feel right asking what he wanted, so he kept his tone gentle. Steady. "Why don't you and Devon head back to the car while I talk to your mom?"
Sean glanced at him for a moment before looking back at the casket. He shook his head. "I'm not ready."
An ache gathered in Andrew's throat. He wanted to tell Sean that a part of him would always be waiting for Tyler to return, for him to walk in the door and tell him there'd been a mistake. God knew Andrew still hoped Garret would one day appear. It was all a misunderstanding. I've been okay all along.
Time would work its erosive magic on the hope, filing it to a sharp edged sliver. It'd be easier to live with then, though it would always have the power to cut him.
"Sean." You won't ever be ready.
Andrew squeezed Sean's shoulder. The words, while true, were cruel and edged. Andrew wanted to keep them inside.
Thunder cracked overhead. The sound was the snapping of bone, the scream of tearing tissue.
One, one thou-
Light.
Sean lowered and closed his umbrella.
"It's not safe," Andrew said. "The lightning's getting closer. Your dad wouldn't have wanted it to strike you."
"I know. I-" Sean shrugged. His eyes were shiny. Trembling. "I don't want to leave my mom."
Thunder rumbled above them.
Andrew stepped toward Julia. "I'll talk-"
Light.
"-to her." Andrew headed for Julia.
Julia stood close, perhaps two feet away, but the rain turned each step into a wet, muddy mile. Andrew stepped beside her. "Julia-"
"I'm fine."
Yes. And no. Losing someone hurt, and however Andrew felt about his brother, he knew Tyler had loved her. He'd never put a needle through her finger to see how much she would bleed. The mere insinuation of it had once made her laugh.
"I still can't believe it," Julia said. Her lips twitched. "I know everyone must say that."
But she felt it. In her gut, she expected Tyler to come home.
Andrew understood. He'd once felt the same way about his first love.
"If there's anything I can do," Andrew said.
Julia laughed. The sound was quiet, more like a sob than anything cheerful. "Can you go back in time?"
No. His superpowers were limited to making a great cup of coffee. If he could do more...
Andrew looked away. If he had the power, he wouldn't do it. He'd sell his coffee shop and give her the money, but he didn't want to have Tyler back.
Lightning flashed across the sky. Silence followed, an absolute absence of sound that felt like a weight. Then, thunder cracked. The sound was sharp, like breaking glass. Andrew hoped the shards wouldn't strike anyone.
"We should go," Andrew said. "The lighting's getting closer."
Julia glanced at him. "It would be the perfect end to a perfect day."
Yes. Tyler would have approved.
The caretaker that had thoughtfully kept to the edge of Andrew's sight inched closer. Too polite to hurry them, too wary of the storm to stay back. Andrew understood. Sometimes, one needed to take risks if it meant keeping someone else safe.
Andrew touched Julia's shoulder. "Do you want me to drive you back?"
"No." She slipped her hand over Andrew's, bleeding cold onto him. Then she drew away, slipping her hand over Sean's shoulder. "We'll see you tomorrow."
"All right."
Julia drew Sean away. They walked, half leading, half led, toward the parking lot.
Andrew watched them until they disappeared behind a copse of trees. He should have wished them something. Drive carefully, take it easy, sleep well. He couldn't. He'd never been very good with goodbyes.
Wet footfalls drew close. Andrew turned.
Devon stepped up before him and moved the umbrella to cover them both.
Light flashed over them. Thunder chased after it. The sound swept over them, shaking the ground.
"Maybe we should drive them home," Devon said.
Andrew shook his head. "Julia doesn't want the company right now."
"They shouldn't be alone tonight. Tyler-"
"Wouldn't have wanted me there." Tyler would have wanted him to remain where he was. In the cold. Surrounded by death.
Devon slid his fingers over Andrew's shoulder. His eyes were thoughtful. Sad.
Andrew drew him close. Devon was warm and soft and alive, so vulnerably alive. Flesh could bruise. Bleed. A childhood with Tyler had shown Andrew so many things. The four pale brown coffee-bean shapes on his left arm? Boiling oil. The scar beneath his left nipple? Fish hook.
"Andrew?"
"It's going to be all right." Tyler was dead now. Cold, lifeless, and unable to hurt anyone again. "Let's go home."
I'm now happy to report that the winners of the After Dark contest are:
Sara
Nadja
Sylwia
I haven't gotten hold of any print copies but when I do I'll do another contest. In the meantime, here's a snippet from AD:
The rain slipped past the edges of Andrew Sutter's black umbrella, driving cold slivers into his fingers. Frowning, he drew his umbrella lower.
The movement cut his world in half. The Oak Hill Memorial Park graveyard disappeared, taking with it the trembling sequoias, oaks, and rows of gray stones. It was just him, the midnight silver casket before him, and the lower halves of his fellow mourners.
The subtle dismemberment sent a thread of uneasiness through Andrew. It was just a trick of his sight. They were fine.
