Rebecca Besser's Blog, page 32
July 2, 2016
Author Armand Rosamilia – Dying Days
EXCERPT from Dying Days by Armand Rosamilia:
PART ONE
DARLENE BOBICH: ZOMBIE KILLER
Chapter One
Anything But Luck
Darlene Bobich never believed in luck. There was a reason for everything, and whether it was the good graces of God Above or skills and experience that got you through, it was never a random occurrence. Things happened for a reason, as her daddy used to say.
This morning she put a bullet through her daddy’s heart. He didn’t stop trying to kill her, so she put another through his stomach.
The one between his eyes and the one through his left eye stopped him.
The gun, a Desert Eagle gas-operated semi-automatic, was given to her as a gift from her daddy. This was one of the first that he’d had a hand in creating when the Israeli manufacturer had moved its operations to Maine.
A small five year window before the Desert Eagle was once again back in Israel. Her daddy had been working in a factory in Dexter making footwear for twelve years. When it was announced that better paying jobs were right in town instead of thirty miles away, he’d jumped at the chance. Her daddy knew nothing about weapons but it didn’t stop him from being hired, and he was a fast learner.
Darlene remembered the look on his face when he handed her the present, a large box wrapped in Christmas paper with a silver bow. “I made this for you,” he’d said and kissed her cheek. Darlene was seventeen, on the verge of graduating high school and going off to college in the fall, when he’d given it to her.
Ten years of weekends on the gun range with daddy had taught her how to handle the weapon and defend herself. She’d never needed to until the dead started to rise.
Fittingly, ironically or just plain horrifically, the first zombie she’d had to kill was her own daddy. Her aim hadn’t been off; she thought that a bullet through his heart would stop him, but now she knew that his heart had given up the fight already. The second shot was meant to slow him down so she could think, but he didn’t double over in pain. Pain was not an option for him anymore, only the hunger.
Darlene took the last two shots in quick succession, hitting both targets perfectly. Daddy would have been proud of the accuracy. Even as he fell, lifeless, to the kitchen floor she knew that it wasn’t luck that had put this weapon in her hand and the skill to use it.
It was her sweet daddy that had.
Armand Rosamilia is a New Jersey boy currently living in sunny Florida, where he writes when he’s not sleeping. He’s happily married to a woman who helps his career and is supportive, which is all he ever wanted in life…
He’s written over 150 stories that are currently available, including horror, zombies, contemporary fiction, thrillers and more. His goal is to write a good story and not worry about genre labels.
He runs two very successful podcasts on Project iRadio, too…
Arm Cast: Dead Sexy Horror Podcast – interviewing fellow authors as well as filmmakers, musicians, etc.
Arm N Toof’s Dead Time Podcast – with co-host Mark Tufo, the duo interview authors and filmmakers and anyone else they feel like talking to.
He also loves to talk in third person… because he’s really that cool.
You can find him at http://armandrosamilia.com
©Armand Rosamilia, 2016. All rights reserved.
June 25, 2016
Author Mark Taylor – The Devil’s Hand Part 3
EXCERPT from The Devil’s Hand: Celestials by Mark Taylor:
Darin looked around the wasteland that was neither Hell nor Earth. It was an inbetween where no immortal bore power, and no man was safe.
The red hues and heat of Hell, the smell of sulfur burning sweet in the air, was replaced by a nothing. The grey dirt ground, the flat grey sky…it was all punctuated by the overpowering smell of nothing.
It reminded him of Scotland.
Darin sighed.
“Hello?” he called out into the echoless nothing. “Is there a doorman about?”
YES?
Darin jumped as the deep voice came from behind him. He turned. “Hi,” he said, smiling. “I’m here to see—”
WE KNOW.
The tall hooded figure didn’t so much speak, as project sound. And it did it very effectively. “How?” Darin continued.
YOU MUST REMEMBER THE SEER THAT YOU SENT TO US—ALONG WITH THE THOUSANDS OF OTHERS. YOU WISH TO SEE THE MAN PETIOT.
“Yes.”
IT IS A FOOLS ERRAND COMING HERE, HAND. YOU HAVE SENT MOST OF US HERE YOURSELF. WHY DO YOU DARE CROSS THE THRESHOLD?
“Um,” Darin paused, trying to put the words together in his head. Something eloquent like I appreciate your apprehension, friend from the netherworld, but I seek knowledge, answers, and the truth. Instead he said, “Whatever. Where can I find Petiot?”
HE IS WITHIN THE LANDSCAPE. DO AS YOU WILL.
Darin looked out to the landscape, barren as it was. “Perhaps a clue?” he asked the doorman.
He was gone.
Damn.
“I’m looking for Marcel Petiot,” Darin called, turning back to the wasteland and stepping forward, “Marcel with an M.”
As a sigh escaped his lips, Darin trudged further into Purgatory. It was depressing.
Although he supposed that was the point.
The ghosts of those that died in Hell and on Earth drifted by, a glimpse of their faces, torn into terrible screams for eternity, haunted each of The Hand’s footfalls. It was a dim reminder of what could happen.
In the distance a lone figure appeared. He stood and waited as Darin got closer. The hat gave it away.
“Tesla,” Darin said, greeting him.
“Hello, Hand.”
Darin raised his hands passively, a sign of peace. “Where is he?”
“He’s here,” the ex-Alp nodded.
“Where?”
“Here, Hand. He wants to know what you want,” Tesla smiled.
Darin looked surprised. “What are you, his bitch?”
Tesla laughed. “After what I have foreseen? I wonder why you are here myself.”
“Don’t you know?” Darin smirked.
Tesla tilted his head to the side. “It’s curious. I know what will happen up there. I always have, but I see nothing here in Purgatory. It is like the reality of what is, and what is to become, does not belong here. Perhaps I do, therefore, belong here. Where it is dull, and safe…”
“Petiot?”
“I am here, Hand.” Petiot’s growl came from behind Darin. He turned. Petiot was burned, scarred, from their last encounter. His skin was raw and his eyes glowed a deep red. “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you where you stand.”
“Because,” Darin answered, “first I’d like to see you try, and second…well, I’m worth more as The Hand than I am as a fleeting moment of satisfaction…to you, at least.”
Petiot snorted. “What do you want?”
“The Journals, of course.”
“And you cannot find them?” Petiot roared with laughter.
Darin stared at him. “They are no use to you here, Marcel. Tell me where they are.”
“What is it worth?”
“I can get you out of here. You know that. Take you back to where the air is laced with sulfur.”
“In exchange for the book?”
Darin nodded.
As Petiot went to step forward, Tesla took him by the wrist to hold him back. “Don’t,” he whispered.
Petiot yanked his arm from the Alp’s grip. “Come, Hand.”
Darin smiled at Tesla. “See you around,” he winked.
“No,” Tesla answered. “You won’t.”
***
As Darin and Marcel returned to the door, Petiot sneered at The Hand. He continued to deride Darin’s efforts to find the Journals. As they approached, Marcel finally said, “And you’ll shit when you find out where I put them.”
“Yes,” Darin sighed. He pointed to the door. “We’re here. Spill.”
Petiot smiled. “Tell me, where would you put something that you didn’t want you to find?”
Darin shook his head. “No more games.”
Petiot nodded. “I trust you are a man of your word?”
“You know me.”
“The British Museum, Hand. I put them on display.”
***
Darin walked into the Devil’s office. He was sitting behind his desk, curiously just waiting. “Petiot is in a holding cell, and I know where they are.” He tried to refrain from swaggering, but he failed to do so.
The Devil nodded over Darin’s shoulder, back to the door. “Go.”
“I was. I was only letting you know what I’d done with Petiot.”
The Devil shook his head. “No, Hand. Go. You must leave.”
“What?” Darin raised his eyebrows.
“While you were in Purgatory, I got word that God’s Army is being raised once again. They are coming for you, apparently.” He looked away. “I don’t wish to wage a Celestial war. Not again. Not over you.”
“You’re turning me out?”
He nodded.
Darin approached his desk. “What do they want with me?”
“It is not my concern.”
Darin slammed his hands on the desk. “This is Tesla’s doing. I’ve done nothing.”
“Again,” the Devil turned back to face Darin, “that is not my concern. I won’t have a war on my doorstep.”
Darin was speechless. “But,” he stumbled over words, “I…you…” He dropped his head in defeat.
Standing back up straight, Darin turned to the door.
“If I hear anything, I will get word to you,” He said. “Good luck.”
“I’m sure going to need it,” Darin mumbled, leaving.
***
Darin sucked on a cigarette.
It was raining.
A fat man in a red suit walked by, his brass bell clanging from side to side. “Merry Christmas!” he hollered.
Darin had chosen to be returned to England, two days ago. He had taken to the streets of Canterbury—with all the shoppers and bustle it was a good place to hide. That, and the Cathedral. It masked his scent. He hoped for time before they found him.
He wasn’t surprised that the Devil had restricted his power.
He left the hordes in the street and turned down one of the alleys towards the Cathedral. He’d found a reasonable place to stay there, and it was getting dark.
The sign above the door waved back and forth in the wind, creaking as the first flourishes of snow fell, melting into the wet ground.
The Ingold Inn.
Darin opened the door, brushed the few flakes from his coat and entered. It was warm inside. He wasn’t one for the cold.
Maybe he should have hidden in the south of France?
Mrs. Ledbetter smiled warmly at him, her old skin wrinkling as she did. “Good evening,” she said, “and how are you today? How’s the weather?”
“Cold,” Darin replied. Why did the English always talk about the weather?
“There’s soup in the kitchen,” she smiled and turned back to buffing the brass.
She was sweet. The old lady ran this house like her own, with just Darin and two others staying there. He’d briefly met them at breakfast: a young man in his twenties, and a slightly older one. They clearly had a passing acquaintance and the three had nodded some sort of greeting.
Mrs. Ledbetter mothered them.
She had no obligation to provide anything other than the rudiments of breakfast for the three of them, and certainly nothing else.
But now, for the third night running, when Darin had returned, there had been fresh made soup and bread.
“Thank you,” he nodded, and turned into the kitchen.
Mark Taylor’s debut novel crash landed on planet earth in 2013. Its dark brooding style benchmarked his writing and has led to further releases of novel and short story collection alike.
While most of Mark’s work is macabre, occasion has it that he will write about kittens and daisies. Just not very often.
Some say he is a product of his environment, others, a product of his own imagination.
Whichever it is he works happily, portraying dark existences on this planet and others. He relays his fears and doubts on his characters, so always has a smile. If Mark is real, as some say he is, you might find him in England.
Perhaps.
©Mark Taylor, 2016. All rights reserved.
June 23, 2016
Author Mark Taylor – The Devil’s Hand Part 2
EXCERPT from The Devil’s Hand: Conviction by Mark Taylor:
Darin strode with purpose down the sidewalk. It had started to rain again. He’d know Tesla on sight now, well, he’d be able to spot that someone wasn’t human, and that was enough. But time wasn’t on his side.
He had known Bruce since before he was one of the protectors of the Kings of Hell. That was a time before the fall from grace of Lucifer. A time no one dared speak of now. When Lucifer took over the whole show, the Lamassu were scattered across the earth, sent into exile to live eternally among the human race. Lucifer had seen that as both an act of kindness—for not slaying them—and as a punishment for not bowing down before him. Honestly? It was pretty decent of him. But they were all bound to single dwellings. Over the century’s their strength diminished, until now…the likes of Bruce Masters barely held on to what little power remained. Darin discarded his spent cigarette and pulled another immediately from his pocket and lit it.
All he needed to do now was head back to the Melbourne Grand, and wait. Tesla would make his appearance soon enough, and then Darin had to act.
To do what, though, he wasn’t sure. That all depended on whether The Alp wanted to play…fair.
That was easy. Darin had only been waiting outside the hotel for around fifteen minutes when someone had walked by and Darin sensed that they weren’t human. His perception had changed. It was like the guy had some sort of black line drawn around him, it was a sensation that Darin had never felt before, but that was the way when you ‘borrowed’ power.
The feeling was so strong in fact, it brought him over a little queasy.
He stepped forward flicking his smoke away, and towards the man. Something he did, perhaps some way he moved, had tipped Tesla off, as he turned sharply, even though he was on the other side of the street and could in no way have known. There was a spark of recognition in his eyes as he looked straight at Darin.
He turned and ran.
“Shit!” Darin muttered starting after him, “I hate it when they run.”
Tesla cornered the Hotel and ran hard—away from the river bank—deeper into the city. Darin could tell instantly that he was going to try and lose him in the crowd, but that wasn’t going to work. Not at the moment.
Darin weaved between the cars in the street causing them to swerve out of the way, hands being pushed onto horns, and then back onto the sidewalk and around the corner.
Tesla was making good distance, but Darin could see him—his outline—clearly. His feet thudded after him, but Darin’s chest was quick to tighten, his footfalls slowing, and sweat breaking out on his face. He started to roll to a stop. “I’ve gotta stop smoking,” he heaved. He squinted up the street and saw Tesla dart left.
Darin took one left earlier. He moved as quickly as he could—which wasn’t overly quick—to the end of the building and slipped his head around the corner carefully. As he suspected, Tesla had doubled back. He smiled to himself. Recently, Darin had begun to think that he might be getting smarter. He glanced around for something big, his eyes fell on a trash can, and he picked it up.
Timing it carefully, he spun around the corner, trash can held at chest height and thrust it into the face of the oncoming Alp as he screamed the loudest war-cry his tar filled lungs could muster.
Tesla crashed to the ground with a thud and Darin discarded the metal trash can, which now had an Alp face impressioned on one side of it.
People stopped and stared.
Darin leaned over the black outlined figure as he lay flat on his back. “Right,” he huffed, jabbing his finger into his face, “you…” breath in, “need to…” breath out, “…wait.” Darin stopped and squinted at the man. “You’re not Tesla.”
The man on the floor frowned, asked “Who?” and quickly lay an excruciatingly hard fist onto Darin’s jaw. The force of the punch sent him bolt upright, flailing his hands like a wire walker trying to regain balance.
Before Darin’s focus had returned, the man was on his feet (which raised a whoop from a couple of members of the public who had witnessed this innocent man jumped by some crazy hiding around a corner) and stomped his foot hard into Darin’s gut sending him sprawling to the floor and off the curb.
As he lay, wedged between the wheels of a parked car and the concrete, the man walked over and crouched next to him. He looked around at the collection of people watching, some waving cellular devices at the two men, recording, and then returned his gaze to Darin. “Maybe next time, Hand,” he said, “I haven’t finished with you,” before standing and slipping through the crowd.
Darin lay there for a moment staring up into the blobs of rain that were falling onto his face, his coat absorbing the water that ran down the guttering. He sighed, not even surprised that his day was going this way, pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and smoked it right there, watching the crowd disperse—the last of the teenagers stopping recording the bum that lay in the street.
“What the hell is going on?” he grumbled, eventually pulling himself back to his feet. “What’s with the other team?”
***
Darin stumbled into O.B.’s clutching his chin. His lip was still bleeding.
Bruce shook his head and glanced at the clock on the wall, “Just over an hour…that has to be a record, even for you.”
Darin took a seat on a stall. “Hit me.”
Bruce slipped out a flaggard from beneath the bar. “The usual?” he grinned.
Darin nodded and mouthed ‘yeah’ whilst frowning.
“Walk into a wall, did you?” Bruce asked casually as drew a pint of stout.
Darin shook his head. When Bruce placed the mug in front of him, Darin took it and supped deeply. He placed it back down and wiped the remnants of the ale from his mouth, then said, “A Celestial.”
“What in…well, God’s name, is a Celestial doing down here?” Darin asked rhetorically for the third time.
“Quite.” As Bruce couldn’t leave the tavern there was nothing he could do, in fact, little he could say. He did however glance at the time again. “Hand,” he began, “you don’t have long to find The Alp. Perhaps it would be better to deal with one thing at a time.”
Darin nodded, deep in thought, “Do you think I should tell Him?”
“I would not. What do you have to tell him, anyway? That there is an angel on the loose? He would only burden you with what you must already do, and that is to find out why, but find The Alp, whilst you still have the time.”
Darin nodded. “You’re right, my friend. I’ll head back to the hotel—hopefully Tesla won’t have caught any of that earlier, and I can still catch him unaware.”
As he left the pub, Bruce simply called after him, “… and make sure it’s him this time…”
Darin’s lips tugged on the cigarette. Remember, he thought, to make sure he’s wearing a hat. The Celestial wasn’t. He’d gotten caught up in the moment.
Stupid.
He flipped the smoke away as he went straight into the hotel lobby. He wasn’t going to take any chances this time. It was lunch time and there was a reasonable possibility that Tesla would be here somewhere. After all, why leave—The Hand didn’t know who he was, right?
Darin pushed the double doors of the dining room open and stood there, arms spread. He thought it made him look dramatic. When he glanced around, the room was mostly devoid of patrons, and none that were there were Tesla.
Darin’s chest deflated as the Maitre D’ walked over. “Table, Sir?” He looked him up and down.
Darin nodded with a weak smile.
***
Tesla sat at the same table this evening as last night. He had ordered the scallops and a bottle of fine champagne. Why not? he had thought to himself. It wouldn’t be long before The Hand caught up with him, or the Devil would send someone else…or any other number of things that would preclude him from enjoying fine French wine and seafood. That was when Darin sat down opposite him at the table.
“Tesla,” he smiled confidently.
Tesla tipped his head slightly as a greeting, “Hand, how nice of you to join me.” He raised his hand and beckoned over the waiter who without word lay a second place at the small table, in front of Darin. Then a glass was placed, and before he had a chance to object, he was rolling a flute of champagne between his fingers. “How did you know?” Tesla asked.