Flesh is so fragile, Andrew.
Andrew raised the umbrella, giving the people around him life.
The three other mourners stood in an uneven circle around the casket. Their umbrellas were low, doing their best to shield them from the storm. Past them, the gravestones circled out, creating a precision of death.
Thunder rumbled above.
An old childhood game clicked in Andrew's mind. It was something he'd picked up after watching Poltergeist, a film that had made others fear clown puppets and things that might be under the bed. Andrew hadn't. His older brother, Tyler, had shown him that people could be scarier.
Tyler was dead, though, and the lightning, while ephemeral, could be deadly. Andrew focused on the game, the numbers. One one thousand, two one thousand, three-
Light flashed overhead.
The brief brightness cast everything around him into monochrome. As it faded, shades of gray and green returned. There was an open grave to Andrew's left. Before him, Tyler waited beneath the casket's slick surface. Above, the sky mourned his brother.
Its tears were heavy. Cold. When it cried, its voice thundered close. Tyler Sutter was dead.
Thank God.
A sob cut through the rain.
A few feet away, Julia's umbrella shifted. Her son's umbrella followed as he leaned into her. The domino movement made something inside Andrew ache. In spite of how long he'd been on the phone that week, the service was small. Apart from them, there was a caretaker, haunting the edges of Andrew's sight. Across from Andrew were Julia and Sean. Beside Andrew-
The wind yanked his umbrella forward.
Wet shards slipped past the brim, stabbing Andrew. His wireless frames tried to shield his eyes but the rain darted around the glass, attacking them.
Andrew tightened his grip, fighting to bring his umbrella back up.
Something moved at the edge of Andrew's sight. A moment later, Devon was there, grabbing the brim of his umbrella and steadying it.
"Thanks," Andrew said. "For a moment I was afraid I was going to lose it."
The wind jerked Devon's umbrella out of his hand. The black shape tumbled over the casket, past a startled Julia, before disappearing into a cluster of oaks.
"Damn," Devon said. "That worked a lot better in my mind." An English accent haunted his voice, turning the quiet words into a secret.
Andrew braced his umbrella against the wind. When his grip felt more secure, he stepped up behind Devon, shielding him. Sometimes things worked out better in his mind too. Sometimes, things were worse.
Devon glanced at him. In the moment the rain had with him, it had left its mark. His hair was drenched, making the pale blond strands cling to his face and half hide his eyes. The tips of his hair brushed over his shoulders, leaving wet shadows wherever they brushed over cloth.
Andrew suspected that his partner kept his hair that long because he wanted to hide an embarrassing truth: he was beautiful.
It wasn't something most thirty-odd year old men wanted to hear, but it was there, hidden behind the long black coat and the shoulder length hair. Devon had a boyish face, long lashes, and eyes the color of deep woods, a green so sharp, so alive and beautiful, that...
That sometimes Andrew was left without words.
He didn't know if he'd ever find them, just like he didn't know where Tyler had buried the body of Andrew's first love. For now, that was all right. Andrew intended to keep looking.
"How're you doing?" Devon asked.
Andrew shrugged. He'd killed his brother. He suspected he felt better than he probably should.
He could never say that out loud, so he said, "Okay."
The wind tugged at the umbrella, allowing shards of rain to strike him. Andrew lowered the umbrella.
After the summer fires devastated parts of the Santa Cruz Mountains a few months before, Andrew had worried that the first rain in September would weigh on the soil. Trees could break free, pulling down wires, smashing cars, houses. In the more damaged areas, the very earth might slide free and sweep over everything in its path.
His brother had smiled at the thought and reminded him that their closest fire had been far enough away to not be a concern. It'd been difficult to breathe outside for a few days, but then things were fine.
Tyler had been wrong. Those few days had stretched into nearly three weeks, and the danger, while subtle, was as subtle as his brother.
September came and went, dry as the yellow grass along the hills. October came, bringing with it the lightest of rain. It had Tyler's teasing touch, letting Andrew know it was close, and then disappearing when others noticed.
Then November came. Day of the dead. Encroaching clouds. Tyler's accident at Castle Rock Park. The sky trembled.
And broke free.
The wind mourned. The trees shook. The clouds cried.
Wait. That wasn't the clouds.
Andrew looked across the casket.
A tremor shook Julia's thin form, allowing the rain to stab her. Her hair hung limply, with several strands clinging to her pale face. Her dark, almond-shaped eyes stared at the casket. Her husband was dead. Something inside of her probably was too.
Thunder snapped overhead.
One, one thousand. Two-
Light.
Fuck. It was getting closer.
Andrew pressed his umbrella into Devon's hand. "I'm going to talk to her."
"Take the umbrella."
"No. I-" Thoughts and emotions jumbled together, destroying Andrew's ability to create a pleasant excuse. The rain was cold. The afternoon dark. Between the two of them, Andrew would rather Devon be safe.
The words were caught inside of him, so Andrew gently squeezed Devon's hand and left.