“The hat,” Darin lied—having been loitering in and around the dining room for some hours. He glanced at the Madison placed carefully on the table to the side of Tesla’s dinner setting. “I like it, always been a trilby man myself,” he removed his own hat and dropped it onto the table, his hand reaching across towards Tesla’s. “Mind if I try it on?”
The Alp’s hand snaked out quickly, slipping the hat away and down into the shadows of his lap, leaving Darin’s hand hanging. “I don’t think so,” Tesla smiled.
Darin rubbed his fingers against his thumb for a second and then withdrew back to his own space on his own side of the table. He sipped his champagne and looked at The Alp over the lip of the glass.
“You look nervous, Hand. Do tell me what the plan is. I’m dying to know.”
The plan Darin had, like most of his plans, was flaky. Most importantly, he needed to get Tesla somewhere more private, and he wasn’t going to achieve that by force. He painted a smile on his face. “Later, Tesla. Tell me,” he sipped at his champagne again, “why the disappearing act?”
“Told you to find out, did he? Before you stopped me?”
Darin’s eyebrows flicked up and down, indicating the question was moot. “Well?”
Tesla waited for the waiter to slip professionally around the table and serve two plates of scallops before he continued, “You really have no idea, do you?”
Darin looked at the seafood, scrunched his face up and pushed the plate away. “Okay,” he said, raising his hands passively, “if you won’t tell me that, then tell me this: Why is there a Celestial walking the streets of Melbourne? There’s something going on and I want to know what it is.”
Tesla shook his head back and forth, a wide grin, as he savored his lunch. “What makes you think I know?”
Darin sat back in his chair and stared at The Alp.
“Oh,” Tesla continued, “going to sulk now, are we?”
Darin fumed. He breathed in as if raise mighty Hell at the table and then breathed back out, slowly. A sigh.
Tesla smiled as he continued to eat, now silent.
“You’re not losing your touch, are you?” Darin asked, “I thought you daemons knew everything?”
Tesla raised an eyebrow, his smile rose on one side. “I like you, Hand, I always have…but if you insist on such things, you might be sorry if I agree.”
“Try me.”
Darin stood watching. He was on the brow of a hill and the world below burned. He started down the grassy hill, the earth cracked beneath his feet as smoke rose—the heat of the soil burning through the soles of his shoes—the stench of sulfur in the air. He found the smell out of place but comforting…like home.
He stepped over the burning corpse of a child.
What had happened? Darin looked around, he didn’t truly recognize the area, but it could have been any one of a hundred places. It was a city: London? Edinburgh? Paris? Rome? It could have been one or none of the cities that he had visited in his time.
He stopped and watched a river of Hellion Roaches spew from a glowing red crack in the floor. They were not of this realm. They should not have been here.
And he couldn’t control them like he should have.
Hundreds of them rolled out and down towards the street…the screams of innocence filled the air. Darin shook his head and continued down to the street and over to the window of a store. He wiped his hand over the soot blackened window and squinted through. The family that hid—cowered—inside stared at him, the father’s eyes wide and terror filled. He couldn’t know who—or what—Darin was…the fear was something else.
He listened to the familiar applause of the scuttling creatures getting louder as their excitement grew. He watched them crawl through the cracks under the doors…he watched them find the family.
A man, a woman, and a child.
Darin watched his pets feed. They tore at the family, an orgasmic chatter rising from them as they took them with prejudice, without concern for age or sex.
Darin squinted in distain. This wasn’t right.
He turned away and continued down the street. It was night—dark—but there were no street lights…the light came only from Hell seeping through from below.
“Alp!” He turned, his eyes darting around looking for a sign that Tesla had followed him into this…dream. “What is the meaning of this?”
Tesla’s hand came to rest on his shoulder and Darin spun to face him. The Alp shook his head slowly. “Can you see what is happening, Hand?”
Darin licked his lips and reached into his pocket, pulling out his smokes and lighting one. “Tell me…”
The Alp shook his head harder. “It is not for me to say. That would surely spoil the fun.”
Darin grabbed Tesla to pull him into Hell, but aside from the two scuffling briefly, nothing happened.
“Not in here,” Tesla tapped the side of Darin’s head with his finger, much to his annoyance. “You have no power when I am in control.”
“So why show it to me, if you’re not going to explain it?” Darin snapped.
“So you have something to tell Him.”
Mark Taylor’s debut novel crash landed on planet earth in 2013. Its dark brooding style benchmarked his writing and has led to further releases of novel and short story collection alike.
While most of Mark’s work is macabre, occasion has it that he will write about kittens and daisies. Just not very often.
Some say he is a product of his environment, others, a product of his own imagination.
Whichever it is he works happily, portraying dark existences on this planet and others. He relays his fears and doubts on his characters, so always has a smile. If Mark is real, as some say he is, you might find him in England.
Perhaps.
©Mark Taylor, 2016. All rights reserved.
June 21, 2016
Author Mark Taylor – The Devil’s Hand Part 1
EXCERPT from The Devil’s Hand: Crossing Guard by Mark Taylor:
“Good night, Miss Mitchell,” Peter slid his head around the door of the office. “Is there anything else you need before I go?”
Angela looked away from the rain to Peter and smiled, shaking her head. “I’ll see you in the morning.” Peter left, and she heard him close the door behind himself, latching it so that it was only accessible from the inside. She looked back out the window. Five days running it had been raining. Only on and off, but always in the early evening, and always when she was going home.
She picked up the North African Statesman’s Journals—her morning’s work—and carried them out of the office, starting up the back stairs to the storeroom on the next floor. She had indexed and priced them, even managing to send out a tentative email to a perspective buyer and now needed to put them away. She could, of course, leave them for Peter, but she felt that a celebratory glass of wine might be just what the doctor ordered tonight, and delaying the inevitable seemed a good idea.
Angela listened to the familiar creak of the old stairs as she ascended, her high heels tapping gently on the bare wood steps.
Entering the second floor, a whole room in itself—a room that in all its grandeur would have made a much better sales floor than the library below—Angela inhaled deeply. The room was stocked heavily with books and papers, letters, even some small antique jewelry, and it all smelled…cool.
Well, to Angela it did.
Angela loved the faint musty scents of old paper and parchment.
She walked across the bare floor to the closest book shelf and slipped the Journals on the end, inhaled again, and turned to leave.
She stopped.
Through the door, descending the stairs was a shadow. It startled her briefly. “Peter?” she called, “What did you forget this time?”
He didn’t reply.
Angela shook her head and returned to the door, her heels clacking loudly on the oak floor boards. She looked down the stairs to the floor below, “Peter?” she called again, this time with more urgency, “Answer me.”
He still didn’t reply.
Angela looked around quickly for something—a weapon?—to, if nothing else, make her feel better. She picked up a copy of The Count of Monte Cristo. A book weighty enough to be a weapon, and if nothing else she could bore the assailant to death.
She descended as quietly as she could, which wasn’t quiet in heels. Damn shoes.
As she moved from the last step, a slender young woman in expensive garb, wielding a book of over a thousand pages like a wood axe, she noted that the front door was latched. She lowered the book.
A trick of the light, perhaps?
Of course, she quickly went from the library to the office to settle the doubts in her mind, but there was no one there. There couldn’t have been. Even Peter would have to knock to get back in. Maybe she should lay off the liquor if it was going to cause hallucinations? Or perhaps, she just needed a drink?
Angela returned The Count to its rightful place upstairs and then left the library for the night, reaching out for her umbrella before remembering its likely demise in the streets of London last night. After alarming and locking the building behind her she headed out, head hunkered down in the rain and started the push towards the underground.
She wondered what Raphael would have for her tonight.
***
Fleep
The Oyster Card opened the turnstile at the cold entrance of Sloane Square Station for the nightly trudge of the Central line to Victoria Station and then the Victoria line home.
Down flights of escalators and tunnels, the human race herded itself toward the bullet shaped ‘tube train’. The noise of the approaching train as it emerged from the tunnel was a tornado of wind rushing past the hundred waiting bodies, the voice on the intercom drowned out.
It stopped with a clunk and the doors shwooped open.
Fifty people disembarked.
One hundred forced their way on.
Angela stood, she had removed her bag from her shoulder and held it between her legs, squashed between fat men wearing wet coats. The immediate heat and claustrophobia as the doors shwooped back shut. She felt her chest tighten slightly, as she always did when the tube was this busy.
And it was always this busy when it rained.
Airs of suspicion lingered between most of the travellers, no one wanting to look directly at another person, no one speaking.
Just densely packed in human meat.
And Darin.
As he watched her from further down the carriage.
Already on the train before her…
… knowing where she would get on.
***
“Shit it,” Angela looked at the small bubble of water on the one hundred year old manuscript, laid so carefully and perfectly on the desk before her. She looked around. ‘Where in Hell did that come from?’
She pulled a lint free cloth from the drawer and started to work on the water. It was no more than a pinhead in size, but would affect the value.
Peter appeared at the door, “’Sup, Boss?” Angela shook her head without looking up or speaking. It was clearly the only acknowledgement that he was going to get. He shrugged it off—Angela was like that when she was buried in work—and returned to wherever he had come from.
Angela continued, ignoring day six of the rain at the window.
Fully restored and held firmly between two sheets of glass, Angela was finally happy with the library’s latest acquisition, the manuscript, and before pulling up her email to see if she had a response about the Journals, she glanced out of the window. It was dark and raining. Still.
She frowned and looked at her watch. It was six-fifteen. “Peter?” she called. There was no reply, but of course there wouldn’t be. Not at this time. She didn’t remember him leaving—or even announcing his intention to—and hoped that she had at least acknowledged him. He was a good boy. He would make a fine addition to the management of the library one day.
Angela took the manuscript to the upper floor and stored it with the other glass locked antiquities and then returned to her office. She opened her email one last time for the day and then closed the computer down. She turned off the working lights—spot lights—that spidered over her desk, closed and locked the bureau and turned the office lights off, closing and locking the door.
She went into the library, to cross to the front door, to find a man standing in front of one of the glass display cases—the one that held the library’s vastly expensive copy of the Napoleonic War Diary—the one next to the stairs that led to the second floor. He was studying the book.
She jumped, startled by the sudden presence of someone—anyone. “Who are you?” she asked, glancing over to the front door.
The latched front door.
The man nodded—apparently in appreciation of the tome—but didn’t turn to face her. “It is a fine piece,” he said.
“How did you get in?” Angela insisted.
“I remember the difficulties that one has on making such formal decisions when pricing such works,” he chuckled without sharing the joke.
“Could you leave, please?” Angela became nervous of the man’s intention.
The man turned. “Angela Mitchell, I assume?”
Mark Taylor’s debut novel crash landed on planet earth in 2013. Its dark brooding style benchmarked his writing and has led to further releases of novel and short story collection alike.
While most of Mark’s work is macabre, occasion has it that he will write about kittens and daisies. Just not very often.
Some say he is a product of his environment, others, a product of his own imagination.
Whichever it is he works happily, portraying dark existences on this planet and others. He relays his fears and doubts on his characters, so always has a smile. If Mark is real, as some say he is, you might find him in England.
Perhaps.
©Mark Taylor, 2016. All rights reserved.
June 17, 2016
Scares That Care Fundraising Giveaway From Zombie Book of the Month
**ZOMBIE BOOK OF THE MONTH CLUB (ZBOTMC): SCARES THAT CARE LOADED KINDLE (see details below) AND SWAG PACK RAFFLE!!! HELP US FIGHT REAL MONSTERS!**
GET IN ON THIS AMAZING PACKAGE AND FUN! !
100% OF PROCEEDS GO DIRECTLY TO SCARES THAT CARE!
*The winner will be announced on July 18, 2016, and the money raised will be presented to Joe Ripple at the Scares that Care Weekend.
*The winner will be picked old school style; a short video of a name being drawn out of a hat. *Prizes will be mailed August 1, 2016.
I am sorry but shipping is for US residents only
If you are across the pond and buy a ticket we will send a couple of ZBOTMC stickers
I.J. Smith will also send anyone across the pond that buy a raffle a ebook copy of his book Outbreak
Prizes:
Kindle Paper White with custom skin by Bobby Adair, it will be preloaded with books that have been donated by all the authors listed below and more to come,
ZBOTMC embroidered bag,
ZBOTMC embroidery patches, one of a kind Scares That Care embroidery patch, Zombie beanie, ZBOTMC lanyard, stickers,
2 T-shirts (1 large and 1 extra-large),
zombie cozy with cup,
Zombie family decals,
zombie wallet,
an I heart Zombies ID/credit card holder,
a deck of zombie playing cards,
a The Walking Dead pen and bookmark,
and an I heart zombies Keychain,
a one of a kind Scares that Care cozy with cup
*Cost for tickets to enter the drawing:
1 Ticket $5
2 Tickets $10
3 Tickets $15
4 Tickets $20
*Please go to https://www.paypal.com/home
* Send to zbotmc@hotmail.com
*The raffle will run from June 20-July 15, 2016.
(The below list of donating authors will be updated regularly as more gifts of kindness come in.)
Shaun Phelps & Kyle Clements – Zombie Stories for People with Short Attention Spans
Claire Riley
Jack Wallen-Hell’s Muse
Armand Rosamilia
Peter Meredith-The Apocalypse Crusade
Mike Evans-paper back
Phillip Tomasso-Vaccination
Jay Wilburn
Allen Gamboa-Dead Island
Kerry Alan Denney
Sean Kidd-paper back
Shawn Chesser-Amazon gift card
Lori Lynch Fontanez e book and cozies
Nicholas Smith e book and box set of 3 Extinction Horizon
Author S C Daiko
Devan Sagliani
Tj Weeks
W.j. Lundy-Whiskey Tango Foxtrot Boxset. Vol 1-3
Saul Tanpepper 3 ebooks/Contain/The Flense China/Gameland 1 & 2
Jonathan Edward Ondrashek 2 ebooks/What goes around/Dark Intentions
Ian Woodhead
Gregg Zimmerman
Jeff Olah-The Last Outbreak – Awakening
Steven G Bynum-Deaders
Chris Philbrook-3 ebooks: Tesser/Adrians Undead Diary bk 1/Wrath of the Orphans
Nichol Thorn-2 ebooks: What Lies Beneath/Your Heart is Mine
Sarah Dale-We Could Be Heroes by Sarah Dale/Collision Course bySarah Dale & David Owain Hughes/Mysterium Excelsum Unum by Ellie Holiday Dale Piersol
Will Allen-Fight the Hunger
I.J. Smith-Outbreak
Jaime Johnesee-Misadventures of Bob
Rebecca Besser-3 ebooks: Cursed Bounty/Hall of Twelve/Twisted Pathways
John Palisano-4 ebooks: Dust of the Dead/Ghost Heart/Starlight Drive/Nerves
Ed Cardillo-ebook code sent directly to winner
Mark Tufo-paper back
Owen Baillie-Invasion Books 1-3
Justin Gowland– Otto
Dunne Brothers Justin Dunne & Robert Dunne-Tales of the Nothing Man
Ricky Fleet– Hellspawn
Heath Stallcup-Caldera/Forneus Corson The Idea Man/ Return of the Phoenix Monster Squad/Whispers
JJ Beal- Lions & Tigers & Zombies Oh My
James Wallace(Jr Wall)- Zombie Theorem The Culling
Eric S Brown– Megalodon Apocalypse (dead tree addition)
Greg Ferrell-free book code upon winner announcement
AJ Jeff Brown-Dredging up Memories (Stitched Smile Publications)
Stitched Smile Publications (Lisa Vasquez)- The Voices Within Anthology
Kindra Sowder-Follow the Ashes and Harvested
Alizabeth Lynn- Crimson Bayou
Peter Oliver Wonder-The Zombie Days
Burning Willow Press- Crossroads
Sarah Dale-We Could Be Heroes
Ellie Peirson- Mysterium Excelsum Unum
Mark Reee-The Road to Jerich
June 8, 2016
Nurse Blood by Rebecca Besser – Coming soon from Limitless Publishing
A Limitless Publishing release, coming August 2016!
Sonya Garret roams the bar scene hoping to steal the heart of an unsuspecting victim—literally…
Sonya, better known as Nurse Blood, is part of a team of lethal organ harvesters who seek out the weak to seduce, kill, and part out for profit on the black market. When Sonya meets Daniel McCoy, a young man recovering from a broken engagement, he’s just another kill to line her pockets with quick cash.
Agent David McCoy vows to find out how and why his twin brother Daniel disappeared…
Daniel’s body hasn’t been found, and the leads are slim to none, but it won’t stop David from dedicating his life to solving his brother’s case. When the evidence finally uncovers the shocking truth that Daniel’s disappearance is linked to organ harvesters, David knows his brother is most likely dead. But he’s determined to stop the villains’ killing spree before they strike again.
One last harvest is all Sonya and her team need to put their murderous past behind them…
A family with the rarest blood type in the world is the only thing standing between Sonya and retirement. David McCoy and the FBI are hot on their trail, though, and multiple targets make this the most complicated harvest yet. Will David unravel Sonya’s wicked plans in time to avenge his brother and save an innocent family? Or will Sonya cash in her final kill and escape for good?
Murder for profit stops for no man when you’re Nurse Blood.
**Cover reveal coming soon!**
©Rebecca Besser & Limitless Publishing, 2016. All rights reserved.
May 4, 2016
May the 4th Be With You Giveaway
Grand Prize: a signed paperback of Zombies Inside by Rebecca Besser, a Blueray+DVD pack of Star Wars: The Force Awakens, a signed bookmark, and a Shattered Glass Jamberry manicure.Enter Rebecca Besser’s Rafflecopter #MayThe4thBeWithYou giveaway for chances to win the grand prize or one of 5 addition prizes (signed bookmarks)!
Contest open until May 31st, 2016.
April 12, 2016
Limitless Publishing Acquires Nurse Blood by Rebecca Besser
Limitless Publishing acquires Rebecca Besser’s dark thriller Nurse Blood
Based on true events.