One step out from beneath the umbrella and the rain attacked him, driving cold into his skin and creating a chaotic smear across his glasses. Andrew walked around the black shape that was the casket and approached Julia and Sean.
She slouched near her son, half hidden beneath the wide brim of her umbrella. When she trembled, Andrew caught flashes of her. She was dressed in a long black dress, and when she shook, the sleeve of the hand holding the umbrella slipped down, exposing the limb to the cold.
Andrew stepped up to Sean. He wanted to ask his nephew something. How he was doing, was he okay? Andrew wanted to know, but he was afraid the questions would sound foolish. How was he doing? Oh, great. Dad just died. And you?
"The lightning's getting close," Andrew said. He didn't feel right asking what he wanted, so he kept his tone gentle. Steady. "Why don't you and Devon head back to the car while I talk to your mom?"
Sean glanced at him for a moment before looking back at the casket. He shook his head. "I'm not ready."
An ache gathered in Andrew's throat. He wanted to tell Sean that a part of him would always be waiting for Tyler to return, for him to walk in the door and tell him there'd been a mistake. God knew Andrew still hoped Garret would one day appear. It was all a misunderstanding. I've been okay all along.
Time would work its erosive magic on the hope, filing it to a sharp edged sliver. It'd be easier to live with then, though it would always have the power to cut him.
"Sean." You won't ever be ready.
Andrew squeezed Sean's shoulder. The words, while true, were cruel and edged. Andrew wanted to keep them inside.
Thunder cracked overhead. The sound was the snapping of bone, the scream of tearing tissue.
One, one thou-
Light.
Sean lowered and closed his umbrella.
"It's not safe," Andrew said. "The lightning's getting closer. Your dad wouldn't have wanted it to strike you."
"I know. I-" Sean shrugged. His eyes were shiny. Trembling. "I don't want to leave my mom."
Thunder rumbled above them.
Andrew stepped toward Julia. "I'll talk-"
Light.
"-to her." Andrew headed for Julia.
Julia stood close, perhaps two feet away, but the rain turned each step into a wet, muddy mile. Andrew stepped beside her. "Julia-"
"I'm fine."
Yes. And no. Losing someone hurt, and however Andrew felt about his brother, he knew Tyler had loved her. He'd never put a needle through her finger to see how much she would bleed. The mere insinuation of it had once made her laugh.
"I still can't believe it," Julia said. Her lips twitched. "I know everyone must say that."
But she felt it. In her gut, she expected Tyler to come home.
Andrew understood. He'd once felt the same way about his first love.
"If there's anything I can do," Andrew said.
Julia laughed. The sound was quiet, more like a sob than anything cheerful. "Can you go back in time?"
No. His superpowers were limited to making a great cup of coffee. If he could do more...
Andrew looked away. If he had the power, he wouldn't do it. He'd sell his coffee shop and give her the money, but he didn't want to have Tyler back.
Lightning flashed across the sky. Silence followed, an absolute absence of sound that felt like a weight. Then, thunder cracked. The sound was sharp, like breaking glass. Andrew hoped the shards wouldn't strike anyone.
"We should go," Andrew said. "The lighting's getting closer."
Julia glanced at him. "It would be the perfect end to a perfect day."
Yes. Tyler would have approved.
The caretaker that had thoughtfully kept to the edge of Andrew's sight inched closer. Too polite to hurry them, too wary of the storm to stay back. Andrew understood. Sometimes, one needed to take risks if it meant keeping someone else safe.
Andrew touched Julia's shoulder. "Do you want me to drive you back?"
"No." She slipped her hand over Andrew's, bleeding cold onto him. Then she drew away, slipping her hand over Sean's shoulder. "We'll see you tomorrow."
"All right."
Julia drew Sean away. They walked, half leading, half led, toward the parking lot.
Andrew watched them until they disappeared behind a copse of trees. He should have wished them something. Drive carefully, take it easy, sleep well. He couldn't. He'd never been very good with goodbyes.
Wet footfalls drew close. Andrew turned.
Devon stepped up before him and moved the umbrella to cover them both.
Light flashed over them. Thunder chased after it. The sound swept over them, shaking the ground.
"Maybe we should drive them home," Devon said.
Andrew shook his head. "Julia doesn't want the company right now."
"They shouldn't be alone tonight. Tyler-"
"Wouldn't have wanted me there." Tyler would have wanted him to remain where he was. In the cold. Surrounded by death.
Devon slid his fingers over Andrew's shoulder. His eyes were thoughtful. Sad.
Andrew drew him close. Devon was warm and soft and alive, so vulnerably alive. Flesh could bruise. Bleed. A childhood with Tyler had shown Andrew so many things. The four pale brown coffee-bean shapes on his left arm? Boiling oil. The scar beneath his left nipple? Fish hook.
"Andrew?"
"It's going to be all right." Tyler was dead now. Cold, lifeless, and unable to hurt anyone again. "Let's go home."