A dark premise has been lurking in the fears of society for hundreds of years—body snatching.
A sexy thrill ride of deception and death for fans of suspense, thriller, mystery, horror, and true crime.
When a group of thugs, a black market dealer, and host of medical professionals begin kidnapping people—harvesting their organs and blood for profit and medical research—they do it to the wrong man…the brother of an FBI agent.
All the hoodlums are twisted and constantly trying to outsmart each other to stay alive while being relentlessly pursued by the FBI.
Twisted-sick love, hate, jealousy, greed and just plain evil, each one schemes to do the other in.
Rebbecca Besser has been published over 200 times in magazines, ezines, anthologies, literary journals (poetry & photography), nonfiction collections, and on blogs. Undead Drive-Thru, her first zombie novella, has been compared to the works of Stephen King and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. An anthology, which she edited and has a short story in, Earth’s End, won the Turning Pages Book of the Year 2012 Reader’s Choice Award in the Scifi category.
Published by Limitless Publishing www.limitlesspublishing.com
Represented by Loiacono Literary Agency, Melissa Carrigee
©Rebecca Besser and Melissa Carrigee, 2015/2016. All rights reserved.
February 13, 2016
Valentine’s Day – A Dark, Twisted Love Story – Burning Passion by Rebecca Besser
BURNING PASSION
By Rebecca Besser
There she was, his beautiful blonde siren, leaving her house to go to work. She did a really good job of pretending she didn’t notice his old gray van sitting a block down facing her house. She swung her hips provocatively – like she knew he was watching – while she walked to her car in her smart navy business suite that was tailored to fit her perfectly; it drove him crazy when she wore it and teased him with the contours of her body. He fantasied about taking it off of her slowly while she moaned and begged, panting with her heated desire to have him.
She pushed the button on her remote to unlock her shiny black BMW convertible and it chirped once with a flash of the lights.
She opened the door to climb in, but stopped suddenly and looked up at the house – a man was standing in the open doorway. He blew her a kiss and waved, and she did the same in return.
~
Doug Thomas seethed with rage as he laid his binoculars on the passenger’s seat beside him. How dare that bastard blow kisses to my woman? he thought while growling and punching the steering wheel.
“She’s my woman!” he screamed, gripping the wheel with both hands until his knuckles turned white.
He started the van and clenched his jaw to wait for “his woman” to pull out of her driveway and head to work. He followed her shiny black car and glared at the prim and proper two story house “the bastard” was now closing the door on as he too prepared to go to work.
Doug followed the blonde object of his affections all the way to work, and he parked and watched her walk into the corporate law office with his binoculars. Once he was content that she was safely inside, he headed off to his own job at a recycling center.
Four weeks ago he’d been released from a mental care facility. He was keeping up with his therapy visits and had procured a job at a recycling center, working part-time. The entire three years he’d been incarcerated they’d counseled him in how to be a good citizen and productive member of society. Along with the long talk sessions, they’d also given him a handful of pills to take. He no longer ate the mind control drugs, as he thought of them – he’d stopped taking them as soon as he’d walked out the door of that horrible place. He honestly believed that the drugs were what had kept him in their grasp, and that they’d intentionally toyed with his mind to make him their mindless pet; he refused to live that way. He was finally free and he was determined to break their hold on him.
He had done one thing that was suggested in therapy: he was building relationships. The troubling thing, though, was that none of the people he’d built relationships with seemed to want to reciprocate.
His girlfriend, for example – the blonde in the BMW – wouldn’t acknowledge him at all, and she was cheating on him. Of course, it wasn’t her fault. She was too nice to hurt the bastard’s heart. He honestly believed she’d tried to break it off with the man, but he wouldn’t let her go – he had the sneaking suspicion that he was beating her and she was scared for her life. That’s why he had to watch her all the time and keep her safe.
They’d been spending a lot of time together for the last couple of weeks. He drove to work with her – like he’d done that morning – and he had lunch with her every day. Yesterday he’d met her at a restaurant and he’d sat at the table beside her. It was the crazy woman beater’s fault he couldn’t sit with her so they could hold hands and look deep into each other’s eyes. The blankness he’d seen in her eyes every time she’d glance over at him and smiled broke his heart. He’d paid for her meal and that had brought a spark to her eyes – he knew she’d known it was him by the smile she’d been wearing as she’d headed out the door and back to work. This had deeply pleased him. She didn’t acknowledge their relationship often, but when she did it brightened his world.
Doug drove his van through the dregs of the city to the recycling center, and pulled into the rough gravel parking lot that was choked with dumpsters and beat up, rusted vehicles of various ages. He squeezed the van off to the side of the lot and parked. As he was getting out, he heard a gruff voice barking orders to the workers within the grey, filthy, nondescript metal pole building the crusher was housed in. He grabbed his work gloves from behind the driver’s seat of his van, slammed the door closed, and headed toward the building.
He didn’t notice the harsh, sickening sweet odor of the intermixed soda and juice seeping out of the dumpster with the aluminum cans, or the molding, rotting smell of various vegetables and foods rotting in the tin can dumpster. His mind was filled with the beautiful face of the woman he loved, and he breathed deep of the memory of her perfume, which he’d gotten a breath of from the scarf she’d dropped for him last week. The treasured item was sealed in a gallon storage bag at home under his pillow where he could be alone with his thoughts of her and pretend she was there with him.
“Where have you been, maggot?” Hank Townsend snarled as Doug walked through the door of the metal building.
“I had to take my girlfriend to work,” Doug said, slipping on his gloves, grabbing a shovel from against the wall and jumping right in to help with loading cans into the crusher.
Charles Davis – his coworker – glanced at him as they loaded a shovel load of cans at the same time and smiled briefly before getting back to work.
Hank laughed harshly.
“I don’t see how an ugly fuck like you could have a girlfriend. She either has to be blind or you have the biggest cock in the city! That’s the only way a woman would ever be with you.”
Doug paused and turned his head to glare at Hank, but the man was already outside; the heavy door banged against the frame as it closed behind him.
He growled angrily.
“Don’t let him bother you,” Charlie said, smirking. “He’s just jealous ‘cause he ain’t gettin’ no pussy.”
Doug looked at Charlie and couldn’t help but laugh; he shrugged and got back to work. But the words his boss had said cut deep. He knew he wasn’t a good looking man – his reflection in the side of the stainless steel machine attested to that – but he liked to think that his kind, caring heart made up for his lack of stunning good looks.
“You havin’ lunch with her again today?” Charlie asked. “At that fancy café place?”
Doug shrugged and said, “Yes, I plan to, if that’s where she wants to go.”
“Man, you’re a lucky dog to have such a classy lady,” Charlie said, then smirked as he continued deviously, “You givin’ her some hot sausage, ain’t ya? To keep her interested?”
“I would if she’d let me,” Doug growled. “I’m still trying to get her to leave that beating bastard. I’ll kill him if I have to, just to keep her safe.”
Charlie shook his head and sighed.
“Why do the moth’fucks get the great broads and smack ‘em around?” he asked heatedly. “It just don’t seem fair when here we be, wantin’ nothin’ mo’ than to give ‘em the lovin’ they deserve!”
“I don’t know, man,” Doug said, shoveling fast to help burn up the hot rage that was taking hold on him while he thought about another man hurting his woman. “Life’s not fair. I will keep her safe though, and I’ll make sure she’s damn happy when she finally comes to me.”
“I knows ya will!” Charlie exclaimed with a smile. “An’ if you need any help wit’ that, ya call ol’ Charlie to come help ya out!”
Doug laughed and said, “I will, you old pervert! But I think I can handle her all on my own.” He winked and continued to work hard so he could have a long lunch with the love of his life.
~
Noon came fast, and the crusher building floor was clear, so Doug and Charlie headed off to lunch. They knew there would be plenty more work for them when they got back that afternoon, but this was the highlight of their day.
Leaving the grimy, smelly metal building, they went their separate ways with a smile: Charlie ate a packed lunch sitting on the tailgate of his battered pickup truck; and Doug drove off to have lunch with his woman.
He found a parking space mere seconds before his blonde goddess came out to her car. The sight of her made his chest tighten and his manhood swell; he didn’t know how much longer he could handle this game of her being his but living with another man. He had to have her soon – all her teasing was making him hot and hard with wanting.
Doug followed her to the same café they’d eaten at countless times before, and was disgusted when “the bastard” met her in the parking lot and kissed her and groped her ass. He fumed and punched the steering wheel in a fit of rage; it took all he had not to get out of his van, march over to where the couple stood, and beat the bastard down right there in front of her so she would know she didn’t have to be afraid of him any longer.
“I love you!” he yelled, but knew she couldn’t hear him.
His hands began to shake and the world around him faded in and out of darkness – one moment it was all bright sunshine with cars parked around him, the next it was pitch blackness with hot rage burning just under his flesh.
He started scratching his arms in an attempt to relieve the pain, and the next thing he knew – when he glanced down – blood was dribbling down his arms from where he’d torn through his skin with his fingernails.
“Fuck!” he screamed, and fumbled to retrieve the first aid kit he had stored on the floorboard behind the passenger’s seat; this wasn’t the first time this had happened.
After his shaking, blood slick fingers finally got the latch open, he grasped a couple of bandages to apply to the wounds, but he didn’t put them on right away. Instead he looked down at the red liquid seeping out of his arms and thought about passion. It’s because I love her so much she can do this to me, he thought. She makes me feel so much and gets under my skin and I just can’t help myself. I have to protect her…make her mine. Soon! Very soon, my love, I’ll rescue you from the hell that is your existence.
With sharp, decisive movements he dressed his wounds, noting that the pair were no longer in the parking lot, but had wandering into the café. He couldn’t see them through the windows and he figured they’d chosen one of the back booths. Yeah, I know what you’re up to, you fucker, he thought. You’ll take her back there so you can smack her or pinch her and no one will see. You’re a sick fuck, you bastard!
He fumed and raged inside as he climbed out of the van and headed into the café. He’d thought about driving down the street to a fast food joint to buy himself something to eat, but he decided that fuck no he wasn’t slinking away like a coward. She was his woman and he wouldn’t give her up to “the bastard” without a fight.
I was right, he thought and almost screamed, when he saw them sitting close together in a private corner booth. He noticed the bastard had his hand on her knee under the table, kneading and squeezing it while they talked. You’re gonna leave bruises where no one can see, aren’t you, you fuck? his mind ranted as he took a seat at a table where he could watch them at an angle.
A waitress came to take his order and she blocked his view of the couple, which annoyed him greatly; he glared at her the entire time he was placing his order, and she practically ran away from him as soon as she was done.
Doug’s allotted lunch time passed quickly, without him even tasting the food he’d ordered. He had to leave and go back to work before the couple, and he thought about staying, but decided he shouldn’t push his luck with Hank after being a couple of minutes late this morning.
He paid his bill at the register, threw one pissed off glance back at the couple in the corner and stormed back out into the world alight with harsh sunshine. The warmth did nothing to improve his mood though, as he knew it would be sweltering at the center while he worked through the afternoon.
He climbed into his van, started the engine, and pulled out into traffic without even looking to see if anything was coming. Luckily, this time, nothing was, and he sped through the streets, cursing at the other drivers to vent his pent up emotions.
When he arrived back at the recycling center, he noticed that they’d had a delivery of cans over lunch, and he knew he’d be stuck in the crushing building again. With a sigh, he parked, got out, and headed back to work.
Charlie wasn’t inside when he went in, so he figured they must have received a load of glass too – crushing it was Charlie’s favorite job.
Doug was glad for this because he had a lot on his mind and he didn’t want to discuss “the bastard” being at lunch. His mind swirled with random, chaotic thoughts of how he could handle the state of his love life. His thoughts were so jumbled with emotions, ranging from crushing depression to burning angst, that he couldn’t make sense of anything.
I know, he thought, finally deciding on a plan after working for a couple of hours and using up some of his energy so his mind could clear, I’ll talk to my therapist about it tomorrow morning at our meeting! He’ll know how I should handle everything.
With all his problems set to be resolved the next morning by someone else, Doug happily worked the rest of the day, dreaming about all the things he’d do with his woman once she was freely his.
~
The next morning was overcast and Doug frowned as he stepped out the door of the heap-of-trash trailer he was renting. He knew the place wasn’t pretty, but it was functional, and was all his for as long as he paid the extremely low rent – that’s all he needed. He was saving up his money so that when his woman came to him, they’d be able to get a nicer place to live in. Everything he did or suffered was for her and he knew that’s why she loved him so much.
He locked the door behind himself and walked over to his van. On impulse, he slid open the back, side door and peered at the bed inside; it was still made up neat with clean silk sheets. He smiled, envisioning his blonde goddess naked laying across it, loving the feel of the silk beneath her and aching for the feel of him on top of her.
“Soon, precious,” he whispered, “soon.”
He slid the door closed and opened the driver’s door to climb in. Just as he closed the door behind himself a torrent of rain fell from the sky, coating his windshield with little droplets and making him feel sealed off from reality – something he liked intensely.
He sat there and thought about his woman: how her skin would feel…taste; how she would sound when she moaned his name; how it would thrill him to excite and satisfy her; and how it would feel to be satisfied by her body.
Without giving it any thought – letting his natural urges take him – he unzipped his pants and got himself off while he imagined having sex with her.
Once he was finished, he cleaned up with some fast food napkins he kept in the glove compartment and rushed to make it to his therapy appointment on time. If he was late or missed, he could end up back in confinement and he didn’t want that. For some reason they’d previously deemed him unstable and thought he could pose a threat to the general population when he’d supposedly raped and killed a young woman. He’d told them repeatedly that they’d had a long term relationship and she’d consented to the sexual contact, and that he didn’t know who’d killed her, but it hadn’t been him. He was devastated without her and had been more than willing to let people take care of him while he’d grieved, hence his stay at the mental care facility. The stay had been court ordered, but he hadn’t fought it.
The short-term stay had become more long-term when they’d charged him with rape and murder, having found evidence against him. He still maintained he hadn’t done anything wrong and that someone else had done everything and was framing him. He vowed to find whoever had done it all and kill them, ranting like a mad man at anyone who opposed him.
That’s when the pills had started. Those mind controlling drugs that had kept him enslaved to their will. But he’d tricked them…tricked them all by not taking them once he was away from their choking grasp.
Despite everything, it had been hard for him to leave and go back out into the world. He’d loved Melissa – the young woman he’d been accused of raping and killing – and didn’t know how his heart would ever mend. He never thought he would be able to love anyone again, until he’d first seen her, his blonde goddess. She’d been jogging down the street – one he just happened upon as he drove aimlessly – and he’d instantly fallen in love with her. Sure, most men would have lusted after her in those skin tight exercise clothes that emphasized every curve and dip of her body, but he’d looked beyond all that to her soul. She had a truly beautiful soul. The sad thing was…it was being tormented by the bastard she was living with, and her beauty, her heart, her life was being smothered by his heavy hand. Her soul cried out and begged Doug to love her, to help her. After that, he made it his life’s mission to do right by her and free her for real happiness with him.
Now, as he drove through the city to his therapy appointment, he hoped all the battles he’d been fighting to get to her were worth it. He knew that he’d get some sound advice from his counselor, because he always had.
He pulled into the prestigious medical building parking lot and parked his van. He climbed out, slammed the door behind him, and checked to make sure he hadn’t gotten anything on his pants and that they were fastened properly. Once he was sure of his appearance, he headed for the main door of the brick building; they slid open in welcome but he didn’t go in. He turned left and walked around to the back of the building where an alley lay between it and another. He walked into the dim passageway and headed toward a large cardboard box lying on its side.
“I’m here,” he said, stopping to stand in front of the opening. “Right on time too.”
“Did you bring payment?” a voice croaked from within the tan confines of the box.
“Of course!” Doug said, reaching into the back pocket of his pants, withdrawing the agreed upon payment – whiskey. “I wouldn’t come to see you without payment.”
The voice in the box laughed.
“Good,” it said. “Set it down and let’s begin.”
Doug sat the bottle down on the pavement that was slick with a coating of slime built up from the rain and alley grime.
A hand reached out into the faint light and curled its long, thin fingers around the bottle, lifting it; the bottle disappeared, along with the hand, back into the box.
Doug didn’t know for sure if his therapist was a man or a woman, but he always assumed that the person inside the box was male, so he called the therapist a he. Once, when they’d first started their strange sessions, he’d thought about asking why they were meeting in an alley, while he hid in a cardboard box, but he’d decided that would be a rude question. He wasn’t opposed to sitting in the outdoors to talk about the things in his life that bothered him – he actually liked it better than a confining room. He figured the therapist had read that in his file and wanted him to feel more comfortable. He also assumed he knew about his privacy/trust issues and that’s why he’d insisted on hiding; keeping things anonymous made Doug feel more comfortable sharing. The only thing that did bother him was that there was nowhere for him to sit and he had to stand through the entire visit, or plant his ass in the sludge of alley grime.
Shifting from one foot to another in nervous frustration, Doug tried to tame his thoughts enough to share them.
“It’s complicated…” he started. “I’m in love, but the woman is stuck in an abusive relationship with another man and I don’t know how to help her.”
“Free her,” the voice croaked from within the box. “Follow your heart and free her.”
“How?” Doug asked. “She’s with this man and he seems to follow her everywhere – he never lets her out from under his thumb.”
“Does she love you?” the voice asked.
“Yes!” Doug all but shouted, getting angry. “She loves me so much, but can’t get free of him.”
“You’ll have to take care of him then,” the voice said quietly. “You have to get him out of the way so you can be together – it’s the only way.”
Doug sighed. “That’s what I thought, but I wasn’t sure. Thank you for your advice.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” the voice said. “Is there anything else I can help you with today?”
“No,” Doug said. “I have some planning to do. Thanks again.” He turned and walked out of the alley, climbed back into his van, and headed home.
~
Dusk was starting to change the appearance of the world when Doug stepped out of his trailer. He breathed deeply of the sweet, cool air evening brought with it and smiled broadly. Tonight was the night he and his blonde goddess would be together once and for all. They would be free to love each other, like they should have been for a long time now.
He practically bounced down the decaying wooden steps leading to the ground and danced all the way to his van. He had so much to look forward to with his woman free to love him back.
He climbed into the van – which tonight he thought of as his grey steed – started the engine and was off. Streets, cars, and people went by in a blur as he headed toward his destination; in less than twenty minutes he was parked down the street from the prim and proper two story house where his love had been held prisoner. He watched the place for a little while and there didn’t seem to be anyone home, so he got out and walked toward it. When he reached the driveway, he turned and walked up it like he was supposed to be there. He knocked on the front door and was pleased when there was no answer. He circled around to the back of the house and investigated a sliding glass door that connected the kitchen of the house to a cement patio; it was locked. With a sigh he decided he would have to break in, but he’d actually expected it to come to this.
He turned and picked up one of the heavy, metal patio chairs and slammed it into the glass of the door; it shattered loudly and splinters of glass sailed through the air in every direction.
Doug didn’t mind the sting of the shards; it was a small price to pay to rescue his princess from the evil dragon. That’s how he’d begun to see the adventure he was on. He was the knight is shining armor, accosting the cursed castle to rescue the damsel in distress so they could live happily ever after. He’d always loved fairy tales, so he thought it logical that he should star in one. After all, he was pure of heart, valiant, and willing to sacrifice himself for those he loved.
He stepped over the threshold of the broken door and looked around cautiously. He’d expected there would be an alarm, but after a quick check, he realized they didn’t even have a system in their house. He thought that odd, but then shrugged it off knowing they lived in a “nice” neighborhood where nothing probably ever happened.
He moved through the house, picking up random object and pictures, looking at them and then putting them back down where he’d gotten them; there was something surreal and eerie about being in someone’s house while they weren’t home, but it didn’t bother him, it excited him. He couldn’t wait for someone to get home from work so he could put his plans into motion: if “the bastard” arrived first, he planned to kill him and throw the body out back; and if his blonde goddess got home first, they would get to know each other and express their love freely and he would kill the man when he arrived. He was harboring some thoughts of making the bastard watch while he and the blonde goddess slacked their passion with each other, like he’d made Doug watch so many times when he’d touched her, but Doug didn’t feel like sharing. He wanted her all to himself so she would feel free to enjoy herself.
While going through a stack of mail, he discovered the name of his woman.
“Bree Heller,” he read aloud. “What a beautiful name…” He sighed and whispered her name again, “Bree.”
A noise from the door – sounding like keys jingling and one being inserted into a lock – alerted him that someone was home.
He dropped the envelope he’d been reading and stealthily made his way over to the foyer to hide inside the archway leading to the living room.
The bastard came through the door as it opened. He turned and kicked it shut with his foot, juggling his briefcase and a large takeout bag full of containers.
Doug’s stomach growled as the aroma of Chinese food waft to his nose.
The bastard’s head shot up and looked in the direction of the living room; he froze, listened, and stepped into the living room.
Doug heard the man coming and watched him step into the room. He waited until he glanced in his direction before slamming his fist into the bastard’s face.
The bastard hit the floor with a loud thud and Doug stood over him grinning.
“Thanks for picking up supper, you fuck!” he exclaimed with glee, righting the takeout bag so the food wouldn’t spill; he took the bag to the kitchen, sat it on the counter, withdrew a large knife from the cutting block, and went back out to the living room.
He stood over the prone man who was dressed in a slate gray business suit, having a hard time deciding if he wanted to finish him quickly or make him suffer. He finally decided on quickly, because he knew Bree would be home soon and he wanted to prepare them a special dinner at the table with the food the bastard had brought.
Kneeling down, he sank the blade into the bastard’s neck and sliced it all the way across. Blood shot out into the air as he cut, then seeped out into a puddle once he was done.
“She’ll be happier without you,” Doug said, smirked, stood, and kicked the bastard just because he wanted to.
He took the time to walk back to the kitchen and put the bloody knife in the sink before he dragged the body outside to the patio. For some strange reason, he thought it would be funny to sit him up in one of the chairs and make it look like he’d fallen asleep, so he did it while giggling hysterically.
“You look like an ass,” he said to the bastard, shaking his head as he went back into the house, crunching through the broken glass.
He washed his hands and looked through the kitchen cabinets until he found what he was looking for – plates and wine glasses. He took two of each out and carried them carefully to the dining room, where a large dark wood table sat quietly. He set them down and went back to the kitchen for the bag of food and cutlery.
He’d just finished setting the table when the front door opened and closed. Then he heard the sweetest voice in the world calling some man’s name; it wasn’t his.
“Bree, my darling,” Doug said, walking out into the living room to greet her. “Welcome home!”
She froze halfway through the living room, her eyes wide with fear. Without warning, she dropped her briefcase, turned, and ran for the front door.
Doug, expecting this of her, knowing she wouldn’t know the bastard wouldn’t hurt her anymore until she’d seen his lifeless body, bolted forward and caught her just before she could reach the door. He wrapped an arm around her waist and whispered Shh! in her ear when she started screaming. When she wouldn’t be quiet, he clamped his hand over her mouth and dragged her through the living room and the kitchen to the patio so she could see for herself that she was safe.
Her eyes fell on the lifeless body of the bastard and she went limp, sobbing.
“That’s right,” Doug said, thinking her actions were from relief. “I’ve freed you from him so we can be together. You don’t have to be afraid anymore!”
She shook her head and sobbed harder.
He turned back toward the house and half-carried, half-dragged her to the dining room, where he sat her in a chair at the table.
“Are you hungry?” he asked. “What would you like?” He spread his hands, displaying the array of food containers on the table.
She shook her head and covered her face with her hands.
He sighed and said, “I know this is a lot to take in at once, but we don’t have to hide our love anymore! You don’t have to be afraid anymore.” He reached over and pulled her hands down from her face. “No one is going to hurt you anymore. I love you and will take care of you.”
He noticed that her eyes were crazy and her breath was coming hard in sobbing gasps.
“I think you need to relax before supper,” he said, standing and extending his hand toward her. “Come with me.”
She jumped up from the chair and tried to run out of the room, but he easily caught her again.
Bree fought hard, screaming, biting, and kicking.
With a deep sigh, Doug said, “I didn’t want to have to do this, but you’re leaving me no choice.” He drew back his hand and slapped her hard across the face; she crumpled to the floor in a ball, sobbing even harder than before. “I’m sorry… I didn’t want to hurt you, but you need to calm down.” He pulled four large cable ties from his back pocket and used them to bind her wrists and ankles before he carried her upstairs.
When she wouldn’t direct him to the bedroom, he started checking every room until he found the master suite.
“Oh, what a lovely tub,” he said, depositing her on the bed and looking through the doorway into the bathroom. “That’s what you need…a nice hot bubble bath to help you relax.” He winked and headed that way to start the water.
He turned the taps on the large, two person bathtub and adjusted the water to the perfect temperature. He then chose some fragrant bubble bath from the counter and added it to the water.
Once the bubbles were forming nicely, he stripped off all his clothes and headed back out into the bedroom.
Bree lay on the bed where he’d left her, still sobbing.
“Please, no,” she begged. “Please, please, please, no!” She squeezed her eyes shut tight.
Doug knelt by the bed and brushed her hair away from her face and kissed her forehead.
“It’s okay,” he said. “I’ll take care of you.”
With strong hands he ripped her clothes and slowly slid them off of her body while letting his hands trail over her soft skin.
“Beautiful,” he whispered. “More beautiful than I could have ever imagined.” He didn’t stop with just touching her and began to lick her skin and then nibble.
She screamed, but Doug believed it was from passion and that he was somehow fulfilling her fantasies, so he kept going.
When he took her it was more rapturous than he could ever have imagined, and he felt their souls touch and become one. He knew she felt it to by how she shuddered with ecstasy and groaned.
“I’m sorry, my love,” he said, getting up from the bed. “I couldn’t wait to have you.” He caressed her tear slick cheek and headed into the bathroom to turn off the water that was still running. While doing so, he accidently spilled the bubble bath solution on the floor, because in his haste he’d forgotten to put the cap back on.
“Shit!” he exclaimed and righted the bottle before setting it back on the sink. “I’ll clean that up later.” He came back out into the bedroom, picked her up, and carried her over his shoulder into the bathroom.
He was just about to lower her into the water when his feet slipped out from under him and she went flying through the air.
Bree screamed and landed with a thunk and a slash.
Doug picked himself up off the floor and peered into the tub – he couldn’t see Bree at all. He scooped away some of the bubbles that were swirled with thick, red blood, and peered into the water.
Her lifeless eyes stared up at him, and he could see more blood swirling out into the water from a dent in her skull.
Tears filled his eyes as he fell back onto the tile floor to sit on his butt; his hands were shaking and he was having a hard time breathing.
His love had been taken from him just as they were finally free to be together. He felt robbed by life – cheated. Anger and pain warred within him for release, but there was nothing for him to lash out at but himself.
He stood and glared at himself in the mirror. Brown eyes stared back at him from a plain, nondescript face. He reared his head back and smashed it into the glass, shattering the reflected image of himself. Large pieces of the silvery glass fell all over the counter and into the sink, shattering into even smaller pieces.
Doug reached down and grasped a long, knife shaped piece, gripping it tightly, not even paying attention to the pain of it cutting into his hand. He stabbed at his face with the shard, desperate to get the pain, the burning, out of his head. He couldn’t take anymore disappointment and hurt. Everything he loved was always taken from him.
He screamed as he sank the glass into his flesh again and again. Chunks of skin and meat fell into the sink and blood ran in floods down his neck and chest. When the burn eased and he didn’t feel the pain anymore, he stumbled over to the bathtub and looked down at his beautiful Bree. His blood dripped into the water, turning the bubbles pink and them red; the water soon changed to the color of passion as well. The color of passion, he thought, as he fell to his knees, too weak from blood loss to stand any longer. Her blood and mine. Her passion and mine.
~
Three days later…
Doug woke up in a room with blank, off-white walls, a window covered by a metal grate, and straps restraining his body to a single metal framed bed in the center. He glanced around apprehensively, but his face hurt terribly when he moved, so he tried to hold still.
Distantly he heard a door open and the sound of footsteps getting closer.
“Ah, I see you’re awake,” a woman in light green scrubs said. “I’ll get the doctor – he’ll want to see you.”
She vanished from view and footsteps receded, and again a door opened and closed.
He didn’t know how much time passed while he was laying there; he couldn’t think straight because his mind was fuzzy.
The mind control drugs… he thought and chuckled to himself, wincing in pain as his face muscles moved under their protective gauze.
He jumped when he heard the door open and close again, and this time two sets of feet walking across the hard, smooth surface of the floor.
“Douglas Thomas?” a male voice asked in a somewhat bored, overly calm tone. “I’m not surprised to see you back here…since your escape almost a month ago the authorities say you’ve been up to your old hi-jinx: raping and killing innocent women. It seems that this time you also killed the woman’s husband. You know you’re not getting out again, right? We know how you escaped and have taken measures to prevent it.”
Doug laughed and tested his restraints.
“You can’t control me,” he muttered. “I’ll be free to love!”
“What?” the doctor said, stepping closer, trying to hear what Doug had said.
“You can’t control me!” Doug screamed at the top of his voice, thrashing violently on the bed, laughing. “I’ll be free to love! You can’t stop me!”
The doctor shook his head and he and the woman left the room.
Doug kept muttering to himself, envisioning Bree’s beautiful face.
“Bubble bath of blood,” he raved. “Passion! Red, burning passion!”
His rants and laughter soon turned to sobs, and the sounds of his inner torment floated out into the corridor and down the empty hallway to haunt anyone who came close enough to hear. He knew he would never get out again, but it didn’t matter. His heart was broken beyond repair, and he’d remember it for the rest of his life every time he looked in the mirror. The damage was done. The burning passion had taken his very soul and twisted it beyond repair.
©Rebecca Besser, 2016. All rights reserved.
February 11, 2016
Interview – Author Courtney Rene
Author Courtney ReneB: Welcome to my blog! Please start out by telling everyone a little bit about yourself –
C: I’m pretty normal in most regards. I’m a wife and mother of two. I’m also a closet book addict. I’m that person that is genuinely not allowed in books stores with a credit card. I’m quite the introvert, although I like to pretend I’m not. We are the owners of a fish, a hamster, and two turtles, along with a stray cat or two that pretend they belongs to us once in a while.
B: Tell us about your books –
C: I have two series books going on at the present. The first being my YA Paranormal Series, Shadow Dancer. There are four books currently published and out in this series. This is a story of a young girl named Sunny:
Sunny has a gift that she has no idea how to use, until she meets Leif, a boy from the kingdom of Acadia, on the other side of the shadows.
Leif teaches Sunny about Shadow Walkers and how to use her new found gifts. As they grow closer and their gifts grow stronger, a threat arrives. The Shadow Guard has been sent to bring Sunny back to Acadia, to determine if she is a threat to the king as the rightful ruler of Acadia.
As Leif and Sunny prepare to defend themselves, Sunny finds that Leif has also been sent to bring Sunny back to the kingdom but for very different reasons. As a battle for possession of Sunny wages, she is struggling to come to turns with her feelings of inadequacy regarding controlling her gifts as well as the hurt regarding the lies and deceit of everyone around her.
The other books continuing on within the series are: Shadow Warrior, Shadow’s End, and Shadow Fire.
You can find these books here:
~*~
The other series. I have going is also YA Paranormal. It’s title is A Howl in the Night, which is the story of Abby:
Sweet Sixteen is supposed to be a turning point in your life. The world is before you in all its glory, just waiting for you to reach out and grab it. Right? For Abigail Staton no, not so much. Not only does she suddenly lose her best friend due to a fight, but suddenly her mother expects her to believe that the father, she has never met, is actually a werewolf. With that revelation, Abby is thrust into the world of two wolf clans who are not only fighting each other, but also fighting for Abby, one of the few females born to the shape-shifters. Her father is determined to pair Abby up with Derek, a very dominant and overwhelming shifter. Abby vehemently balks at this union to disastrous results. When war is declared between the two clans, Abby has to decide what side she is actually on.
The other title within this series is: The Full Moon rises, which was just recently released in November 2015.
You can find these titles here:
B: What is special about your books that your readers love?
C: I have been told that one of the things my readers like the most is that I have very strong female characters, which are relatable and inspiring. I didn’t start out with that in mind when writing the books, but having a simpering girlie girl as a hero, didn’t mesh well with me. Another perk is I add humor to my characters. Again, this is another relateable attribute for my readers.
B: What should we be looking for from you in the future?
C: I will begin work on the third book in the Howl in the Night series shortly, which I would love to get to my publisher asap. There is a new fantasy story I am already working on. Angels and demons and life and death. I like it. We will see if I can make it work for my readers.
B: Is there any genre you’d like to write for that you haven’t yet?
C: I love the horror genre. Although I have worked in this area in short stories and anthologies, I haven’t taken on a full novel. I would like to break into that genre this year. That’s my goal.
B: What three books would you take with you to read on the beach? Why?
C: This is a hard question for me as I tend to read series books. But if I could choose three series, then I would choose Harry Potter, because, hello, it’s Harry Potter. Next would be a bit of a romance, in the Outlander Series. Something about sunshine on a beach with the outlander books, just appeals to me. Plus it would be a lasting read that I wouldn’t plow through in an hour or two. And last, I would take the Vampire Lestat. The story telling in that novel is suberb. I love that character, evil and ignorant at times though he may be, I enjoy his journey every time.
B: What was your favorite read from the last year?
C: Wow, that’s a good question. I read over 55 books last year. My favorite though I would have to say is a new series that Jodi Thomas put out, called Ransom Canyon. It’s got history and drama and thriller and romance, and it’s got characterization. I am really enjoying this find. Maybe there is another that I liked more, but I don’t recall it right off. This was the book that came to mind first, so that to me says, favorite.
B: Name three titles from your TBR list –
C:
The last of the Raven Boys books coming out soon in April titled the Raven King. That’s a great series by the way. If you haven’t checked it out, maybe you should.
I want to read the King book, the follow up from the Shinning titled: Doctor Sleep.
And lastly, I want to read, Eating Bull by Carrie Rubin. This was just recommended to me, and I think it sounds great! Not your every day hero in an obese teen.
B: Is there anything you would like to share that I haven’t asked you about?
C: No, I think you have covered just about everything. Aside from letting people know that all my books can be found on my blog, with links for information and purchase. Please feel free to stop over and say hello.
B: List where people can find you online:
C: You can find me at the following:
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Courtney-Rene/e/B004X6SS2Y/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1455215933&sr=1-2-ent
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Shadow-Dancer-and-more-by-Courtney-Rene-164433473646449/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/ctnyrene
Blog: www.ctnyrene.blogspot.com
Email: ctnyrene@aol.com
B: Thank for stopping by! I wish you all the best with your books.
C: Thank you so much for having me!
Courtney’s Biography:
Courtney Rene lives in the State of Ohio with her husband and two children. She is a graduate and member of the Institute of Children’s Literature. Her writings include magazine articles, short fiction stories, several anthologies, as well as her young adult novels, A Howl in the Night, and new release, The Full Moon Rises, as well as the Shadow Dancer series (Shadow Dancer, Shadow Warrior, Shadow’s End, and a break away novel, Shadow Fire), published through Rogue Phoenix Press. For a complete listing, visit www.ctnyrene.blogspot com or feel free to contact her at ctnyrene@aol.com.
©Rebecca Besser and Courtney Rene, 2016.
All rights reserved.
